diff options
Diffstat (limited to '40347-8.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 40347-8.txt | 9015 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 9015 deletions
diff --git a/40347-8.txt b/40347-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a0f0379..0000000 --- a/40347-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9015 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Coward Behind the Curtain, by Richard Marsh - -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 Coward Behind the Curtain - -Author: Richard Marsh - -Release Date: July 27, 2012 [EBook #40347] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COWARD BEHIND THE CURTAIN *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the -Web Archive (Oxford University) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - - 1. Page scan source: - http://www.archive.org/details/cowardbehindcur00marsgoog - (Oxford University) - - 2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. - - - - - - - THE COWARD - BEHIND THE CURTAIN - - - - - - - BY THE SAME AUTHOR - - The Girl and the Miracle - In the Service of Love - A Duel - The Marquis Of Putney - The Twickenham Peerage - A Metamorphosis - Both Sides of the Veil - Marvels and Mysteries - The Seen and the Unseen - The Goddess: A Demon - The Joss: A Reversion - The Romance of a Maid of Honour - The Beetle: A Mystery - A Woman Perfected - - - - - - - THE COWARD - BEHIND THE CURTAIN - - - - - BY - RICHARD MARSH - - - - - METHUEN & CO. - 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. - LONDON - - - - - - _First Published in 1908_ - - - - - - - CONTENTS - - CHAPTER - - I. DOROTHY SETS OFF WITH HER GUARDIAN. - - II. THE CURTAIN. - - III. THE COWARD. - - IV. THE MAN IN THE CHAIR. - - V. DOROTHY IS LEFT ALONE WITH HER GUARDIAN FOR THE NIGHT. - - VI. HOW DOROTHY MADE HER EXIT. - - VII. THE CARAVAN. - - VIII. MR FRAZER GOES SHOPPING. - - IX. WHAT THE GIRL TOLD THE MAN. - - X. WHAT THE CARAVAN LEFT BEHIND. - - XI. DANGER AHEAD. - - XII. HEADLINES. - - XIII. THE VERNONS--PARTICULARLY FRANCES. - - XIV. STRATHMOIRA. - - XV. DOROTHY GILBERT OF NEWCASTER. - - XVI. THE SPREADING OF THE NEWS. - - XVII. A FRIEND'S ADVICE. - - XVIII. THE MAN WHO DID IT. - - XIX. AN INTERLUDE. - - XX. THE HOUSEBOAT. - - XXI. WHY HE KILLED HIM. - - XXII. THE TELEGRAM. - - XXIII. THE SURGEON AND THE LAWYER. - - XXIV. TIDINGS. - - - - - - - THE COWARD BEHIND - THE CURTAIN - - - - - CHAPTER I - - DOROTHY SETS OFF WITH HER GUARDIAN - - -The girls were in the convent garden, when word came that Dorothy -Gilbert was wanted. Dorothy was walking with Frances Vernon. Ever -since she could remember her world had been that garden, with its -shaded walks and its high walls; never before had a visitor come to -her. The moment she was told that someone desired her presence she -turned to Frances, exclaiming: - -"It is he!" - -With characteristic impetuosity Frances threw her arms about her, -remarking as she did so: - -"Just as we were speaking of him!" - -As if there were anything strange in that. The strangeness would have -been if he had come when they had not been speaking of him; for, of -late, they had spoken of little else. Elsie Farquhar, who had brought -the message, pressed it home. - -"You had better be quick, Dorothy. Sister Celestine said you were to -hurry." - -So Dorothy hurried, her tall slender figure held very straight, her -pretty head a little in the air, in her eyes a gleaming light. She -believed herself to be passing from a world she knew into one of which -she had dreamed. But she was mistaken; she was going into a world of -which she had not dreamed. Sister Celestine met her at the door. - -"It is Mr Emmett?" she inquired. - -"Yes," replied the Sister, "it is Mr Emmett." - -Something in her tone; on her face; in her glance; struck quick-witted -Dorothy. - -"What is the matter? Why do you look at me like that? What is he -like?" - -"Who am I that I should be able to tell you what he is like, when I -have seen him for scarcely five minutes?" - -The Sister smiled, it seemed to Dorothy, not with that brightness -which she knew so well. The young lady's mental processes were rapid. -She divined, on the instant, that Sister Celestine was disappointed -with Mr Emmett. As she went with the Sister from the garden to the -guest-room she wondered why. Would she be disappointed also?--after -all her talks with Frances?--her communings with herself? She had -fashioned the unknown Mr Emmett in so many shapes that she could not -have told which of them she expected to see; certainly it was not the -person she actually saw. Her knowledge of men had practically been -restricted to the personages in the storybooks which found their way -into the convent precincts. These had to undergo a severe examination -before being admitted, as one bad character was enough to damn them; -and, as the conventual standard of masculine morals was peculiar, even -if the individuals who figured in the tales were not drawn from -imagination they certainly were not taken from life. One requirement -all the men in the books had to satisfy: they all had to be gentlemen, -or what the convent censor took to be gentlemen. Dorothy Gilbert might -have had more or less vague doubts, but it never had been brought -clearly home to her that a man could be anything but a gentleman till -she entered that guest-room and was introduced to Mr Emmett. When she -saw him, any illusions she may have had upon that point were shattered -at once and for ever. - -A big, burly man was sitting on the edge of the table. One foot rested -on the floor, the other dangled in the air. He did not move when she -entered; he merely looked round at her and stared. His great bald head -had a narrow fringe of sandy hair which was just turning grey. He wore -a huge sandy moustache, whose hue was more than matched by his head -and face. A large, angry-looking spot was on the left of his big nose, -a smaller one was on his right cheek near the ear. His eyes were so -bloodshot that it was not easy to tell what colour they really were; -they reminded her of the eyes of a wicked giant who had played a -prominent, and disreputable, part in a fairy tale she had once read. -Indeed, the whole man recalled that giant; she had an uncomfortable -feeling that he might, at any moment, set about the--to him--agreeable -business of devouring her. Sister Celestine performed the ceremony of -introduction. - -"This, Mr Emmett, is Dorothy Gilbert." - -Still he kept his seat on the edge of the table, and his hands in the -pockets of the huge overcoat which he wore, although the weather was -so warm. Only he stared at Dorothy a little harder. - -"No! You don't say! Well I'm damned!" - -There was that in his voice, his words, and his manner which affected -Dorothy almost as if he had struck her. Sister Celestine was shocked -nearly into speechlessness. - -"Sir!" was all she could say. - -"Beg pardon, I'm sure, forgetting where I was; I suppose you ladies -don't do much of that sort of thing in here." He addressed himself to -Dorothy, with what apparently was meant to be jocosity. "So you're -Bully Gilbert's girl? I shouldn't have thought it; it only shows that -you never can tell. I don't know where you get your looks from--not -from him. Why, you really are---- Do you know who I am?" - -"Sister Celestine says you are Mr Emmett." - -"Georgie Emmett, your father's best friend--in fact, his only friend, -because he was not the kind of person who gathers them round. When, -some nine months ago, he departed this life, he left it owing me a -hatful of money; and I'm damned--beg pardon, I'm blessed if he hadn't -the cheek and impudence, by way of wiping off his owings, to appoint -me your one and only guardian; as if you were a little bit of -something which could be turned into cash. I'd have come and looked at -you before if I'd known you were so well worth looking at; but who -would have guessed that your father would have had a girl with a face -like yours. However, here I am at last; and I daresay you won't be -sorry to say good-bye to this queer old shanty, and to come with me to -have a peep at what the world looks like outside. I rather think there -aren't many men who can show you more of it than I can. Anyhow, I've -come to take you along; so run upstairs and put your hat and jacket -on, and your things in your box. My car's outside, a 60 F.I.A.T.--if -there's anything on earth can move it's her: but that's no reason why -she should be kept waiting, so if you can manage to do your packing -inside ten minutes I'll be obliged." - -Sister Celestine and Dorothy looked at each other, as if both were at -a loss for words; as, indeed, they were. It seemed incredible that -Dorothy should be expected to quit, at a moment's notice, the place -which had sheltered her her whole life long; to go, with this uncouth -stranger, she knew not where. The Sister asked where he proposed so -take her; his reply could scarcely have been vaguer. "Oh, for a bit of -a run round; just now I'm rather at a loose end; my future movements -depend upon circs." - -To the Sister's orderly mind the prospect seemed uncomfortably -nebulous; yet there seemed nothing to do but to let the girl go. The -man was her lawful guardian. In his method of paying the convent dues -the late Mr Gilbert had been erratic. Quite a considerable sum had -been owing when he died. During the intervening months that sum had -become still larger. Taking out a fat pocket-book, Mr Emmett paid all -demands with bank-notes: in that respect nothing could have been more -satisfactory. The convent, which could ill afford to lose the money, -had become anxious; the sight of those bank-notes removed a burden -from the Sister's mind and Dorothy was sent upstairs, to put her hat -and jacket on, and her things into her box. The process was not a -lengthy one. She still had the small wooden box which she had brought -to the convent as a tiny child. But her stock of clothes had not grown -much larger; those which would not go into the box were wrapped in a -sheet of brown paper. As, theoretically, Frances Vernon assisted in -the business of packing, she plied Dorothy with questions. The answers -she received were very short; gradually Frances became conscious that -some subtle change had taken place in her friend during the last few -minutes. - -"What is he like?" she demanded; as Dorothy had done of Sister -Celestine. In her answer Dorothy paraphrased the Sister. - -"How can I tell you, when I have been acquainted with him only ten -minutes?" - -Frances leaped to conclusions as she herself had done. - -"I know what that means--it means that he's horrid. Is he very -horrid?" - -"I didn't say he was horrid." - -"No, but you didn't say he wasn't. You might at least tell me what he -looks like. Dolly, do!" - -And Dolly did. She painted Mr Emmett exactly as he had appeared to -her. She had a pretty knack of description; by the time the portrait -was finished Miss Vernon was gazing with wide-open eyes. - -"Why," she cried, "he must be perfectly hideous!" - -"He is not," admitted Dorothy, "what some people would call -good-looking." - -"Fancy going you don't know where with such a man as that!--you who -have always said that in a man you must have beauty of mind, and soul, -and form!" - -Dorothy bent over the frock she was folding. - -"We have been taught that a plain casket may contain a priceless -jewel." - -She might have been taught it; yet she doubted if Mr Emmett was a -casket of that kind. Before long she was sure that he was not. Her -box, whose appearance produced uncomplimentary remarks from her -guardian, was fastened on the top of the car; presently she had -quitted the convent, with all her worldly possessions. Mr Emmett was -his own driver. She sat beside him, on the front seat, while the -chauffeur sat behind. She would have preferred to have had it the -other way round, but it was settled for her without her having a voice -in the matter. A big coat was slipped over her shoulders; she was on -the seat; a rug was wrapped round her knees; they were off; before she -clearly realised what had happened; certainly before she had said all -the adieux she would have liked to say. It was all like some strange -dream; whose strangeness was accentuated by the subsequent flight of -the throbbing monster through the air. - -What was the name of the town at which they stayed that first night -she never knew. She had not curiosity enough to ask; no one -volunteered the information. After dinner, which was to her a wholly -unaccustomed feast, at which she ate scarcely anything, in spite of Mr -Emmett's well-meant gibes and jeers, she stole up to bed as soon as -she could; to a big bed; in a big room, in the old inn, there she lay, -a lonely, forlorn maiden; thinking, puzzling, doubting, wishing, with -all her heart, that she was back again in the safe shelter of the -convent. She wished it often during the days and weeks which followed. -She was a young girl, and, like a young girl, all agog to stand on -tiptoe, if needs be, and open the windows which would enable her to -look into the house of life. Under normal circumstances, that motor -cruise might have been to her one long delight; but the circumstances -were abnormal; so that for long afterwards a motor car stood for her -as a sort of synonym for a nightmare. - -Everything was spoilt by Mr Emmett's presence. From the first moment -he had impressed her disagreeably; that impression grew with each hour -that she spent in his near neighbourhood. The trouble was that it was -so hard to get away from him. He would have her sit beside him on that -front seat; ignoring utterly her reiterated requests to be allowed to -sit behind. During the first days they motored continually; stopping -in the daytime only to eat and drink--principally, so it seemed to -Dorothy, where Mr Emmett was concerned, for the latter. The quantity -he drank amazed and frightened her; always, when night fell, he had -drunk too much. During the day the liquor he consumed had an unhappy -effect upon his driving. He was quick enough to perceive that he had -not inspired the girl with sentiments of affection; and this he -resented. But, instead of setting himself to get the better of any -distaste she might have for him, he seemed to take a malicious -pleasure in paying her out for entertaining a feeling of the kind. -Discovering that she felt a not unnatural girlish timidity in her new -position as passenger on a motor car, he went out of his way to -increase instead of lessen it, so that, before long, her timidity -became actual terror. Nearly always he took the car along at what -appeared to her to be a dangerous speed; as the day advanced, and the -drinks multiplied, the speed grew more. At first she remonstrated, -feebly enough; but he only laughed, and pressed the car still faster. -Afterwards she sat silent; but she could not prevent her cheeks from -turning white, or her mouth from shutting tighter. When he saw these -signs he delighted in taking risks which made her heart stand still. -One afternoon he knocked down a child in a village street on the other -side of Blois. At first, in her agony, she thought it was killed; but -it appeared that only its arm was broken. When the people came -flocking round he gave the parents two thousand francs in bank-notes; -one could not but feel that they would have been willing to have their -own arms broken on those terms. He was lavish enough with his money. -They spent that night in Tours. The next day he offered her a wad of -notes, and suggested that she should go into the town and provide -herself with a sufficient wardrobe. She had not realised till lately -how scanty it really was; continual travelling made drains on her -resources which she found it hard to meet. But he offered her cash in -a way which jarred on her every nerve; she would not buy herself -clothes with money which came from him. When she made this clear to -him he called her an adjectived fool; and broke into a torrent of -language from which she fled in terror. - -At Lyons he tried to kiss her; whereat she burst into a frenzy of rage -which surprised herself, and startled him. It was in the hall of the -hotel after dinner, just as she was going up to bed; always, so soon -as dinner was over, she went straight to her room. Billson, the -chauffeur, happened to enter at the moment, to get orders for the -morrow. Emmett, turning, saw him grinning at his discomfiture. - -"By----!" he cried, eager to vent his fury on someone. "If you don't -take care I'll kill you!" - -But Billson never flinched; and he continued to grin. He was a -shortish, youngish man, with a white, clean-shaven face, and black -hair, which he wore parted in the middle. He seemed to have a gift for -silence; Dorothy had hardly heard him speak a dozen times. She had a -feeling that, for some cause, his master stood in awe of him. Although -he went on grinning, Mr Emmett made no attempt to carry out his -threat--at least, while she was flying up the stairs. - -They spent some days at Aix-les-Bains. There he made to her his first -proposal of marriage; he was in his cups at the time. To say that she -refused him is to say little. When she gained the sanctum of her own -apartment she was in an agony of shame and distress. Her dilemma was -not a pleasant one. It seemed to her that it was just as impossible to -remain in this man's company as it was to escape from it. She was -penniless, friendless. How was she to get away from him? To whom was -she to turn? Her ignorance was pitiable. For all she knew, his -position as her guardian gave him powers over her against which it was -vain to struggle. If she ran away from him, she thought it very -probable that he could compel her to return; in which case her last -plight would be worse than her first. Besides, with no money in her -pocket, where could she run? Despite her horror of the man, to her, in -her childlike ignorance, it seemed as if he had gripped her to him -with bonds of steel. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - THE CURTAIN - - -When they landed in England it was to her as if she had been for years -with Mr Emmett, and Billson, and the car; though, in reality, they had -only been associated for a very few weeks. She felt as if, during -those interminable weeks, the best of her life had gone from her, and -already she had grown old, before she was eighteen. She had forgotten -how to smile; at night she could not sleep; her head was always -aching; her nerves were in such a state of tension that she was -beginning to be afraid of the sound of her own voice; the world had -become to her a prison from which there was no way out. She had not -been to England since she was a small child; returning to it was like -coming a strange country. She would have forgotten her own tongue had -not so many of the girls in the convent been English. They went up to -town on the inevitable motor; on the way she kept looking about her -with eyes which, in spite of herself, would grow dim. She had often -dreamed of the journey she would make, one day, to London; she had -never dreamed that it would be like this. They put up that night in a -huge railway station hotel. On the morrow, for once, they parted -company with the motor; Mr Emmett took her with him to a midland town -by rail. Some race meeting was on; Dorothy had a hazy notion that her -guardian had something to do with horses and with racing: it was a -subject of which she had heard him speaking more than once. Some -horsey acquaintances travelled with him in the same compartment; they -played bridge all the way, to Dorothy's relief; she was glad that they -should do anything which would keep them from speaking to her. - -Mr Emmett took apartments at the principal hotel. There, in the -private sitting-room, after a _tête-à-tête_ dinner, he proposed to her -again. He was more sober than he sometimes was at that hour; perhaps, -on that account, he expressed himself with a clearness which she found -appalling. In various fashions he had asked her again and again to -marry him since that first time at Aix-les-Bains. She had begun to -understand that not only was he a man who would not take No for an -answer, but also that he was not likely to stick at anything which -would enable him to gain an end he had in view. If she had had any -doubts upon that latter point they were dissipated then. He did not so -much ask her to be his wife, as tell her that she would have to be his -wife; informing her, with complete candour, that if she was not an -utter fool she would grasp that fact without any further fuss and -nonsense. He added that, when she was his wife, he would give her a -good time--an A1 time. There wasn't a better-natured fellow going, if -you rubbed him the right way, nor a more generous one--he would give -his wife all she wanted, and more, if she was only nice to him--that -was all he wanted her to be--nice to him. He had sacks full of -money--ask anyone who knew George Emmett if he was a poor man. Why, he -thought nothing of lending anyone twenty or thirty thousand pounds, if -the security was decent--that was all he asked, decent security; and, -he went on with a grin, a chance of making cent. per cent. He might -tell her, in confidence, that he had his fingers round the throats of -more people than anyone had an idea of--all sorts of people, some of -them the highest in the land. He never talked; even when he was drunk -he kept his tongue off delicate subjects; but if he were to talk he -could mention names, male and female, which would make her sit up -straight. There was scarcely a man or woman who had anything to do -with horses who did not sometimes find himself, or herself, in a tight -corner about settling day. Those were the times they came to him. The -number of services he had rendered of that kind--well, they'd fill a -book. Everybody knew Georgie Emmett was a friend in need when a bad -settlement had to be faced. He winked, and Dorothy shuddered. - -Knocking off the ash from his cigar he filled himself another glass of -champagne. If she had only had the courage she would have sprung from -her chair and rushed from the room; but just then all her courage -seemed to have deserted her. This man seemed to have for her the -fascination which a snake is said to have for the victim it proposes -to swallow. The worst of it was that, despite herself, his influence -over her seemed to be momentarily increasing, as if he were weaving a -spell which, as it proceeded, placed her more and more at his mercy. - -It was not, he went on, as if her father was anything, or anyone. He -was not one to say a word to a child against her father, but she had -only to think of how he had treated her to know what sort he was. What -kind of a parent had he been to her? How often had he written to her? -How many times had he been to see her? What had he ever given her? -What had he ever done for her? He dare bet that the bills he had paid -for her keep in the convent had been paid with other people's money. -There was no disguising the fact that Bully Gilbert was a regular -rip--and there it was. Not only had she not got a penny of her own, -but she had no right to the clothes she stood up in--and pretty things -they were to call clothes. Let her say the word, and she should have -the run of the Rue de la Paix; then she'd know what clothes were. Why, -as things stood, there wasn't a chambermaid in that hotel who wasn't -in a better position than she was ever likely to be, if she was left -to herself. And yet here he was, ready and willing to marry her. He'd -get a special licence tomorrow; or, if she liked, he'd have the banns -put up in church--any church she chose to name; though, for his part, -he never could see what was the pull in going to church to be married. -She might take a long day's walk without meeting one woman who -wouldn't snatch at the chance of getting him; women of birth, and with -money in their pockets too. What he saw in her, hanged if he knew -himself; but he did see something. The first moment he set eyes on her -he'd made up his mind he'd marry her--that's why he took her away from -that adjectived convent--and marry her he would. So what was the use -of talking? Men and women were curious creatures. The sooner she said -Yes the more comfortable it would be for everyone. So she wasn't to be -silly, but was to come and kiss him, and sit on his knee, and he'd put -a prettier ring on her finger than she had ever dreamed of seeing -there. Here it was--what did she think of it? - -From a small leather case he took a ring which was set with diamonds; -holding it out, moving it so that as the lights fell on it from -different angles the stones sparkled and gleamed; luring her with it -as an angler tries to lure a fish with the bait which hides the hooks. -She sat, her slender body pressed against the back of her chair, -gripping the sides of it with both hands, looking at him with staring, -hopeless eyes. All the strength seemed to have gone from her, as if -this man had drawn it all out of her, as out of a well, and left her -dry. His vitality was crushing hers; in the fight to hold her own she -was beaten; she knew it, and the knowledge was agony. She felt that -presently he would only have to hold up his finger, and what he bade -her do, that she would have to do. He continued to twiddle the diamond -ring between his great fingers; dilating on its various beauties; -dwelling on all that it would mean when it was in its place upon her -hand; and each moment she expected that he would order her to go to -him, and let him brand her with it as with a stigma which might never -be effaced. What would happen if such an order were given she could -not, dared not, think. While she still awaited it there came a tapping -at the door; a waiter entered. - -"A gentleman, sir, to see you." - -Mr Emmett turned towards him angrily. - -"A gentleman? What gentleman? I'm not going to see anyone -to-night--whoever it is, tell him to go to the devil." - -The waiter held out to him an envelope which was on a silver tray. - -"Gentleman told me to give you that, sir." - -Tearing the envelope open Mr Emmett read what was on a half-sheet of -paper which was within; then he crumpled it up, and swore. - -"Confound him! What's the hurry? Why won't the morning do? Tell him -I'm coming down to him." - -The waiter went. Mr Emmett looked again at Dorothy, still sitting as -if she were glued to the back of her chair; replacing the ring in its -leather case, he made as if to return it to his waistcoat pocket; -then, suddenly changing his mind, he called out: "Come here!" She did -not move; but clung tighter to her seat. He laughed, as if amused by -her obvious fear of him. "You little idiot! Of what are you afraid? -There'll come a time when you'll not need any calling; and you'll come -uninvited, and perhaps when I don't want you. I know you women; you're -like badly trained dogs. When you're whistled to heel you'll not come; -but when you're not whistled you keep messing about a man till he -feels like giving you a dose of prussic acid. Very well, don't come; -I'll come to you." He went to her, at the other end of the table. -"Give me your hand!" He took it, her left; she offering no resistance, -but looking up at him with a great terror in her eyes. On the third -finger he slipped the ring. "There!--that's in token that you're mine; -you're as much my property now as if we'd been together to church; and -don't you forget it. There's a fool downstairs who wants to see me; -and, as he is a fool, he shall; but I'm not going to let him keep me; -I shall probably be back inside ten minutes, and mind I find you here -when I do come back. None of your games--going to bed, or any of that -rot; if you do I'll fetch you down again. There are all sorts of -things I want to talk to you about, before you think of bed; I want -you to show that you can be nice to me; and that you can treat me as a -girl ought to treat the man who's going to be her husband--especially -a husband who's going to give her the best time a girl ever did have. -So you understand?--I'm to find you here when I return." He moved a -step or two away; then halted. "I ought to have a kiss--a man ought -to have a kiss from his girl, when he gives her the ring; but that -sort of thing won't spoil with keeping--there'll be interest to -collect--I'll take a couple when I come back." - -He went. She sat staring at the door through which he had passed, his -last horrid threat ringing in her ears. He would take a couple when he -came back; and she was to stay there till he came to take them, with -that dreadful ring scarring the flesh on her finger. She felt sure -that it was being scarred; it certainly burned. Yet she did not dare -to take it off; although he was gone she was still afraid of him. A -curious paralysis seemed to have attacked her limbs. She remained -motionless for some seconds after he had left her, her hand stretched -out, staring at his ring. When she moved it was with an effort; when -she gained her feet she had to hold on to the back of the chair, to -aid her to stand. - -What was she to do? She tried to think; as she had tried so often of -late; her brain, like her muscles, played her false; clear thought was -beyond her. One thing she realised--that she must not be there when he -came back; in spite--because--of what he had said. Yet how was she to -avoid being there? He had told her that if she went to bed he would -fetch her back again; and she believed him. Once, at a hotel in -France, he had made a great clatter at her room door; and was only -prevented by practically the entire staff of the establishment from -breaking it down. Somehow she felt that that night nothing would keep -him from having her out of her room again, if she disobeyed his -command, and fled to it. But, if she did not, what was she to do, -where was she to go, so that she might not be there when he came back? -Again and again, in France, had she meditated flight; only the -conviction that the result would be fiasco had restrained her. Was she -more likely to succeed, here, in England? Even through her mental haze -a feeling was borne in upon her that in that direction lay her only -hope. If she could only put a descent distance between herself and him -she might escape him altogether. The point was, could she? An idea -occurred to her--the railway. The first time in her life, so far as -she remembered, she had, that day, been in a train. She had, of -course, read about trains; she had even seen them; the probability was -that she had been brought in one to the convent. But, in those days, -she was a toddling child; she had certainly not been in one since. Mr -Emmett had brought her in one from London. Then why should she not go -alone in one, if not back to London, then at least to some place, a -long way off, where she would be beyond his reach. - -No sooner had the notion occurred to her than she started to put it -into practice; and was already moving towards the door when a second -reflection held her back. Mr Emmett had bought a ticket, with money. -She was not so ignorant as not to be aware that railways were not -public highways; that one could not travel in a train without a -ticket; which had to be paid for, in advance with cash. She had seen -Mr Emmett pay for two tickets--one for her, and one for himself. They -would not let her get into a train without a ticket; how was she to -pay for it? She was confronted, as before, in the midst of her wild -desire to flee, by her eternal lack of pence--that insuperable -barrier. She had had no regular pocket-money at the convent like the -other girls; their parents either sent them cash direct, or made -arrangements with the Sisters. Occasionally, on saints' days, she was -given a sou to put into the box; but, as a rule, she was without even -that humble coin. Never having known what it was to have money she did -not miss it; there were no temptations to spend; her modest wants were -supplied. It was only when she set out through the world with her -guardian that it began to dawn upon her what an important part money -played in the affairs of men, and women. She had no idea how much cash -would be required to purchase a ticket; she took it for granted that -the more she paid the farther the ticket would take her; the mischief -was that she had no money at all--not even a paltry _sou_. - -How was she to get money? From where? She looked about her. Dessert -was still upon the table; there were knives and forks; other articles -which were possibly of silver; but they were not coin of the realm; -though she had a vague idea that they might be turned into it. How the -transformation might be effected was a problem which was beyond her -altogether. She had sense enough to know that it would be no use -proffering a handful of silver ware in exchange for a ticket. - -In that moment of her desperation, if she had only known where money -was to be had, she would have made free with it, if the thing were -possible, even without the owner's sanction, oblivious of any -consequences which her action might entail; being persuaded that no -worse fate could befall her than that that man should find her still -in the room when he came back. Spurred by this conviction she was -about to rush forth and seek for money, she knew not where nor how; -already her fingers were near the handle, when she heard footsteps -approaching on the other side. He was coming back. In the frenzy of -her terror it was all she could do to keep herself from screaming. She -glanced behind her, as a mouse might do which is caught in a trap, and -knows that its doom is approaching. There was a recessed window on one -side of the room. She had watched the waiter draw the heavy curtains -across the recess as he lit the lights. She went flying towards it; -gained it; had just slipped behind the curtain as the door of the room -was opened. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - THE COWARD - - -The curtains were so thick, and were drawn so close, that in the -recess it was nearly pitch dark. Only in one place did the lights of -the room shine through. That was where the stuff had worn so thin that -only a few threads remained. But for some seconds Dorothy was -unconscious both of the darkness and the light; she was conscious of -nothing. She scarcely dared to breathe; she did not dare to move; -though she trembled so that she had to lean against the side of the -recess to keep herself from collapsing in a heap upon the floor. Each -moment she expected that the curtains would be drawn aside and her -hiding-place discovered. She felt sure that Mr Emmett's sharp eyes -must have seen them moving as he entered the room. As the moments -passed and the curtains remained untouched, she began to wonder. Was -he playing with her? Knowing well where she was, had he seated himself -at the table; proposing to sit there drinking, till she was tired of -pretending to hide, or till it pleased him to drag her out? She was -sufficiently acquainted with his disposition to be aware that that -kind of sport amused him. If he thought that she was shivering behind -those curtains, he would let her go on shivering, ever more and more, -until it suited him to play some sudden trick which might cause her to -tumble in a nerveless heap on the floor. If he could succeed in -bringing her to that pitch, his sense of humour would be tickled; he -would enjoy the joke. - -Thinking that might be the meaning of his non-interference she had -half made up her mind to reveal herself, and so spoil his sport, when, -on a sudden, she became conscious that a voice was speaking--a strange -voice, which was not Mr Emmett's. Then Mr Emmett spoke. Then the voice -again. What did it mean? She listened. It is a sufficient commentary -upon her mental and physical condition to state that until that -instant she had heard nothing. Yet, so soon as she began to listen, it -became obvious that the speakers must have been talking together for, -at anyrate, some little time; and that in tones which, to say the -least, were audible. - -Dorothy presumed that, after all, Mr Emmett had not noticed the -quivering curtains, and had taken her disappearance for granted. If he -had made a remark on it, it had been a passing one; clearly she was -not the subject of the conversation which he was carrying on with the -stranger. What they were talking about she did not know, but it became -each second plainer that it was a matter on which they were both of -them very much in earnest. If they were not actually quarrelling they -were very near to it. The language which was being used on both sides -was warm; the stranger was addressing Mr Emmett in terms which were -the reverse of complimentary, and which Mr Emmett was vigorously -resenting. His resentment seemed to add flame to the stranger's anger. - -All at once there came something into his tone which struck the unseen -listener's ear. She had become conscious of the ray of light which -penetrated her hiding-place. Moving gingerly, so as to avoid coming -into contact with the hangings, she approached her face to the worn -place in the curtains. It was worn so bare that the few threads which -remained formed scarcely any obstruction to the view; she could see -through quite easily. The scene on the other side was clearly -revealed; she saw the two actors in it as well as if the curtain had -not been there. The stranger was a young man, possibly a year or two -on the shady side of forty. He was tall, and held himself straighter -than some tall men are apt to do. His chest was broad; he held his -shoulders well back; about the whole man there was a suggestion of -strength. His head was square, and was poised easily upon a rounded -throat. He had an odd, clever-looking face, a fine, open brow. His -eyes, which were rather small, were wide apart. His mouth was large, -but his lips were thin, and shut so closely that when, in silence, he -looked at Mr Emmett, only a slender red line was visible to show that -a mouth was there. His black hair, parted on one side, was a little in -disorder, some of it straggled over his forehead. Disorder, indeed, -was the dominant note of the man. As she watched him the girl had a -feeling that he was too much moved by some inward excitement to be -over-particular about the small niceties of his attire. His tie was a -little crooked; his jacket had a lopsided air. - -Ordinarily the expression of his queer-looking face was probably a -pleasant one; there was that about it which hinted that, in a general -way, the man's outlook on to life was that of a humorist. But there -was little pleasant about it then, or humorous either. It was not -likely that his complexion ever was his strongest feature--at that -moment it had a peculiar pallor which was singularly unattractive. -Like many dark men, evidently nature had meant him to have a strong -beard. His cheeks and chin and upper lip were shaven, but apparently -that day they had not known the razor. In consequence they were of a -bluish tint, which was in ghastly harmony with the almost unnatural -colour of his skin. The appearance of the man fascinated the girl who -was peeping at him from behind the curtain, as if he realised some -picture which, in some occult fashion, had unwittingly been present in -her mind, of a man in a rage. His pose; his attitude; his disordered -attire; something which looked out of his eyes; the obvious mental -agitation which caused his countenance to wear that singular hue; the -gleam of scarlet which was all that marked his tightly closed mouth; -the ominous fashion in which, while standing perfectly still, he never -took his glance from off the man in front of him--although she might -not have been able to put the thing into words, everything about him -spoke to the sensitive imagination of the girl of one who, for a very -little, would throw everything aside in the fullness of his desire to -gratify the lust of his rage. - -The man in front of him was angry too; but with him anger took a -different form: his was rather bad temper than genuine passion. It had -about it a suggestion of bluster, of effort; as if he would have liked -to be more angry than he actually was. Beyond doubt he was -sufficiently annoyed with the stranger; so annoyed that he was quite -willing to do him a mischief; to knock him down, for instance; even to -throw him from the room. Yet, disposed as he evidently was to be as -disagreeable as he could be, his rage altogether lacked that quality -of intensity, of white heat, which marked the other; the something -which caused the girl, when she appreciated, though only vaguely, the -scene which was being enacted before her, to feel that it would be -well that, at the earliest possible moment, she should make her -presence known, for Mr Emmett's protection. - -There, in those last four words, was the barrier which held her back. -Had it been borne in upon her, in even the faintest degree, that, for -the stranger's sake, it would be well that she should step out from -behind that screen, she might have done it on the instant. But for Mr -Emmett--no! In some odd way the stranger's rage communicated itself to -her. The terror with which her guardian had imbued her began to change -into resentment. As she observed the stranger his fury fired hers. As -surely as she believed herself to have a just cause for anger, so -surely was she persuaded of the justice of the stranger's anger also. -She was convinced that Emmett was in the wrong. That she arrived at -this conclusion from very inadequate premises was nothing; from what -she had seen of Mr Emmett she was prepared to assert, offhand, without -knowing anything of the facts, that in nine disputes out of ten he was -in the wrong--that this was one of those nine she did not for an -instant doubt. - -What they were talking about she did not understand. When she began -really to listen there was nothing in their conversation to give her a -definite clue; they had reached that stage when, like two dogs, they -were disposed to do little but bark at each other. The stranger -informed Mr Emmett, after a brief pause, as if for reflection, -that he was a thief. Mr Emmett paused, in his turn; then assailed the -stranger with a flood of vituperation which was characteristic of the -man--there was such a redundance of offensive suggestions. Dorothy -felt as if each one of them had been aimed at her; with each her -choler rose; just, as she was sure, the stranger's rose also. An -uncanny desire came to the tips of her fingers to grip the speaker by -the throat and choke an apology out of him. She would have liked to -see the stranger do it; with all her might she longed to inspire him -with her feeling. Presently she realised that he had it on his own -account, without any urging from her. When Emmett had finished he -remained still, motionless; never once removing his eyes from the -other's inflamed features. Then he said, more quietly than he had -spoken before--there was something in his lowered tone which pleased -the girl behind the curtain-- - -"Would you mind repeating those observations?--or, if that is not -convenient, the substance of them?" - -Dorothy heard the threat which the words conveyed more clearly than if -he had yelled it out. It is possible, since he was not dull-witted, -that Mr Emmett heard it too. If such was the case then it seemed that, -at least, he was no coward; for, with complete sincerity, he treated -the other with contempt which was even more galling than his words. -Thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets; holding his great head a -little on one side; looking at the other as if he were something -altogether beneath his notice; laughing that brutal laugh of his, -which had hurt the girl more than speech could do; he began at him -again. He poured forth on him a stream of abusive epithets, with a -lavish copiousness which showed how truly great was the wealth of his -resources; he surpassed himself. There was not a vice which he did not -attribute both to him and to his progenitors; if the tenth of what he -said was true then this man was a wretch indeed. When he had finished, -at least for the moment, he laughed--a second time. The laugh did what -his insults had failed to do--it moved the other to action. He -remained quiescent before the opprobrious torrent; but that laughter -surpassed the limit of his endurance. Still with his eyes fixed on the -other's face he reached out towards the champagne bottle which stood -beside him on the table. Mr Emmett, perceiving his intention, made -haste to intercept it. He too moved towards the table. - -"No, you don't!" he cried. But already the other's fingers were round -the bottle's neck. "By----, you'll be sorry if you try that, you----!" - -While he still was vomiting adjectives the bottle swung into the air; -Dorothy saw that as it was turned upside down some of its contents -went down the stranger's sleeve. Mr Emmett tried to stop it, and did, -with his head. As he endeavoured to grab the other's arm, the -stranger, swerving, brought the heavy bottle down upon his unprotected -head with murderous force. The head and the bottle were smashed -together; even then Dorothy was struck by the difference there was -between the two sounds, the breaking of the bottle, and the breaking -of the head. Mr Emmett and the bottle vanished together, with -something of the effect of a conjuring trick. Mr Emmett disappeared -behind the table; all that was left of the bottle was an inch or two -of splintered glass, which the stranger still gripped. The result -appeared to surprise him. He looked down at the floor on the side of -the table which was hidden from Dorothy, and continued to look, as if -he saw something there which was beyond his comprehension. Then he -looked at the splinter of glass, which was all that was left of the -bottle; approaching it to his face, as if to enable him to see it -better. As he looked at it he smiled; and he said, as if he were -speaking to himself, though his words were distinctly audible to -Dorothy: - -"My word! if it hadn't smashed!" His glance returned to the floor. He -spoke again. "Emmett!" None replied. Something in the silence seemed -to tickle him, because he both smiled and spoke again. "It seems it -held out long enough." He observed the broken splinter with what -appeared to be amused curiosity. After seeming to hesitate what to do -with it he placed it carefully on the table, splintered end upwards. -Then again he spoke. "Emmett!" When there was still no answer he bent -over what he saw lying on the floor. Presently he kneeled. Dorothy -could not see what he was doing with his hands; she did not need to -see; she knew. When he rose it was with difficulty; his arms were -about Mr Emmett; he raised him with them. As Mr Emmett did nothing to -raise himself, since he was such a heavy man, the stranger had not an -easy task. When he had regained his own feet he was holding his burden -closer to him than could have been quite convenient. It was with -curious sensations that the unseen witness observed how limp her -guardian was; his head waggled with the stranger's every movement, as -if the muscles of the neck refused to hold it up. Staggering forward, -the stranger deposited Mr Emmett on the chair on which he had been -seated at dinner. The effect was singular. It was an old wooden -arm-chair, with a capacious seat, and a high back. Mr Emmett could -not be induced to sit up straight. The stranger made one or two -well-meaning efforts; but the results were not so satisfactory as his -labours deserved. Mr Emmett would persist in assuming a lop-sided -attitude: his chin on his chest, his body in a variety of curves, his -arms hanging anyhow. Realising that it was futile to try to induce him -to take up a more dignified position, apparently the stranger decided -to let him stop as he was. He drew back a little, as if the better to -observe the effect. The spectacle he offered seemed to move him to -reflection, and reflection to speech. He said, out loud: "If ever -there was a scoundrel----" and then stopped, leaving the sentence -unfinished; possibly recalling the old school tag, which recommends us -to say objectionable things of our friends only while they are living. -A cloth cap, a cane, and a pair of gloves were lying on a side table. -Turning away, taking up these three articles, the stranger moved -briskly towards the door, and out of the room, never once looking back -at what was on the chair. - -And Dorothy was left alone with her guardian. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - THE MAN IN THE CHAIR - - -It was only then that the full meaning of what had taken place began -to dawn upon Dorothy. It was only when the door had been opened and -shut, and the stranger was gone, that she commenced to realise what -kind of a drama this was which had been enacted before her eyes; that -it was not a comedy, but a tragedy; in which the most tragic part was -probably still to come. It was odd how silent it was when the stranger -had gone. Unconsciously she had found comfort in his neighbourhood, -his presence. When that was withdrawn, only the unspeakable remained. - -Not the least terrible part of it was that, so soon as it became clear -to her that she really was alone, she could not take her eyes off the -figure in the chair. She would have given more than she had ever had -if Mr Emmett would only have moved; if only he would make some effort -to alter what must be a position of such obvious discomfort. Though -she had come to regard him almost as if he were the bad ogre of some -fairy tale, at that moment she would rather he should do anything than -keep so still; she was more afraid of him dead than alive; especially -as each instant the feeling oppressed her more and more that he was -dead because of her. Actually--practically--it was she who had killed -him. If she had only made her presence known; if she had only moved; -if she had only uttered a sound--the thing would not have been done -which had been done; of that she was assured. That, morally, she was -an accomplice in this man's killing, she knew, if no one else did. -From the moment in which she had discovered the stranger in the room, -and had begun to watch, and to listen, she had seen the coming event -casting its shadow before; she knew that now, as she had known it -then. Some instinct had told her that the fury which possessed the -stranger was of the sort which, to use a phrase, makes a man "see -red"; that because of him Mr Emmett was in danger--although Mr Emmett -himself had not suspected it, she knew. She had seen it in the -stranger's face, in his manner; she had felt it in the air. - -Not only had she had, in a sense, the prophetic vision, she had -rejoiced to have it. She herself had had such a loathing for the man, -had stood in such terror of him, that when that queer instinct began -to tell her that it was quite within the range of possibility that the -stranger might act as executioner the blood began to run pleasurably -faster through her veins. Expectation became desire; she waited -eagerly for him to strike the blow; knowing, before it came, that it -was coming. Was that not to be his accomplice? Her hope had been that -he would do what she felt he was about to do; although she might have -stayed him with the movement of a finger she had given no sign. It was -useless for her to tell herself that she had not expected that he -would actually kill him: perhaps the stranger himself had not meant -actually to kill him. She had foreseen that he would probably assail -him with violence; and had been willing that he should use what -violence he chose. A little more--a little less--what did it matter? -Only in the event of the stranger getting the worst of it would she -have interposed; she would not have cared how much worsted Mr Emmett -might have been. The proof that he had been worsted was there before -her, in the chair. The result being, so far as she herself was -concerned, that, as has been said, she was more afraid of him dead -than alive. - -How long, after she was left alone with her guardian, she remained -motionless behind that curtain, she never knew. Before, while the -drama was being acted, she would not have revealed herself on any -account, lest she should balk the principal player; now her capacity -to do so seemed to have left her. It was so still in the room that she -dared not disturb the silence. She kept her eyes fastened to that bare -place, looking at what she could not help but look; motionless, -scarcely breathing; as if some form of paralysis had riveted her in -that one position. But, by degrees, in spite of the horror which held -her, there did come to her some dim appreciation of the fact that she -could not stay there all night; for ever. She would have to leave her -hiding-place some time, and show herself to the figure in the chair. -The necessity was a terrible one; but it was a necessity; therefore, -the sooner she came out from behind that curtain the sooner the ordeal -would be over; only let her be sure to go as softly as she could; so -that, making no noise, none might hear her. With this idea of moving -quietly she lifted her hand to part the curtains, and had just -insinuated her fingers between them when the door was opened, and her -hand fell back. - -Her first impression was, as she saw the door swinging back upon its -hinges, that it was probably the stranger, who had come back to do she -knew not what. But the person who actually entered was the waiter. His -appearance made her conscious of a sense of shock; she began to shiver -all over; though the strange thing was, not that he should come in -when he did, but that he should not have come before. - -This was not one of your foreign waiters; plainly he was English to -the core--an elderly man, with grey hair, slight side-whiskers, a -stoop, and that air of deprecation which comes to some waiters, -possibly because they spend so much of their time in considering the -wishes of others without reference to their own. A decorous person; -possibly one of the institutions of the house. His professional attire -was in better condition than it is apt to be; there was a suggestion -about him of unusual cleanliness, even his hands seemed decently kept; -the napkin which he carried over his arm was spotless. Apparently he -had taken it for granted that, since the meal must have been long -since over, the diners had departed, and that therefore it was not -necessary to knock. He paused at the door for a moment to look about -him. Mr Emmett was hidden by the broad high back of the chair on which -he was sitting. After his momentary hesitation, seeing no one, the -waiter moved forward with the peculiar gait which comes to waiters -after performing, for many years, balancing feats with plates and -dishes. He had not only reached the table, he had begun to gather -together the dessert plates, before he saw Mr Emmett--in his surprise -he nearly dropped a plate. - -"I beg your pardon, sir, for not noticing you before, but I'd no -idea----" He stopped short, as if struck by the singularity of the -gentleman's attitude. "I hope, sir, that nothing's happened----" Again -he stopped, perceiving that something indeed had happened. His bearing -changed, his voice dropped. "I do believe----" Leaving his sentences -unfinished appeared, with him, to amount to a habit; he stopped again. -Raising his left hand, with his fingers he rubbed his bristly chin, -delivering himself of a complete sentence at last: "Well, I never -did!" To an outsider the words might not have conveyed much meaning; -they seemed to convey enough meaning to him. Then came the half of a -query. "Whatever is----" - -He got no further; seeming to be in a state of such perturbation that, -for the time, he had lost his wits. He stood staring at the man in the -chair as an anxious rabbit might look at a fox which it is not sure is -dead. Suddenly he seemed to make up his mind what was the best thing -for him to do. He went hustling towards the door; when he reached it -he checked himself as if seized with an idea. What the idea was was -made plain when he took the key out of the lock, opened the door, and, -as Dorothy could hear, locked it again on the outside. And again she -was left alone with her guardian. - -This time her sensations were worse than before: she was being -punished for her share in what had been done. She became awake to the -fact that with that door locked--and egress, therefore, rendered -impossible--her position had become a most unpleasant one. No doubt -the waiter, declining, wisely enough, to accept more responsibility -than he could help, had gone to tell the news to someone. Soon that -someone would come back with the waiter; the news would be passed on, -sooner or later, to the police. The girl had, of course, no actual -knowledge of the procedure in such cases; she knew more about French -methods than English, but she had sufficient intelligence to be aware -that, ultimately, the police would appear upon the scene. If she was -unable to escape before they came, as, if each time someone went out -of the room, the door was locked, would be the case--and the police -found her there behind the curtain--what would happen to her then? -What conclusions would they draw? - -The terror of such a prospect moved her to action--or, at least, to -attempted action. Was there no other way of getting out of the room -except by the door? She turned to the window which was behind her. -Drawing aside the blind she found that it was set with small panes of -coloured glass. She was quick-witted enough to guess that that was -probably because it looked out upon a stable or a yard, or something -equally agreeable; and therefore a good view was a thing not to be -desired. If that were the case then to attempt to escape that way -would be to court discovery. Besides, she remembered that the room was -on the first floor, that the approach from the hall was up a flight of -several stairs; whatever might be on the other side of that window, it -was not likely that it would be easy to reach the ground. Was there no -other way out of the room? She thrust the curtains aside to look--and -heard the key being put into the lock of the door. - -She was back again behind the curtain when the door reopened, and the -waiter reappeared, with, at his heels, somebody who was evidently a -personage. A short, cobby man, middle-aged, wearing a gloire de Dijon -rose in the buttonhole of his frock-coat, about him a general air of -being well groomed. The waiter moved quickly towards the table, the -other following close behind him. When they reached the chair the -waiter said nothing; it was unnecessary; the other saw. What he saw -seemed to impress him with a sense of having been subjected to a -personal affront. He asked pettishly: - -"What's the meaning of this?" Receiving no answer--the waiter was -again stroking his bristly chin with the fingers of his left hand, -with about him still that suggestion of the anxious rabbit--he -addressed himself to the figure in the chair. "Mr Emmett! Sir!" No -notice being taken he repeated his former futile inquiry: "What the -deuce does this mean?" Then he added, as if the notion had all at once -occurred to him: "He's dead!" - -"I'm afraid he is, sir." - -The personage went on from discovery to discovery. - -"He couldn't have done it himself--look at his head--he couldn't have -smashed it like that--someone must have done it for him." - -"Looks as if that were the case, sir." - -"Then who can have done it?--in my hotel; with the house full of -people; in a private sitting-room; seated at his own dinner-table! -What have you been doing?" - -"Several things; there have been a great many things, sir, to do, with -the house so busy. I've seen and heard nothing of what was taking -place in this room since I came to say there was a gentleman wished to -see him." - -"A gentleman? What gentleman?" - -"That I couldn't say, sir. A message and a note were brought to me; -which I brought in to Mr Emmett; and he went out to see the -gentleman." - -"Went out, did he? He didn't bring the gentleman in here?" - -"Not so far as I am aware, sir. They ought to be able to tell you -better about that downstairs." - -The personage was looking about him. - -"What's all this broken glass?--and what's that?" - -He was pointing to the splintered neck of the bottle which the -stranger had left on the table. - -"Seems, sir, as if a bottle had been broken." - -"A champagne bottle--perhaps----" The personage looked at the waiter; -the waiter looked at him. Possibly it was because of what each saw in -the other's eyes that the speaker left his sentence unfinished. He -broke into petulant anger. "Nice thing this is to happen in my house -right at the beginning of the race week, about the only time in the -year when one does have a chance of making a little money--goodness -only knows what mischief it may do me when it gets known. Who's that -at the door? Shut it at once! You can't come in here!" - -It seemed that someone could come in, because someone did--a woman. -She was what is sometimes described as a fine woman, still in the -prime of life; big and well covered, she would probably have turned -the scale at sixteen stone. She wore a black silk dress, which had a -generous train; her ample bust glittered with chains and gewgaws. -Unmistakably this was the hostess, the personage's wife. She stood in -the doorway. - -"What's the matter?" she asked. - -"First of all, Mrs Elsey, be so good as to shut that door. Then, when -you've done that, if you'll take the trouble to walk as far as this, -you will see what is the matter for yourself." - -Shutting the door, she walked to the table--and saw. - -"Why, whatever! Good gracious! Who's done it?" - -"Seems as if someone had--by the looks of him." - -"Bob!--what a sight he is! Goodness knows he never was much in the way -of looks, but who'd have thought he ever could have looked like that? -Don't you know who did it?" - -"I'd make it hot for him if I did--doing a thing like this in my -house, in my busiest season!" - -"There's plenty who might have done it--plenty. No one ever had much -love for him--and small blame to them. Why I only heard, with my own -ears, a man say to him this afternoon: 'By God, Emmett, for two pins, -I'd have your life'--sounded as if he meant it too." - -"Perhaps someone gave him the two pins." - -This was the waiter. Whether the remark was meant to be humorous, or -merely a suggestion, was not clear. No one heeded him. The personage -went on: - -"What man was that? Be careful what you say, Mrs Elsey." - -"No need for you to tell me to be careful; I can be that without your -telling me--as careful as anyone. What I say I heard I did hear--I'm -ready to swear to it anywhere, though who the man was I don't know; he -was a stranger to me--but I should know him again among a hundred. He -was a smallish man, with a sharp, clean-shaven face, and a brown suit, -and a white billycock, which he wore a little on one side--he'd -something to do with horses, of that I'm sure. But he's not the only -one who had a grudge against George Emmett. Who, who had anything to -do with him, hadn't? Why, if it comes to that, we'd no cause to love -him." - -"Now, Mrs Elsey, none of that sort of talk, if you please; that's a -sort of talk I won't have. It doesn't follow that because a man has a -grudge against another man he wants to kill him." - -"Doesn't it? It depends on the man. But whatever did he do it with? I -never saw such a sight as he has made of him!" - -"Seems as if he did it with a bottle--a champagne bottle." - -"He must have hit him a crack, to make a sight of him like that--why, -his head's all smashed to pulp." - -"You can hit a man a crack with a champagne bottle, if you mean -business, and know how to. But this sort of thing won't do--the first -thing we've got to do is to send for the doctor and the police; and, -till they've been, nothing's to be touched; let them find things just -as we did, then they'll be able to draw their own conclusions, and -blame no one. So out you go, Mrs Elsey, and you too, Timmins, and I'll -lock the door, and keep it locked, and, Timmins, you hang about and -see that no one comes near; and, if you want to keep your place, mind -you don't say so much as a syllable to anyone about what's in here, -till I give you leave." - -It was not such an easy business as, possibly, the personage would -have wished, to induce his wife to leave the room: she evinced an -uncomfortable curiosity in the details of the scene of which the man -in the chair was such a gruesome centre; had she been left alone, she -might have pushed her curiosity beyond desirable limits. As it was, -her husband had to put his arm through hers, and positively lead her -from the room, she remonstrating as she went. So soon as she was out -the door was slammed, and the key turned on the other side. And once -more, for the third time, Dorothy Gilbert was left alone with her -guardian, from whom there seemed to be as little chance as ever of -escaping. It was by some ironical stroke of fate that he appeared to -guard her better dead than living. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - DOROTHY IS LEFT ALONE WITH HER - GUARDIAN FOR THE NIGHT - - -With the passing minutes the girl's plight took a different shape. -When she had first rushed behind that curtain it had been with a -childish desire to hide; to avoid the man who had threatened her with -kisses; and perhaps worse--for her maiden soul had warned her that he -was one who, if opportunity offered, would not stop at a little. In -sheer childish terror she had fled to the first refuge she could think -of; as if it were a refuge; as if, after an instant's search, he was -not sure to discover her hiding-place, and have her out. The advent of -the stranger if, in a way, it had saved her, had also complicated the -situation; it was not, then, so much discovery she had to fear, as -something it was not good to think of. Indeed, the situation was -reversed; because, had she then taken the initiative and discovered -herself, not only would she have been saved; but also Mr Emmett, and -the stranger. Too late she was beginning to realise that all three -were destroyed: the two living, and the one dead. Practically, in -killing Mr Emmett, the stranger had killed himself, and her. It might -turn out that he had done it actually. And in his action she was aware -that she had been an aider and abettor. So in remaining hidden she had -thrown away her own salvation. - -The position now, however, wore a different aspect. Her mental -faculties were more on the alert than they had been; as it seemed to -her, they kept coming and going; so that now she saw clearly, and now -not at all. So far as they enabled her to judge, now, again, her only -hope of immunity rested on her continuing undiscovered. If they found -her all sorts of dreadful consequences would immediately result. For -one thing they would quite probably accuse her of having had at least -a hand in her guardian's death, if she were not the actual assassin; -not unnaturally taking it for granted that her persistent concealment -could only have a criminal meaning. She could only disprove the -charge, if it could be disproved, by shifting the onus of guilt on to -the vanished stranger's shoulders. Already--though, as yet, the thing -might not be acknowledged to herself--in her heart she had arrived at -a final resolution that under no conceivable circumstances would she -bear witness against him. Happen what might; where, in this matter, he -was concerned she would be dumb. Although she had not formulated it in -so many words, she felt that, in what had been done, they had been -partners, even friends; that, though unwittingly, it had been done for -her. Therefore, if to prove her innocence, it should become necessary -to prove his guilt, her doom was sealed. In that case, so soon as they -drew aside the curtain, and found her behind it, her fate was sealed. - -It amazed her to think that she had not been discovered already. She -herself was so conscious of her imminent proximity to what had taken -place; was so well aware of how slender a protection that screen of -hanging drapery really was; that it bewildered her that she should -have played, with complete impunity, for so long the part of a -spy--and more. But the continuance of such impunity could not be -counted on. When the police came--and, possibly, they were already on -the threshold--the room would be searched for evidence. Then, in a -moment, her hiding-place would be revealed. She could not wait for -that; she must get away out of the room, before they came. But -how?--since the door was locked. - -Parting the curtains, she stepped out from between them, looking about -her eagerly for a key to the riddle. The wildest notions came into her -head. There was a sideboard at one end of the room, with a cupboard -beneath. It might not occur to them to look inside that cupboard; -might there not be room in it for her? A moment's consideration made -her doubt it. She might be able to squeeze herself into a small space; -but, compress herself as she might, she doubted if there would be room -for her inside that cupboard; even if it was empty, which was by no -means sure. Then there was the fireplace; but, though it was -old-fashioned, it was not a large one; she was pretty certain that she -would not be able to force herself up the chimney. But though she -crammed herself into the cupboard, or rammed herself up the flue, she -would still be little better off. That was not at all the sort of -thing she wanted. She would still be in the room: what she wanted -was to get out of the room. Plainly there were only two ways out of -it--the door, and the window. Since the door was locked, only the -window remained. - -Drawing back into the recess she turned towards the window; it would -have to be that way, since there was no other--though she threw -herself out of it. Getting inside the blind she tried to raise the -sash; it was immovable; obviously, it was fastened. She knew nothing -of English windows; this was the first she had seen, but she presumed -that it was meant to open. She searched for the fastening, above, -below, on either side; so far as she could learn, there was none; -apparently this window was a fraud--it was not meant to open. -Examining it more closely she saw that there was nothing on either -side to show that it was intended to be moved up and down; the paint -was unbroken; the thing was a fixture. - -The discovery startled her; was it an English custom to have no -practicable window in a room? Nothing which would admit fresh air? If -that were so, then, since the door was secured against her, beyond the -slightest shadow of a doubt, she was caught like a rat in a trap, and -only God could help her. She noticed that what looked like two wooden -handles were hung on the ends of cords on either side of this dummy -window, near the top of the sash. Did they mean anything? If they did, -what was it? She gripped the two on the right, and pulled; then the -two on the left, and pulled at them; nothing happened. Then she -perceived that one handle on either side was of dark, and the other of -light, wood; perhaps that might mean something. She took hold of the -lighter handle on either side, and was about to tug, when she heard -the key turned in the lock. Instantly the handles slipped from between -her fingers; but before she could get from behind the blind she heard -the door open, and footsteps come into the room. - -This time she was indeed at a disadvantage. To all intents and -purposes she was pinned between the blind and the window; she dared -not move, since the slightest movement caused the stiffened blind to -make an ominous rustling; if she tried to get away from under it she -would be certain to make a noise which would ensure discovery. The -only thing she could do was to stay where she was, and to refrain, if -the thing were possible, from moving even so much as a muscle. She -could see nothing. At first, in the shock of being taken unawares, her -limbs trembled so; her brain was in such a tumult; there was such a -singing in her ears, that she could not even hear. It was only by -degrees that the sounds resolved themselves into distinct voices; and -she became conscious of what was being said. - -The personage, who was the landlord, and whose name was Elsey, had -entered the room; and his wife, who declined to be kept out; and a -fair-haired, spectacled young man, who was a doctor; and a policeman, -who chanced to be the nearest at hand. The procession of four moved -towards the table. The landlord spoke; his manner suggested a sense -both of importance and of resentment. - -"Here, Dr Nichols, and officer, is Mr Emmett, as you can see for -yourselves. You see him exactly as he was found by Timmins, one of my -waiters; Timmins is outside the door, and can give testimony to that -effect, if required. He has not been touched; and nothing has been -touched; each thing is just as it was when discovered, as Timmins can -testify; and as, for that matter, I can testify; because I know it to -be a fact. As regards this unfortunate man the question now is, is -life extinct?" - -He spoke as a showman might have done, who wished to call attention to -the special features of his show. The doctor was bending over the -figure in the chair. - -"How long is it since he was found in this condition?" - -"It might be ten minutes; it might be a quarter of an hour; it might -be more. Timmins is outside, and will corroborate me, if required. At -the earliest possible moment I sent for you, you happening to be the -medical gentleman who lived nearest." - -"I should say that there can be little doubt but that, as you put it, -life's extinct; but it's not easy to examine him properly in this -chair." He looked round the room, his glance passing over the -curtained recess--if he had only known of the girl who shivered within -it! "That couch wouldn't be convenient either: it's not long enough. -Couldn't you have a mattress, or something, placed upon that table? We -might lay him on it, or, for the matter of that, we might manage -without." - -"Certainly you can have a mattress. I wish to do everything for Mr -Emmett, who is an old customer of mine, which possibly can be done, -though nothing can be more serious than the inconvenience, to say -nothing of the positive loss, which he is likely to occasion me. -Timmins!" The waiter came just inside the door, rubbing his chin. -"Fetch me a mattress--at once!" - -"Yes, sir; where from, sir?" - -"Anywhere! Don't be a fool, sir, and stand gaping there; do as you're -told!" - -His wife interposed. - -"It's you who's the fool, Mr Elsey! Where do you suppose Timmins is -going to get a mattress from? Who do you suppose is going to give it -him?--without my sanction! Come with me, Timmins; I'll see that a -mattress is got." - -When she reappeared the waiter was carrying one doubled up on his -shoulder. A space had been cleared on the table, on which the mattress -was placed. Then the landlord, the waiter, the doctor, and the -policeman lifted Mr Emmett between them; the united four seemed to -find him no easier burden than the stranger, singlehanded, had done. -While the doctor was still conducting his gruesome examination someone -else came into the room, an inspector of police. Him the landlord -greeted with bustling cordiality. - -"Most dreadful thing has happened, Mr Tinney; so unfortunate for me -that it should have occurred in my house, at this, my busiest season; -one of my oldest customers too, Mr Emmett; I daresay you know him." - -"George Emmett? Oh yes, I know him; who doesn't? How did it happen?" - -"That's what we don't know--what nobody seems to know--that's the -mystery; the whole affair is most mysterious, and--and lamentable. To -put it at its lowest, with every desire to put self on one side, one -can't help feeling that someone has been guilty of a very unfriendly -act to me. In my business one never knows how this sort of thing may -be taken, especially by one's best customers. At this moment every -bedroom's full; yet directly this becomes known I may have my house -empty on my hands, my race week spoilt!" - -"What's the cause of death?" The inspector put this question to the -doctor. - -"A blow with some blunt instrument, which must have been delivered -with tremendous force. Some of the frontal cranium bones seem to be -broken in two or three places. Of course my examination has at present -only been superficial, but that appears to be the case." - -The landlord proffered an addition of his own: - -"It looks as if the blow had been delivered with a champagne bottle." -He held up the broken neck. "We found this on the table, and the -remaining pieces are here upon the floor." - -The inspector again addressed the doctor. - -"Could it have been done with a champagne bottle?" - -The doctor settled his spectacles on his nose. Being a young man, a -sense of responsibility seemed to weigh upon him. His reply was -guarded: - -"It might. Of course you understand that I am not prepared to give a -definite opinion, but, to some extent, my present impression is, that -it might have been." - -The inspector turned to the landlord. - -"Don't you know who was in the room with him?" - -"That's the point--we don't; that's to say, not so that we can speak -with certainty. You see, this is a private sitting-room, and occupants -of private sitting-rooms have visitors of whom we know nothing. We -can't keep an eye upon them as if they were public rooms--it stands to -reason. But one of my waiters, named Timmins--this is Timmins--informs -me that he brought a message and a note to Mr Emmett, who was enjoying -his wine after dinner, to the effect that a gentleman wished to see -him; and that he went out to see the gentleman; but whether the -gentleman returned with him Timmins cannot say." - -The inspector addressed the waiter. - -"When you brought that message was he alone?" - -"Yes, sir, he was alone; except for the young lady." - -The landlord exclaimed. - -"Young lady!--What young lady?" - -"Why, sir, the young lady he dined with; he and she dined together." - -"This is the first time you've mentioned a young lady." - -"Well, sir, he and the young lady had dinner together--dinner was -ordered for two. I thought you knew that." - -"I knew nothing about it--this is the first I've heard about it; this -is the first time I've heard about any young lady. Did you know about -it?" This last question was put to his wife. "I knew a lady came with -him; he took two bedrooms, one for himself and one for her; his was -No. 238, hers was No. 49, on the floor above. He wanted her next to -him, they tell me in the office; but the rooms on either side of his -were engaged." - -"What was the lady's name?" - -"That I don't know; I find he entered himself in the book as 'George -Emmett and Lady.' When I asked Miss Wilson, who was there when he came, -why she let him do it, she said that she asked him what was the lady's -name; and he said it was all right and didn't matter." - -"Did you see her?" - -"No; I can't say that I did. I'm told she's quite young. She seems to -have brought precious little luggage. There's only a small battered -old tin box in her room." - -"I can only say that this is the first mention I've heard of any young -lady; I'd no idea that anyone came with him. I can't understand, -Timmins, why you didn't speak of her before." - -"Well, sir, I thought you knew." - -"Don't I tell you I didn't know? What do you mean by persisting in -thinking I knew? I understood you to say that when you brought the -message he was alone." - -"So he was, sir--except for the young lady." - -"Except for the young lady! What the devil do you mean by 'except for -the young lady'? He wasn't alone if she was there--was he?" - -The inspector interposed. - -"That's all right, Mr Elsey; you leave this to me--this is more in my -line than yours." He tackled the waiter, whose expression, as they -worried him, became more and more rabbitlike. "You say that Mr Emmett -and this young lady dined together?" - -"Yes, sir, they did--I waited on them." - -"Did she strike you as being young? How old would you have set her -down as?" - -"Well, sir, not more than seventeen or eighteen, at the -outside--though perhaps she might have been a little more or -less--it's not easy to tell a young lady's age." - -"Did she strike you as being a lady? You know what I mean." - -"Yes, sir, I do. Well, sir, I daresay--I should say, sir, she was -quite a lady; most certainly a lady; though plainly dressed; in fact, -for a lady, almost shabby." - -"Did she and Mr Emmett appear to be upon good terms?" - -"Well, sir, I couldn't exactly say that they did." - -"What do you mean by that? On what sort of terms were they? Explain -yourself, man." - -"Well, sir--for one thing she never uttered so much as a single word -while I was in the room, neither to me nor to Mr Emmett; not even so -much as yes or no when I handed her a dish. And she scarcely ate -anything; and she never drank anything neither. Mr Emmett told me to -fill her glass with champagne; but I don't believe she ever so much as -put her lips to it--in fact, when I came in and found him there was -her glass just as it was when I filled it. Mr Emmett, he did all the -talking. From the way in which she sat right back in her chair--that's -the chair in which she sat, sir--and never spoke or moved, it seemed -as if she were frightened half out of her life of him." - -"Why should she be frightened? Did you hear him say anything to -frighten her?" - -"No, sir, nothing I could swear to; but he kept speaking to her in a -chaffing sort of way, which I could see she didn't like." - -"Did she seem to be angry?--in a bad temper?" - -"No, sir, not so much that as afraid of him." - -"When he went out to see this gentleman, did he leave her behind?" - -"Yes, sir, he did, on that chair; and I couldn't help noticing how -queer she looked--so white that I couldn't help wondering if she was -feeling ill." - -"Was she here when you found him?" - -"No, sir; the room was empty." - -"Did anyone see her go out of the room?--did you?" - -"No, sir; I haven't seen her since I saw her sitting in that chair." - -"Then where is she now? Where is she, Mr Elsey?" - -"I've no more idea than you have, Mr Tinney. As I've already tried to -explain, till a moment or two ago I hadn't the faintest notion that -there was a lady in the case." - -"Mrs Elsey, where is this interesting young lady?" - -Dorothy, behind the blind and the curtain, could scarcely refrain from -shrieking: "Here!" - -Mrs Elsey shook her head. - -"That's more than I can tell you, Mr Tinney. Beyond knowing that a -young lady came with Mr Emmett, I don't know anything. What Timmins -has been telling you is all news to me." - -"Someone must know where she is, if she's in the house. I don't want -to make any statement, but it seems to me that she's a most important -witness, and the sooner she's produced the better. If, as Mr Timmins -hints, she was feeling ill, she may have retired to her room. Perhaps, -Mrs Elsey, you won't mind making inquiries. If she isn't in her room, -wherever she is, she must be found, so don't let there be any mistake -about it. I must have an interview with this very interesting young -lady before we are either of us very much older--you understand?" - -"No, Mr Tinney, I can't say I do understand; not as you put it. I will -have inquiries made; in fact, I'll make them myself; but as for -finding her, wherever she is, that's another question altogether, and -one for which I decline to be held responsible. Things are coming to a -pretty pass if I'm to be held responsible for the comings and goings -of anyone who chooses to take a room in my house." - -The lady sailed out of the room, with her head in the air. The -inspector looked at her husband. - -"I'm afraid I've trodden on Mrs Elsey's toes." - -"She's very sensitive, Mrs Elsey is--very sensitive. I'm far from -saying that you mean anything; but, as you must see for yourself, she -has enough to bear already, without having more put upon her." - -"I'm putting nothing on her. I simply say that that young woman must -be found, and, if your good lady can't find her, someone else will -have to, because found she's got to be--and pretty soon." - -"Quite so, Mr Tinney, quite so; no one denies it for a single instant. -I only wish that I had known of her existence sooner; much trouble -might have been saved." - -How that was, was not quite clear. The inspector made no comment. He -turned to the waiter. - -"Now, Mr Timmins, about this gentleman whom you say Mr Emmett went out -to see. Did you know him? Was he a stranger? What did he look like?" - -"That, sir, is more than I can tell you, seeing that I never saw him. -The message and the note were both brought to me by one of the -coffee-room waiters, of the name of Dowling--he may be able to tell -you more than I can." - -"Then fetch Mr Dowling here." - -The landlord interposed. - -"Excuse me!--one moment, Mr Tinney! At present no one knows what has -occurred except ourselves; and, if it is possible, I should like as -few persons as possible to know, till the morning." - -"I don't see how you're going to prevent people knowing; you can't -cover a murder with a napkin." - -"Exactly; still, at the same time, if you wouldn't mind interviewing -Dowling in my room, instead of here, I shall be only too glad to place -it at your service; and to ensure you all possible privacy." - -"Very well; there need be no difficulty about that. Have you finished, -Dr Nichols?" - -"I think I may say that, for the present, I have. Of course, a further -examination will be necessary; but I think, under the circumstances, -that that may be postponed till the morning; when, perhaps, I may be -able to have the assistance of one of my colleagues." - -"Have the assistance of whoever you like. Have his pockets been -touched, Mr Elsey?" - -"Certainly not, Mr Tinney: nothing has been touched--nothing; at -least, not by anyone in my employ. I took care of that." - -"Then I'll go through them, in your presence. It's just as well to -have witnesses in cases of this sort." Mr Tinney "went through" the -pockets of the man on the table; subjecting him to a process to which -he would probably have strongly objected had it been in his power to -object. A heterogeneous collection they produced. - -"I'll put these things in my handkerchief, Mr Elsey; and, if you don't -mind, I'll draw up a list of them, in your presence, in your room -downstairs. In these cases you can't be too particular; and, as it's -quite within the bounds of possibility that circumstances might arise -in which someone may wish to hold you responsible for the property -which he had in his possession when he came to your hotel, it's only -right and proper that you should know exactly what I have got of his -in my keeping. Now there's one other thing, before we go downstairs; -about this room. If the corpse is to be left here--and I think it'll -just be as well that it should be--then I must lock the door, and take -the key. Have you a pass-key?" - -"I believe I have one, somewhere." - -"Then you must let me have it; you must let me have any keys which fit -that lock. And you must give me your undertaking that no one, neither -you nor Mrs Elsey, nor anyone, shall come into this room until I -unlock it in the morning. If you won't, or can't, give me such an -undertaking, then I shall have to leave one of my men outside there -all night, to keep an eye on the door, to see that no one does come -in." - -"I will certainly give you such an undertaking--certainly I will! I -promise you that no one shall come near the room; no one! You need -have no fears upon that score." - -"Then that's all right. Now, I think, we can go downstairs; and I'll -hear what Mr Dowling has to say, about that mysterious gentleman, who, -maybe, wasn't so very mysterious after all. And perhaps Mrs Elsey may -have some news for us of that very interesting young lady; though it -doesn't seem as if she's found her, or we should have heard. I'm not -giving away any official secret when I say that I shouldn't be -surprised if that young lady turns out to be the key of the situation, -and on that account it's just possible that she may not be so easy to -find as we should like her to be. But found she'll have to be; and -found she will be; if our good hostess can't do it, then I will. I -always was reckoned pretty good at hide-and-seek; I generally knew as -well as another whether I was hot or cold. Now, gentlemen, if you -please." - -The party passed to the door. The inspector switched off the lights; -drew the door to after him; locked it, and drew out the key; and -Dorothy was left alone, in the darkness, to spend the night with her -guardian. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - HOW DOROTHY MADE HER EXIT - - -In the darkness--that was the worst. When she realised that they -indeed had gone, and that she was alone, she came out from behind the -blind, parted the curtains, and found that the room was all dark. That -was the worst. She could see so much better in the darkness, for -though she might not be able to use the eye of sense she was at the -mercy of the more vivid eye of the imagination--at its mercy. It made -her see what she never would, what she never could, have seen in the -light. Within sixty seconds of her having been left alone in the -darkness she had already begun to have a vision of horrors. Yet she -dared not switch on the electric lights; although she knew how -to--there were none in the convent, but she had learnt all about them -since--she did not dare. The inspector had spoken of leaving one of -his men outside to keep an eye on the door; if he had not done so it -was only because the landlord had promised that he would make it his -especial charge; which meant that he would see that a watch was kept -on it. Therefore, if she switched on the light, it would be seen at -once; you could always tell from the outside if there was a light -inside a room. If it was seen, they would know that she was there. -Beyond a doubt that woman had not found her; probably the hue-and-cry -was already out. Quite possibly it might dawn upon them ere long, -that, since no one had seen her go out, she might have been in the -room all the while and no one had had the sense to look. The danger of -their repairing the omission, and coming back to look, was quite great -enough, without the added danger of a light being seen inside the -room. - -And yet, to be left alone with her guardian lying on the table--that -was much worse than seeing him huddled upon the chair. What might he -not be doing, lying stretched out on the table at which she herself -had such a little while ago been seated? Was he turning round to look -at her? Turning what was left him of his head? It was so still. How -loudly she breathed. She could hear her own respirations. Could he -hear them too? She caught at the curtains with tightened fingers. Was -that not someone trying to speak in a whisper? - -All at once there was a sound. Someone was in the room. She felt -herself trembling from head to foot; she clung to the curtains as for -dear life. It was only after some consideration that she understood -that the visitor was probably a mouse. She had been used to mice at -the convent. There they had scampered about all over the place; -sometimes about the room in which she had slept. The convent was old; -the hotel was old; evidently the small marauders had taken up their -quarters in the one building as they had done in the other. - -The new-comer was joined by others. She had an impression that, after -a while, numbers of mice were in the room. If they were conscious of -her presence they ignored it. Certainly they cared nothing for the -dead. She wondered if they were attracted by the smell of the -champagne which had been spilt upon the floor when the stranger broke -the bottle. Suddenly there were sounds quite close to her feet; she -felt as if something ran over one of them; as if a fresh detachment -were coming out of some crevice in the wood panelling of the recess in -which she was standing. Was she to be shut up all night--alone with -the dead, while the mice held festival? Was she to remain there, -upright? Or should she seek rest on the floor? On the floor the mice -might run to and fro across her body. She did not mind that so much as -the thought that her guardian might be peering down at her from his -place upon the table. There was a couch on her left; should she take -refuge on that? To what purpose? Even suppose she slept, when they -came in the morning would she rather that they should find her on it -asleep or waking? If they were to find her at all, then it would be -better, on all accounts, that she should turn on the lights at once, -ring the bell, and bid them do with her what they would. Besides, she -would be afraid to go to sleep with that in the room. The whole place -was full of it. Each time her glance strayed, on this side or that, -seeking, in the darkness, for she knew not what, with, as it were, an -irresistible jerk, her head was brought right round again, so that she -had to look towards where she knew the table was, with its burden. She -could not remain standing through the night; she dare not lie upon the -floor; she dare not take refuge on the couch; she was unwilling to -venture out from the sheltering curtains into the room; for all she -could tell he might have got off the table, and be waiting for her -just on the other side of them. - -As she realised, more and more clearly, the disagreeable nature of her -position, her thoughts recurred to the window, to the handles which -hung on either side of the lower sash. It seemed incredible that a -window, even a silly English window, should be made not to open at -all, either at the top or bottom. After an interval of she knew not -how long, she summoned up resolution enough to make another effort. -Moving very softly, being anxious to be heard by no one, most of all -by what was on the table, turning towards the window, she felt for the -handles, and, finding them, began to pull, It was impossible to -discriminate between the colours: she could only learn from experiment -if she had the right ones. Apparently, to commence with, she had not: -pull as she might, nothing happened. When, however, after one or two -fumbling changes she tugged again something yielded: the handles came -down towards her with a run. She did not doubt that she had succeeded -in opening the upper portion of the window, at least in part. Not only -was the movement so unexpected as to occasion her a sensation of -shock, it was accompanied by a noise which made the sensation greater -still. Either she had not tugged just as she should have done, or else -the sash, or something which actuated it, stood much in need of -oiling: it moved with a creaking sound which seemed to Dorothy to be -one of the most frightful sounds she had ever heard. In her agitation -she did not improve matters. So completely was she taken unawares that -she loosed the handles as if they had been hot coals; swinging back -they hit the window and the woodwork a series of raps as with a pair -of hammers. To the girl's excited imagination it seemed very much as -if pandemonium had all at once broken loose. That such a tumult could -have remained unheard seemed to her incredible. If it had not actually -called attention to the experiments she was trying on the window, -beyond a doubt it had roused suspicion; which was already sufficiently -on the alert, owing to the significant fact--with which, probably, the -entire establishment had been made acquainted before now--that the -mysterious young lady who had accompanied Mr Emmett had disappeared. -She clearly realised how general a theme of conversation her -inexplicable evanishment had probably become. How the men were asking -the maids if they had seen anything of her; and how the maids were -replying by putting the same question to the men. If anyone had heard -the clatter she had caused--and someone must have heard it--he or she -would promptly report the fact; inquiries into its origin would at -once be set on foot; before many minutes had passed it would be traced -to its source. - -The girl crouched against the side of the recess, every nerve on edge, -quivering with apprehension, expecting each moment to hear the key -being inserted in the lock of the door, the click of the turning lock, -the opening of the door, the steps of those who had decided, at last, -to leave no nook or cranny of the room unvisited in which she might, -by any possibility, be hidden. But as the minutes went, and no one -came, her immediate fears grew less. Perhaps, after all, she had been -unheard. In which case it might be wise, and safe, to endeavour to -find out what had really been the fruit of all her tugging. - -Drawing aside the blind, she looked up. The window was open, but the -blind prevented her seeing how much. It was in the way; it would be -difficult, in any event, to take advantage of the open window while it -was there. With anxious fingers she began to draw it up. It rose more -smoothly than she had feared. It was only when it was half way up that -it struck her that if anyone's eyes were on the window they could -hardly fail to see the mounting blind. The tardy appreciating of the -fact occasioned her another touch of panic. Pausing, she had a mind to -let it stay where it was; then, with sudden recklessness, drew it -right to the top, holding her breath, when it was up, fearful of the -result. She still seemed to have attracted no one's attention. It -seemed to be a clear night, she could see the stars in the sky. By -their light she saw that she had drawn the top sash down some nine or -ten inches, so that it was plain that at least part of the window was -meant to open. She had only to draw it down as far as she could; it -might mean for her a way of escape. Again she gripped the handles--it -was easy now to grip the right ones; in the dim light she could see -that they hung down below the others; again she tugged; again the sash -came down, with that horrid creaking noise. In desperate recognition -of the truth that hers was a case in which she might as well be hung -for a sheep as a lamb she went on tugging, in spite of the persistent -creaking, till she could tug no more. Apparently she had opened the -window to its widest extent. - -When she ceased to tug she strained her ears to listen. This time she -heard a sound which seemed to make her feel that all which had gone -before had been as nothing. It came from within the room. At first she -had not the vaguest notion what it was; what it meant. Yet, the -instant it reached her ear, she was oppressed as by the consciousness -of something strange. It came, and went, so quickly that it left her -in terrified doubt as to whether it had not been born of her -imagination. - -Then after an interval, which seemed to her of grimly portentous -length, it came again--the sound. There was no mistake that that was -real. Equally certain was it that it came from the other side of the -curtains, from the room which was empty, save for the mice and the man -stretched out upon the table. No mouse, no gathering of mice, could -have produced that sound; and the man on the table was dead. Was it -possible that anyone could have come into the room without her -knowledge? Surely she must have heard the opening of the door if it -had been opened. She had noticed that the key turned in the lock with -a grating noise, as if either the lock or the key were rusty. She was -convinced that if the door had been opened she must have heard it; -there was no other way into the room, yet she had heard that sound. - -It came a third time. Was it not someone breathing, or trying to -breathe? It sounded like it. As if someone were gasping, struggling -for breath, as if some too heavy sleeper were making a stertorous -effort to wake out of slumber. If no one had come into the room--and -how could anyone have come without her knowing it--who could it be? -There was another point: such a noise could hardly come from a person -who was in a normal condition. It had gone again; all was still, -though she listened with all her ears, with every sense she had. Just -as she was wondering if it had gone for good, hoping that it had, it -came again--louder, more obvious, more terrible, than before. For -there was a terrible quality in the noise itself, quite apart from the -circumstances under which it was audible. A sensitive soul, hearing it -in broad daylight, anywhere, would have shuddered; it had about it -such a suggestion of physical discomfort: as though someone, -spellbound in unwholesome sleep, strove to regain consciousness, in -order to escape from some agonising nightmare, and strove in vain. Had -Dorothy had any experience of modern medicine she would have -recognised its likeness to the noise some surgical patients make as -they gradually come back to life from the stupefying effects of some -powerful anæsthetic. - -What Dorothy did realise was that, after all, her guardian might not -be so dead as everyone had supposed. How that might be she did not -understand; she did not try to understand. The appreciation of the -fact was enough for her; indeed, it was too much, though her -appreciation was imperfect. She did not wish to make sure if her -guardian really had still in him the spark of life, however dim the -spark might be; she desired nothing less. It did not occur to her to -think that the spark might be indeed so dim that only instant, expert -aid could succeed in fanning it back to flame. She did not stay to -consider that if the man was not entirely dead; that if prompt -attention might bring him back to a hold on life, however precarious -that hold might be; then it was her business, and her duty, to use -every available means to procure for him that assistance with the -least possible delay; and that if she neglected, wittingly, to do so -and, in consequence, he met that fate which, but for her, he might, at -least temporarily, have been snatched from, then the actual -responsibility for his death lay at her door, as something for which, -one day, she might be called to account. Believing that he was -struggling back to life, her one wish was to escape before he -succeeded; it was his success she feared, not his failure. Failing -to recognise the fact that, if he did succeed, the burden of -blood-guiltiness would be lifted from the stranger's shoulders, and -from hers; all she cared for was that he should not find her there. - -Panic made her callous. Plainly his struggles increased; each second -he fought harder and harder for his life. It never occurred to her -that if she did escape he would probably be left alone till the -morning, when the odds were that assistance would came too late. She -gave no heed to the thought of the strong man contending, in the -pitch-black room, helplessly, with death, with help, willing help, so -close at hand; that was a picture which was to occur to her later. By -standing on tiptoe she could just get hold of the top of the open -window. Pulling herself up; getting her feet on to the sill; leaning -out of the open upper half, she tried to see what was beyond. It was -not easy to decide. The light was puzzling. Although the stars were -visible overhead they were not sufficiently bright to enable her to -make out, with certainty, what was below. She seemed to be looking -down into some sort of yard, in which dark objects were dimly visible. -She supposed it was probably the stable yard; what the dark objects -were she could not determine. There were no lights; no one appeared to -be moving about; they could hardly be vehicles which, at that hour, -had been left out in the open. She seemed to be higher than she -expected. Although the ground was invisible it seemed to be very far -below. How she was to reach it from the window she had not a notion; -her heart failed at the thought of trying to do so. The only way would -be to scramble, somehow, over the top sash; then to descend, also -somehow, to the sill without; then to lower herself, for the third -time, somehow, till she hung from the sill by her hands; and drop, she -did not know how far through space, nor did she know into, or on to, -what. The prospect was not an alluring one. - -At the convent there had been a girl, a refractory young lady, who, -finding herself ill at ease in her surroundings, essayed to elude them -by way of a window which looked out, over the wall, on to the road. -That it was unnecessary to take such an unusual route, since she had -only to give utterance to her desire to leave to find herself outside -as quickly as she could wish, was nothing to her. She was a young lady -of a romantic turn of mind. Possibly she wished to make an impression, -not only on her schoolfellows and the Sisters, but also on her -parents. She knotted together the sheets which she took from her bed; -it was presumed that she tied one end to a bar which ran across the -window, and, squeezing past it, began to descend by means of the -sheets to which she clung. If she did tie one end of the sheet to the -bar, then, apparently, it was not tied very securely; because, -seemingly, before she got very far, it came unfastened, with the -result that she descended with a degree of rapidity which exceeded her -expectations. She struck her head, it seemed, with great force against -the wall; so that by the time she reached the ground, on which they -found her, some twelve feet below, she was, in all human probability, -already dead. - -That young lady's tragic fate was the one event which marked the -fifteen years Dorothy had spent in the convent. Now, as she leaned out -of the open upper half of the window, peering down at the impenetrable -darkness which masked whatever might be below, the story came back to -her with a vividness which was most unwelcome. Dorothy's plight was -worse than hers. She had made elaborate preparations for what she well -knew was in front of her; yet she had come to utter dire grief. How -much more likely, Dorothy felt, was disaster to overtake her, if she -plunged, practically blindfold, through unknown depths into unknown -perils? She turned giddy at the thought of trying to climb on to the -top of that open sash. Almost involuntarily she drew her head back -into the room. Better, almost, anything rather than that she should -risk being dashed to pieces by flinging herself blindly into space. -She would give up her mad attempt. - -Moved by this new impulse to observe discretion, she had begun to -lower herself on to the floor of the room, when, again, there came -that sound--louder, more insistent, as if someone were bursting his -lungs in the violence of his gasps for breath. Then there was a crash, -which shook the room, as someone, something, fell from the table on to -the floor. All was still. In that ominous silence, the girl, seized -with a sudden frenzy of panic, was on to the top of the sash probably -before she clearly realised what it was that she was doing; over on -the other side; standing on the sill; from which she began to lower -herself with a swiftness and an agility of which she would scarcely -have been capable had the conditions been normal. For some seconds she -clung with her small hands to the rough edge of the sill. She was -conscious that she had brought her leg into unpleasant contact with -the wall, and inflicted on herself various contusions. Even in that -eleventh hour, as she hung between earth and heaven, conviction came -to her of the madness of what she was doing. Had it been possible she -would have drawn herself back into the room even then, but it was not -possible. From where she was there was no way back. Her slender arms -were incapable of raising even her slight body. Such muscles as she -had became relaxed; she seemed to be dragging her arms out of their -sockets; her hands were slipping. Though she gripped the sill till she -felt the rough stone cutting her fingers she could get no hold. The -question as to whether she would risk death by dropping into space was -no longer one for her decision; with all the unwillingness in the -world to let herself go, she could not keep from falling. She made an -effort to stay where she was for yet another breathing space; so that, -at least, she might collect her thoughts before she went, perhaps, -into eternity. The effort had the contrary effect to that which she -intended. Instead of delaying it, it hastened the end. Her hands could -grip the sill no longer. Her finger-tips were on the very edge. In -another instant they would be over, and then---- Of what might happen -then she dared not think. - -That instant came. The slip came quickly at the last; the sill seemed -suddenly to be jerked away. She tried to catch at something, and could -not. She closed her eyes; convulsively rather than of intention; as if -she would shut out the sight of what was about to happen; she held her -breath, and fell. As she fell strange noises were in her ears, which -seemed to come from the room from which, at last, she had escaped. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - THE CARAVAN - - -How long she had been there she did not know. She looked about her, -wondering where she was; how she had come there. She was in the open -air; above her were the stars in the sky. She seemed to be lying on -some rubbish; but something hard was underneath. How her head ached; -it made her feel so stupid. Putting up her hand to soothe it, she -found that it hurt her almost as much as her head. Staring at it, in -the dim light she could just make out that it was covered with -something wet. All at once she remembered, hazily; and sat up -straighter. She had dropped from the window--it must be somewhere -above her; she could not see it from where she was. This rough surface -which she touched when she put out her poor, hurt hand must be the -outer wall of the hotel. - -One thing was plain: she was not dead; and so it behoved her not to -stay where she was a moment longer than she could help; she had not -dropped from the window to spend the night on the ground immediately -beneath. She raised herself to her feet; the process occasioning her -more pain than she had expected. It was all she could do to stand. One -ankle showed a disposition to double up; her left leg smarted so that -the pain of it brought the tears into her eyes. Indeed, there were -smarts and aches all over her; her arms seemed limp and her hands -nerveless; her whole body felt hurt, and bruised, and shaken. Her -first impulse, when she learnt the plight she was in, was to sink back -on to the ground, from which she had with such difficulty raised -herself, and cry. But, even in the half-dazed condition in which she -was, she recognised that such a mode of procedure would be worse than -futile. Since she had risked so much to get so far she might at least -try to get a little farther. Now, in all probability, only a little -courage was needed to enable her to get at least clear away from that -immediate neighbourhood. - -Which way should she go? She looked about her. The light, if dim, was -sufficient to enable her to make out something of her surroundings. -Seemingly the place in which she was had nothing to do with the hotel. -It was apparently a yard which was associated with the adjoining -house. What kind of house it was she could not see; she could see -windows, but behind them no lights were visible; the whole place -seemed to be in darkness. There were buildings on three sides of the -yard. She could just see what seemed to be a door which led into the -house; it was hardly likely to be of much use to her--she would be -little better off in the adjoining house than in the hotel which she -had just now quitted. She looked for another door; and saw that there -was one in the wall which bounded the yard on the fourth side. She -moved towards it, stumbling over unseen obstacles as she went. -Reaching it, she raised the latch; the door was open. Passing through -she found herself in a narrow alley, which ran between two walls. -Since, to her, direction mattered nothing, she turned to the left; -then, when she had gone some little distance, to the left again; and -presently came to what was apparently the principal street of the -town. Conscious of the singularity of her appearance: dressed, as she -was, for indoors; hatless; with her attire in disorder; being -unwilling to attract notice, she peered anxiously about her alley. At -that hour of the night even the town's chief thoroughfare was nearly -deserted. Gaining courage from the fact, passing into it, she pressed -forward with hurrying footsteps, leaving the hotel more and more -behind her as she went. - -Occasionally she met both pedestrians and vehicles; but no one seemed -to take any special heed of her. Either they were too occupied with -their own affairs; or else they saw nothing about her to rouse their -interest. On and on she went; always along the same broad street; the -farther she went the fewer people she encountered. At last it seemed -to her that she had gone some distance without meeting a soul. Looking -round she perceived that she seemed to have left the town behind; the -high street seemed to have become a country road. Here and there by -the roadside were detached villas and houses; but the long unbroken -line of buildings had come to an end. Pressing on she found that the -villas and the houses were becoming fewer and farther between; she was -in the open country. On a sudden even the fertile country, with its -fields and trees and hedges, seemed to have gone; the road seemed to -be passing over an illimitable expanse of open heath. - -She was so tired; so stiff; and in such pain. Her ankle hurt her so -that she could hardly put her foot to the ground. The leg which she -had grazed against the wall, as she had lowered herself from the sill, -smarted almost beyond endurance. Her bruised body ached all over; her -head ached worse than her body. As she paused to take her bearings all -these things forced themselves on her at once. She became conscious -that, however great the need, she could not go on much farther without -a rest. Where was she to rest? Out here the world seemed brighter; the -stars brighter. Certainly the air was clearer. She could see on all -sides of her, by the light of the stars, ever so far; little enough -there seemed to see. Here and there, the way she had come, were the -outlines of houses; but in front, and on either hand, was nothing but -the open moor; broken by what probably were clumps of furze and -bushes. Should she lie down by the side of one of those clumps, to -rest? The turf ought to be dry; there was promise of fair weather; she -would be better there than alone in a room with Mr Emmett, be he alive -or dead. The thing to be desired was to get at some distance from the -road, so that she might escape observation from passers-by. She began -to pick her way, as best she could, across the grass. Her objective -was a patch of brushwood which, so far as she was able to judge, was -at a distance of perhaps a couple of hundred yards; far enough from -the road to ensure her privacy. Gaining the edge of the patch, she -began to thread her way among the bushes; determined, if she could, to -reach the centre, so that they might stand up round about her, and so -serve as an effective screen. She had just decided that she had got as -far in among them as she need, and was about to allow herself the -luxury of sinking down upon the turf, when there was a rustling sound, -and, looking up, a man seemed to rise out of the solid earth, within a -few feet of where she was standing. - -Which of the twain was more surprised there was nothing to show; the -man was the first to speak; which he did in a voice which at least -hinted at cultivation: - -"Who are you?" - -The girl, taken wholly unawares, replied, in faltering tones, as a -child might have done: - -"I'm--I'm Dorothy." - -"Oh, you are Dorothy; that's good hearing. And pray, Dorothy, from -where did you happen to have sprung?" - -She echoed his word. - -"Sprung?" - -"Yes; literally and correctly, sprung; for since a minute ago there -was no one within a mile, one only can conclude that you have sprung -clean out of mother earth. If you haven't, how do you come to be -there?--from where have you come?" - -"I've come--from the road." - -"From the road. That's very illuminating. Did you come to this -particular spot because you knew that I was here?" - -"Knew--that you were here!" - -Her manner seemed to strike him. There was an interval before he spoke -again. - -"I think, if you don't mind, I'll come and have a better look at you." - -He came striding towards her through the bushes. Her impulse was to -turn and flee. But, partly because she was no longer capable of -flight, partly because there was something in his tone which spoke -pleasantly to her ear, she stayed quite still, without making an -effort to move. He advanced until he was within a yard of her; then he -stopped. She had watched him coming with sensations which she would -have found it hard to define; when he stopped she trembled. In silence -he stood and looked at her; while she, on her side, looked at him. She -realised, with a distinct sense of relief, that there seemed to be -nothing to offend her in his appearance. So far as she could judge, in -that uncertain light, he was not old, nor very young. He had a small -beard and moustache. His head, like her own, was uncovered. He seemed -to be decently attired--though he wore no waistcoat, and his shirt was -open at the neck. In his left hand he had a pipe, which, as he -continued to inspect her, he placed in his mouth. She could see the -smoke issuing from between his lips. - -When he spoke, the question which he put to her was as unconventional -as their meeting: - -"How old are you?" - -Without hesitation she replied: - -"I'm nearly eighteen." - -"Nearly eighteen? That's a great age. Aren't you a lady?" - -"I--I don't know." - -"Don't you? Then you're wise. Very few women do know if they are or -are not ladies; they only think they know; and how often they think -wrong. However, as a matter of simple fact, I think we may take it for -granted that, for present purposes, you approach as near to the -accepted definition of what a lady is as needs be; and, therefore, I -should very much like to know why, at this hour of the night, you're -here." - -"I came to rest." - -"You came to rest?--where?" - -"Here." - -"What do you mean by here?" - -"Here, among the bushes, where--where they won't be able to see me -from the road. I didn't know that you were here. If I am in your way -I'll--I'll go." - -"It isn't that you're in my way that's the trouble. The difficulty -which presents itself to my mind is, why do you want to rest among the -bushes?" - -"Because I'm tired." - -"That's a good reason, so far as it goes; and you both look and sound -as if you were tired; but why the bushes, when you might be safe and -snug at home in bed? Where is your home?" - -"I have no home." - -"Is that true?" - -"Quite true. I never have had a home." - -He seemed to be considering her words. - -"There's a quibble about that statement somewhere. Girls like you -don't attain to the ripe age of nearly eighteen years without ever -having had a home; you're not a product of a vagabond life. However, -I'll feign to believe you, if I don't; since, just now, the point -seems to be that you do propose to spend at least this one night with -no canopy above you but the sky. Is that so?" - -"I don't know what you mean." - -"Then you're dull; my meaning's not opaque. Am I to understand that -you seriously propose to spend the night out in the open?" - -"I am tired; I want to rest; I must rest somewhere; I--I can't keep -walking all night." - -"No; you certainly can't; and, since that is the case, you had better -come with me." - -He turned, as if to go. She drew back. - -"Where to?" - -He noted the gesture. - -"Not far; only a few steps. Are you afraid of me?" - -"No; I don't think I am." - -"Be sure, please. Doesn't your instinct tell you that there's nothing -about me which you need fear? It's hard on me if it doesn't, since my -one prayer is that no one who is helpless, hopeless, and in trouble -shall ever be afraid of me. So please be sure that you are not afraid; -and come." He moved off; this time she followed; though still a little -doubtfully. He led her, between the bushes, to where the ground began -to fall away; pausing on the crest of the slope, he pointed to a -caravan which was immediately in front, at the bottom of a little -hollow, which was just deep enough to hide it from view till one was -right upon it. "You say that you've no home; that's mine--_pro -tem_.--for this summer time, which flies all too quickly. And, while -it's summer, it's a home fit for a lord; a king need want no better; -and, for this night, it's yours." He stopped; then, seeing that she -looked at him askance, went on: "By that I mean that if, instead of -spending the night in the open, resting beneath the bushes, you will -accept the hospitality of my caravan, and take up your quarters in it -till the morning, I shall be honoured, flattered, and obliged." - -She was staring at him with wide-open eyes. - -"Do you mean that you wish me to sleep in there?" - -She pointed to the structure down below. - -"If you will so far honour me--if you will be so very good." - -"But--where are you to sleep?--if that's your home?" - -"I'll show you." She went beside him down the slope till they came to -where some things were lying on the ground. "That's my bed; my -sleeping-place. There's a waterproof sheet stretched out upon the -grass, pegged down at each of the four corners. On it are all the -wraps I need for covering. On a night like this I'd sooner lie under -those"--he pointed upward to the stars--"than under a painted ceiling. -So, since my house is empty, it'll be glad to have a tenant. You'll -find in it all the bed and bedding you require. I'll be out here, -sleeping, like a watchdog, at your door. You've only to bolt and bar -it, and you'll be as safe from molestation as you could be in any -hotel that ever yet was built." He ascended the two or three steps -which mounted to the door of the caravan, and went inside. "If you'll -wait till I've lighted the lamp I'll show you what excellent -accommodation my establishment has to offer." Presently she found -herself standing with him in the queerest room she had seen. Tired -though she was, she could not help noticing its spotless cleanliness; -and, in spite of its small size, how dexterously its contents were -arranged, so that not only was nothing in the way, but there were -conveniences of many kinds which one would not expect to find in such -cramped quarters. On a sort of shelf on one side a bed was made. -"That's your couch for to-night. I always get it ready for immediate -occupation when the shades of evening fall. In this dear English -climate prophecy is vain; one never knows what may happen between -sunset and sunrise. You go to bed under a cloudless sky, to wake, an -hour later, because you are being pelted by the rain. Since my -education has not yet gone far enough to enable me to enjoy sleeping -in the rain, under those circumstances I pick up my bed, and beat a -hasty retreat in here. And as one generally wants to get to sleep -again with the least possible delay, I make a point of having this in -readiness, so that I may tumble in upon the instant. See; here's a -bolt, and here's a bar; push them home, when I am gone, and you'll be -as safe as if you were in the Tower of London." - -When he had gone she acted on his advice. Apparently he was listening -without; because, when the door was made fast, he called to her. - -"Good-night!--sleep well!--may the angels touch your eyelids if you -dream!" - -She bade him good-night, in her turn; though hers was spoken scarcely -above a whisper. Her desire was to look about her; to take some stock -of her new and strange surroundings; but her weariness was greater -than her desire. Half unconsciously she sank down on the bed upon the -shelf, just as she was. As she touched it, she sighed; and was asleep. - -She was roused by the sound of knocking. She was vaguely aware that -someone was making a noise for some little time before she succeeded -in waking sufficiently to make quite sure. Lifting her head she -perceived that though the lamp still burned its light was quite -superfluous, since the sun was streaming in through the narrow window -which ran along one side of the caravan. There was no mistake about -that noise. Rat-tat-tat! Someone was keeping up a sustained and -vigorous rapping against the door. - -"Who's there?" she asked. - -"No one in particular; only me. I was beginning to wonder if you were -going to sleep the clock right round. You must forgive me for -disturbing you; I wouldn't have done it only I've a sort of feeling -that it's nearly breakfast-time; especially as, in a general way, I've -had my breakfast, washed up, and put away the things, a couple of -hours ago. The trouble is that all the cooking utensils of which my -establishment boasts are inside with you; so, if you're awake wide -enough, if, at your convenience, you could manage to come outside, I -could come in, and start upon that morning meal." For some seconds, in -her drowsy state, she could not conceive who it could be who was -talking. When she remembered, although she was alone, she put her -hands up to her face to hide her blushes. In that convent of hers -maidens were taught to be maidenly; it burst upon her, with some -force, that there was that about her situation which was scarcely -conventual. The voice without went on: "There's a can of water just -outside the door; if you put two fingers out you'll be able to get it -in. If you'll open the cupboard above your head you'll find a -looking-glass--which you'll be able to hang on any one of a dozen -different hooks--a basin, and, I believe, all the essentials necessary -for an elementary toilet." - -Getting off the bed, she was conscious, although she still ached, of -feeling distinctly rested; and that though she had slept with all her -clothes on. Unbarring the door she drew in the can of water; saying, -as she did so: - -"I am so sorry to have kept you waiting; but I--I did sleep so -soundly. I won't be a moment longer than I can help." - -Nor was it long before she threw the door wide open, and came out on -to the ledge at the top of the little flight of steps. He was lying on -the turf, with a pipe in his mouth, a newspaper in his hands. She was -conscious, as she came out into the open, of the glory of the morning. -He seemed to be conscious only of her. Jumping up he saluted her with -his hand. - -"Why," he exclaimed, "you're a living advertisement of the excellence -of my domestic arrangements; you look as fresh as a new pin. If you -had been able to indulge in the luxury of a marble bath, and a barber, -you could look no fresher. Good-morning--I need not ask you how you've -slept--and here's the sun in a cloudless sky to greet you." - -She came down the steps, all blushes; smiling as she had not done -since she left the convent. The process of preparing breakfast began. -She was conscious that she ought to intrude no longer on this -stranger's hospitality. But, in the first place, her shyness kept her -from giving expression to that consciousness; and, in the second, -something told her that, say what she might, he would not let her go -till she had shared with him his morning meal. So, making a virtue of -what really was necessity, she held her peace upon the subject of her -going; and helped him with his preparations for the meal. - -Girl-like, she found those preparations most amusing; she had not been -so entertained for many a day. There were eggs and bacon to be fried; -the kettle to be boiled; bread and butter to be cut; the table to be -laid. Acting on instructions, this latter she made her special -business. The table was the ground. On it she spread a tablecloth; on -the white cloth were placed the necessary cups and saucers, plates and -spoons, knives and forks. The cooking was done on an oil-stove inside -the caravan. - -"Read the advertisements," exclaimed the stranger, "and an oil-stove -can do anything that the most unreasonable camper-out can possibly -require--up to cooking a dinner for any number, anywhere, in a torrent -of rain and a storm of wind. As a matter of plain fact it won't really -cook out-of-doors at all; that's the one advantage of a house on -wheels: you can keep it under cover, though it smells the place out. -Humour an oil-stove; coddle it; and it may cook something, sometimes, -which a hardy stomach may be able to digest. Subject it to any one of -the ten million conditions it dislikes, fight as you will, it will -beat you out of sight; and, in spite of all your struggles, you'll go -hungry in the end. I know! I've tried every sort that's made; each is -worse than the other. Now where's that dish? I've a constitutional -objection to eating my food out of a frying-pan, if it can possibly be -avoided; so if you'll be so good as to take the dish out of the oven, -where it's supposed to be getting hot, I'll turn these eggs and this -bacon out upon it, and we'll start on them while we still have -strength enough to do it." - -Presently the girl and the man were seated on opposite sides of that -impromptu table. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - MR FRAZER GOES SHOPPING - - -The morning was bright and clear; the air was sweet and buoyant; the -food was good, the man and the girl were hungry, they both made an -excellent meal. And, while they ate and drank, and, between whiles, -talked, each, more or less furtively, took stock of the other. Dorothy -found that the hazy impression she had formed of the stranger -overnight was not in the least bit like him. He was younger than she -had thought. She was not much of a judge of men's years; since her -experience of them was so extremely limited, it was hardly likely that -she would be. In the darkness she had set him down as somewhere in the -forties; now, in the bright sunshine, which ages some of us, she -supposed him to be somewhere in the early thirties. There was about -him an appearance of vigour--the vigour which goes with youth--for -which she was unprepared. Then, too, he was so much better-looking -than she had taken him to be--perhaps in thinking so she was -influenced by the accident that she was dark and he was fair. His eyes -were very blue, and very bright; the skin of his face and neck, though -slightly tanned, was delicate as any girl's; his hair and beard were -flaxen. He was taller, too, than she had imagined--when he stood up -she saw that he must be at least six feet; his shoulders were so -broad, he held himself so straight, there was about him such a glow of -health and strength, that it did her good to look at him. And his -attire suited him well; or she thought it did--certainly there could -scarcely have been less of it. He wore no cap or coat or waistcoat; -his canvas shirt was open at the neck; his grey flannel trousers had -as belt a handkerchief of scarlet silk; he was shod with stout brown -shoes. It was a costume suited to fine weather out-of-doors; and, free -and easy as it was, both it and the wearer pleased the lady's -undoubtedly inexperienced eyes. - -What impression she made on him it was not easy to determine; not -impossibly the morning light had brought a surprise also to him. One -felt, not only that she puzzled him, but that the puzzle continually -grew. In his speech he owned as much. When the dish and the plates -were empty he regarded her with a whimsical smile. - -"It's good to eat when you're hungry." - -"Yes," she agreed; "it is." - -"Do you know that it's past eleven o'clock; and that when I'm abroad -in this house of mine I make it a rule to have all signs of breakfast -cleared away before the clock strikes eight." - -She began to stammer. - -"I beg your pardon; I am so sorry; it's all my fault; but I--I did -sleep so late. Now I--I won't hinder you any longer; I'll go." She -stood up. "I--don't quite know where; I--I don't know this part of -the country very well--I am very much obliged for all you've done for -me; you--you've been very kind. I have no money; but when I have -I'll--I'll pay you for what you've done, if you'll let me know to what -address to send." - -"I think you're very stupid." - -She crimsoned. - -"Good-bye." - -"I also think that you're ill-mannered." - -She had turned to go; but there was something in the quiet finality of -his tone which caused her to turn to him again. - -"Why?" - -"I think you're the first because you speak of paying for what, you -ought to know, I'm only too glad to give; as if I were the sort of -person to accept money from a lady who has been my guest!" - -"I beg your pardon; I--I'm so stupid." - -"I said you were. I think that you're the second because, no sooner -are you through your own meal than you rush off, before your host has -finished." - -"I thought you had; I did not mean to be ill-mannered; I thought you -wanted me to go." - -"You are mistaken. It is another rule of mine--and this is a rule -which I don't propose to break--when I am done with the actual eating -and drinking, to smoke a pipe; I regard that pipe as an integral part -of my breakfast. I don't know why you should wish to deprive me of -it." - -"I don't; I didn't know you wanted another; I saw you smoking one just -now, before we began." - -"That was because breakfast was unwontedly delayed; also that is no -reason why now I shouldn't have another. When I am enjoying my -breakfast pipe I like, when opportunity offers, to have a chat. You -spoke of payment. I suggest that your payment takes the form of -sitting down and talking to me till I have smoked my pipe right out. -Have you any particular objection?" - -"I don't mind staying, if you want me to, till you--you've done your -pipe." - -"Thank you; then will you have the goodness to resume your seat while -I load up? One can't talk to a person who will persist in standing." - -She sank down again upon the turf. As he crammed the tobacco into the -bowl of his briar she regarded the tablecloth with doubtful eyes. - -"Can I--can I clear away the things, and wash up for you?" - -"No, you can't; all you can do is sit still, and talk. Let me begin by -introducing myself; my name is Frazer--Eric Frazer. You were so kind -as to tell me last night that yours was Dorothy. As it is unusual for -a man to address a woman by her Christian name after such a short -acquaintance as ours hath been, may I ask you to tell me what your -surname is, so that we can start fair?" - -She hesitated; then told him a falsehood; she herself could not have -said why. - -"My name is Greenwood." - -Somehow, the instant she had spoken, she felt he doubted. He looked at -her, over the lighted match which he was holding to the bowl of his -pipe; and, though she did not try to meet his glance, she knew that in -it there was something sceptical. - -"Greenwood?--your name is Greenwood? Dorothy Greenwood--Miss -Greenwood. Thank you; I am flattered by the confidence in me which -your telling me your name implies." Having completed the operation of -lighting his pipe, folding his arms across his chest, he observed her -with a steady attention which made her feel curiously uncomfortable. -She began to wish that, ill-mannered or not, she had gone when she -said she would. Nor were matters improved when he began to ask her -questions; which he did in a cool, level voice which, for some cause, -jarred upon her nerves. "You were so good as to inform me, also last -night, when I inquired how it was that I was so fortunate as to be -favoured with your society, that you came from the road. Now the road -runs both ways; which one did you come from?" - -Summoning her courage she looked at him with what she meant to be -defiance. - -"I would rather not tell you, if you don't mind." - -"That's better; much better." What he meant she did not know; yet she -felt that it was something which she would rather he did not mean. He -went on: "Do I understand that, not knowing this country very well, -you are journeying you don't know where--without money, without -luggage, without even a hat on your head?" - -Again she tried to defy him. - -"I can't help your asking questions; but I'm not forced to answer them -if I'd rather not; and I would rather not." - -His manner, if anything, was blander than ever; her attitude did not -seem to wound his sensibilities one bit. - -"Quite right; you are perfectly right; if you don't want to answer, -don't; never be coerced into answering a question which you don't want -to answer. Impertinent curiosity is not to be encouraged. There is so -much interest taken in our goings and our comings, merely because some -people deem them peculiar, that the liberty of the subject threatens -to become seriously abridged. I know what I am speaking of; I have -suffered from that kind of thing myself. By the way, this morning, -while you were still fast asleep in bed I--went shopping." - -He laid a stress on the last two words which caused her to prick up -her ears; she herself did not know why. - -"Shopping? Where?" - -She looked about her, as if she expected to find a shop, or shops, in -sight. He shook his head. - -"No, not here; there are no shops upon the heath that I am aware of; -and I know it pretty well. I ought to. Where I went shopping was to a -town called Newcaster. Have you ever heard of it?" Newcaster was the -town from which she had fled the night before. So soon as he spoke of -it a dreadful feeling began to come over her that she knew what was -the point which he was approaching. She tried to shake the feeling -off; but it would not be shaken. With beating pulses she sat and -watched him drawing closer and closer. "Newcaster," he explained, -speaking with what seemed to her to be hideous deliberation, "is a -town not far from here; an old town; a racing town; it is to horse -racing that, in all human probability, it owes its continued -flourishing condition--for it continues to flourish. One of its -numerous meetings is taking place now; there is to be racing on this -heath to-day. You hear that humming and buzzing sound which comes and -goes, so that now it fills all the air, and now seems completely to -die away." She had heard it, and had vaguely wondered what it was. "If -you were to go to the top of that bank you would understand--it is the -noise made by the people who are going to the races; on foot, in motor -cars, in vehicles of all sorts and kinds, and by the people who are -already there. The race-course is over yonder, about two miles from -where we are. A great crowd will be there to-day; and, though it's -early, probably thousands are there already. It's all open country -between it and us; and, on a day like this, with what breeze there is -blowing from it towards us, sound travels. You'll know when a race -begins by the noise the people make; and when it ends, by the -comparative silence which follows." He paused to puff at his pipe. As -he did so the humming and buzzing sound of which he had spoken grew -distinctly louder. He pointed upwards with the stem of his pipe. "You -hear?" - -"Yes," she said; "I hear." - -He stayed still a little longer, as if to listen. - -"It dies away; perhaps the wind has changed a point or two; these -light breezes seldom blow from exactly the same quarter many minutes -together." He returned to the subject from which he had diverged. "In -Newcaster I made one or two small purchases--even my larder must be -occasionally restocked, especially when I've a guest whom I desire to -honour--and, having made them, I paid a call--at a hotel." Again he -paused; then added: "A hotel called 'The Bolton Arms'--perhaps, if you -have any knowledge of Newcaster, you may be acquainted with 'The -Bolton Arms.'" She was; that was the name of the hotel to which her -guardian had taken her yesterday; in which so much had happened. A -sort of paralysis seemed to be settling about her heart, so that she -could scarcely breathe, or move. She wished that he would get on -faster; come quicker to the point to which some instinct told her he -was coming. His drawling speech was bad enough, but each time he -paused it was as if he had given a tug at the hook which he had -got in her throat. "It's a hotel which I know very well, 'The Bolton -Arms'--very well indeed, considering. The landlord is a man named -Elsey; of him also I have some personal knowledge, and of his wife. -Not a bad fellow, in his way, is Elsey, though of late years he has -grown so much that, metaphorically, he has to take a larger size in -boots, and in hats. His wife has also grown. It's odd how people do -grow when, as they suppose, they become people of importance. When I -last saw John Elsey I should have said that his consciousness of his -own dignity had put him on a perch which it would not be easy to get -him off. Yet when I saw him this morning he was off it with a -vengeance. I have seldom seen a man mentally, morally, physically, in -a more lamentable state than he was. Poor Elsey!" Once more there was -one of those pauses which so distressed her. He seemed to be in an -introspective mood; as if he were contemplating a picture which was -present to his mind's eye. Yet--the feeling was growing in her, that, -all the while, he watched her as a cat might watch a mouse. She -avoided his glance; keeping her eyes fixed on the sugar-basin which -was on the tablecloth in front. In some indefinable way, though with -all her faculties she hung upon his words, she noticed how the flies -were making free with the sugar; she soon began to count them as they -came and went. And, all the while, she was trying to brace herself, so -that she might maintain an unruffled front when the blow fell, which -she knew was coming. If only her heart would not play such fantastic -tricks, and he would get on faster! His drawl seemed to be getting -more pronounced. "On such a day as this one finds it hard to credit -that in the world there's tragedy. In the winter it is different; -winter is itself a tragedy. But, when nature's radiant, and the sun's -in a cloudless heaven, surely all's right with the world, and comedy's -the only fare. When I reached 'The Bolton Arms Hotel,' in Newcaster, -the world was even more--_riant_--it's a word which the French use, -for which I can't hit on an exact translation. Do you know French?" -She nodded. "Then you'll know what I mean--than it is now; for, to my -thinking, there's nothing like the first sweetness of a summer -morning. Then, again, there are persons whom one does not find it easy -to associate with tragedy; God seems to have intended them to strut -through life as unconscious comedians; and the unconscious comedian's -the finest of all. Elsey's such a one. Have you, by any chance ever -seen the man?" She was silent; he went on. "Although I daresay that -the possession on which he most prides himself is his dignity, in -reality he's the most undignified of men. Surely there's no tragedy -where there's no dignity. Tragedy's austere; Elsey never could be -that. Yet, last night, there was a tragedy at 'The Bolton Arms'; and -it seems that Elsey played a leading part in it. And the strangest -thing was that, as he told me all there was to tell, the inherent -comicality of the man made him the most tragic figure imaginable. -Here's the story as it was told to me by Elsey; with addenda by other -hands." She had known, all along, that it was coming. With clenched -fists, and tightly closed lips, she waited for him to tell her what -she knew so much better than he did. In the tale as he had it, -however, she found that there were variants which to her were strange. -"Among the guests at 'The Bolton Arms' was a man named Emmett, of whom -I know a thing or two. Last evening, after dinner, he was found in his -chair, seated at the table, dead. Someone had killed him. It seems -that his head had been smashed in with a champagne bottle, the -broken fragments of which were found upon the floor. The irony of -it!--because, of all the things in this world there were few which -George Emmett loved better than champagne. They laid him on the table, -at which he had just done himself so well; and, a doctor having -certified that he was dead, they left him there, alone, in the room in -which he had dined and died." She knew, although she did not look at -him, that he had taken the pipe out of his mouth, to press the tobacco -closer; and she felt his eyes upon her face. She wondered what was -coming next. It proved to be hardly what she had expected. Nothing -could have been more casual than his tone and manner. To her, the very -indifference with which he spoke seemed to heighten the effect of what -he said. "There was the dead man on the table in the room. Some time -after they had left him there there came a crash from within the room -which, according to my informant, shook the house. That might have -been an exaggeration, about shaking the house; because 'The Bolton -Arms' is a substantial, solidly built, old-time structure, which, I -should say, is not easily shaken. At anyrate there came a noise from -within that room which was so loud, and so curious, that all the -people in the hotel seem to have heard it, and most of them went -rushing off to learn what it was. Elsey was among the first. When he -got to the door he was confronted by an unexpected difficulty; he, the -landlord, couldn't get into the room. The inspector of police had -taken away, not only the ordinary key, but the pass-key also; to make -sure that, in his absence, no one should get in. So the only thing, if -they wanted to get in, was to send for the inspector, and the key. -They sent for him. While he was coming they hung about outside the -room. They must have been an odd sight--Elsey, his wife, his guests, -and his servants, as they stood there listening. It seems that, -considering there was nothing in the room but a corpse, some amazing -sounds issued from it. Elsey says he never heard anything like them; -they were indescribable. He knocked, he even says he hammered, at the -door again and again, demanding to be told who was inside; and what -whoever it was was doing; and similar cognate questions; but both his -hammerings and his questions went unanswered; and apparently unheeded. -The noises had ceased before the inspector came; he pooh-poohed the -notion that there ever had been any. But he stopped pooh-poohing when -he entered the room. They had left the dead man stretched out on his -back on the table; they found him on his face on the floor, with his -knees drawn up beneath him. The natural presumption would have been, -since he was dead, that somebody must have pushed him off the table on -to the floor; but when the doctor came he knocked that theory on the -head. He declared that, in the first place, he had not been really -dead; that when they left him alone he had returned to some sort of -consciousness; that, probably, in his struggles to attract attention -he had tumbled from the table on to the floor; to a man in his -condition a serious matter; and that fall had finished him; for this -time he certainly was dead. Isn't that an odd story?" Although he -paused, as if for her to answer, she said nothing; she was waiting for -what was yet to come. And, presently, it came; as she knew it would -do. - -"The tale has a postscript; and, as they say is sometimes the case -with a lady's, it seems to me to be the most pregnant part of it. When -they got into the room, and found the dead man lying on his face upon -the floor, they also found that the blind before the only window was -drawn right up, and the window itself was open at its widest, which -seems a trifle; but then trifles are often of such importance. The man -who waited on George Emmett at dinner declared that the blind was down -and the window shut before dinner began; and more, much more, Elsey, -his wife, and the inspector, are all three convinced that the blind -was down, and the window shut, when they left the dead man alone in -the room. Had the window been open it would have attracted their -attention; because the wind was on that side of the house, and, apart -from the draught, they could not help noticing the curtains being -blown about--as they were being blown about when they found it open -then. But if the window had been closed then, it must have been opened -since, in which case the question arises--by whom. And here comes what -seems to me to be the queerest part of this really queer story. -Doesn't it strike you as being a rather curious tale?" Again he -paused, as if for her to answer, but still she held her peace--she -still waited. It was like the game the cat plays with the mouse; he -was coming nearer and nearer, presently he would pounce. The problem -she had to consider--though it was still unshaped--was, could she -elude him when he did? It seemed to her that his eyes observed her -more and more keenly as he continued. "George Emmett had a lady with -him when he arrived at 'The Bolton Arms Hotel'--an elderly lady; well -advanced in years, stout and unwieldy; with grey hair and a false -front; the sort of person one who knew the man would expect to find in -his society." She winced at this description, she felt that he was -speaking with malice prepense. "In spite of her grey hairs she seems -to have been a mysterious sort of person. She dined with him; she was -in the room with him when the waiter last saw him alive, but when, -some little while after, he came in and found him dead, she had -vanished: and she has remained vanished ever since. It hasn't been for -want of looking for her. They looked for her, not only in her own -bedroom, but in everybody else's bedroom also; it seems that they -looked in every room in the house; in every nook and cranny of it to -boot: nowhere was a trace or her to be seen. They were puzzled; but -that open window with the blind drawn up set them thinking; when they -found on a splinter of wood, at the top of the window, a small piece -of material, which looked as if it had been torn out of a woman's -dress, they thought still harder; and came to a conclusion which was -hardly flattering to themselves. It had not occurred to them to look -for her in the room itself; nor what an excellent hiding-place was a -recess and a curtained window. While they hunted for her upstairs and -down, high and low, all the time she was in the room itself--the room -in which George Emmett was done to death; she had never left it. She -was there when the waiter discovered him, as he supposed, dead on his -seat, she was still there when they left him, as they thought, dead on -the table. Whether she was there when he came back to life; and, if -so, what took place between them, she only knows. She had gone when -they returned and found the dead man on the floor; she had opened the -window, and made her exit through it; and, in going, had, unknowingly, -left behind that pattern of her frock which may prove to be a very -awkward piece of evidence against her, when, one day, she's found. She -possibly supposes that she's done rather a smart thing in getting -away, as she thinks, scot-free. But has she? She's covered herself, in -consequence, with more than a suspicion of murder. They're reasoning -this way. They say that it was she who used that champagne bottle to -so much purpose; and that was why she hid, like a coward, behind the -curtains, when the waiter came into the room; and why she stayed -hidden; and when the coast, as she thought, was clear, dropped, at the -peril of her life, from the window. And because they're accounting, in -that way, for her singular behaviour, all Newcaster is hot-foot after -her; and, so I'm told, they're having placards printed, describing -her, and offering a reward for her apprehension." He knocked the ashes -out of his pipe with his boot; blew down the stem to make sure that it -was clear; then went on. "There's one item I may add to make the tale -complete. They've not only her description, they've her name. It -appears that, for some reason, George Emmett did not enter her name in -the register when he entered his own; but when it dawned on them that -she was missing they opened the box in which her clothes were, and -found that all, or nearly all of them, were marked--'D. Gilbert.' 'D' -might stand for Dorothy, mightn't it?--which is by way of being a -coincidence, but, of course, Gilbert has no affinity with Greenwood. -Miss Gilbert seems to be rather a remarkable old lady; isn't that how -she strikes you?" - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - WHAT THE GIRL TOLD THE MAN - - -The question remained so long unanswered that one was disposed to -wonder if the girl had heard it; and this time Mr Frazer persisted in -waiting for the reply which did not come. He showed no inclination to -press her. Picking up his pouch from the turf, he began, leisurely, to -refill his pipe; and, for the first time since he had begun his story, -he withdrew his glance from Dorothy; using his eyes to observe the -tobacco as he pressed it home. She sat motionless; her hands in front -of her; her gaze fixed on the sugar, which the flies still harried; a -slight slip of a girl, with black hair, drawn tightly back from her -temples, and twisted in a knot behind. That was how they had taught -her to do it when, in the convent, she had put it up; she knew no -other way, and had no notion of the wonders which an artist in -hairdressing could perform with her luxuriant tresses. Although her -face was so white and thin that one doubted if she had had enough to -eat, it was good to look at. When she raised the long lashes which -veiled her eyes, one seemed to see right through the violet orbs which -were beneath into her very soul. But the man on the other side of the -tablecloth had known many varieties of women's eyes; he was aware how -apt they are to look one thing and mean another; he had little faith -in that imponderable essence, the feminine soul; he merely thought -what curious eyes the girl had got; quite out of the common. And as, -with practised fingers, he packed his pipe, he waited, patiently, for -her to speak. - -At last she did speak; and, when she did, her words were not an answer -to his question. - -"You know she's not an old lady." - -The attribution of such knowledge seemed to surprise him; he seemed, -for a moment, to be in doubt as to what, exactly, her words referred. -Then when he understood he smiled. - -"Is that so?" - -He continued to fill his pipe; and she to look at the sugar. Then she -asked: - -"What are you going to do:" - -"I am going to light a match." - -He did so as he spoke, holding the flickering flame to the bowl of his -pipe. - -"You know that's not what I mean." - -"Do I?" The tobacco was becoming ignited; he sent a puff of smoke into -the air. "What do you mean?" - -She looked round at him. - -"I am Dorothy Gilbert." - -"Of course you are." - -Nothing could have been more matter-of-fact than the air with which he -said it. She spoke with a catching of her breath; as if she resented -his coolness. - -"Did you--know it?" - -"Of course I did." - -"Did you--know it all along?" - -"Certainly--that is, let me be exact; it's as well to be exact--now -and then. When I heard that story at 'The Bolton Arms' I would have -bet that you were; when you came out of my house, and I saw you -standing on the ledge, I was sure that you were. They have your -description so pat, over at Newcaster, that it was impossible not to -recognise you." - -"Then--then why did you give me my breakfast?" - -"Why shouldn't I? You were my guest." - -"When--when you knew that I was Dorothy Gilbert!" - -"Well? What follows? Even so you were my guest." - -"When--when you believed I'd done that thing?" - -"I didn't say that I did believe it; you jump at conclusions." - -"Do you believe it?" - -"I am not sure that I do." - -"You are not sure!" She twisted herself round towards him, heat in her -voice, fire in her eyes. "You are not sure! How dare you--how dare you -say----" She stopped; as if suddenly conscious that her warmth was -uncalled for; continuing, with downcast eyes, in a different tone: -"What do you mean, when you say, you are not sure?" - -"I mean that I don't believe you did do it. Still, in order that we -may have all things shipshape and aboveboard, I confess that I should -like to have your assurance that you didn't." She was silent. "Won't -you give it?" - -"I'm not sure that I can." - -"Can?--or will?" - -"I--I'm not sure if I did do it, or if I didn't." - -She put her hands up before her face; he could see her shivering. He -eyed her with what seemed to be growing curiosity. - -"What was George Emmett to you?" - -"Nothing! Nothing! I hated him!" - -"That would seem to suggest that he might have been something to you -once; or--you would hardly hate him." - -"I don't know what you mean; he never was anything to -me--never--except my guardian; at least, he said he was my guardian; -and I suppose he was; but from the first moment I saw him I hated -him." - -"Isn't that, under the circumstances, rather a dangerous admission to -make?" - -"Why?" - -"Mayn't some people think that your feeling towards him may have -furnished a motive for--what happened?" - -"Do you mean that some people may think that because I hated him I -killed him? I hadn't the courage; I shouldn't have dared, I'm such a -coward; it's because I'm such a coward that I'm here--it's all my -cowardice!" - -She sat with clenched fists staring in front of her; there was -something in her expression which suggested to her companion that she -was not quite such a coward as she asserted. When he spoke again it -was as if a note of sympathy had, unawares, crept into his voice. - -"You observed, Miss Gilbert, that George Emmett was your guardian, -which seems to point to your having lost at least one of your parents. -Is it your mother?" - -"I never knew my mother--never; so far as I know, I never even saw -her. I suppose I must have had a mother, but I don't know who she was, -or anything at all about her." - -"And your father?" - -"I believe I was three years old when I saw him last, and now Mr -Emmett says he is dead." - -"Mr Emmett says? I presume you have some proof of the fact beyond Mr -Emmett's bare word." - -"I daresay the Sisters have." - -"What Sisters?" - -"At the convent." - -"At the convent? Were you in a convent?" - -"Of course; I was at the Convent of the Sacré C[oe]ur at -Vannes--Vannes is in Brittany, if you know where that is." - -"I do happen to know where that is; indeed, I happen to have some -knowledge of Vannes. Were there any other girls there besides you?" - -"Lots and lots, at different times." - -"Could you give me the names of any of them?" - -"Why, if I were to think, I could give you a list as long as that." -She stretched out her arms. "I was there for more than fourteen -years." - -"I don't think I'll trouble you for quite so long a list as that, but -could you give me the name of, say, one, who's been there within the -last twelve months?" - -"Rather!--for one thing, there was my special friend, Frances Vernon." - -"Did you know Frances Vernon?" - -"I should think I did, and---- Do you know Frances Vernon?" - -"It's odd, but I do chance to know something about Miss Frances -Vernon." - -"She was there when Mr Emmett took me away." - -"Was she? Then, in that case, I rather fancy she's left since." - -"I shouldn't be surprised. She said she shouldn't stop a moment longer -after I had gone than she could help." - -"I fancy she has a knack of getting her own way--at times." - -"Isn't she lovely?" - -"That's scarcely the word I should have applied to her. I should have -said she was a handful." - -"If that's all you can say then you don't know much about her. I say -she's lovely, because I know all about her, and I know she's lovely. -But--what did you say your name was?" - -"Frazer; Eric Frazer." Presently she shook her head. "What," he -inquired, "are you doing that for?" - -"I don't remember it; nor one in the least like, and I should have -done if she had mentioned it." - -"If who had mentioned what?" - -"You see, Frances and I were tremendous friends; we had no secrets -from each other. She used to tell me about everyone she knew; hes and -shes; their names, you know, and all about them. And she used to make -a list of their names, on a sheet of paper; so that she might be able -to check them, and find out if anyone had been left out; and I don't -believe she ever so much as even breathed your name, Eric Frazer; or I -feel sure I should remember." - -"Such an omission on Miss Vernon's part was unkind; it shows how -little I was in her thoughts. I gather from what you say, Miss -Gilbert, that you have a large number of friends." - -"I!" The girl's eyes were suddenly opened wide. "Why, I haven't a -friend in the whole world, except Frances, whom I may never see again; -and, perhaps, Sister Celestine; who, I daresay, never wants to see me -again--at the convent they found it so hard to get money from father. -I don't believe they'd have let Mr Emmett take me away if it hadn't -been that he paid all that father owed. Whatever made you think I'd -lots of friends?" - -"Then, if you haven't, you might give me a trial. It seems to me that, -at this particular moment, a friend's an article you're rather in want -of." - -"I am; but--when you think what you do--I couldn't!" - -"Miss Gilbert, if you could see my thoughts, I doubt if you'd object -to them; only, I'm older than you are, and I just feel that, if you're -not careful, you're likely to be in a tighter place than you have any -notion of; and, being so much older, if you were to tell me just what -happened last night at 'The Bolton Arms,' I might be of some slight -use in getting you out of it. That's all there is at the back of my -mind, as regards you. So, if you can bring yourself to make of me a -confidant, I'll respect your confidence, and whatever kind of trouble -it is you're in I'll be all the service to you I can." - -She looked at him, carefully; as if considering what kind of person he -really was; and then she told him, everything there was to tell. She -did not seem to find it easy to start; but, when she once had started, -she poured out all that was in her heart, as a child might have done. -As he listened, strange though her story was, he knew she was telling -the truth. The pathos of it, of which she herself seemed to be so -oddly unconscious, touched him more than he would have cared to own. -And, manlike, because that was so, his outward manner put on an -additional shade of gruffness. Suddenly she startled him by putting a -leading question. - -"Now do you think that I killed him, or that I didn't?" - -He tried to fence. - -"That's not altogether an easy question to answer." - -"Oh yes, it is; it's perfectly simple and perfectly easy; either I did -or I didn't: there can only be one answer." - -"Pardon me, but, from what I can gather, it's a point on which you -yourself seem to have some doubts." - -"I know I have. Of course I know I never actually touched him; -but--perhaps I might have prevented him being touched; and--when he -began to make those noises I might have got him help; and so--I don't -quite know how it is. What I want to know is what you think; if you -have the slightest atom of a doubt you had better take me over to -Newcaster, and hand me over to a policeman." - -"In any case I certainly sha'n't do that." - -"Then I'll give myself up. I--I daresay that I--I sha'n't be so very -much afraid when I--I've quite made up my mind I ought to." - -"You'll do nothing of the kind, if I can help it." - -"If you can help it?--why, would you try to stop me?" - -"I shouldn't only try. Let me disabuse your mind on one point; putting -casuistry on one side, you're no more to blame for what took place -than I am." - -"Are you sure?" - -"Perfectly sure." - -"It's very sudden." - -"What's sudden?" - -"Your being so sure. You weren't sure just now; you were anything but -sure. I wonder if, for some cause, you want me to believe that I am -better than you believe I am." - -"Nothing of the kind. However, I don't want to discuss the matter with -you. I am going immediately to tell you what I do propose to do. But, -before I get to that, there is one question which I should like to put -to you, in order that we may know exactly where we are. You saw the -man who made use of that champagne bottle? You had a distinct view of -him?" - -"I saw him as distinctly as I see you." - -"You would know him again?" - -"Anywhere; always." - -"Did you ever see him before?" - -"Never." - -"Of that you are certain?" - -"Quite." - -"Did he remind you of anyone you had seen before? Think!" - -"I am thinking; but--I can think of no one. Why are you asking me -these questions? Do you--do you know him? And--are you thinking of -giving him up to the police? If you are--if you are, nothing will make -me say that I ever saw him before--nothing!--nothing! He sha'n't come -to harm because of me!" - -"My dear child----" - -"I'm not a child--and anyhow I'm not yours!--nor am I dear! Are -you--are you daring to think of playing the traitor?--of taking -advantage of what I've told you to--to get him punished? Are you?" - -"I am doing nothing of the kind--how you do jump to conclusions! I -don't know the man from Adam. Why do you credit me with such sinister -intentions?" - -"Why did you ask me those questions--like that?" - -"I've half a mind to tell you; then perhaps we shall begin to -understand each other." - -"Perhaps it is just as well that we shouldn't understand each other; -but you will please to tell me." - -"Miss Gilbert, you're a young lady with a temper." - -"If you wish to speak to me like that----" - -She half rose from the ground; he checked her. - -"I don't--pray stay where you are! What times you and Frances Vernon -must have had together!" - -"What do you mean by that?" - -"Nothing--I suppose you must have had a good time with her in the -convent, if she was such a friend of yours." - -"Are you going to tell me why you asked those questions?" - -"I am; then I think you will be sorry you have taken up such a tone -towards me. I asked those questions because the person whom you saw -strike George Emmett informed the waiter that his name was Gilbert." - -"Gilbert!--Mr Frazer! But--I heard the waiter tell Mr Emmett that the -gentleman wouldn't give his name." - -"What seems to have occurred is this. Someone came to one of the -coffee-room waiters and told him that he wished to see Mr George -Emmett. The waiter asked him his name; he said 'Gilbert'; then -immediately added: 'Never mind my name; you need mention no name; give -him this.' He scribbled a line or two on a sheet of paper, in pencil; -put the sheet into an envelope, which he fastened, and gave to the -waiter. So it came about that the waiter who delivered the note -supposed the stranger to have given no name; while the original waiter -is prepared to swear that, in the first instance, he said his name was -Gilbert--which is why I asked if you had seen him, or anyone at all -like him, before." - -"But I haven't--ever! Who can he be? I haven't any relatives." - -"Your acquaintance with your family history seems to be so nebulous -that I scarcely see how you can say that of your own knowledge. Do you -remember what your father looked like?" - -"Only very dimly." - -"Try your hand at a description." - -"I seem to remember him as very tall, and dark, and----" She stopped; -the fashion of her countenance was changed, as if by a sudden access -of fear; then, as if because she realised how closely he was watching -her, she broke into what seemed to be a fit of pettish temper. "But -what does it matter what he looked like? What does it matter? My -father is dead." - -"According to George Emmett." - -Something in his tone caused her to look swiftly round at him. - -"What do you mean by 'according to George Emmett'? Don't you believe -that my father is dead?" - -"I merely mean that I had sufficient acquaintance with Mr George -Emmett to be disinclined to accept any statement of fact on his mere -_ipse dixit_. It is possible--if you like, it is probable--that he -gave the Sisters at the convent proof of his assertion; but I rather -fancy that their ideas of proof would be their own. You certainly seem -to have had nothing in the shape of proof. The fact that he paid money -on your account makes his tale--well, we'll say, peculiar; that he -should have done this if, as he told you, your father died owing him -money, makes it--well, very nearly incredible. It doesn't sound at all -like what is generally known of George Emmett's character. If he had -come and dunned you, or done worse, because your father died in his -debt, there I should have recognised the man; but that, having lost -money by your father, he should be willing also to lose money by -you--George Emmett must have had very odd reasons of his own for doing -that. You can't remember what the stranger said to Emmett?--what they -were disputing about?" - -"I can't; I may do later, but I can't now. My brain was so stupefied, -I was in such a state of cowardice, that I heard--without hearing; -certainly without understanding." - -"You can't recall even a single phrase?" - -"No, I can't; I tell you I can't! Why will you persist in asking?" - -"Please don't suppose, Miss Gilbert, that I wish to worry you; to -cause you pain; nothing can be farther from my wish; but I do want you -to appreciate the situation; to put you on your guard. If by any -diabolical mischance this stranger who gave your name should turn out -to be some more or less distant relative of your own it's as well that -you should be prepared for such an eventuality. Circumstanced as you -are, and may be, the one thing you don't want is to be taken -unawares." Twisting himself round, he drew towards himself a large -brown paper parcel which had been reposing on the turf at his back. -"Now to business. You have no money?" She shook her head. "Not any?" - -"I haven't a penny." - -"And--forgive me if I seem intrusive; but, if you will bear with me, -you will see that mine is not a merely impertinent intention--your -wardrobe is limited?" - -"I have no other clothes except those I have on. - -"And--forgive me again--those are not fresh from the dressmaker?" - -"Indeed they are not. I have had this dress---- At the convent I had -one dress a year; this is my last year's frock." - -"What has become of your hat? Don't you generally wear one?" - -"Oh yes, I wear one, but I left the one hat I had behind at the -hotel." - -"I told you that I went into Newcaster to do some shopping; and among -other things I bought the contents of this parcel. If you'll take it -to the room in which you spent the night I think it possible that -you'll find it contains some articles which may be of use to you. -While you're trying them on to see if they're any sort of a fit I'll -be putting things to rights; and harnessing that horse of mine, who's -very much mistaken if he thinks that he's in for a whole day's -holiday." - -She stared at him in amaze. - -"Why should you buy things for me?" - -"Why shouldn't I? You are Frances Vernon's friend; and she's a young -lady whom I happen to know rather a deal about." - -"But that's no reason why you should buy things for me!--you know it's -no reason!--you know it's not!" - -"Pray don't imagine that I'm offering to give you these things; I've -expressed myself ill if I've conveyed that impression. An exact -account of their cost will be rendered to you, for which I shall -receive payment in due course." - -"From whom will you receive payment?--from me? How can you imagine -that I shall be able to pay you; when, as I tell you, I haven't a -penny; and don't suppose I ever shall have one." - -"As a man, Miss Gilbert, you must allow me to understand commercial -matters better than you do--as a business man I know I shall be paid, -in full; so please make your mind easy on that score. When you have -changed your clothes--and I think that, considering all things, the -sooner you do change them the better--and I have stuck my steed -between the shafts, I will drive you, at the rate of about four miles -an hour, to a railway station; then, with your permission, acting as -your personal conductor, I will take you, with the help of a train, to -Mrs Vernon's house. Mrs Vernon is Frances Vernon's mother; and is by -way of being some sort of a kind of a relation of my own. She will be -delighted to give you house room, until inquiries have been made into -the truth of Mr Emmett's statements, as to your father being dead and -his having left no money--I feel sure he did leave money, or Emmett -would never have paid that bill at the convent; to say nothing of his -having expressed a wish to marry you--and in short, till your affairs -are placed upon a regular footing." - -"Which may be never. Why should Mrs Vernon give me what you call house -room?" - -"You are full of whys. I tell you that she will be delighted--for your -sake; for her own sake; for Frances' sake; and, perhaps, a little for -mine." - -"For your sake!--it's perfectly ridiculous to suppose that you can -care either one way or the other." - -"Quite so; it's very good of you to say so." - -"Mr Frazer, are you deceiving me? Are you sure that you know Frances -Vernon--and her mother?" - -"Extraordinary though it may seem, facts are facts; and I not only -know Frances Vernon and her mother, but also her father and her -brother." - -"That's Jim." - -"Yes, that's Jim; I perceive that you are acquainted with the young -scoundrel's name." - -"He's not a young scoundrel. Frances told me he was a darling. She -showed me his photograph; I could see for myself that he's very -good-looking." - -"You said Frances was lovely; I am therefore not surprised to hear -that you think her brother's good-looking. My word! However, on a -question of taste there is no disputing." He stood up; the brown paper -parcel in his hands. "Shall I place this inside that private apartment -of yours? And will you be so good as to make your toilet with all -possible expedition? I should like to start from here well inside -thirty minutes--if you could manage to be ready?" - -"I'm very sorry to intrude; or to interfere with what seems to be a -very nice little arrangement; but it isn't only a question of what the -young lady can manage--what price me?" - -This question came from a figure which all at once rose from a clump -of furze which was at the back of Mr Frazer. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - WHAT THE CARAVAN LEFT BEHIND - - -Swinging round in the direction from which the voice came, Mr Frazer -stood still to stare. The girl, rising to her feet, stared also; with -her pale cheeks a little paler, and her eyes wide open. - -The speaker was one of those shambling, half-grown youths who are -generally found attached to gipsy caravans, as hangers-on. That he had -gipsy blood in his veins, his hair and eyes and skin suggested; but -that he was as much Cockney as gipsy his tongue betrayed. With a -ragged cloth cap on the back of his head; the remains of a -black-and-white checked woollen scarf about his sinewy neck; a faded -old red flannel shirt plainly visible under an unbuttoned sleeved -waistcoat; his fingers thrust into the band of his trousers: he -grinned first at the man, and then at the woman, in evident enjoyment -of their something more than surprise. He showed no inclination to -break the silence which followed his wholly unexpected, and undesired, -appearance on the scene; from his point of view the joke was -apparently too good a one to spoil. It was Mr Frazer who spoke next. - -"Who are you?--and what business have you to be here?" - -The stranger's grin grew more pronounced, so that he showed a set of -perfect white teeth; which again suggested the gipsy. - -"I'm General Lord Kitchener, that's who I am--don't you know me from -the photographs? And as to what business I have to be here, I always -thought that Newcaster Heath was common grazing ground, and that -people could go about all over it just exactly as they please." - -"What have you been doing behind those bushes?" - -"What have I been doing?--that's it, what have I?" - -"Have you been listening?" - -The stranger looked his questioner straight in the face, with a grin -in his eyes and on his lips; then he winked. The action was more -significant than any words could have been; it moved the man to sudden -anger. - -"You young hound!" - -"Steady on! I'm no more a hound than you. No names; if it comes to -that perhaps I'm as good at chucking names about as you are--Mr -Frazer." - -"You know my name?" - -"I heard you tell her what it was; and very nice it was of you to tell -her." - -There was an insinuation in the grin with which the words were -accompanied which stung the man again. - -"My lad, I've a mind to break your neck." - -"Have you? Then you take my tip, and keep your mind to yourself. I've -some friends not far from here, and if you try to come any of your -games with me I'll give them a call, and they'll be here in double -quick time; then you'll find that breaking necks is a game that more -than one can play at." - -Mr Frazer regarded the speaker as if he were considering whether or -not to take him at his word, and let him give his friends a call. Then -he turned to the girl, his tone as easy and courteous as ever: - -"I think I'll put this parcel inside there, and then, while you're -changing, I can have a talk with this young gentleman." - -The girl seemed uncomfortable, undecided. - -"What does he want?" - -It was the younger man who replied: - -"That's it, miss--what does he want? I wouldn't mind having what he -thinks he's going to get; you can take that from me." - -Mr Frazer ignored the other's words. Going to the caravan with the -parcel in his hand he placed it just inside the door. Then he turned -to the girl again, beckoning to her with his hand. - -"If you please! You remember what I said about half-an-hour? I shall -be so glad if you can make it convenient to be ready." - -She hesitated; looking sideways at the stranger. Then she moved to Mr -Frazer, who was by the steps which led into the caravan. - -"Why won't you tell me what he wants?" - -"Because I don't know--but I soon shall; and all the sooner if you'll -leave us alone together." - -The young man called out from among the gorse: - -"He thinks he's going to bounce me as soon as your back's turned, -miss--oh, he's a deep 'un!" - -Mr Frazer, still ignoring him, said to the girl: - -"Please will you try to be ready inside those thirty minutes?" - -"Will you be ready?" - -"I think I shall--I don't think you'll find I'll keep you waiting." -She looked into his blue eyes, as if she were trying to decipher what -was in them; then, glancing half affrightedly over her shoulder, she -went up the steps into the caravan. She paused on the ledge to give a -flying look at Mr Frazer, and another at the lad among the bushes, -then passed inside, drawing the door to behind her. Mr Frazer said: "I -think that, if I were you, I should bolt the door, and close the -window." - -The lad called out: - -"That won't keep the cops out, miss, don't you think it!" Mr Frazer -waited, as if to ascertain that his hint had been acted on. Then he -crossed the little hollow, towards the bushes on the slope among which -the lad was standing. "Don't you come too close," observed the lad. - -"I don't intend to; I only wish to come close enough to enable you to -hear what I have to say without making it necessary for me to raise my -voice." - -He ascended the slope until he was within a few feet of the other. - -"That's near enough; none of your games." - -"There's a bush between us; that is something. Now, sir, what is it -you want?" - -"What do I want? Why, I want five and twenty pounds, that's what I -want." - -"What for?" - -"You know what for." - -"Since, from your appearance, you never had so much money in your -life, I suppose, in a general way, I do know what for. But do you -expect me to give you five and twenty pounds?" - -"That's for you to say. If you don't I can get it from someone -else--that all." - -"From whom?" - -"From the police over at Newcaster." - -"Indeed; why should they give you five and twenty pounds?" - -"Oh, come off of it!--what do you think you're playing at? You know -very well why they'll give me five and twenty pound, and if you don't -I'll tell you--I'm not afraid." - -"Why?" - -"Why!--for putting them on to Miss Dorothy Gilbert, what's wanted for -that little job last night at 'The Bolton Arms.' Now do you -understand?" - -"I hope I don't." - -"Then you needn't hope; because you do. I speak plainly enough, Mr -Frazer." - -"From your post of vantage, behind these bushes, did you hear all that -was said?" - -"I did; every blessed word; and I'm not going to forget one either, so -don't you make any blooming error." - -"Then, in that case, you are aware that this lady is guiltless." - -"If she didn't, her father did, or one of her lot--you told her -yourself his name was Gilbert--so what's the odds? She can explain all -about that to them when they've got her, and I hope she'll like the -job. Anyhow, it's no business of mine, all that; it's the pieces I'm -after. I lay they offer more than twenty-five, and I'm going to have -it. All the same, I'll take twenty-five from you, if I lose by it. You -give me five and twenty pounds, where I'm standing now, and I'll keep -my mouth shut--I don't wish no harm to no one; I can't say nothing -fairer." - -"Till when will you keep it shut?" - -"Why, till----" - -The youth seemed to hesitate; Mr Frazer finished his sentence for him. - -"Till the money's spent: or till you get within hail of a policeman." - -"Now, governor, you didn't ought to talk to me like that; you really -oughtn't--I'm not that kind at all--I give you my word I'm not. When I -say I'll do a thing, I do it; I'm not like some of them. You can trust -me--straight, you can." Apparently he was endeavouring to train his -countenance to wear an expression which would inspire confidence. All -at once he seemed to see something in the steadfast gaze with which -the other was regarding him which filled him with uncomfortable -qualms. "Now then, stow it--I'll call!" - -Shaping his lips to whistle, he moved back. But before he could utter -a sound, or get out of reach, or make an effort to defend himself, Mr -Frazer had sprung at him over the intervening bush. With one hand he -gripped his throat, with the other his arm; with a sudden, curious -twisting movement he spun him round, and flung him face downwards, -with a force which seemed amazing. Where the lad fell he lay, -motionless. Mr Frazer looked down at him. - -"One doesn't always spend money in acquiring the art of ju-jitsu for -nothing, after all. I always had a feeling that that fall might come -in useful one day; and it has. For the present, you young blackguard, -I can trust you; but the point is, for how long. I sent him down with -a little more vigour than was perhaps absolutely necessary; there -wasn't time to be particular; so it'll probably be a good twenty -minutes before he comes back to consciousness; but I'm afraid that's -not quite long enough. Better make sure." He took the woollen scarf -off the young man's neck. "There's not very much strength about it; -but I think it'll serve." He drew the young man's arms behind his -back, and with his own scarf he tied his hands together, being careful -about the sort of knot he used. Taking off the belt with which the lad -held up his trousers, placing his ankles close together, he passed it -round, then drew it as tight as he could, with the buckle behind. -Turning him over on to his back, tearing off a handful of grass, he -crammed it between the young man's jaws. Then he regarded the result -of his labour with what seemed to be a smile of satisfaction. "When he -does come to I don't think he'll be able to make much noise; he -certainly won't be able to make enough to attract the attention of -those friends of whom he spoke; and I doubt if he'll be able to move -much either. By the time a friend does come and find him we ought to -have reached a port of comparative safety; and if it's some time -before a friend does come, it'll serve him right--and that'll pay him -anyhow; it's more money than he ever had in his life." He took a piece -of crinkly paper out of his own hip pocket which he placed in the -inside pocket of the young man's jacket. "Still, lest a friend should -come too soon, we'll place him a little more under the shade of the -bushes; which will also serve to protect him from the heat of the -sun." Lifting the unconscious lad, he placed him right among the -gorse, in such a position that, as he put it, not only was he -sheltered from the glow and glare of the sun, but also from the -observation of any stray passer-by; indeed, so long as he kept still -it would be necessary for such a one to look for him in exactly the -proper place before he would become aware that he was there. "He -remains quiet; with luck he may continue quiet for quite a -considerable number of minutes. When he finds out what has happened to -him, and where he is, he'll find it difficult to make much noise, for -a time. He'll have to chew, and swallow, a good deal of that green -stuff before he'll be able to make much use of his lungs. Before then -we ought to be--some distance from this." Leaving the lad under the -gorse, moving to where they had had their morning meal, gathering -together the breakfast things, Mr Frazer deposited them, together with -the bundle which contained what had served him as a bed, on one side -of the broad ledge which was outside the caravan door. In a few more -minutes he had the horse harnessed between the shafts, and was ready -to start. He rapped at the door. - -"Are you all right in there? Don't worry if you've not quite finished; -only look out for yourself, because we're starting." - -A question came from within: - -"What's become of that man?" - -"Man!--boy, you mean. I soon disposed of him. Are those things a -decent fit?" - -The girl's voice seemed tremulous: - -"They're--they're not at all a bad fit, thank you. What did that boy -want?" - -"What I gave him." - -"What did you give him?" - -"Just enough to keep him quiet. Don't you bother about that boy. How's -that hat do?" - -Again the tremor in the voice. - -"I--I haven't put it on yet; but it's a very nice one; it must have -cost a great deal of money; I don't know how I shall ever pay you back -again." - -"I'll see that I'm paid; you'll be surprised when you know how little -it did cost--I'm an expert in the art of shopping. You'll notice -there's a window at the end inside there, which looks out over the -horse's head. When you've quite finished, if you open it you'll find -me sitting on the shelf immediately beneath, ready to be entertained -by any remark which you may deign to address to me--for making the -miles seem less there's nothing like a little intellectual -conversation." - -He had taken his place on the shelf to which he had referred, and had -gathered the reins in his hand, when he was hailed by a woman who -appeared on the crest of the slope behind him. - -"I say, mister!--one moment, if you please!" - -He looked round. - -"Two, madam, if you desire it." - -"Have you seen a young chap anywhere about here?" - -"I believe I did see one, some time ago." - -"Did you notice what he looked like?" - -"I fancy he had on a red shirt." - -"That him--he's my husband, he is--I thought he came this way, he said -he wouldn't be gone more than five minutes, but he's been gone a good -deal more than an hour--I can't make out what he's up to, because he -knows we're in a hurry. Did you notice which way he was going?" - -"I rather think he was going over there." - -He motioned with his whip towards the horizon on his right. - -"Was he? That's very nice of him, I don't think, as he knows very well -I'm over here. I should like to know what he's thinking of. If you -come across him, mister, I wish you'd ask him if he's Ben Hitchings; -and if he says he is you tell him that I've had about enough of -waiting, and that I've gone on to the course, and if he wants me he'd -better come and look for me there--see?" - -"Yes, madam, I think I see; and if I do come across Mr Hitchings I'll -make a point of giving him your message." - -Mr Frazer gave a jerk to the reins; the horse moved; the caravan was -off. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - DANGER AHEAD - - -They had got on to the road, and the hollow was already left some -little distance behind, when the window over the driver's seat was -opened, and Dorothy asked a question. - -"Which way did he really go--that young man in the red shirt?" - -"Frankly, between ourselves, I don't believe he went very far from the -spot at which he introduced himself to us--the young scamp!" - -"He can't be so very young if he has a wife." - -"Gentlemen in his class of life marry while they're in their teens; -and the ladies, some of them, apparently as soon as they're out of -their cradles. How's that hat?" - -"Thank you, it's--it's very nice. It's odd, if he didn't go far from -where we were, that she shouldn't have seen him." - -"Perhaps the young gentleman is lying low. I say. This establishment -of mine doesn't need much driving. I can do all the driving that's -required standing up; and if I were to stand up I could see inside -that window, and be able to judge for myself what that hat really does -look like. Do you think I might?" - -"You--you can stand up if you like; only--take care of the horse. - -"The horse will take care of us--never fear; she's a remarkable -animal, this mare of mine." His face appeared on one side of the -window, and the girl's on the other. "I say. I had a sort of feeling -that that hat would suit you, but I never guessed it would suit you -quite so well as that." - -"Do you--do you think it does suit me--really?" - -"If you were to ransack all Newcaster I doubt if you'd find another -which, artistically, would be such a success." - -"I am glad you like it; it was very good of you to buy it." There was -a pause; then she added: "Would you mind sitting down again, so that I -might see the country--it seems to be rather pretty." - -He glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes, whimsically. - -"It is rather pleasant hereabouts--am I so much in your way? Can't you -see the country with me here?" - -Her answer was decisive: - -"Not so well as I should if you were sitting down." - -So he sat down, where he could not see her: and the caravan went on. - -Although for a vehicle of its sort it was of light construction, it -still was cumbrous. The rate of progression was not fast; evidently -the mare had her own idea of how fast it ought to be. Perhaps it was -because she was such a sleek and well-fed animal that she objected to -being pressed. One could not but feel that, when she hauled that house -on wheels, with Mr Frazer at the reins, she was used to going as she -pleased; that it was she who set the pace, not the driver and that the -pace she preferred was a walking pace, of about five miles an hour. -When she discovered, as she presently did, that, on that occasion, she -was desired to go a little faster, she evinced her resentment in a -fashion which was unmistakable. Occasionally Mr Frazer induced her to -break into what was really a bad imitation of a trot; at the end of -perhaps a hundred yards she would relapse into a walk, with an air -which suggested that she had been forced to gallop a mile; and as it -was plain that, where she was concerned, her driver could not bring -himself to use strong measures and equally plain that the creature -knew it, before they had gone very far the vehicle was being drawn -along the highroad at a rate which suited the mare, if it suited no -one else. - -They had been moving a good hour, and had covered perhaps six or seven -miles, when a man, who was again of the gipsy class, came trotting -towards them, sitting on a bare-backed beast, which, although it -might have been exhibited as a living skeleton, could have given the -well-fed mare many points in the matter of speed. He glanced keenly at -the caravan; as soon as he had passed on one side he stopped, turned -his horse, and came back on the other, until he found himself abreast -with Mr Frazer. Stooping over he addressed him in a husky undertone. - -"I say, governor, are you going to Timberham?" - -"It is possible that I may get there, in time." - -"Is your name Frazer?" - -"Right; what's yours?" - -"Never mind what mine is. If you take my advice you'll give Timberham -as wide a berth as ever you can." - -"Why?" - -The husky undertone became still huskier: - -"The cops are looking out for you. Don't ask me how I know--ask no -questions and you'll hear no lies--but I do know. I don't know what -they want you for--I don't want to know--but they've got the office to -look out for a yellow van, with black stripes and red wheels, driven -by a party named Frazer, who's got a girl with him; I expect that's -her looking out of the window." - -Mr Frazer glanced over his shoulder. For some time conversation with -his passenger had languished. He had told her where he kept his little -store of books, and she had withdrawn into the van, nominally to read -one; but that she was doing more thinking than reading was a fact -which she would not have cared to deny. Now, attracted by the -appearance of the stranger, she had drawn close to the open casement. -Stopping the van, Mr Frazer descended to the ground. He spoke to the -man on the bareribbed horse. - -"Would you mind coming on one side for a moment?" They moved to where -the grass fringed the road, and where, if they spoke in lowered tones, -they were out of earshot of the girl at the window. "Are you sure of -what you say?" - -The two men looked each other in the face. Frazer saw that this man -was a wild-looking fellow, whose experience of the police and their -methods was probably of a practical kind. So far as he could judge he -seemed to be sufficiently in earnest. - -"Dead sure. I tell you they're looking out for you for all they're -worth. I shouldn't be surprised but what they're looking out for you -over the whole countryside. I know 'em?" He both sounded and looked as -if he did. "Just this side the town, about a couple of miles from -where we are, there's one of 'em coming along the road; I dare lay -he's coming to meet you." - -"That's kind of him." - -"I don't say he is, mind; I'm only telling you to look out." - -"Thank you; I'm obliged by your doing so." - -He slipped a coin into the other's long, thin, brown hand. The man -looked at it. - -"Here, what's this? It ain't this I'm after; I told you the cops was -on the watch same as I'd tell anyone, no matter what they'd done. -However, if you have got this half-sovereign to give away, I don't -mind taking it; and I thank you. It may make all the difference to me. -Sorry I can't stop to lend you a hand, in case one's wanted; but, the -fact is, some of them wouldn't mind seeing me as well as you, and, as -I'm not the only one that's in it, time's precious." - -What might have been meant for a smile passed over the man's saturnine -visage. Mr Frazer stood watching him, as he urged his bony steed along -the road. It seemed as if Ben Hitchings, having come back to sense, -had found a friend sooner than was quite desirable; or perhaps his -wife had found him, and this was his revenge. He wondered how the lad -had managed to set the machinery of the law in action so quickly. -Moving towards the van he was met with the question he had expected. - -"What did that man want?" asked Dorothy. - -She had her head half out of the window. Stooping, he passed his hand -up and down the mare's leg. Then, lifting her foot, he asked a -question of his own: - -"Would you mind getting out and walking a little?" - -"Why don't you tell me what that man wanted?" - -"What! that fellow who's gone down the road? He brought me a message." - -"What message? From whom? I heard what he said." - -"Then, if you heard, you won't need me to tell you." - -"I only heard part--you know I only heard part. Tell me what he said! -Tell me at once!" - -Mr Frazer was passing the fingers of his left hand through his hair. -He seemed to be in a quandary, which caused him to be oblivious of the -young lady's peremptory tone. - -"I don't fancy it's anything serious; but--I don't think I ought to -make her go much farther, with that great thing at her back. Poor old -girl!" - -He patted the mare on the shoulder, as if in sympathy. She looked -round at him, as if she wondered what he meant. An inquiry came from -the window: - -"Is there anything the matter with the horse?" - -"I'm not sure that there is--I'm not sure, that's the point. I don't -take any risks, with an old friend.--she and I have been friends too -long. That's why I asked you if you'd mind walking a little way." - -"Of course I wouldn't--you know I wouldn't." - -"Then in that case I think I'll take her into the field, and leave her -there." - -He was leading the mare through a gate in a hedge, which opened into a -field on the right. - -"Whose field is it?" asked the face at the window. - -"No doubt it belongs to someone who wouldn't wish to cause a horse -needless suffering." - -"But is it suffering? It seems to me to walk all right, and to be all -right." - -"Now it does--now! She's not one to make a fuss about a trifle. -Besides, it may be spasmodic." - -"What may be spasmodic?" - -"I am not a veterinary surgeon, so I can hardly pose as an authority -on the ailments of horses; I can only hope for the best." He was -fastening a nosebag round the creature's neck. "I don't want her to -eat a stranger's grass, however soft a heart he may have for a -suffering beast. If that door's still bolted, would you mind unbolting -it? I'm coming round to the back." When he did get round the door was -open, and the girl was standing on the ledge, in her new attire. He -exclaimed at sight of her: "Why, that frock might have been built for -you; you look as if you had been melted into it." - -Her pallor had gone; she was rosy red. - -"It does fit rather well." - -"And that hat's a stunner; no one who saw you last night would know -you now. If you wouldn't mind coming down, I'll come up; I want to do -a little changing." - -When she had descended he climbed into the van; he drew the door to in -his turn; she heard him bolt it. She moved to the horse at the other -end. The sagacious quadruped seemed as if she did not quite know what -to make of the situation. The presence of the nosebag seemed to puzzle -her. She had recently eaten her fill of grass; there was grass again -all round her; nice, luscious grass--then why the nosebag? She really -did not seem to feel as if she needed it, amid all that grass. She -regarded the girl as if, while wondering who she was, she desired to -convey to her her feelings on the subject. - -When Mr Frazer reappeared, for a second Dorothy scarcely knew him--the -metamorphosis he had wrought in his appearance in such a short space -of time was so complete. He had on a pair of buttoned boots; coat and -trousers of dark blue serge; a white waistcoat; a stiff white collar; -a neat green necktie; a dark green soft felt hat; and, to crown all, -he had shaved off his beard. His chin was as innocent of hair as a -baby's; his moustache was his only hirsute adornment. She stared at -him in amazement. - -"Why, whatever have you been doing?" - -He smiled. - -"I've only been cleaning up. Please don't glare at me like that. Am I -such an ogre?" - -"No, you're not an ogre; at least, you don't look as if you were; -only--it's difficult to believe that the person who went in is the one -who's come out." - -"That's the idea. Now, if you're ready, hadn't we better start?" - -"Are you really going to leave the horse and van in here?" - -He was locking the door of the van; the windows were already shut. - -"Why not? They'll be all right; trust me to take care of that." - -"I don't believe there's anything the matter with the horse; it seems -perfectly all right, and I believe you know it. You're doing this -because of what that man said--that man on the horse. What did he say? -I insist on your telling me! I--I wish you wouldn't be so mysterious! -What became of that young man in the red shirt? I believe you knew -where he was all the while, though you pretended to his wife that you -didn't. You may mean to be kind, but it isn't kind to treat me as if I -were a doll, and tell me nothing. It is I who am chiefly concerned, -not you." - -The girl spoke warmly, but the man seemed to be unaware of the fact. -Having finished locking the door, he was contemplating the vehicle -with an air of careful consideration. - -"I think that everything's shipshape--it's hardly likely that thieves -will break in and steal; especially as I've left nothing worth -stealing; if the owner of the field turns up all he can do is to run -the whole thing into what serves as the local pound, and that'll do no -harm to anyone." He turned to Dorothy. "Now, if you are ready, I'll -answer all your questions as we go along. Hollo! what's that?" He -listened. "Sounds as if it were a car." He went hurrying to the gate. -"It is--with only the chauffeur on board--I wonder----" He did not -finish his sentence out loud, but he moved into the middle of the -road. As the car came closer he held up his hand; it stopped. He said -to the driver, who was obviously the mechanic: "Would you like to earn -a couple of five-pound notes?" - -The man grinned. - -"I shouldn't have any particular objection." - -"Drive me and this young lady over to Ashington, and you shall have a -couple." - -"Ashington's fifteen miles from here--I've just set my governor down -at the races--I have to fetch him again in a couple of hours." - -"What's fifteen miles to a good car?--or thirty? Without pressing you -ought to be there and back with nearly an hour to spare. Here are the -fivers; you might as well earn them as do nothing." - -The man, who had pushed his goggles up on to his forehead, was -regarding the pieces of paper with greedy eyes. - -"That's true--and there's nothing special I've got to do." - -Mr Frazer advanced the notes closer to the man. - -"Is it a deal? It won't hurt the car." - -"No; it won't hurt the car." - -"Then put the pair into your pocket; why not?" - -"All right; I'm on." - -The man subjected the notes to an attentive scrutiny. Apparently he -knew a good note when he saw one, because, lifting up his poncho, he -put them into his jacket pocket with an air of satisfaction. - -"There's a good deal of dust about," observed Mr Frazer, in that -casual way of his. "Have you anything in the way of a cloak which the -lady might slip on while you're pushing through it?--and a pair of -goggles, which will keep it out of her eyes?" - -"There's the missus' dust cloak in the back there--she might put that -on, and there are some goggles in here." - -He unbuttoned a leather flap. - -"Make it two pairs, if it runs to it--I could do with some as well." -He was shrouding the girl in a long, tan-coloured garment, with a hood -to it. She drew the hood well over her hat, and, under his directions, -buttoned it under her chin. There was a mutinous glint in her eyes; -one felt that she would have dearly liked to express strong -disapproval of the whole proceeding; but, somehow, the matter-of-fact, -take-it-for-granted air with which he bore himself, seemed to have on -her a mesmeric influence which kept her dumb. Having inducted her into -the back seat of the car, and arranged a rug about her knees, he -handed her some goggles. When they were in their place her identity -was concealed beyond all likelihood of recognition. He used a second -pair, which the driver produced from the leather flap, for himself, -slipped on a sort of oilskin coat, and a cloth cap--both of which -articles, it seemed, belonged to the "governor"--and, seating himself -beside the chauffeur, said: "Now, let her whiz!" - -And they were off, at a pace which was in striking contrast to that at -which they had so recently been moving; that they were not, however, -going at anything like the rate at which the car could travel was -suggested by a remark which the chauffeur presently made: - -"It's all very well for you to say whiz, and if I were to let her whiz -she'd startle you; she's a 60, she is, and it's all I can do to keep -her slow enough; but the police aren't fond of motor cars round these -parts. Nice I should look if they were to trap me with you on board! -The governor wouldn't say anything--he can't say anything--oh no! That -would be about the end of me." - -"Are the police hereabouts an active lot?" - -"Active? I should think so! I seem to have seen more of them about -to-day than I've ever seen. I thought it was the racing; but a chap I -was talking to back there said there was something special up; he -didn't quite know what it was, but he did know there was something. -Like ferrets, the police are round here; I'd be sorry for anyone that -they were after--they'd have him." - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - HEADLINES - - -They were entering the outskirts of a country town. The easy-going -vehicles which characterise country towns occasionally took up more -than their fair share of the road. The chauffeur reduced speed. - -"This is Timberham; slow as you can's the best game here--never know -when you may run up against a peeler; seems to me they've nothing else -to do except pounce on you if you're moving above a crawl; some of -them would like to make out that you're doing twenty miles when you're -hardly doing two." Suddenly the chauffeur spoke in a half whisper. -"What did I tell you?" They had come along a narrow, winding street, -where discreet driving was certainly a matter of necessity; it had -suddenly widened out into a broad, open space, from which streets -branched off in all directions. In the centre a constable was standing -with a superior officer. At sight of the car the latter raised an -authorative hand. "Now, what's he want?" growled the mechanic, under -his breath. "Drat them fellers!" - -The officer approached. - -"You leave him to me," said Mr Frazer. "I'll talk to him. What is it, -officer?" - -"Sorry to stop you, sir, but have you passed a caravan on the road?--a -primrose-coloured van, with black stripes, and red wheels--something -rather unusual in the way of vans; you could hardly help noticing it." - -"I'm afraid I haven't been paying much attention. Whereabouts would it -be?" - -"Somewhere between here and Newcaster Heath. Which way did you come?" - -"We've come from the Heath. Why do you ask?" - -"Well--we're rather anxious to get news of that caravan." - -"Why?--been stolen?--or anything of that sort?" - -"No, it's not been stolen--no, nothing of that sort; only--there's -someone with it with whom we should very much like to have a little -conversation." - -There was a significant twinkle in the speaker's eyes. Mr Frazer -smiled, as if with perfect comprehension. - -"In that case I hope it won't be long before your wish is gratified. -There'll be plenty of people on that road to-day--I don't suppose I -need tell you that it's race day--if it's anywhere about you ought to -have news of it soon." - -"As I said, if anyone does see that caravan they can hardly help -noticing it. Thank you, sir; sorry to have kept you waiting." - -Stepping on one side the officer saluted; the car went on. - -Until the town was left behind the chauffeur said nothing; but when -they began to bowl along the open road beyond he smiled, with much -meaning. - -"I saw that van he was asking about in the field which you came out -of." - -"Did you? That shows that you've the faculty of observation--odd how -many people are without it." - -"And as it was in the same field in which you were you must have seen -it too; in fact, you couldn't help it." - -"I never said I hadn't." - -The chauffeur considered this statement. - -"No, I suppose you didn't, if it comes to that--very artful the way -you put him off. He thought you said you hadn't seen it." - -"Some of those policemen do think at times." - -When he had duly pondered this cryptic saying the chauffeur chuckled. - -"I can see that you're a deep one." - -"I am not sure that I quite deserve that compliment. What are we doing -now? Thirty? At this rate we ought to be in Ashington in under -half-an-hour." - -"We're doing all of thirty--we ought to be in Ashington in less than -twenty minutes. That peeler was looking for you." - -"Short-sighted mortal--surely I was near enough for him to see me." - -"What have you been doing? I hope it's nothing--you know; I don't want -to be mixed up with anything fishy." - -"I assure you there's nothing fishy about me. It is not only you -gentlemen who drive motor cars who have differences with the police; -lesser folk have them also--especially when there's a lady in the -case, and a stony-hearted guardian." - -"A lady is it? Ah!--I might have thought of that--now I see what the -caravan was for--and she sitting behind there all the time saying -nothing. Well, you're a couple of cool ones. But when there's a lady -about you never know what's about. Not long ago one of my governor's -daughters ran off with a young chap what was a riding master. Wasn't -there a rumpus! Every policeman in the county was looking out for -them--but they were married before they got them--and she only turned -seventeen; sandy hair she had." - -"It's a dangerous age, seventeen." - -"Where a woman's concerned all ages are dangerous." - -"That's true. I perceive that you also are a deep one." - -"When you've got to drive a motor car, and keep her properly tuned up, -you've got to be about all there. By the way, would you mind giving me -ten sovereigns instead of those two fivers?" - -The change of subject was rather sudden; Mr Frazer glanced round, as -if a trifle startled. - -"With pleasure--if I have them. But what's wrong with the notes?" - -"There's nothing wrong with them--as notes; I know that well enough, -only--their numbers might be known, and, if they're traced, it -wouldn't suit me to be asked how they came to be in my possession--not -by a long chalk." - -"I catch your meaning--you're a far-sighted man. However, I give you -my word that the numbers of those notes are not known, in the sense -you mean--thanking you very much for the insinuation." - -"I daresay; still--I'd rather have the sovereigns. I sha'n't forget -how artful you were in putting that peeler off the scent. Whereabouts -in Ashington do you want me to put you down?" - -"I don't care, so long as it is in Ashington. Aren't we nearly there?" - -"That's Ashington, round the bend--that square tower's the town hall. -It's new, the town hall is; they think more of it than I do--I call it -a common-looking building." - -"If you'll slow down I'll see if I can find the ten sovereigns you -would rather have." He took several gold coins from a pocket in his -trousers. "I've got them--here they are. If you'll give me those two -notes, I sha'n't mind their being found in my possession. Now if -you'll take us, say, a quarter of a mile farther, and then set us -down, I'll be obliged." - -"I'll set you down by the town hall--I know the chap who built -it--he's a sort of cousin of my old mother's. It's the biggest job -he's ever had, and he thinks no end of it. I tell him opinions -differ--it does make him so wild." - -When they had alighted in front of the edifice in question, and had -divested themselves of their wraps, the car drove off--possibly to -fetch the "governor" from the races. The girl turned on her companion -with flashing eyes. - -"Why did you tell that policeman such a lie?" Nothing could have been -better done than Mr Frazer's air of deprecation. - -"Did I tell him a lie? I was not aware of it." - -"You as good as told him a lie; you prevaricated--you meant to deceive -him, and you did. If I hadn't been such a contemptible coward I should -have jumped up and told him the truth--that it was me he was looking -for. I believe that every policeman is looking for me everywhere--I -feel sure they are. Every fresh lie you tell to screen me makes me -feel more ashamed--especially as I know they're certain to find me in -the end. There's a policeman over there; I'll go and tell him who I -am--now!--and then at least you need tell no more falsehoods for me." - -Fortunately, Mr Frazer seemed to think, as he looked about him, there -was no one within earshot to notice her wild words and manner, and the -constable to whom she referred was some little distance off, on the -other side of the way, with his back towards them. He laid his hand -upon her arm, speaking with that matter-of-fact coolness which the -girl seemed to find herself powerless to resist. - -"I shouldn't do that, just now, especially as a train will soon be -starting which I am rather anxious to catch. Let's get into this cab, -and see if we can't catch it." - -Feeling as if she were doing none of these things of her own -volition--which, indeed, was the case--the girl suffered him to hand -her into it. Presently she found herself entering a railway station at -his side; then, a little later, seated alone with him in a first-class -compartment--a passenger in a train for the second time in her life. -The rate at which it moved; the noise it made; the occasional -oscillation; the strangeness of it all--served to increase her mental -confusion. She caught herself wondering, with what seemed to be some -remote lobe of her brain, if her mind ever would be clear again. He -held out towards her a cigar which he had taken from a case. - -"May I smoke?" She said yes; and he did, talking as he smoked, in that -clear, gentle, musical voice, which made itself audible above the roar -of the train, affecting her as nothing had ever done before. - -"This is an express, which runs through to town without a stop; we are -lucky to have caught it. You look tired." - -"I am; I don't know why: I have done nothing; but I feel as if I shall -never again be anything but tired." - -"You wait--till you're not tired." He was silent; examining his cigar, -which did not seem to be lighted quite to his satisfaction. She -thought, hazily, how handsome he looked; handsomer in what seemed, to -her, to be his smart attire, even than he had looked in his shirt -sleeves on the heath. He went on, speaking rather as if he were -soliloquising than addressing himself to her: "Queer world! Yesterday -you were non-existent; yet to-day your life has become so intertwined -with mine that I feel sure that we must have been associated in some -prior state of existence." - -"That's absurd! My horrid troubles have nothing to do with -you--nothing! To you I am only a stranger--a disreputable stranger -too." - -"You're a foolish child." - -"I may be foolish, but I am not a child--and I wish you wouldn't -persist in treating me as if I were a child! I believe you have been -doing all the things you have been doing--and ever so many of them you -ought not to have done--simply and solely because you think I'm a -child. Do get that idea out of your head, I beg of you; I'm quite old -enough to be able to take care of myself--and if I'm not able I ought -to be. Please, when we reach London, leave me, when we get out of the -train, and I'll go to the first policeman I see, and tell him -everything there is to tell--I feel sure that if you keep going on as -you have been I shall get you into trouble as well as myself, and--and -I'd rather anything than that. Why should you suffer because of me?" - -"When we reach town I'm going to take you to the Vernons'--Frances' -father and mother." - -"Why should you do that? Why should you try to thrust me on people who -know nothing about me, and who wouldn't wish to have anything to do -with me if they did? Why should they take me in?" - -"All those whys in one sentence! I never knew such a child for whys. -Your fondness for asking questions shows you are a child." - -"You won't tell me anything unless I do; I have to keep on asking you -questions--and even then you don't answer them--I don't know why, but -you won't--it's not kind of you!" - -"The Vernons have a house on the river, not far from Hampton Court; -it's a decentish place; you'll find yourself comfortable there." - -"Shall I--that's all you know! In a stranger's house!--where I know -I've no right to be, and feel I'm not wanted!--with that nightmare -haunting me!--afraid to look a policeman in the face!--comfortable! -Thank you; you don't understand!" - -"Have you any sense at all?" - -"You think I haven't; or you wouldn't treat me as you are doing--but -I'm not an utter idiot." - -"Then prove it, by acting on my advice. Forget all that it is better -to forget; all unpleasant things are best forgotten; and, at your age, -forgetting is so easy. Leave the conduct of things in more experienced -hands; meaning mine. I'm pretty idle; I expect to find, in the process -of putting your affairs in order, congenial amusement. A little bird -whispers in my ear that I sha'n't find it nearly such a difficult job -as you imagine. You don't seem to have had a very good time up to now; -you shall have a better in the days which are coming; you'll find that -your worries will vanish, and it will be roses, roses, all the way." - -"Why should you do all this for me?--if it can be done; which I -doubt." - -He sighed. - -"Mild remonstrance is plainly useless; you'll have to keep on whying! -Did Frances Vernon know that George Emmett took you away from the -convent?" - -"Of course she did--besides, I told her all about it. She was there -when he came--she saw us start." - -"Then, in that case, I shall tell Mrs Vernon that Mr Emmett is not so -well as he might be, which is a fact, and that, since, therefore, he -is not able to take so much care of you as is desirable, which is, -again, the fact, I have assumed the charge of you, _pro tem_. You -understand? It may not be necessary for you to say anything--I will -endeavour to make it unnecessary--but if you must, you must support my -story." - -"Your lie, you mean--another!" - -"I hardly think that ugly word is called for. What I shall say will be -the truth." - -"Part of it, you mean. If you were to tell them the whole truth, those -people wouldn't let me inside their door--that's what I understand. -And yet you say that, knowing that, I shall be comfortable." - -"Permit me to observe, since you persist in assailing me, that you -speak with that merciless severity which marks the ignorant child, or -the green girl who flatters herself that she is just ceasing to be a -child. I am as good a judge of what is improper as most people of my -acquaintance; if I thought that you were an improper person to -introduce into Mrs Vernon's household you would not be introduced by -me. I feel, strongly, that you are an inexperienced child; that you -have had many things against you; that you are at a period in your -career in which you need, above all else, an experienced hand, to keep -you from coming to eternal grief. I am going to play the part of the -experienced hand, for quixotic reasons, if you choose. Don Quixote -didn't have such a bad time of it, first and last; he was a gentleman. -If I were to tell Mrs Vernon what you would perhaps call all that -occurred last night at 'The Bolton Arms' I should still be telling her -what, from your childish point of view, would be a lie; because you -don't know all the truth, nor I either; there's much about the affair -which needs a great deal of explanation, and I'm going to see that it -is explained. In the meanwhile, if there is anything about your -connection with the business which you have concealed, and which is -not to your credit, now's the time to get it off your mind." - -Her manner was much meeker. - -"There isn't; I've told you all there is to tell, at least, I--I've -told you all I can think of." - -"Very good; having weighed what you have told me, holding you -innocent, I am going to stand surety for your innocence to Mrs Vernon. -Now, do you understand the position I am taking up?" - -"But why----" - -"No more whys, please; I've had enough of them. Don't you, out of the -fulness of your ignorance, presume to set yourself up to judge me, -because I, out of the fulness of my knowledge, do or say certain -things, which may be beyond your limited comprehension, but which I -know to be right--in other words, don't set yourself up to be a -censorious little prig--I had almost rather you had broken Emmett's -head. I am going to do nothing for you that I ought not to do, but I -am going to do for you everything I can. You hear?" - -"Yes; I hear." - -"Then don't you play me false." - -"Play you false? As if----" - -"You'll be playing me false if you don't endorse what I tell Mrs -Vernon, and if you're not as comfortable in her house as everybody -about it will unite in trying to make you. Here are some picture -papers for you to look at." - -He handed her half-a-dozen, while he unfolded, for his own perusal, a -journal of the day. If his intention was to close the discussion he -had taken a drastic means of doing it. Ominous headlines stared at him -from the open sheet: "Extraordinary Occurrence at Newcaster.--Murder -of Mr George Emmett.--Mysterious Disappearance of a Young -Lady.--Reward Offered for Dorothy Gilbert." As he read, reflections -passed through his mind. "Vernon has often boasted to me that he never -reads the police news, or any of his family either. This is a local -rag; perhaps they won't make such a fuss of the thing in town. Anyhow, -let's hope that on this occasion he's as good as his word, or I shall -have to tell a longer story than I intended." - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - THE VERNONS--PARTICULARLY FRANCES - - -Dorothy had never seen a prospect which pleased her better. There was -grass beneath her feet--the exquisite grass which one seems to find -only on an English lawn--thick and soft and springy, of such a restful -green. There was croquet on one side; two tennis courts were beyond; -with a well-shorn piece of grass, with big numbers on it, whose use -she did not understand, which was really a clock for putting at golf; -flowers were in beds and borders, on banks, and everywhere; there were -great trees and smaller ones, shrubs and clustered bushes; behind was -the long, low, old house, with its rose and creeper covered walls; in -front was the river, sparkling, laughing in the sunshine, already -alive with a greater variety of small pleasure craft than she had ever -heard of. She had read of such places in English books at the convent; -but she had scarcely even hoped ever to see one. Yet, here she was, -transported, as if by the touch of a magician's wand, into what seemed -to her to be a more perfect paradise than any of those she had read -of, which she had been told she might regard, at least for some little -time to come, almost as if it were her own home. After fourteen years -spent within one set of walls, where nothing ever happened, events had -crowded on her, all at once, so quickly; she had been so passed, as it -were, from hand to hand; so hurried from scene to scene, that it was -not strange if this final transformation almost seemed to her as if it -were part and parcel of some long-continued dream, and that as she -stood there, inhaling the pleasant air, the smell of the flowers, the -sunshine, the indescribable aroma of the whole delightful scene, she -was conscious, amid all the charm and sweetness, of a sense of -shivering fear, lest this, the only pleasant phase of that drawn-out -dream, should pass, as the rest of it had done, and its terror should -return. - -It was in an effort to escape this haunting fear that she moved -quickly down to the river's brink. There was a sloping bank at the -foot of the lawn; the stream ran just beneath; the grass growing -almost down to the water's edge--there was nothing whatever to prevent -your stepping from the bank into the river if you felt disposed. She -stood on the slope to take in new aspects of what seemed to her to be -the ever-changing scene. How nice some of the boats looked--and how -pretty were some of their occupants--and what pretty clothes they -wore! Dorothy was wearing the frock and the hat which Mr Frazer had -brought with him in the parcel from Newcaster; yesterday they had -seemed to her to be in the height of fashion--and compared to the -garments which she discarded for them they were. Now she felt how out -of harmony they were with her surroundings. The frock was of dark blue -serge, the hat of dark grey felt; both good in their way--she did not -doubt that they had cost more money than any two garments of hers had -ever done before. But then the men in the boats were all in white -flannels, and the girls and women in gossamer fabrics of the airiest -kind, with hats which were radiant visions. They were in accord with -the spirit of the scene. The longer Dorothy stood to watch the -stronger her conviction grew that she was not. As far as appearance -went she was nothing but a blot on the landscape. Ashamed though she -was of such a feeling it was there, and would not away. She knew, none -better, how indebted she was to the generosity of a stranger for being -able to look as well as she did. She called herself a little pig for -wishing that her clothes went better with that fairylike garden, those -radiant skies, the silver stream; were more in the vein of poetry -which marked the costume of the girl in the boat with the two men, an -old and a young one, which was crossing from the opposite bank towards -the lawn on which she stood. She was a study in the palest of pale -blues; Dorothy thought what a charming bit of colour she made, in the -smart boat; in which the two oarsmen, of such contrasting ages, were -evidently so much at home. What a good-looking pair they were, in -their different styles! The fact became plainer as the boat drew near; -the one with the silvery hair and moustache, the other with the light -brown curls, and smooth cheeks on which was the glow of youth and -health. - -It had just dawned on Dorothy that the boat was being steered, by the -vision in blue, towards the spot on which she was standing; when, on a -sudden, the young lady in question, rising in her seat, began to -exclaim aloud, in a state of unmistakable agitation: - -"Why, if it isn't Dorothy Gilbert! Dorothy Gilbert, where have you -come from?" - -The white-haired gentleman seemed to find in the steerswoman's conduct -cause of complaint. - -"If," he observed, in quite audible tones, "you do want to have us -over, would you mind letting us have a little notice of what to -expect?" - -The expression of this seemingly reasonable wish the young lady -treated with scorn. - -"Don't be silly, dad! What does it matter? Especially when there's -Dorothy Gilbert actually standing on our lawn! Dorothy Gilbert, where -have you tumbled from?" - -"Excuse me, sir, if we've taken much paint off your boat; but if -you'll kindly have it put right, and will send the bill to my -daughter, who's at present suffering from one of her periodical -attacks, I've no doubt she'll be glad to see it settled--she's -supposed to be steering us, and this is the way she does it." - -"Dad!--how can you?" The young lady had all at once discovered, to her -confusion, that these remarks were addressed to two young men who were -in a skiff with which their own craft had nearly come into collision. -"If you or Jim will row I'll take you in." Presently the boat was -brought along to some steps which Dorothy had not previously noticed, -but which she now saw led to the lawn. The young man stepped ashore, -with the painter in his hand; and was followed by the young lady, who -sprang up the steps, two at a time, and rushed to where Dorothy was -standing, exclaiming as she went: "Dorothy! Dorothy! my darling child, -have you tumbled from the skies?" - -And, almost before she knew it, Dorothy found herself in the arms, and -submitting to the caresses, of the vision in blue. - -"Why," she said, when at last she had a chance to speak, "do you know, -I didn't know you; you look so different." - -"Different from what?" - -"Different--from what you looked at the convent." - -"The convent? My dear!--I should hope I do! How we all looked at that -silly old convent! But, tell me, how do I look?--really?--that -miserable Jim just said I looked a perfect fright." - -"I was just thinking how lovely that girl in the boat did look; -and--she turned out to be you." - -"My dear, you're an angel! I always was fond of you, but if you keep -on saying darling things to me like that----! What's become of your -guardian? Where is Mr Emmett?" - -"I--" Dorothy was about to say, "I left him behind in Newcaster"; but -she changed the form of her sentence to--"I haven't brought him with -me." - -"Brought him with you! I should think you hadn't! The idea of -bringing him! The great thing is, you've brought yourself. Honestly, -I'd sooner see you than that the Fates should buy a motor car; and if -you knew how set I am on that--you mayn't believe it, but we only go -driving about behind frumpy old horses--you'd understand how glad -I am--especially to-day. My dear, to-day's our regatta, and our -garden-party--it's our day of days! You couldn't have dropped on us at -a better time; you little schemer, I believe you planned it! Father, -if you will kindly come here I will present you to my friend, Miss -Dorothy Gilbert, of whom, in my moments of emotion, you have heard me -speak. Dorothy, this is my father; a more desirable parent you could -not ask for; though I regret to say that he treats his daughter with a -lack of respect which I fear is one of the signs of the day. Fathers -did not treat their daughters like that when I was young." - -"No, Miss Gilbert, nor when I was young either; in those days -daughters stood in awe of their fathers--but we've changed all that. I -trust you know my daughter sufficiently well to be aware that she has -her moments of sanity." - -"Dad!--you shouldn't speak like that!--the child will misunderstand -you. Fortunately Dorothy does know me. James!--Jim!--when you've -finished trying to tie that boat up might I ask you to step this way? -Dorothy, this is Mr James Harold Arbuthnot Vernon, better known as -Jim--he is my brother; which is the only complimentary thing I can say -of him. Jim, I believe you can be almost nice if you try very hard--do -try your very hardest to be nice to Miss Gilbert." - -"Miss Gilbert, I assure you I can be very nice to you, as this little -object puts it, without trying in the least; in fact, I don't believe -I could be anything else." - -"Jim! Dorothy, did you ever hear anything like him? Please try to bear -with him, for a time, for my sake." - -The father of the pair managed to get in a word. - -"I trust, Miss Gilbert, that this is not a flying visit you are paying -us, but that you have come to stay some time." - -Dorothy's was a stammering answer. - -"I--I hardly know; my--my movements are uncertain." - -Miss Vernon echoed her last word. - -"Uncertain!--but, my dear child, what I'm dying to know is what -favouring wind of providence it was which blew you here. When did you -come?" - -"Last night." - -"Last night!--at what ever time?" - -"It was very late." - -"It must have been. You see that houseboat by the paddock -there?--that's ours; sometimes some of us sleep in it, and sometimes -none of us do--last night we three did--but we never started till -quite late, and you weren't here then. Why ever didn't you let me know -that you were coming? I'd never have gone to that silly old houseboat -if I had." - -"I didn't know that I was coming till--till I'd almost come." - -"My dear child!--what do you mean? You must have made up your mind in -a hurry, or--did your guardian make it up for you? Did Mr Emmett bring -you?" - -"No; I came with Mr Frazer." - -"Mr who?--Frazer?--and who's Mr Frazer?" - -"He says he knows you--and your mother seems to know him very well." - -"Says he knows me!--and mother knows him very well?--what Frazer can -it be? I know no Mr Frazer." - -Her brother offered a suggestion. - -"Perhaps he's one of Billy Frazer's lot--Miss Gilbert, do you know -Billy Frazer? He's up at Magdalen; stroked their boats in the torpids; -Bones they call him because--well, because he's bony. Perhaps your -man's a relative of his." - -"I don't know; I don't know any of his relations--his name is Eric." - -Miss Vernon turned to her father. - -"Dad, who is Mr Eric Frazer?" - -"I daresay, if you put Miss Gilbert on the witness-stand, and bombard -her long enough, you may get from her the information you require; -though in my time it was not supposed to be the thing to cross-examine -one's guest the moment one met her--however, we have also changed all -that. I am going into the house to speak to your mother. I am very -glad to see you, Miss Gilbert; I don't care how you came, or with -whom; I am only sorry that I was not here to welcome you. I trust now -you have come you'll keep on staying." - -The old gentleman moved towards the house; with a figure as erect as -if nothing had ever happened to bow his head or bend his back. His -daughter looked after him with smiling eyes; then turned to the -visitor with a question which took the girl rather aback. - -"Well, Dorothy, what do you think of my father?" - -"Frances!--what a thing to ask me!--when I've seen him for scarcely -five minutes!" - -"Well?--isn't that long enough to enable you to form an opinion? I've -summed up most people inside two seconds." - -"Yes--all wrong. Frances, you are an idiot; I never did know anyone -talk quite such drivel as you do." - -"Thank you, James; I am obliged to you. Would you mind going away to -play? I have something which I wish to say to my friend, Miss Gilbert, -which I would rather not have overheard by boys. And please remember -how easily a bad impression is formed--don't let Miss Gilbert find out -your true character in the first two minutes." - -"All right, ducky; don't you worry. I give you my word I've no wish to -listen to the sort of stuff I know you are fond of talking. Miss -Gilbert, you have my sympathy." - -The young gentleman strolled off, his hands in his pockets, whistling -a popular air. Miss Vernon regarded his back with the same smiling -eyes with which she had followed her father; and put almost the same -question to her friend. - -"Dorothy, what do you think of Jim?" - -"Frances!--how can you?--when you know very well that I think -nothing." - -"You are quite right, my dear; I am glad you show such penetration. -All the same, you can't deny that he is good-looking." - -"Is he? I didn't notice." - -"You didn't notice! Child!--you're not in the convent now." - -"No; sometimes I wish I were." - -"That's a flattering thing to say!--considering where you are!--and -that I am here!" - -"Frances! I didn't mean that! You don't understand." - -"You are wrong; I do. I've a feeling that there's something mysterious -about you, about your presence here; and, Dorothy Gilbert, if there's -anything I do love, it's mystery. I suppose it's too much to hope that -it's one of those frightful mysteries, of which one only speaks with -bated breath--that sort of blood-curdler never crosses my path. But, -whatever it may be, I foresee a perfectly delightful time ahead, while -I am engaged in wriggling out from you the secret. However insinuating -I may be, baffle my curiosity; and for goodness sake don't let it -burst on me too soon. Let it dawn on me by degrees; in instalments, my -dear; and let me have a shock with each instalment; each one greater -than the last; so that the full comprehension of the mystery comes -with a culminating shock which turns my hair almost grey--almost, my -pet, not quite, if you please. I've heard that grey hair suits some -girls; but I don't believe I'm one of them. By the way of beginning my -insinuating, let me remark that you have changed since I saw you." - -"So have you--and you must have changed more than I have, because I -didn't know you, and you did know me." - -"That's true. Now, Dorothy, no flummery, and no fibs--in what respect -do you consider I have altered?" - -"Well--for one thing you seem to be so much more of a woman." - -"Do I? Isn't that natural?" - -"I don't know; it isn't so very long since I saw you last." - -"A great many things may happen in a very short time." - -"That's true." - -Dorothy sighed; but Miss Vernon was smiling. Then she said, with an -air which would be grave, but was not: - -"There are women and women. I have heard people say that when one -becomes a woman one should show a consciousness of the responsibilities -of womanhood. I hope I don't show too much of that kind of thing." - -"I don't think you ever will do that." - -"Sha'n't I? You never can tell. A man I danced with last week--he was -quite old, over thirty--said that it bursts upon you all at once, what -it means to be a woman. I don't know what he knows about it, as he's -only a man; but I've noticed that some men, when they're old, do seem -to know a good deal about women--or they pretend to. What do you think -of this dress?" - -"It's a perfect dream!" - -"Really?" - -"I never saw anything so lovely." - -"I fancy it is rather--too-too; and I believe that's what Jim thinks; -that's why he keeps calling me a perfect fright. Oh, those brothers! -they have such ways of paying a compliment. What do you think of the -hat?" - -Again Dorothy sighed; but this time it was a sigh of admiration. - -"Frances, it's simply sweet!" - -"Notice the hair?" - -"Rather; and I believe it's the hair which is more responsible for the -change which I see in you than anything else. Of course the clothes -have something to do with it--you didn't wear frocks and hats like -that in the convent." - -"My dear! what are you talking about? Fancy the sensation I'd have -made! Can't you see the Mother's face?" - -"No; and I'd rather not, thank you. But it's the hair which has -changed you more than the clothes. I can't think how it's done. I -wonder----" - -Dorothy stopped; the other finished the sentence for her. - -"If I will do yours for you? Come into the house, and then I'll show -you. I've discovered I've quite a genius for dressing hair. I'll make -a perfect picture of you--you won't know yourself when I've finished. -Which room have you got? You don't know? You think that's the window? -That's the pink room--we call it the pink room because once upon a -time its decorations were pink; and we still call it the pink room, -though now they're what I call a symphony in chaste French-grey. Talk -about this frock! You wait till you see me this afternoon! I say, you -were lucky to drop on us on our day of days! There'll be tons of -people here; and, among them, one or two nice ones. Honestly, did you -know what day it was?" - -"Of course I didn't; and, if you don't mind, I'd--I'd just as soon -stay in the house while all those people are here. I--I don't feel in -a mood for that kind of thing." - -"What kind of thing? Stuff! You don't know what you're talking about; -shyness is what's the matter with you; and that's a complaint of which -little convent-bred girls have got to be cured. Wait till I've tried -my hand upon your hair! Come along, I'll start on it at once. Why," -she had taken Dorothy's hand in her own, "I say!--whatever's this?--a -ring!--on her engagement finger!--diamonds!--and such a beauty! -Dorothy, what is the matter with the child? She's staring at her own -finger as if she were staring at a ghost!" - -Dorothy was staring at Mr Emmett's ring, which gleamed at her on the -third finger of her left hand. Until that moment she had been -unconscious of its presence--a fact which was a sufficient commentary -on her mental state during the last several hours. She could not think -how it had got there; to her it was something worse than a ghost; it -brought back to her, on the instant, all that she would have been so -willing to forget. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - STRATHMOIRA - - -Mr Vernon found Mrs Vernon in the morning-room, engaged with what -seemed to be household accounts. As is apt to be the case when people -have been married to each other for more years than they sometimes -care to remember, morning greetings were with them a minus quantity. -He began without any preface: - -"Everything all right for this afternoon?" - -She looked up from a bill. - -"Yes, I think so; as far as I know." She looked back at the bill. "I -am confident Barnes has made a mistake, he is always doing it." She -looked up again, turning half round in her chair. "But, Harold, have -you seen her?" - -"You mean Miss Gilbert? I have; and--I'm rather prepossessed with her. -I confess that Frances' ecstasies made me a trifle nervous; but so far -as appearance and manner go she strikes me as being distinctly good -style, as girls run nowadays. But she--or someone--might have let us -know that she was coming, considering, so far as we're concerned, that -she's a perfect stranger. She seems to have dropped from the clouds; -she doesn't seem as if she were the kind of girl who'd do it. Who's -the Mr Frazer she speaks of?" - -"Mr Frazer?" - -"She says she came with Mr Frazer--Eric Frazer?" - -"Eric Frazer? She must mean Strathmoira." - -"Strathmoira?" - -"Of course, his name is Frazer--Eric Frazer." - -"But, why should she speak of the Earl of Strathmoira as Mr Frazer?" - -"My dear Harold, it's no use putting questions to me, because I keep -putting questions to myself, and I get no answers. Directly I begin to -think I feel I am getting out of my depth, so I try not to think. I -console myself with the reflection that I always have known that -Strathmoira's stark, staring mad." - -"But, do you mean to say that Strathmoira brought Miss Gilbert to this -house without letting us have the least hint that he was coming, at -goodness knows what hour of the night?" - -"You may well say goodness only knows. You had been gone what seemed -to me hours, and I was just getting into bed, when I heard a vehicle -coming up the drive. I called to Parkes not to open the door till he -had asked who it was through the window; but I suppose I must have -spoken louder than I meant, and of course the windows in my room were -wide open; and, as you know, it's right over the hall door, which for -the moment I'd forgotten; anyhow, a voice answered from without: 'It's -all right, Adela, don't you let me be the cause of Parkes straining -his vocal chords; it isn't burglars, it's yours to command.' When I -realised that the voice was Strathmoira's you might have knocked me -down with a feather." - -"I daresay. Why, how long is it since we've seen or heard anything of -the fellow?" - -"As you put it, goodness only knows. I replied to him through the -window: 'I'm alone in the house, I don't know if you're aware what -time it is; I'm just going to bed--couldn't you come round in the -morning?'" - -"He answered: 'No, I couldn't; I've got Miss Gilbert here, Frances' -friend, so perhaps you won't mind hurrying down to let us in!'" - -"Pretty cool, upon my word." - -"Cool! When Parkes had opened the door, and I went down, looking I -don't know how, he was as much at his ease as if he'd dropped in to -pay an afternoon call; and there was a tall slip of a girl, with black -hair, big grey eyes, and a white face, whom I took to at once." - -"So did I, when I saw her just now." - -"He introduced her; and said she had come to make a long stay; -and asked if I'd mind her going to bed at once, as she'd had a very -tiring day, and was tired out. She looked it, to me she seemed -unnaturally pale. As she stood there, without speaking a word, I felt -quite sorry for the child. So I took her upstairs and lent her -Frances' things to go to bed with--she hadn't even so much as an extra -pocket-handkerchief of her own." - -"I thought you said she'd come to stay." - -"So he said--but she hadn't so much as a handbag in the way of -luggage." - -"I suppose it's coming--or has it come?" - -"It is not coming; nor has it come. If you'll allow me I'll try to -make you understand as much as I understand--which is very little. The -whole thing seems to me to be mysterious; however, by this time I -ought to know Strathmoira. When I came downstairs again he told me a -story of which I did not find it easy to make head or tail. It seems -that Miss Gilbert has a guardian, in whose charge she appears to have -been." - -"You remember Frances said she'd left the convent with her guardian; -and that was why she didn't want to stop." - -"I do remember. It seems that the guardian is not in a state of health -to take proper care of his ward, though what ails him I couldn't make -out; so Strathmoira brought her to me." - -"Of course we are very glad to see her; but--what has Strathmoira got -to do with Miss Gilbert? And why as a matter of course has he brought -her to you?--without giving you any notice, in that unceremonious -fashion? Hasn't she any friends of her own?" - -"My dear Harold, you are sufficiently acquainted with Strathmoira to -be aware that you can rain questions at him, and that, without -refusing to answer one, he can evade them all, and do it in such a way -that you are not sure if he knows that you ever put them. I asked him -everything I could think of in the short time he stayed; but all that -he told me amounted to this--that he hopes I'll treat Miss Gilbert as -a daughter." - -"Upon my word!--and she a stranger!" - -"He also hoped that I'll see her properly fitted up with clothes from -top to toe!" - -"With whose money?" - -"With his--or hers--I don't know whose; I only know that he gave me a -hundred pounds in notes, and here they are. When he wondered if that -would be enough to start with, I said it depended on the circumstances -of the girl, and I asked if she had any means; and he replied: 'Ample! -ample!' twice over; and he added that no expense was to be spared in -fitting her up with all that a girl of her age ought to have. Now you -know how Frances told us she was neglected by her people, and -continually left without a penny of pocket-money; and how that man who -took her away informed her that her father had died and left her -penniless; and how sorry I was for her; and, because I was so sorry, I -gave Frances permission to ask her to spend the summer with us--and -Frances couldn't, because she didn't know her address. I believe I am -not a person to judge hastily and harshly; but I cannot reconcile -those facts with Strathmoira's statement that her means are ample." - -"You've got the money; you needn't spend all of it; what's it matter?" - -"Harold, it does matter. I should like to know whose money it is; and -if more is coming when it's spent." - -"Strathmoira will give you all the explanations you want before very -long; you're sure to hear from him--what's his address?" - -"Harold, I haven't a notion--I asked, but he didn't say. When he'd -gone I found that he'd left me with a general impression that I might -hear from him--I didn't know when." - -"Well, that's something. Anyhow, here's the girl; we know of nothing -against her even if she did make an informal entry; she's Frances' -friend; the child will be delighted to have her; you felt drawn to -her." - -"I did, and I do; what I've seen of her I like, there's something -about the girl which appeals to me." - -"Very well, then--as I'm prepossessed we sha'n't do much harm if we -give her house-room for her own sake. As for Strathmoira--although he -is stark mad, he's an excellent fellow, and long-headed, in his way. -Whatever the connection may be between this girl and him I'm quite -sure that there's nothing discreditable about it to either side." - -"Harold, I never for an instant thought there was. I quite agree with -you in thinking that Strathmoira's one fault is that he's stark mad." - -"Then all we have to do, for the present, is to make the girl -comfortable and happy. Did I understand you to say that she has -nothing with her but the clothes she is wearing?" - -"She hasn't another rag--not so much as a toothbrush. - -"In which case you'll have to expend a part of that hundred in buying -her a toothbrush--and other odds and ends." - -"That's exactly what I'm going to do. I've drawn up a list of some of -the things she must have; I've ordered the landau, and I'm going to -drive the two girls over to Ringtown as soon as I have my hat on. Here -are the girls." As she spoke, the two girls appeared at the open -French window. She spoke to her daughter. "Good morning, Frances; you -see your fairy godmother has sent you a present--the visitor you so -much wanted." - -"Isn't it lovely? I've just been telling her that I'd sooner see her -than that father should buy a motor car--and you know what that means. -But I don't understand--she says she's brought no luggage." - -"That's all right; I'm going to drive the pair of you over to -Ringtown, and there I'm going to buy Dorothy what she wants. The other -day I saw some pretty model gowns at Wingham's; if only one of them -fits her it might do for this afternoon. What do you say, Dorothy?" - -The girl, who had been standing by the window, came a little farther -into the room; she spoke with painful hesitation. - -"Mrs Vernon, I--I have no money." - -"My dear child, I have some money of yours." - -"Of mine?--money of mine?" The girl looked as if she did not -understand, then flushed--as if with sudden comprehension. "Did -he--give it you?" - -"By 'he' do you mean the Earl of Strathmoira?" - -Mrs Vernon smiled; but the girl looked as if she understood less than -ever. - -"The Earl of Strathmoira?--no; I mean Mr Frazer." - -Miss Vernon broke in: - -"Mother, what Mr Frazer does she mean? She says she came with Mr Eric -Frazer. Who is Eric Frazer?" - -"Mr Frazer is Dorothy's quaint way of speaking of the Earl of -Strathmoira." - -Miss Vernon stared at her mother, then at her friend; a look of -puzzlement was on her pretty face. - -"Dorothy, do you know Strathmoira?" - -Dorothy's look of bewilderment more than matched her own. - -"Strathmoira?--no; is it a place or a thing?" - -"Dorothy, are you joking?" - -"Joking?--Frances!--what makes you think I'm joking?--I haven't the -faintest notion what you mean." - -Miss Vernon turned to her mother. - -"Mother, what is this mystery?--because it seems to me that there is a -mystery somewhere. I hope that you and Dorothy understand each other -better than I do either of you." - -"My dear Frances, I'm bound to say that I don't understand; especially -if, as she says, she isn't joking. Dorothy, do you seriously wish to -tell us that you don't know that the gentleman who brought you to this -house last night was the Earl of Strathmoira?" - -The girl's eyes opened wider and wider; no one who saw the look almost -of fear which came on her face could think that she was jesting. - -"He--he told me that his name was Frazer--Eric Frazer." - -"And so his family name is Frazer, and his Christian name Eric; but -his style and title is the Earl of Strathmoira; by that style and -title he is generally known; indeed I, who have known him all his -life, and am his cousin once removed, was not aware that he was ever -known as anything else. How long have you known him, my dear?--and who -introduced him to you as Mr Frazer?" - -The girl shrank back. Inchoate thoughts were pressing on her harassed -mind. She remembered what he had said about her endorsing his story; -but what story had he told? Was it true that he was who these people -said he was? If so, then--perhaps she had betrayed him already; with a -word she might betray him further. She recalled his words about -playing him false. If she did, what would he think--after all he had -done for her? How they all three were looking at her! She wished she -could think what to say without--without committing any one. But--she -could not think. - -While she was still struggling within herself for the words which -would not come, Frances went flitting towards her across the room; -drawn to her by the anguish which was in her eyes, and on her face. - -"Dorothy! my darling! what is the matter? Don't look like that! Mother -didn't mean to hurt you! You poor thing, how you're trembling! Mother, -tell her that you didn't mean anything!" - -In her turn the elder woman, crossing the room, came and stood by the -still speechless girl, into whose eyes, for some cause which she could -not fathom, there had come a pain which was too great for tears. Her -voice was very soft and gentle. - -"I assure you, my dear Dorothy, that nothing was further from my wish -than a desire to pry into what, after all, is no business of mine. If -my cousin is Mr Frazer to you then he is Mr Frazer. He's one of the -most eccentric creatures breathing; but he is also one of the best. -I'm sure, from the way in which he spoke to me of you last night, that -he regards you with the utmost respect and reverence. He commended you -to me as a very precious charge. He told me that you had never known -your own mother; and he asked me to try to be a mother to you." The -speaker paused to smile, whimsically. "You know, Dorothy, I don't -think that one can be quite like one's mother if one isn't one's -mother, but, if you'll let me, I'd like to play the part, as well as a -substitute can." - -Mr Vernon's interposition prevented a reply from Dorothy, if she was -capable of one. Perhaps he saw that she was not; and his words were -dictated by a masculine desire to cut short what was very like a -scene. - -"Now, Adela, if you're going to put your hat on, you'd better put it -on--I heard the carriage come ten minutes ago. And, you girls, if -you're not ready, perhaps you will be ready inside a brace of shakes. -Frances, do you hear?" - -The young lady took the hint. - -"All right, dad; we'll both of us be ready in ever so much less than a -brace of shakes!" - -Slipping her arm through Dorothy's she led her from the room. When the -two girls had gone husband and wife looked at each other. The man was -the first to speak. - -"It's odd that she shouldn't know him as the Earl of Strathmoira--it -strikes me that my gentleman's a queerer fish even than I thought." - -His wife eyed him for a moment, as if quizzically; then she turned -aside, ostensibly to collect the papers on which she had been engaged. - -"Harold, have you ever heard of blindfold chess?" - -Under the circumstances it seemed a curious question--so it seemed to -strike him. - -"Adela, what on earth do you mean?" - -"It occurs to me that we are about to act as pawns in a game of chess -without even knowing who are the players." - -Her husband stared at her, as if with a total lack of comprehension. -When he spoke his tone was irascible. - -"Adela, there seem to be puzzles enough in the air without your making -them worse. Perhaps you'll be so good as to tell me what you may -happen to mean." - -"I am not so sure that I know myself; only, as I looked at that girl's -face, I had the queerest feeling." - -"Of what kind?" - -"I'm not fanciful--am I?" - -"I can't say you are--as a rule." - -"Which makes it all the queerer." - -"I wish you'd be more explicit. To hear you take on this tone of -mystery--you know how I hate mysteries--makes me conscious of a -feeling which it would be mild to describe as queer. It didn't strike -me that there was anything remarkable about the girl's looks, except -that she looked pale and worried. You don't know what she may have had -to go through lately." - -"No, I don't; and--I don't think I'd care to." - -"Adela! Now you're at it again! Will you go and put your hat on? I -don't know if you're aware that the time's going; I suppose you don't -want to keep that carriage waiting all day." Mrs Vernon went out of -the room without another word. At the door she turned and favoured him -with a look which he instinctively resented. He gave vent to his -feelings as soon as she had gone. "Now what did she mean by looking -at me like that? There's something about the best of women which -is--trying. She's got some notion into her head about that girl; -and--I wonder what it is? When I do get within reach of Strathmoira -I'll speak a few plain words to him. The idea of his treating me, in -my own house, as if I were a pawn--Adela's too absurd!--I should like -to see him try it!" - -On Mr Vernon's face there was a smile which, if the Earl of -Strathmoira had been there, he might have been excused if he regarded -as a challenge. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - DOROTHY GILBERT OF NEWCASTER - - -Mrs Vernon was standing looking out on to the lawn, pinning some -flowers in her blouse. Her daughter, coming on her from behind, laid -her hands upon her shoulders, and then her cheek against her mother's. -The mother, continuing to arrange her flowers, suffered the soft cheek -to remain against her own, for some seconds, in silence. - -"Well, are we ready? The people will be coming directly--we told them -four. Some of Jim's friends appear to have come early, judging from -the group of what seem to be boys he has with him at the end of the -lawn." - -"So I see. Jim's friends have hours of their own--they don't care what -time people put on cards. Mother, I'm worried about Dorothy." - -"Doesn't the dress fit?" - -"Perfectly!--and the hat; and the hairdressing is a complete success. -She looks lovely, as I told her she would do--she's certain to cut me -out." - -"I don't think you're afraid of that." - -Frances sighed. - -"I'm not--if only for the simple reason that she won't even try." - -"Doesn't she want to come down?" - -"It's so provoking; she's not a bit like my Dorothy--at least, in a -way she isn't. I can't think what's the matter with her. She seems to -be a bundle of nerves. I hardly dare open my mouth for fear of saying -something which will make her jump." - -"She does seem to be more sensitive than, from your description of -her, I expected; I've noticed it myself." - -"My darling mumkins, she's not the same girl. Something's wrong with -her--I can't think what--and I daren't ask." - -"She doesn't seem to be an easy person to ask questions of." - -"She used to be; we used to tell each other every single thing; we -used to delight in answering each other's questions; but now---- I -believe she's bewitched, I really do!" - -"What do you mean by she's bewitched?" - -"Why, she's--she's so strange; she gives me the feeling that only her -body's here, while she is somewhere else; it--it really is uncanny. -She never speaks unless you speak to her, and when you speak to her -she doesn't listen. You can see she tries to listen; then, when you're -in the middle of a sentence, you find that she's paying not the -slightest attention to you, and that she's staring at something in -such a way that you turn, with a start, to see whatever it can be; and -you have quite an uncomfortable feeling when you discover that, -whatever it is she's looking at, it's something which you can't see." - -"Did you say she doesn't want to come down?" - -"I didn't say so; but she doesn't. She makes me really cross; it is so -annoying! There she is, looking a perfect picture: she has only to -show herself to take the people by storm. I had no idea she was so -pretty! And she says she would rather stay indoors, after all the -trouble I have taken with her, because she doesn't feel like seeing -anyone." - -"My dear Frances, she is your guest; it is her feelings you must -consult, not yours." - -"Of course! All the same, if we were at the convent I should pick her -up and plank her down right in the very middle of the lawn; I -shouldn't care for her tantrums; she'd get the fresh air if she got -nothing else. As it is, I don't mean to let her have all her own way, -if I can help it." - -"I don't doubt that, or it wouldn't be you." - -"Well, mother, I believe that, at the bottom, it's just shyness; she's -ridiculously afraid of meeting strangers; after the first plunge she'd -be cured. So, after a while, I'm going up to see how she is, and to -ask if she wouldn't like to come down; and I'm going to keep on asking -if she wouldn't like to come down till she comes; then you'll see if -she'll be any the worse for coming." - -On this programme Miss Vernon acted. But the people, when they did -begin to appear, arrived so fast, by land and water, and occupied her -so completely, that it was some time before she was able to pay a -first visit to her friend; and then, so far as inducing her to put in -an appearance on the lawn was concerned, it was paid in vain. A second -and a third time she tried; and it was only on the fourth occasion she -prevailed; then the girl yielded less to her importunity than to her -assurance that many of the people had already gone, and the rest were -presently going. The consciousness of the false position she was in -weighed on Dorothy so heavily that again and again that afternoon she -had wished, with all her heart, that she had never allowed the -individual she had known as Eric Frazer to inflict her on these good -people. If she had held out against him, as she ought to have done, he -never could have brought her there. But she had not understood; it -seemed to her that he had taken advantage of her ignorance. - -The worst of it was she did not understand yet; exactly how false her -position was still she did not know. For instance, was he really the -Earl of Strathmoira? Her simplicity, on such points, was pristine. To -her, an earl was a person so far above her that he was, practically, a -being of a superior world. If he was such an effulgent creature why -had he passed himself off to her as a common man?--a plain mister? Why -had he condescended to notice her at all?--to give her shelter?--to -feign interest in her sordid story?--it could only have been feigned. -Why had he lied and played the trickster to save such an one as she -from the fate which he, so superior a being, must have known that she -deserved? His whole attitude in the matter was incomprehensible to -her; it added to that confusion of her mental faculties which had been -great enough before. - -It would have been something if she had been able to ask questions; to -glean information from those who knew him so much better than she -did--if she could have gained some insight into the kind of man he -actually was. But she dare not ask a question. One thing she did see -clearly--too clearly--and that was the impression she had made upon -the Vernons by what had struck them as her amazing statement that she -had only known him as Mr Eric Frazer. Another word or two and, for all -she could tell, she would have done what he had warned her not to -do--she would have played him false. That he had played her false, in -a sense, seemed true; but then, what he had done he had done for her; -it behoved her to be careful that what she did was done for him. - -So it came about that, for his sake, she was tongue-tied. Wholly in -the dark as to his actual identity, as to the real part which he was -playing; not knowing, even, what was the story he had told on her -account, she had to walk warily lest, by some chance expression, she -should do him a disservice. This was one of those girls who, when -forced by circumstances into situations of the most extreme -discomfort, are indifferent for themselves, and anxious only for -others. She had taken that diamond ring off her engagement finger; but -there was a tingling feeling where it had been, as if it still were -there; and that tingling caused her, now and then, as it were, against -her will, to glance at it; and, as she glanced, all that the ring -stood for to her came back to her--she saw it all. She saw the room in -'The Bolton Arms,' in the light, and in the dark; and, in the dark, -what was on the table. She saw herself, the coward behind the curtain, -with quivering flesh, as that grisly something glowered at her through -the silence of the darkened room. She heard--the awful sound--in the -pitch blackness; and she fled headlong through the window, like a -thing possessed, and dropped through the unknown depths below--she had -only to shut her eyes to feel herself dropping. She saw people looking -for her--everywhere she saw them looking; and when she saw what was in -their eyes--that was the worst of it all--she was as one frozen with -fear. Yet, could she have had her way, she would have gone straight -off and given herself up to those who sought her, to let them do with -her as they would--because she was afraid of what would come, of her -not doing so, to others--to him whom she had known as Eric Frazer; to -the good people of this house. That would be the worst drop of -bitterness, in her bitter cup, if hurt came to others because of her. -She had a feeling that, at that moment, the owner of the caravan, -whatever his name might be, was plunging deeper and deeper into the -mire, in a frantic, hopeless effort to get her clear of it. If he were -to get in so deep that there would be no getting out of it again, for -him, so that they were both of them engulfed in it, for ever? And -these Vernons--what right had she to bring her sordid story into their -pleasant lives? Would they not suffer when it became known that they -had harboured, though unwittingly, one on whose head was set the price -of blood? What would be their judgment on her when they knew? - -These were the thoughts which racked her as, in the pink room, she -sat, burning with shame, in the pretty frock, and hat, which Mrs -Vernon had bought her with money which she had supposed to be -Dorothy's, but which Dorothy herself knew was Mr Frazer's. Yesterday -he himself had bought her clothes across the counter; to-day he had -done it by deputy--yet she had not dared to tell his deputy the truth, -lest she should play him false. Looked at from any point of view, -could anything be more hideously false than her position? And without, -in the sunshine, on the grass, amid the flowers, were crowds of happy -people, with light hearts, clear consciences, who could look the whole -world in the face, knowing they had done no wrong; and Frances--the -friend whom she was using so ill--wanted to take her--a leper--into -that unsuspecting throng. And in the end she yielded, and -went--because that seemed to her to be the lesser evil. Frances made -it so clear that if she did not go she should think that Dorothy no -longer looked upon her as a friend. Rather than she should think that; -since many of the people had gone, and the rest were about to go; with -a sigh, whose meaning Frances wholly misunderstood, against her better -judgment, she suffered herself to be persuaded to show herself -outside. - -"All I want you to do," Frances had reiterated, over and over again, -"is just to show yourself--if you love me, dear. No harm can possibly -come of that." - -Which was all she knew. Dorothy was to learn that, in suffering -herself to be persuaded--because she loved, she had played the coward -again--more harm was to come of her just showing herself than she -might ever be able to undo. - -Before quitting the pink room, Frances looked her over, as if she had -been a picture, and, as an artist might have done, gave her here and -there a finishing touch; expressing herself as only half satisfied -with the ultimate result. - -"I've half-a-mind, do you know, young woman, to put a touch of colour -on your cheeks--a dab on each of them; because, though I won't deny -that pallor suits you, and even makes you fascinatingly interesting, I -don't want folks to think that you've met with a tragic fate beneath -this roof; or I shall have them nudging each other in the side; and -wondering to what cruel treatment you've been subjected; and eyeing me -askance, as if I must be the wretch. Don't you think you might manage -to wear, when you notice that people are looking at you, what I have -seen described, in print, as the ghost of a smile? It will anyhow let -them know that you've as much as the ghost of a smile left in you." - -It was with curious sensations that Dorothy found herself, in what she -felt were borrowed plumes, moving, on Frances' arm, amid a gaily -attired crowd of persons, not one of whom seemed to have a care in the -world. If, as Frances had said, many had already gone, then the lawns -must have been inconveniently thronged, for certainly enough people -for comfort still remained; and if, as Frances had also said, those -who stayed, proposed, immediately, to depart, then they managed to -mask their intentions with considerable skill. It seemed to Dorothy -that not only had many of them no present intention of leaving, but -that they intended to stop where they were as long as they possibly -could. - -As the two girls passed together, arm-in-arm, across the lawns, they -were the subjects of general attention. As Frances had prophesied, -Dorothy made a sensation. People asked each other who she was, -giving to their inquiries different forms: one wondering who the -"curious-looking," and another who the "striking-looking," girl might -be. A lady who was standing by Mrs Vernon gave her question a shape -which was still more flattering to its object. - -"My dear!" she exclaimed, "who is that lovely girl with Frances?" - -"What lovely girl?" Up to that moment Mrs Vernon had been unaware that -her pertinacious daughter had, at last, succeeded in her avowed -design; and when, on turning, she beheld proof of the fact, she -smiled. She replied to the question with another. "Do you think she's -lovely?" - -"Don't you? My dear! she's such good style!" - -"Yes, she is good style; and, now, she does look lovely." - -"Why do you say 'now'--in that tone?" Mrs Vernon was thinking what a -difference the frock made, and the artist's hand in the treatment of -the hair, and suffered the words to go unheeded. The speaker pressed -her former query: "Who is she?" - -"She's a school friend of my daughter's." The girls came towards them. -Mrs Vernon spoke to Dorothy. "I am glad to see that this insistent -child of mine has managed to persuade you to come among us. In such -weather as this it seems almost wicked to stay indoors, even if one's -head is bad. I think that here, also, is someone who is glad to see -you." - -She referred, smilingly, to the lady who was standing by her--who -said: - -"One always does like to see decent-looking people; but I especially -like to see pretty girls at such times as these, if only because they -fit in with the sunshine, and the flowers, and the decorations. I was -asking Mrs Vernon who you were, but she hasn't told me." - -The hostess went through the ceremony of introduction--with mock -formality. - -"Mrs Purchas, permit me to have the honour to present to you--Miss -Gilbert." - -Falling into Mrs Vernon's vein Mrs Purchas favoured Dorothy with an -exaggerated curtsey. - -"Delighted to have the pleasure, Miss Gilbert. No connection, I -presume, of Miss Dorothy Gilbert, of Newcaster--are you?" - -Dorothy had flushed a little at the compliment which Mrs Purchas had -paid her; she even showed some faint sign of being amused at her -laughing pretence of treating her as if she were a person of -importance; but when she asked her that last question all signs of -amusement faded. Was she connected with Dorothy Gilbert of Newcaster? -No doubt the question was asked in jest; though, as a jest, it was -scarcely in the very best taste. It struck Dorothy dumb. It was such a -bolt out of the blue, so unexpected, that, for the first moment, she -did not clearly realise what was meant; but, when she did, any humour -which the thing might have had was lost on her. In that first moment -of shock she could not have spoken to save her life. And, when the -first force of the blow--for it was as if she had been struck a -blow--had begun to pass, and the significance of the lightly uttered -words commenced to dawn on her, she would have liked to be able to -sink into the ground, if only to escape the woman's eyes. - -That the singularity of her bearing had impressed those about her was -plain. Mrs Vernon and her daughter had already grown accustomed, in a -measure, to the strange effect chance words were apt to have upon -their guest; so that they were not so altogether taken by surprise as -was the unintentional cause of the girl's visible emotion. Her -amazement was not mirrored in Mrs Purchas' face; it was in her -bungling attempt to offer an apology for having done she knew not -what. - -"I--I'm sure, my dear, I--I beg your pardon." The girl looked so very -queer that the lady burst out in sudden alarm: "My dear!--what have I -done?" - -Frances came to the rescue. - -"It's all right, Mrs Purchas--Miss Gilbert is not very well; it's my -fault for making her come out." - -She drew the girl away, intending to lead her back to the house, which -she inwardly realised that she had been foolish to induce her to -leave. Dorothy certainly was exasperatingly trying. But there was -worse to follow--they were waylaid on the road; this time by Mr Jim -Vernon, who escorted a masculine acquaintance, the tale of whose years -was eloquently suggested by a question which he had addressed to Jim: - -"I say, Jim, who's that ripping-looking girl who's with your sister?" - -And Jim had responded: - -"She's a topper, my boy--a fair topper. But, as I'm in a generous -mood, if you'll come along with me I'll do the needful." So they went -along together, and they came to Miss Vernon and her friend; and Jim -immediately observed, in that free-and-easy way which is popular with -latter-day youth: "Awfully glad to see you, Miss Gilbert--frightful -blow when I was told you weren't showing. Mr Denman--Miss Gilbert." - -Mr Denman acknowledged the introduction with the remark: - -"Gilbert!--that name's rather in the air just now. Ever been to -Newcaster, Miss Gilbert?" - -Jim asked: - -"Why Newcaster?" - -"Why, old chap, haven't you seen the papers? I expect Miss Gilbert -has--there's a lot in them about the doings of Dorothy Gilbert at -Newcaster--is there a Dorothy in your family, Miss Gilbert?" - -It seemed that Mr Denman was a humorist of Mrs Purchas' type--only -more so; with the bump of obtuseness unduly developed. Had he fired a -revolver at the girl he could hardly have produced a greater effect; -coming after the question which she had just had aimed at her every -word he uttered seemed to hit her on a tender spot. Frances could feel -her trembling. She flared up in the astonished young gentleman's face. - -"Boys, nowadays, are the stupidest and rudest creatures--or else Jim -has some most unfortunate specimens of them among his acquaintance." - -Before either Mr Denman or her brother could get out a word in excuse -or self-defence she was bearing Dorothy Gilbert off as fast as she -could induce her to move. In her heart she was fearful lest Dorothy -should collapse, or do something undesirable in the way of making a -scene upon the lawn; she was only too painfully conscious of how -incapable the girl seemed to be to keep herself from shivering; but -Dorothy still had sufficient control over herself to be able to reach -the house without making of herself a public exhibition. Frances -accompanied her up to her room; but at the door the girl said, -speaking with an effort which it was painful to witness: - -"Leave me--please do--do leave me!" - -Frances left her; going downstairs with a fixed determination in her -mind. - -"Now where's to-day's paper? I don't care--it isn't often that I do -look at a newspaper; there's so seldom anything in a newspaper to -interest me that it's not generally necessary for dad to forbid me to -look at one; but I am going to see what there is in to-day's paper -about Dorothy Gilbert of Newcaster." - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - THE SPREADING OF THE NEWS - - -There are still young women who do not read newspapers; and of these -Frances Vernon was one. Her father and mother belonged to that -lessening section of society to whom the crudities of the modern press -do not appeal. Mr Vernon held that even to the pure some things are -impure; and that it was not necessary that everyone should become -acquainted with all the vice and sin that is in the world. He admitted -that this point of view was perhaps old-fashioned; but he was an -old-fashioned man and--it was his. He did not like to read the records -of the police and the divorce courts; he hoped those who were near and -dear to him would not like them either. So not only did he not -encourage his children, and especially his daughter, to read the daily -papers; but, also, he took care that such journals as he admitted to -his house were not those which made a feature of topics of the kind. -So it came about that the only journal of that day's issue which Miss -Vernon could discover was _The Times_. - -_The Times_ is an excellent paper; it does not make a feature of -"dreadful tragedies"; but, unless one is acquainted with its methods, -it is not a paper in which one can put one's finger on any particular -item of news after an instant's search--even with the aid of the -index. So far as Miss Vernon was concerned, it never occurred to her -to glance at the "Contents of this Day's Paper"; and, possibly, she -would have been little benefited if she had. She turned over page -after page, advertisements and all, and went up and down column after -column, without seeing anything about Dorothy Gilbert of Newcaster; as -a result, she jumped at some very hasty, and very unfair, conclusions -on the subject of the value of _The Times_. - -"Silly old paper! I've heard lots of people say there never is -anything in it--and there isn't!" - -However, so anxious was she to find what she sought, that she -travelled up and down the columns a second time; and, before she had -got to the end, was forced to admit that there did seem to be -something in _The Times_; even though there might be nothing which -would throw light on the subject she had at heart. - -"I wonder what paper he saw it in?" The reference was to the youth, -Denman. "He said 'papers'; and as Mrs Purchas saw it too, whatever it -was, I suppose it was in more than one; but there doesn't seem to be -anything about it here. Silly old paper! I wonder what Mrs Purchas -meant by talking about Dorothy Gilbert of Newcaster--and why Dorothy -looked as if she were going to have a fit when she did." Thus -wondering, holding the paper in front of her, her eye was caught by -something which she had not observed before--"Racing at Newcaster." -"Why, of course, that's where the races are. I thought I'd heard the -name before;--how stupid I am! But what can Dorothy have had to -do----" - -She stopped, her eye caught by something else--a name in a sentence. - -"Few men were better known on Newcaster Heath than George Emmett. His -tragic fate, on the eve of the meeting at which he had been such a -prominent figure for so many years, was the theme of general -conversation." Then the writer proceeded to give some facts about -George Emmett. Miss Vernon took them in with her eye without at all -appreciating their meaning. One fact she did grasp--that the man -seemed dead. - -"George Emmett?--I am sure her guardian's name was Emmett; but -Strathmoira told mother that he'd brought her here because her -guardian wasn't very well; but this Emmett's dead, according to the -paper--it talks about his 'tragic fate'--I wonder in what way his fate -was tragic. It can't be the same man; why did Mrs Purchas associate -Dorothy with Newcaster?" - -Miss Vernon's glance passed down the racing columns, to be arrested by -a paragraph at the foot. - -"The historic inn, 'The Bolton Arms,' at Newcaster," it began, "was on -Monday night the scene of an occurrence which will probably hold a -prominent place in the future annals of the house." Then it proceeded -to give, in brief outline, and in the baldest possible language, the -story with which we already are familiar. It said that suspicion -pointed at the lady by whom Mr Emmett had been accompanied; that her -mysterious disappearance was certainly difficult to reconcile with -entire innocence; concluding with the pregnant sentence--"The police -are offering a reward for Dorothy Gilbert's apprehension." It was on -those words that Frances Vernon's eyes fastened. She read the -paragraph again and again, reading into it a deeper meaning with each -perusal; each time, the part of it which held her, whether she would -or would not, was the sentence at the end. - -When at last she lowered the paper, such understanding as had come to -her had brought bewilderment; although she had the printed words -nearly by heart, they were beyond her comprehension. Mr Emmett had -been murdered, and Dorothy--her Dorothy!--was suspected of having -killed him; was that what it meant? It was impossible--out of the -question--absurd. Yet--there were those last words--"The police are -offering a reward for Dorothy Gilbert's apprehension." Was that what -Mrs Purchas had meant by her reference to Dorothy Gilbert of -Newcaster? Was it why Dorothy had behaved so strangely? - -As she put to herself these questions, which she dared not answer, it -seemed to Frances Vernon that the world had changed all at once; as -if, as a child would have put it, something had gone wrong with the -works, so that it had suddenly got jarred, and was no longer just as -it was a few moments ago. For the first time in her short life she was -brought into contact with the tragedy of crime; so that, as it seemed, -she had to inhale its atmosphere into her lungs. It is a result of -such a training as she had received that, when crime did come to have -a personal application, the revelation of the existence of the thing, -from the knowledge of which she had been carefully screened, stunned -as it never would have done had she been brought up with her eyes wide -open. Murder? All she knew of murder she had learnt from the -commandments. Her guardian? Dorothy? She could have screamed aloud -because of the agony which came to her with the thought that there -could be any association between Dorothy's guardian, and Dorothy, and -murder. - -She stayed there, in a sort of stupor, longer than she knew; and was -only roused from it by her mother's coming into the room through the -open French window. - -"Frances! Where have you been? Do you know that all the people have -gone? If Dorothy has been keeping you, you ought not to have let her; -you ought to have been there to say good-bye." She perceived that -there was something unusual in her daughter's attitude. "Frances! What -is the matter with you? Why are you staring at me like that? What is -that you have in your hand? _The Times!_ Do you mean to say that you -have been reading the newspaper and forgetting what you owe to your -friends? What will your father say? Frances, speak to me! What is the -matter with the girl?" - -Frances did speak; or, rather, she tried to speak; seeming to find as -much difficulty in producing articulate sounds as Dorothy Gilbert had -done a little time before. - -"Mother, look--look at the paper!" - -She held it out stiffly, as some lay figure might have done. Not -unnaturally her mother observed her with surprise. - -"Frances, I insist upon your telling me what is the matter with you; -why should I look at the paper? You know very well that your father -doesn't like you to read newspapers." - -Frances said her four words over again: - -"Look at the paper!" - -"Why do you wish me to do so? What am I to look at?" She took the -paper from her daughter's outstretched hand. Frances pointed to a part -of it. Mrs Vernon began to read aloud: "'The historic inn, "The Bolton -Arms," at Newcaster, was on Monday night----' What stuff is this?" - -"Go on!" - -Mrs Vernon did read on; but to herself. Presently there broke from her -what seemed to be an involuntary exclamation; then another; then she -lowered the paper, with a face which was almost as white as her -daughter's. - -"Frances! It's--it's not true!" The girl said nothing; she went on: -"Emmett? Wasn't that the name of Dorothy's guardian? Frances! You--you -don't think that--that this--means Dorothy?" - -"How can I tell? You heard what Mrs Purchas said about Dorothy Gilbert -of Newcaster?" - -"Did she--do you think--she referred to this? If she did, then--others -may have known." - -"I believe they did--I believe Mr Denman knew--Jim's friend." - -"That boy! Do--do you think--Strathmoira knew?" The girl said nothing. -Mother and daughter were still staring at each other, in silence, when -Mr Vernon entered by the same route as his wife had come. Mrs Vernon -turned towards him. "Harold, read this in _The Times_; tell me what it -means." - -Mr Vernon put on his glasses with an air of deliberation for which his -wife, in her new state of nervous tension, could almost have shaken -him. By the time he had got the glasses to his liking he had lost the -place. - -"What is it I'm to read? Is it anything remarkable? Show me where it -is." She showed him again. "Races? What have I to do with races? Oh, -there!--I see!" He read the paragraph conscientiously through; then -looked over the top of the paper at his womenfolk. "Well? It's a -commonplace and disagreeable story; what special interest is it -supposed to have for me? You know I don't care to read about such -things. What is there about this that you should thrust it on my -attention?" - -His mental processes never were of the quickest. On occasions his -family had a feeling that his wits needed oiling; they seemed to be -moving slower than ever just then. His wife exclaimed: - -"Don't you see the names?" - -"Names? Emmett?--Emmett? I seem to have heard the name before; now in -what connection have I heard it?" - -"It's the name of Dorothy's guardian. Harold, read that paragraph -again, and then say if nothing about it strikes you as being of -interest to you." - -Mr Vernon did as he was told. On a second reading it dawned on him -what his wife alluded to--dawned on him with a sense of shock. - -"God bless my soul! You--you don't mean to say that you for one moment -imagine that anything about this painful story refers to Miss -Gilbert?--to our Miss Gilbert?--to Frances' Miss Gilbert?" - -Before his wife could answer, there came rushing into the room, with -that unceremonious haste with which some young men will rush into -rooms, his son--excitement writ large all over him; and a paper--which -was not _The Times_--in his hand. - -"I say, mater!--and dad!--this is a jolly pretty state of things! Have -you heard about it?--everybody else has!--it seems we're the only -people who haven't! I don't know what Strathmoira's thinking about! I -call it pretty thick!" - -Agitation made his meaning less clear than he appeared to think. - -"James," observed his father, "if you will cease bounding about the -room as if you were possessed; and will not bawl; and will be a little -less idiomatic, it is possible that your mother and I will get some -idea of what it is you are talking about." - -"But, dad, Dorothy Gilbert--Miss Gilbert's wanted for murder!" - -His meaning was clear enough then. - -"Jim!" - -His name came from his mother and sister in practically the same -instant. - -"It's no good you two looking at me like that! there's no getting away -from the truth!--look at this!" He pointed to a staring headline which -ran across two columns of the paper which he held in front of them: -"Where Is Dorothy Gilbert?" "That's a nice thing for me to find -glaring at me when I buy an evening paper to look at the cricket! I -never felt anything like what I felt when I saw that! Yes, where is -she? I can tell you this, there's scarcely a person who was here this -afternoon who doesn't know! I expect it's all over the place by -now!--at any moment you may have half-a-dozen policemen coming up the -drive!" - -"Jim, if--if you don't take care what you are saying I'll never speak -to you again." - -"Now, Frances, it's no use your putting on frills!--you simply don't -know what you're talking about. Here's her description--read it for -yourself; no one can read it and possibly mistake her. You told me -yourself her guardian's name was Emmett; well, he was murdered the -night before last--murdered, mind!--read about it yourself! the -story's a curdler!--and they say she did it!--I don't say she -did it----" - -"You'd better not!" - -"But they do; and they'll lock her up for it as sure as we are -standing here! Anyway you look at it. We've nothing to thank -Strathmoira for for getting us mixed up with a thing like this. My -hat! I'd like to talk to him!" - -"You talk to him! You don't know what you are talking about now! -You've not the slightest right to take it for granted that--that my -Dorothy has anything to do with the person in the papers." - -"Don't talk stuff and nonsense!--it's you who're talking through your -hat!--the whole thing's as plain as a pikestaff; do you suppose I -don't wish it wasn't?--that I want us to be dragged into a mess of -this sort? Oh yes, it's just the sort of thing I would like! Why, it -tells you here how Strathmoira came across her; and how it is that she -only knew him as Eric Frazer. He's been cruising about in that van of -his--you know, mater, that rotten old caravan of his?" - -"It's a rotten old caravan, is it, now? You were anxious enough to -'cruise about' with him in it!" - -"I daresay!--never again!--no thank you! When she--or someone--had -done for that poor beggar, Emmett, she bolted; she came on him in his -van on Newcaster Heath; he gave her shelter for the night." - -"Why shouldn't he? He's the most chivalrous of men!" - -"All right; who said he wasn't? He seems to have been more chivalrous -still next day, when he seems to have nearly killed a chap on his own -account." - -"My son, you let your tongue run away with you!" - -"My dear mater, here it is in black and white! The chap, who seems to -be something in the gipsy line, and rejoices in the name of Benjamin -Hitchings, overheard her--that's Miss Gilbert--telling him the whole -jolly tale--giving herself completely away in fact. Strathmoira--whom -the paper calls Frazer--caught him listening, and seems to have as -nearly as possible broken his neck for him--you know what a dab he is -at those ju-jitsu tricks; I expect he played one of those pretty -little capers off on Mr Hitchings. Anyhow, the police are after him as -well as her; warrants are out for both of them. No wonder he preferred -the middle of the night to dump her at our front door; goodness knows -I don't set up to be a prophet, but I should like to know what the -betting is that it's a good long time before we see or hear anything -more of the Earl of Strathmoira." - -"James, are you forgetting that the Earl of Strathmoira is a relative -of mine and of your own?" - -"That's what makes it too utterly too-too!--and Miss Gilbert is -Frances' particular friend! Oh, we're quite in the thick of it!" - -"Will you let me see the paper which you say contains that dreadful -story?" - -"Here it is, mater; you'll find it cheerful reading; there's a lot -more to it than I've told you. There's one thing I haven't told you, -and that is that unless we're uncommonly careful before very long -there'll be warrants out for us." - -"James, are you insane?" - -"For aiding and abetting, which is what harbouring amounts to! People -have been sent to penal servitude for covering a murderer." - -A modest tapping was heard; the room door was opened; Parkes, the -butler, entering, closed it softly behind him; there was perturbation -on his face and in his bearing. - -"Excuse me, sir; excuse me, madam; but there's a dreadful kettle of -fish in the servants' hall. I felt I had to come to you. Taylor -brought in an evening paper to look at the cricket; and in it there's -all about the Newcaster murder; and the servants will have it that, -from the description in the paper, Miss Gilbert upstairs is the young -woman who did it; and I must say myself that the description is -surprisingly like. I am very sorry, sir, and madam, and Miss Frances, -but they are going on so, and there's even some talk of some of them -not staying in the house. According to the paper there's a reward of a -hundred pounds offered for her capture; and West, who's talking of -getting married, says that if she had the hundred pounds she might get -married at once, and that she doesn't see, if anyone is to have it, -why it shouldn't be her; and, sir, and madam, and Miss Frances, I -don't know what will happen if something isn't done to stop her." - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - A FRIEND'S ADVICE - - -One of those sudden changes had taken place in the weather to which we -in England are so accustomed. With the day the glory had departed. -Evening was ushered in by leaden skies. Dorothy became conscious how, -all at once, shadows seemed to have gathered. She had no means of -telling what the time was; she had never possessed a watch, and in the -pink room there was no clock. The regatta seemed over; the garden had -emptied; the hum of people's voices, of laughter, which had floated in -to her through the open window, had ceased; silence reigned. To her -excited fancy there was something ominous in the sudden stillness, the -growing darkness. What was going on downstairs? It was odd that they -should have left her so long alone--with the ghosts which would press -on her even in the sunshine, but which pressed still closer with the -advent of the night. Why had she seen nothing, heard nothing, of -Frances? The people had gone. Was she forgotten?--or what? It was very -hard to sit there waiting, watching, listening. Why did not something -happen? She was so unnerved that, of her own volition, she seemed -incapable of doing anything. When she was a very small child, whenever -there was trouble in the air, if opportunity offered, she would -undress herself and get into bed, as if bed were sanctuary. She would -have liked to insinuate herself between the sheets then, though it was -scarcely night, but she was afraid; and she had a feeling that, for -her, the days when bed was sanctuary had gone. Why did not someone -come, if it was only to tap at the door and ask how she was? - -Someone did tap. The sound was so unexpected that it started her -trembling. It was such a curious tap; not at all the firm, pronounced -tap Frances might have given, but faint, furtive; almost as if the -tapper were anxious not to be heard. Indeed, in the silence which -followed, Dorothy was not sure that it was a tap--until it came again, -no louder, as if someone touched the panel of the door lightly, with -the tip of a single finger. Dorothy vouchsafed no invitation to enter. -She did not ask who was there. She felt sure it was not Frances, nor a -message from her; it was not the sort of tap which would be given by a -bearer of good tidings. - -The tap was not repeated. Instead, after an interval, the door was -opened, softly, slowly, with about its movement the same furtive -something which had characterised the tapping; a few inches, then a -pause; a few more inches, another pause; there was an appreciable -space of time before it was opened wide enough to permit of a person -entering. Then there slipped, rather than came, into the room, a young -woman, a servant, of about Dorothy's own age; in appearance her -antipodes--short, squat, with a square head and face, high -cheek-bones, skin the colour of old port when held up to a strong -light. Closing the door as stealthily as she had opened it she tiptoed -towards the centre of the room. Twisted half round on her seat, -Dorothy had sat and watched her in silence; now, as she approached, -she rose from her chair. - -"What do you want? Who are you?" - -The girl answered, speaking in a husky whisper, as if she feared that -the walls had ears: - -"Never mind who I am; don't ask me to tell you my name; then, if -anyone asks you, you can't tell them--see? You don't want to get me -into trouble, do you? Of course you don't." She put a stubby red -finger, in which the dirt was engrained, to her lips, with an air of -the utmost mystery. "I am a friend, that's who I am; and, placed as -you are, that's all you want to know about me, and as a friend I've -come to give you a word of advice, which is--bolt!" - -"I don't know what you mean! Why--why have you come to me like this? -Who has sent you?" - -"No one hasn't sent me--not much! Only they've found out all about you -in the kitchen; and West, she's the parlourmaid, she's after that -hundred pounds." - -"Which hundred pounds? What--what do you mean?" - -"Mean to say you don't know they've offered a hundred pounds for you?" - -"Who--has offered a hundred pounds?" - -"Why, over at Newcaster--I suppose it's them police--it generally is -the police what offers rewards, isn't it? Mean to say you didn't know -there was a reward out for you?" - -Dorothy shrank back. A sound came from her lips which might have been -"No." - -"Why, it's in all the papers; I expect there's thousands looking out -for it by now. That's what West says: someone's sure to get it, so it -might as well be her. So she went to put her hat on; meaning to start -off to them police; and if she didn't leave the key outside her -room--so I gave it a turn, and here it is." She produced a door-key -from a pocket in her skirt. "And there she is, locked in. Won't she be -in a tear when she finds out!" The girl grinned, as if enjoying the -mental picture she called up of the parlourmaid's rage when she -discovered she was prisoned. "They won't be so eager to let her out, -neither; there's none of them loves her. So if you're sharp you ought -to get clear off before she's even started after that reward." - -Dorothy made no attempt to deny the terrible imputation which the -speaker's words conveyed. The thing was so continually present to her -own mind that the idea did not occur to her of even pretending not to -understand. The question she put tacitly admitted the truth of the -whole tale of horror at which the other only remotely hinted. - -"Do--do the others know?" - -"You mean--the family? I should think by now they do; I know Mr Parkes -started off to tell 'em." - -"Perhaps--perhaps that's--why no one's been near me. - -"I daresay. I shouldn't be surprised if I was the only friend you'd -got in the house, truly! The truth is--though, mind you, there's no -one in the place so much as guesses at it--the truth is, I have had -trouble in my own family, so that gives me a sort of fellow-feeling--I -know from bitter experience what them police are; no one sha'n't get -into trouble if I can help it, I don't care who it is; so, if you take -my advice, off you go as far as ever you can; because it's no use -waiting till them police come before you start--not much it's not!" - -"Why--why should I go?" - -"Why? Well, if you don't know, I don't!--why!" - -"Mrs Vernon herself may have sent for the police." - -"Of course she may; I expect a hundred pounds is a hundred pounds to -her as well as to anybody else." - -"Then, if you think so, why shouldn't I let them come and find me -here? I'm tired of--of running away--of hiding!" - -"Don't be so silly. It makes me feel as if I'd got the rope round my -own neck to hear you talk. You don't know what hanging is--I do! My--a -relative of mine was hanged, he was; and my mother, she's told me, -often and often, that the last three months she was carrying me she -used to wake every night feeling that the rope was round her neck, and -she used to have to get it off quick for fear it choked her. It -happened just before I came--see? And before I was born she used to -wonder if I should feel it because she did--and I have; ever since I -was a small kid I have; and I shall again to-night. I lay I shall; I -shall be as nearly hanged to-night as I can be without being quite. -And that's why I say to you, don't be silly--you don't know what it -feels like to be hanged." The speaker paused; she would have laid her -hand on the other's arm, only Dorothy shrank back, shivering. She -noted the action, commenting on it in a fashion of her own. "You -needn't be afraid of me, miss; you needn't really. There's no harm -about me; not a morsel. I couldn't help what happened, it was before -my time; and I can't help feeling like that--can I?" She waited, as if -for an answer; when none came she went on: "What I was going to say -is--I'm told that Miss Frances is a friend of yours!" - -"We--we were at school together." - -"Were you now? Well, don't you think that by waiting for the police to -take you here you'll be doing her a good turn, or her mother, or her -father, nor yet none of them. You did 'em a bad enough turn by coming -here at all; you don't want to make it worse, as you would do if the -police was to take you in this house. It'll be all about it in the -papers--how you was staying here, and how they was friends of yours, -and no end; and gentlefolks don't like to have it known that they're -friends of such as you; it gives the place a bad name; I shouldn't be -surprised if nobody never came near it again--see?" - -Dorothy did see. The idea had been in her head from the first; the -speaker expressed it in a form which added to its force. - -"You're quite right; that's what I've felt all along; I'll go at -once." - -She moved towards the door, as if with the intention of putting her -words into instant execution. The girl caught her by the arm, this -time before Dorothy had a chance to prevent her. - -"Where are you going? What do you think you're doing?" - -"I am going to leave the house. Please--please let go of my arm." - -The girl only tightened her grip, until the pressure hurt. - -"What, down the stairs and through the front door--is that the way -you're going? Why, you might as well stay where you are as do that." - -"Which other way can I go? Please--please release my arm; you're -hurting me." - -The girl paid no heed to her request. - -"Why, if you was to go down the stairs someone would be sure to see -you, and as likely as not they'd stop you; it isn't many as would -throw away a hundred pounds like I'm a-doing. And if they was to let -you go out of the house it would be almost the same; if them police -was to ask them if they'd seen you they'd be bound to say they had. -Cause why? They might get into trouble themselves if they was to say -they hadn't; it's not easy to deal with them police in a job like -this; you don't know the risk I'm running in acting as your friend. -What you want is not to do the family a worse turn than you've done -'em already; so what you've got to do is to get off the place without -their knowing anything about it, nor anyone else neither; because, of -course, I don't count. Very well, then; the stairs is no good for -that, nor yet the front door; the only way's the window." Dorothy -thought of the window in that private sitting-room in "The Bolton -Arms." She shut her eyes, and shivered. The girl mistook the cause of -the other's evident disturbance. "Don't you be afraid, there's no call -for you to go shivering; why, I felt you right up my arm. It's no -distance from this window to the ground; why, it's nothing of a drop, -to say nothing of there being a flower bed, what's pretty nearly as -soft as a feather bed, for you to drop upon. If you haven't noticed -come here and I'll show you." - -She made as if she proposed to drag Dorothy to the window, _nolens -volens_, for she still retained her grasp on her arm. But Dorothy -stood fast. - -"Will you please to take your hand away? I don't like you to hold me. -I've already told you that you hurt." The girl looked at her a moment, -then withdrew her hand. Dorothy held out her arm. "Look at the marks -you have made." - -Although in the room it was nearly dark there was light enough to -enable them to see the imprints of the other's fingers on Dorothy's -white arm. - -"Sorry, miss, I'm sure. You must mark easy." - -"You are stronger than you think." - -"I am strong; I know I am stronger than some; still, I never should -have thought that I was hurting you. I was only going to show you that -the window's no distance from the ground." - -"I'm not afraid of dropping from the window; I am not such a coward as -that. Only what am I to do, and where am I to go, when I am down?" - -"That's what I'm a-going to tell you. You see if you was to bend down, -and keep as close to the hedge as you can, as likely as not you'll get -to the water without anyone seeing you; though, of course, that frock -you've got on does show up----" - -"I can change it; I'd rather." - -"No, there ain't no time for you to do that--you've wasted too much -time already. You do as I tell you and you won't be seen, not in this -light, especially as I expect they're all on the lookout for the -police on the other side of the house. When you come to the river bend -down again, and go along the bank till you come to where the boat's -tied up to the steps. You get into the boat and row yourself across to -the other side. The other side of the river's in another county. The -police what belongs to this county they can't touch you in another -county; so if you can get there you're safe as far as they're -concerned; and the family here--Miss Frances and that, you know--they -can't be made out to have anything to do with you if you are took in -another county--see?" - -Dorothy did see; or she thought she did--possibly her grasp of the -situation was as clear as the other's exposition. Rejecting the -other's offer of assistance she climbed, unaided, on to the sill; and, -without the slightest hesitation, dropped on to the bed of flowers -which was immediately below. The girl above, as if to assure herself -that no harm was done, waited for her to stand up straight; then, as, -in accordance with her directions, Dorothy, bent nearly double, began -to move quickly along in the shadow of the hedge, towards the river, -she withdrew her head; and, as stealthily as she had entered, she -passed from the room. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - THE MAN WHO DID IT - - -It was darker than it was wont to be at that season of the year. -Black, heavy clouds hung low in the heavens. The air was motionless, -hot, oppressive. One needed no keen perception to tell that a storm -was brewing. As Dorothy gained the river bank, in the distance was the -loud muttering of thunder. She stopped to look about her, still -keeping well in the shadow of the hedge. Apparently her flight had -been unnoticed. It struck her that, if she had liked, she might have -gone long ago, and been far away, ere this, without anyone being one -penny the wiser; and so have lessened the chance of "the family" being -associated with her ill-fame. As she looked back it seemed to her that -the house was badly lighted. There was light in one room on the ground -floor; with that exception the whole house was in darkness. Surely it -was not the Vernon custom to keep the whole house unlighted when the -night came on. There were lights in the windows of houses on the other -side of the stream, and there were lights on the river. Tinted lights -picked out the outlines of houseboats, making them orgies of colour. -Dorothy, who had never seen anything of the sort before, stared at -them in amaze, wondering what they were. Small craft, moving here and -there, carried Chinese lanterns, slung on cords, which swayed -mysteriously in the silent air. In the distance were many lights. The -regatta was to be followed by what dwellers by the river call a -Venetian Fête: there was to be a procession of illuminated boats, -which already was forming afar off. If they wished to keep their -procession dry they would be wise to start it soon. - -By degrees, as her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, Dorothy became -aware that the river seemed to be alive with boats of all sorts and -kinds. She had expected to find it deserted; she was surprised to find -that it seemed to be more crowded even than it had been in the -daytime. Remembering the servant's recommendation to stoop, so that -her figure might not be too clearly visible against the skyline, she -made the best of her way to the steps, up which Frances had hurried, -out of the boat, when she first saw her on the lawn. For one to whom -the place was not familiar, in that light they were not easy to find. -She stumbled on them more by chance than anything else. She began, -cautiously, to descend them. She could not make out how many there -were; and had gone down six when, feeling for the seventh, she touched -the surface of the water with the sole of her shoe. Starting back just -in time to save herself from stepping into the stream, she sat down, -unintentionally, and with more force than was quite pleasant, on one -of the steps at her back. The unexpected nearness of the water -startled her; she did not know what she had escaped. Had she completed -that step she might have gone head foremost into the river. She tried -to make out where the boat was of which the servant girl had spoken, -and presently could see it dimly. It seemed to be a long way off, how -was she to get at it? Wholly unacquainted with riverine methods it did -not occur to her to look for the cord by which it was tied, and so -draw it towards her. Which was perhaps well; for, though she had never -been in a small boat in her life, how she was going to navigate one in -the darkness, all alone, was a problem she did not stay to -contemplate. - -As she still sat on the step of which she had so unwillingly made a -seat, dubious, fearful, the whole dark world was lit up by a vivid -flash of lightning; and in what seemed to her to be its sudden, -unearthly glow she saw, right in front of her, the face of the man who -had killed George Emmett; saw it for one astounding moment, with more -than normal plainness. Then, as suddenly as it came, it went, blotted -out by the returning darkness. Whether she had seen a vision, or been -the victim of an optical delusion, she had not a notion. For a moment -or two all was still. Then a voice came to her through the blackness. - -"Can you tell me whereabouts I shall find Mr Vernon's house?" - -It was the voice of the man. As she heard it every muscle in Dorothy's -body seemed to be attacked by a sort of tetanus. Whatever doubt she -might have had about the face, as to whether or not it was an optical -delusion, she had none whatever about the voice. She had heard it too -recently--under circumstances of too much import--not to be sure of -its identity when she heard it again. In it was a tone which had not -been in it when she heard it in that sitting-room in "The Bolton -Arms"; none the less was she sure that it was the same voice. - -She could not have answered the question if she had tried; she did not -try. She sat silent, rigid, waiting for the voice to come again. -Presently it came. - -"You must forgive me if I startled you, but that flash of lightning -revealed you so clearly that I was asking myself if you could have -been sent by Providence to help me in a difficulty I am in. I am -trying to make out which is the garden of Mr Vernon's house. The -directions I received were most explicit; but, in this light, for a -stranger, even the most explicit directions are hard to follow. Can -you tell me if I have nearly hit it?" - -As she listened, Dorothy began to realise that the speaker was in a -boat which was within a foot or two of where she was sitting. The boat -showed an inclination to move with the stream; he backed it with a -gentle movement of his scull. His face was turned towards her; but she -only saw it very vaguely. He seemed to be waiting for her to reply; -when she continued silent he spoke again. - -"Do I make myself clear? It is Mr Vernon's house I am looking for--the -Weir House, I believe it is called." - -With an effort she managed to speak, her voice sounding strange even -to herself. - -"Why--why do you want Mr Vernon's house?" - -There was a sound which might have been a chuckle; as if the man was -tickled, either by the girl's caution or by her curiosity. - -"Well, if you must know, I want to pay a call." - -"You!" - -"Yes, me; why not? Why do you say 'You' with such an accent?" - -Although she knew what this man had done she was not afraid of him at -all; even alone with him here in the darkness she was never for an -instant conscious of the least alarm. That sensation which had held -her rigid had had nothing in common with fear. And, although she could -hardly help being surprised at his unexpected sudden neighbourhood, -surprise soon passed; her dominant feeling was one of wonder as to -what he could want at Mr Vernon's house. Regardless of the hint -conveyed by his rejoinder she questioned him again. - -"Are--are you a friend of Mr Vernon's?" - -"May I ask why you inquire? Unless, indeed, this is the garden of Mr -Vernon's house, and you are a friend of his." A thought seemed to -strike him. "What an ass I am! Perhaps you're Miss Vernon. In which -case, Miss Vernon, pray pardon my stupidity, and let me assure you -that, though I am not a friend of Mr Vernon's, nor even an -acquaintance, I am given to understand that there is someone in his -house whom I am rather anxious to see; and, perhaps, if you are Miss -Vernon, you could help me." - -"Who is it you wish to see?" - -She had neither admitted nor denied that she was the person he had -suggested; but he seemed to have taken it for granted that her -avoidance of the point was tantamount to an admission. - -"The person I wish to see is a lady, a young one, Miss Gilbert--Miss -Dorothy Gilbert." The listener's heart stood still; she was -overwhelmed by that curious feeling of vertigo to which she seemed to -have grown subject of late. Probably the man in the boat -misinterpreted her silence; he went on to explain himself further. "I -have just been informed, Miss Vernon, that Miss Dorothy Gilbert is a -friend of yours, and that, at present, she is a guest of yours; I hope -my information is correct." - -The girl on the steps found her voice again; at anyrate, in part. - -"Do--do you know Miss Gilbert?" - -"It may sound odd, considering, but I don't; any more than I know Miss -Vernon. But I hope to find an open sesame to her acquaintance in the -fact that I did know her father intimately; to all intents and -purposes he and I were lifelong friends." - -"My father!--you knew my father!" - -The girl on the steps stood up. The full strength of her voice had all -at once come back. She spoke in tones which might have been audible on -the other side of the river. The man in the boat seemed to be as -startled by her words, and by her instant change of manner, as she had -been by the discovery of his identity. There was a sudden splashing, -as if, in his surprise, he had let the blades of his oars drop into -the water; then an exclamation, as he woke to the fact that the boat -had drifted from its original place. Presently he brought it back. - -"Your father?--did you say your father? Then, in that case, I suppose -you are Dorothy Gilbert--Harry Gilbert's daughter." - -"I am." - -"Are you sure. Why did you give me to understand that you were Miss -Vernon?" - -"I wanted to find out who it was you wanted to see; it was you who -said I was Miss Vernon; I didn't. Did you say you knew my father?" - -"Rather; no man knew him better. Then if you are Dorothy Gilbert, -perhaps it's just as well that I've come upon you in this queer -fashion; if you don't mind, I'll step ashore. I suppose this is Mr -Vernon's garden?" She told him that it was. "I can't quite make out -what kind of landing this is, but if you'll catch hold of the painter, -so as to make sure of the boat, I'll do the rest." She did not know -what the painter was, but she took the cord which he held out, and -kept it till she was able to transfer it to him when he also was -standing on the steps by her side. - -"The accommodation seems limited down here; suppose we get up higher." - -She ascended the steps; he followed; the cord was long enough to -permit of his retaining it in his grasp even when he stood on the -lawn. The moment they had reached the lawn she fired at him a -question. - -"What is your name?"' - -"Arnecliffe--Leonard Arnecliffe." - -"Then why did you say it was Gilbert?" - -"Gilbert?--I said my name was Gilbert?--What on earth do you mean?" - -"To the waiter at 'The Bolton Arms.'" - -"To the waiter--what the devil do you know about what I said to the -waiter at 'The Bolton Arms'?" She was still; not this time because she -could not have spoken, but because words surged up to her lips which -she had the greatest difficulty in keeping back. Whether he -misconstrued her silence as egregiously this time was not clear. His -words, when he spoke again, were odd ones. "I've been looking for you -all over Europe, and now that I've found you I'm hanged if I know how -to begin what I've got to say." She looked up at him, as he towered -above her in the gloom; she not only knew what she wished to say, but -how she wished to say it, only she was afraid. "Miss Gilbert, your -father and I were friends in quite an exceptional sense." - -"Wasn't he like you?" - -"In appearance? No; except that we both of us were tallish, and that -once he was dark, like me; but when he died his hair was as white as -snow. His was a strange story--did you know it?" - -"How could I? I scarcely remember having seen him; he never wrote me a -letter in his life; I don't think I ever saw my mother; I know nothing -about either my father or my mother." - -"So I gathered. I've been looking for you in order to tell you all -about both; only--luck, and a certain gentleman, has been against me." - -"How did you know that I was here?" - -"By one of those greatest flukes in the world, which are the -commonplaces of existence. I was at a friend's house on the other side -of the river when two youngsters came in who said that they had seen a -Dorothy Gilbert this afternoon at Mrs Vernon's garden-party; so, on -the off-chance of your being my Dorothy Gilbert, I came. I take it -that there is no doubt that you are my Dorothy Gilbert." - -"I am Dorothy Gilbert of Newcaster." - -She uttered the words in a tone of defiance which seemed to startle -him. For a moment he was still. When he spoke again his voice was -lower. - -"That's what I don't understand." - -"What don't you understand?" - -"The stories which the papers tell about you." - -"I don't know what they may be, but I think it's very possible that I -should understand them if you were to tell me what they are." - -"But you had no hand in--in what took place at Newcaster." - -"Oh yes, I had." - -"Miss Gilbert! It's impossible!" - -"I saw you do it." - -"You saw me----" The man stopped; as if unwilling to complete the -sentence; then asked: "What do you mean--by you saw me?" - -"I saw--what you did to him." - -"Miss Gilbert!" - -"It was because--I saw you do it that I ran away; I didn't want them -to make me tell them what I'd seen." - -"Good God! what--what an extraordinary thing!" - -"Yes, you may well call it an extraordinary thing. Dorothy Gilbert, -you're my prisoner; I arrest you for murdering George Emmett. And you, -my lad, I don't know what your name is, but I arrest you too. You're -both of you my prisoners; and, if you take my advice, you won't make -any fuss, but you'll just come quietly; and to make sure you'll put -these on--there's a bracelet for each of you." - -The speaker was a policeman, in unmistakable policeman's clothes. So -engrossed had they been in their own affairs that to them it was as if -he had sprung out of the ground; but the explanation of his appearance -on the scene was sufficiently simple. West, the parlourmaid, having -succeeded in releasing herself from the trap in which Dorothy's -quick-witted sympathiser had temporarily secured her, had rushed off -to the police station the moment she was free; more set than ever on -effecting her purpose because of the trick of which she had been made -the victim. Not only had she given information at the station-house -itself; but on her homeward way she had encountered the individual to -whom she was engaged to be married, and who was himself a constable. -The hope of hastening her wedding-day by earning the hundred pounds -which was offered as a reward was the motive which had caused her to -act as informant; but in what seemed to her to be the fortunate -meeting with the object of her affections, she saw an opportunity of -enabling him to bring about his own advancement by managing so that he -should effect the arrest in person. Explaining her purpose, she -induced him to accompany her. As she was leading him to the servants' -entrance she saw what she jumped to the conclusion was the dim outline -of Dorothy's figure at the end of the lawn. On the instant she started -him on the chase. Doing as Dorothy had done, keeping under the shadow -of the hedge, taking advantage of their preoccupation, he was on them -before either of the pair had suspected his propinquity; and, with a -grin, was holding out a pair of handcuffs. - -"Now, my lad, your right hand, and, Miss Dorothy Gilbert, your -left--sorry to inconvenience you, but business is business." - -The speaker, however, was taking too much for granted in supposing -that, having surprised his prey, the rest would be perfectly easy; and -the way in which he learnt his error probably took him at least as -much by surprise as he had taken them. It took but an instant for -Dorothy's companion to grasp the situation; and even less for him to -decide upon a course of action. As the unsuspecting constable was -suggesting, with a grin, that they should hold out their hands to -permit of his handcuffing them together, the man took him by the -shoulder, whirled him round, and sent him spinning down the steep -bank, on the verge of which he had been standing, into the river. Ere -the noise of the splash which he had made as he entered the water had -died away someone came running towards them across the lawn. It was -Frances Vernon. She called out as she came: - -"Dorothy! Dorothy! some policemen are at the front door! Oh, Dorothy!" - -Nor was Miss Vernon alone. Behind her came another figure, also -feminine. It was the indignant and law-respecting West; who, as was -immediately made evident, had seen the treatment which had been -accorded her lover with feelings which were not too deep for words. - -"And there's been a policeman here!--and he's took her prisoner!--and -he was the first to do it!--she's his prisoner, that's what she -is!--only that great brute shoved him into the river. I saw him do -it!--and there he's drowning now for all he cares!--'Gustus! 'Gustus! -You great coward, why don't you jump in and pull him out!--he was only -doing his duty!--do you want to have him drowned before your eyes? -'Gustus! Is that you, 'Gustus?" - -Descending the bank with all possible care, the agitated West got as -near to the water's edge as she dared, peering into the murky stream -for some signs of the being she loved. There were sounds on the lawn -behind them. The man laid his hand on Dorothy's shoulder. - -"Down the steps!--into the boat! I don't mean to let them take us like -this; there's something which I must say to you first--quick!" How she -had got there she scarcely knew; but all at once the girl found -herself seated in a small boat, which wobbled portentously as the man -followed her into it. "Steady!" she heard him say. Whether he was -speaking to himself, to her, or to the boat, she was not sure. "Don't -move; keep perfectly still; we shall be all right. Damn the sculls! -Where the devil is that rowlock? I've got it!" The boat moved forward; -then stopped, with a jar. It seemed they had run into another -boat--the presence of which moved her companion to wrath. "Hollo!--who -are you?--what the deuce are you doing there? Get out of the way, if -you don't want me to run you down!" - -A voice replied--a voice which Dorothy knew well: - -"Gently! gently! Listen to me! Hug the shore for about two hundred -yards and you'll find a cut; go down it and, made fast to the opposite -bank, under the trees, you'll find a houseboat. It belongs to old -Vernon; it's empty now; go aboard; for the present you'll be safer -there than anywhere, I'll see to that; I'll put them off the scent. -I'll come as soon as ever I can; wait for me there till I come. Off -you go!" - -And off they went, just as burly figures began to appear on the edge -of the lawn. As they moved, almost noiselessly, through the water, the -man asked Dorothy: - -"Who was that spoke to us, and talked about a cut, and a houseboat? I -couldn't get a proper sight of him. Did you know him?" - -"I think," said Dorothy--as if she were not sure--"that it was Mr -Frazer." - -As if she had not recognised his voice with just as much certainty as -she had done her companion's! - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - AN INTERLUDE - - -With sensations which she would not have found it easy to describe, -Miss Frances Vernon felt a great hand grip her by the shoulder with a -degree of roughness to which she was unaccustomed, and heard a coarse -voice exclaim: - -"I arrest you! You're my prisoner?" The speaker seemed to be a little -short of breath; she realised that he had been running towards her -across the lawn; but shortness of breath did not prevent his -tightening his grip upon her shoulder until it was all she could do to -keep herself from crying out with pain. But she managed to keep still. -It dawned on her that she had been mistaken for Dorothy; and that the -longer the mistake continued the better start the girl would have. Her -captor was joined by someone else--evidently his superior officer. -"I've got her, sir--here she is." - -The new-comer seemed also to be having some trouble with his breathing -apparatus; words came from him in gasps. - -"What's--your name--young woman?" - -Frances hesitated; then, turning, as far as her captor would permit -her to do, she looked at as much of her questioner's face as she could -see in the darkness. - -"What business is it of yours what my name is? How dare you ask me -such a question?" - -But the officer was not to be put off like that. - -"It's no use your trying that tone with me. I've a right to ask you -that question, and I do ask it. Are you Dorothy Gilbert? If you -decline to answer I shall conclude that you are, and you're a -prisoner." - -"You may conclude what you like. While this coward keeps on hurting -me, as he is doing now, I'll answer no questions; if he removes his -hand from my shoulder I may, but while he continues torturing me I -certainly won't." - -"Are you hurting her, Jenkins?" - -"No, sir; I've just got hold of her tight enough to keep her from -getting away." - -"Let go of her shoulder! Take her by the arm. Now, young woman, no -nonsense. Are you Dorothy Gilbert?" - -A voice came from the bank below them; the agitated West had suddenly -woke to some consciousness of what was going on behind her. - -"Dorothy Gilbert! Who's Dorothy Gilbert? That's not her!' You great -stupids, that's not her! That's not her!" - -West appeared at the top of the steps--if anything, more agitated than -ever. - -"Who are you?" asked the officer. - -"Is that you, Sergeant Batters? Mr Batters, you know very well who I -am--I'm Eliza West, that's who I am. It was me who came to the station -and told you where Dorothy Gilbert was, and that hundred pounds reward -is mine. I've fairly earned it, I have; I call everyone to witness! If -you chaps hadn't been such slowcoaches you'd have her safe enough: -it's hardly a minute since she went off with another chap. My -'Gustus--his name's Carter, and his number 294--he took her prisoner, -she's his lawful prisoner, that's what she is; only the chap she's -gone off with he chucked my 'Gustus into the river, and there he is at -this moment, drowned for all I know." - -West's strident voice rose almost to a wail; but no sooner had she -ceased than another voice was heard, coming again from the bank below -them. - -"Easy, Eliza, easy!--it's not so bad as that! I've got as much water -inside me as I care to swallow, and my uniform's about done for; but -that's about the worst. Let alone that I can swim, he didn't throw me -in so deep; if it hadn't been for the weeds I'd have been ashore -before this, only I couldn't speak a word because of the water that -had got in my throat." A hatless figure came up the bank, whose owner -seemed conscious that, in his then condition, in that light, he might -be unrecognisable. "It's me, sergeant--Carter, two, nine, four. I have -to report that I arrested the girl, Dorothy Gilbert----" - -"That you did, 'Gustus, I saw you do it; and that hundred pounds is -mine--fairly earned!" - -"Now, Eliza, I'm talking; you mind your own business, and leave that -hundred pounds alone. I also arrested the chap who was with her; only, -just as I was going to put the handcuffs on the pair of them, he -chucked me into the river and that's how it is, sergeant." - -Still a third voice joined in the conference; in spite of its easy -suavity it was obviously one which was used to command. - -"Policemen here? What is the meaning of this?" - -The speaker came up the steps, on to the lawn. - -"Is this the man," inquired Mr Batters of Mr Carter, "whom you -arrested and who assaulted you?" - -Mr Carter shook his head. - -"No, sergeant, that's not the man; nothing like him." - -The new-comer approached. - -"Are you a sergeant of police? As Mr Vernon is a relative of mine, I -should like to know what you, and your men, are doing on his grounds. -I am the Earl of Strathmoira." - -"Beg pardon, my lord, but I've come here to arrest the young woman -who's wanted for the Newcaster murder, of which perhaps your lordship -may have heard." - -"Gracious! Are you looking for a person of that description on Mr -Vernon's premises?" - -"Fact is, my lord, I'm given to understand that she's a friend of the -people here, and that she was here hardly two minutes ago. This man -says he arrested her, together with a person who appears to have been -in collusion with her; whereupon her accomplice threw this man into -the river, and got off with her in a boat. If your lordship came by -the river they may have passed you; you may have noticed them." - -"My good sir, do you suppose that, on a night like this, when a big -storm is evidently very close at hand, and one's sole aim is to reach -shelter before it comes, that one has nothing better to do than notice -strangers who may happen to pass you on the river? There's a flash for -you! Why, if it's not my cousin, Miss Vernon. My dear Frances, I was -wondering who you were when that flash of lightning kindly showed me; -it has grown so dark that I doubt if I ever should have known you -without its aid. Pray tell me what these persons are doing here." - -Advancing to Frances, he took her hand in his, with a warmth of -greeting which she seemed scarcely inclined to reciprocate. She seemed -to find his presence not only unexpected, but something else as well; -as if in his calm, easy bearing, and soft, plausible speech, she -saw something which half-puzzled, half-frightened her. As, as if -tongue-tied, she stood before him as he continued to hold her hand, -the woman West said, speaking in tones which suggested that she was -possessed by an inward excitement which rendered her almost -inarticulate: - -"'Gustus--sergeant--he's diddling you--sure as you're standing there, -he's diddling you! Pretending that he don't know anything about -Dorothy Gilbert, or what you're here for! Why, he's her special -friend!--it was he who brought her here last night. I saw him with -her--with my own eyes I saw him! And I tell you something else about -him, sergeant: although it's true enough that he's the Earl of -Strathmoira, all the same for that his private name is Eric Frazer, -and he's wanted as well as her. There's a warrant out against him--I -see it in the paper--for half killing that young gipsy on Newcaster -Heath, who wanted to give her away to you chaps; and it's through him -that she got clean off, and it was he who brought her straight from -Newcaster here. So you take him prisoner, sergeant, before he does a -bolt like she's done; but, whether you do or whether you don't, I call -everyone to witness that I've given you the information, and that -hundred pounds is fairly mine--yes, and it's fairly mine twice -over!--twice over it's mine!" - -By the time she had finished, the woman had raised her voice to a -hysteric screech. Plainly the sergeant did not know what to make of -her. - -"What is the woman talking about? Carter, you seem to understand her -better than I do; what's she mean?" - -Mr Carter addressed the lady who loved him. - -"If you take my tip, Eliza, you won't let us hear so much about the -hundred pounds; it's all you can talk about." - -"Well!--what else have I got to talk about? If it hadn't been for the -hundred pounds, do you think I'd have said a word?--not me! And now, -because you policemen are such blockheads, it looks as likely as not -that I'm going to be done out of it after all; first you let the girl -go, and now you won't take the man who's hand and glove with her; all -the lot of you will let him fool you if he likes!--a pack of idiots -you policemen are!--you're all the same!" - -There was a diversion from the constable who had put his hand on -Frances Vernon's shoulder. - -"Excuse me, sergeant, but I think I know what she means; I saw about -it in the paper, what she says; it's right enough that there is a -warrant out for Eric Frazer, according to the paper." - -"But I can't act on a mere statement which you say you saw in a paper, -which may or may not be true. In the absence of official instructions -I can't accept responsibility for what a newspaper says." - -The Earl of Strathmoira applauded this explanation of the speaker's -point of view. - -"Precisely, sergeant; I am glad to find that there is one sensible -person present. This woman, who, I fancy, is one of Mr Vernon's -servants, is probably not quite right in her head; she is certainly -not worthy either of your attention or mine. Come, Frances, this -unpleasant scene has upset you; never mind! Let's go up to the house; -possibly they'll be able to tell us there what all this pother is -about." - -West laid her hand on Mr Carter's arm. - -"'Gustus, don't you let him fool you; don't you let him go--don't you -let him! If Mr Batters won't arrest him, you arrest him on your own; -you'll be blamed if you don't! You know I'm no fool--what I tell you's -gospel truth; he's wanted as much as she is--take him on your own." - -The faithful Carter hesitated. Drawing the woman close to him, he -looked her steadily in the face; apparently on the strength of what he -saw there he made the plunge, moving towards the object of the -discussion with the simple statement: - -"You're my prisoner, my lord." - -The earl eyed him; then laughed. - -"Your prisoner, my good man--are you joking?" - -"No, my lord, I am not joking, I must ask you to consider yourself -under arrest." - -"On what charge?" - -The woman cried out: - -"I charge him, if it comes to that! I charge him with aiding and -abetting Dorothy Gilbert to escape, and also with being her -accomplice--if you take him to the station, 'Gustus, you'll find that -you've done right." - -The earl turned to Mr Batters. - -"Sergeant, will you be so good as to recommend this man to be careful -what he say and does, before he has cause for serious regret." - -Instead, however, of doing as he was requested, the sergeant threw in -his lot with his subordinate. - -"I am sorry, my lord, to subject you to any inconvenience; but I am -afraid I must ask you to accompany us to the station till this matter -has been cleared up." - -"Accompany you to the station! But suppose I decline?" - -"I regret, my lord, that I cannot allow you to decline. This matter is -more serious than you appear to think. I myself say nothing either one -way or the other; but I notice that you have not attempted to deny the -statements which have been made against you; and I have no option but -to request you to come with me to the station to permit of their being -properly gone into." - -The earl addressed Mr Carter. - -"My man! take care! Let me strongly advise you not to presume to touch -me!" - -The sergeant interposed. - -"If your lordship will give me your word that you will accompany us -quietly to the station I, on my side, will undertake that you shall be -subjected to no personal indignity; only in so grave a matter we can't -take any risks; you must give me your word, my lord. Do you do so?" - -"Does he! No, he doesn't. Look out, 'Gustus--he's going to give you -the slip." - -This was West, in whom the instinct of the huntress seemed to be -preternaturally keen. The sergeant exclaimed: - -"None of that, my lord! Hold him, Carter!" But the sergeant's warning -came too late--to hold his prisoner was more that Carter could do, -since, before the warning came, he was already out of his sight. A -second time that evening he was to be disappointed of his prey. West -was right; his lordship gave him the slip. Running down the bank, he -had leapt into the water before they could stop him--indeed, so far -were they from stopping him it was all the sergeant and Mr Carter -could do to keep themselves from--quite unintentionally--going after -him. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - THE HOUSEBOAT - - -The boat hugged the shore as closely as Eric Frazer had advised; being -propelled with a skill, and swiftness, considering the difficulties -with which he had to contend, which at least showed that the person -who had stated that his name was Arnecliffe was engaged in a task with -which he was familiar. Presently its progress become slower; the -sculler was endeavouring, as best he could, to make out his -surroundings. - -"Curious how deceptive this light--if you can call it light--is; and -the lightning makes it worse. Have you any knowledge of this country?" - -"None; I saw it for the first time this morning." - -"There seems to be an opening here, which might be a cut, or -backwater--I believe it is. We'll try it. Look out! The trees hang -over the water, and the branches are low. What is that over there? -It's a houseboat; I wonder if it's the one to which your mysterious -friend referred. It's dark enough. Do you know what the name of -Vernon's houseboat is?" Dorothy knew nothing, and said so. "Anyhow -we'll pay a call. If it's the wrong one we can only apologise." He -brought the skiff alongside the sombre craft, which seemed to soar -above them into the darkness. The girl landed first. "Try that door," -he said. "That's it--right in front of you." - -She turned the handle. - -"It's open," she announced. - -"Good! Gross carelessness on somebody's part, to leave a houseboat's -front door unlocked, but good for us." Tying up the skiff, he landed -also. "Wait a minute: let me go in first, in case there's anyone -inside." He passed through the door which she had opened. "Hollo! -Anyone here?" None answered. "Seems empty; I think you may come in -without running much risk of intruding on somebody's privacy." She -went in after him. "I'll strike a match, so that we can see what sort -of place it is we're in." He held the flickering flame above his head. -"Seems to be a decent sort of apartment--living-room, I presume. If -this is his property it strikes me that Mr Vernon is a gentleman who -is possessed both of taste and money." - -The match went out. - -"Hollo! this won't do; we must have some light upon the subject. I -can't say to you what I want to say unless I see your face--not -comfortably, I can't; and I should like you to see mine as I'm saying -it." - -"I should like to see it too." - -"Should you? Then you shall; there's a hanging lamp in the centre -here; we'll see each other by its light. Now we'll pull down the -blinds--capital blinds these are; well fitting. If there should be any -suspicious characters about, they won't see us through these blinds; -they're pretty nearly as good as shutters. Now, Miss Gilbert, with -your very kind permission, I should like to see what you look like." -By the lamp's glow the man and the girl surveyed each other; she -standing very straight, and he stooping a little forward. He smiled; -the smile giving his mouth an odd effect of being twisted. "You're -like your father." - -"Am I? Am I like my mother?" - -"No; I don't think you are; not as I remember her." - -"Did you know her well?" - -"Very; once. But your resemblance to your father's weird. It isn't -only features; it's the altogether--the way you have of looking at -me--they might be your father's eyes; the way you have of holding -yourself--just a little stiffly; the way your head's poised on your -neck--as if it wouldn't bend; why, you've even got your father's -hands--I noticed it as you pulled down the blind. You're his feminine -replica." - -"I'm glad of that." - -"If he could only have heard you say that, before it was too late, -what a difference it would have made! What--what a curious chap he -was. If he could only come and see you now, he would see himself in -you; he could not help it; and any lingering doubts he had would have -gone for ever." - -"Why do you say that? What doubts had he?" - -He hesitated; as if he searched for words; then again came that wry -smile of his. - -"Miss Gilbert, it's not a pretty story I have to tell you; and it may -sound uglier than it might be made because, circumstanced as we are, I -am hardly in a position to pick and choose my phrases. Time is short; -I must get to the end of my tale by the shortest way. I don't know who -your mysterious friend who sent us here may be; but if, as he said he -was, he is coming here, he may come soon. And since, when he does -come, circumstances may arise which will render it difficult for me to -communicate with you on confidential matters, it would be well if what -I have to say to you were said quickly. So, if my story sounds even -less pleasant than it need do, will you forgive me--since time -presses?" - -"Of course I will forgive you--you know I will." - -"Thank you; I believe I do know it. I wondered what sort of person I -should find you; but now, I think that, if the Fates had been more -propitious, I might have been your friend, as I was your father's." -She said nothing, but her lips quivered; something flashed from her -eyes to his. "Won't you sit down? Compress it as I may, my story will -take some minutes; as I said, it's not a very pretty one; and--you -look tired." - -"I would rather stand; I couldn't sit still; I find it so hard to sit -still. Tell me about my mother." - -"Your mother? I'm afraid I haven't much to tell you about your mother; -my story is chiefly about your father. You see, there's disappointment -number one. I take it that your knowledge of this funny world is not a -very wide one; I fancy you don't see much of it in a convent; so what -I'm going to tell you may sound very strange--to you; but it isn't: -it's quite commonplace. It's a story which will be told over and over -again, with variations--and even the variations are not new--until the -crack of doom. Your mother and father were very much in love with each -other, before they were married, and when they married; but soon after -they were married they quarrelled. Not long before you were born they -separated, never to meet again." - -"Poor mother!" - -"Yes; you may well say it--Fortune used her ill. She died in giving -you birth." - -"Mother!" This time there was no prefix; the superlative was expressed -without it. Then she added: "What father must have felt!" - -Again the wry smile. - -"No doubt, when he heard of your mother's death, he felt many things; -but if among them were any feelings of sorrow he kept them hid. He -wouldn't go to you mother's funeral; he refused to see you." - -"What a wicked man he must have been; I am sorry I am like him." - -"There's the tragedy; because, you see, he doubted if you were his -child." The girl said nothing; but there came into her face an -eloquence which was beyond any form of words. The sight of it seemed -to occasion him pain; he went hurrying on: "You were brought up by -nurses. So far as I know the only time you ever saw him was when he -took you to that Brittany convent, where he left you till the other -day." - -"And you say he was my father?" - -"There again's the tragedy: he was. Your mother wasn't the wisest of -women--few people are altogether wise--but she was not the kind of -person he, in his haste, thought she was; in that sense, she was a -true wife to him. In very truth, and very deed, if ever a child was -her father's child, you are his. I never doubted it; not once; and now -it is as if the finger of God had written the truth all over you. If -he had only seen you, he would have seen God's finger--have known what -a foolish man he'd been." - -"But why did he never come to see me--or write to me--once?" - -"He was, as I have said, a curious man; and having made up his mind -finally, though on the most imperfect premises; he would have died -rather than unmake it; indeed, he did die. But although, as I have -told you, when your mother died he made no pretence at sorrow, her -death, the whole tragedy of his marriage, changed the whole aspect of -the world for him: he was never the same man again; his whole life was -spoiled. He did many foolish things, and very few wise ones--he did -nearly all the foolish things a man could do. He lost money; he made -it; he lost it again. There were times when he had scarcely a -shilling; there were others when he had thousands of pounds. Did he -ever send you money?" - -"Never; not so much as a franc. I believe that often he didn't pay my -bills at the convent; I think that sometimes the Sisters were afraid -that he never would pay." - -"Those, I apprehend, were the times when he was without a shilling. As -years went on, I have a theory that he began to be haunted--haunted by -thoughts of what might have been. I believe that he grew to love your -mother more and more." - -"Love her! When he had treated her like that! What did he understand -by love?" - -"This is a curious world, and men contain, in themselves, the most -singular contradictions. I doubt if he had ever ceased to love her, -even when he was most bitter against her; more, I believe that it was -because he loved her so much that he was so bitter. Can't you -understand how that might be?" - -"I think--I think I can." - -"It was for love of her he died." - -"How--how can that be?" - -"It was so. He was an old man before his time. Each year his -constitution failed more and more. During one of his periodic attacks -of bad health, when his strength was at its lowest ebb, he came upon -some papers, of whose very existence, by one of those diabolical -mischances which Fortune loves to deal us, he had been ignorant, -through all those years. They were some letters of your mother's; and -they proved, even to him, what an injustice he had done her. The shock -killed him. They found him dead, with her letters in his hand. Had he -cared nothing for her he would have been little moved by the discovery -of her written words; but his heart had been breaking for years; the -revelation of how unjust he had been to her broke it altogether. That -is why I say that, for love of her, he died." - -"Poor father!" - -"Yes; you may well say that also; it was 'poor father' as well as -'poor mother'--life's little ironies! His history was one of the -strangest with which I have been personally acquainted. Not the least -strange part of it is the fact that, not long before he died, he would -persist in embarking in what seemed to me to be some wild-cat -speculations, which, by an astounding series of accidents, turned out -amazingly well; with the result that, though he had been a needy man -for years, at the moment of his death he was actually rich. His will -was found written on one side of a sheet of notepaper. It was dated -only a few weeks before the end; so that he must have drawn it up as -soon as he learnt that a turn of Fortune's wheel had brought him -wealth. By it he left every farthing he possessed to you, absolutely, -to do with it what you choose. So that--you're an heiress." - -The girl's glance had never once left his face; it was as if she had -been trying to read on it more than his words conveyed. Now she stared -at him with amazement in her eyes. - -"But--I don't understand. When Mr Emmett came to the convent he said -that my father had not left a penny; that he had died owing him a -large sum of money, and that it was only out of charity he paid what -the Sisters were owed." - -Once more his lips were twisted by that wry smile. - -"Mr Emmett? Oh yes, I'm coming to Mr Emmett now; and--there's the -rub." - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - WHY HE KILLED HIM - - -Something in the speaker's face, in his voice, his air, prompted the -girl to make a suggestion. - -"You are tired. Won't you act on the advice which you gave me. Won't -you sit down and rest?" - -He shook his head. - -"I admit I'm tired; I've been tired for quite a while, yet, I can -manage to keep on, and, like you, I doubt if I'd be rested by trying -to sit still. How the storm has come up; we were lucky to get here in -time. I'm afraid it's spoilt the procession of boats; they were -forming just as I was starting in search of you. What with the noise -the rain makes clattering on the roof--I hope there's nothing on it to -spoil; and the wind among the trees, and the rending thunder-claps, I -shall soon have to speak louder if I want you to hear me." - -"You need not. I shall hear every word you say, even though the noise -grows greater." - -Throughout they had been standing by the table, which occupied the -centre of the cabin, almost within a foot of each other. Her girlish -figure erect, and, as he put it, a little stiff; her hands at her -sides, her head erect upon her pretty neck, her eyes fixed on his -face. He, with his broad shoulders, and a trick of stooping which -detracted from his unusual height; his right hand resting on the -table, his left used now and then to point his words; his queer face, -with its suggestion of whimsical humour blended with what she now saw -was a look of pain. The man had appealed to her when, from behind the -sheltering draperies, she had seen him first; now he appealed to her -still more. Although he was so much the elder, she had an odd feeling -that she would like to comfort him. At the moment he appeared to be -unconscious of her gaze, but held his head a little on one side, as if -he were listening for something, in the hurly-burly of the storm. -Then, with a gesture which suggested weariness more than ever, he -turned and looked her again in the face, drawing himself, with what -seemed to be an effort, a little straighter. - -"George Emmett? Oh yes, I was coming to George Emmett." He did not -seem to be in any hurry to go on with him; she waiting in silence with -what seemed understanding of his mood. When he went on it was more -slowly than before; as if his thoughts were hardly in sympathy with -his words; as if, indeed, he were deliberately trying to find words -which only gave imperfect expression to his thoughts. "George Emmett -was not a person whom one would care to offer as a fair example of -humanity. It's easy to say that we should speak no ill of the dead; -but it's not easy to speak well of George Emmett; and I have to speak -of him. His lines ran more or less parallel with mine for a good many -years; and I never knew him forget himself sufficiently to do anything -of which he had any cause to be proud. Miss Gilbert, he was not a nice -man." - -"I know he wasn't." - -"Then you did know him?" - -"Of course I knew him; you know I did." - -"Do I? I'm not sure what I know on that point; later, I may come to -you for information. At least, it seems, you knew him well enough to -be aware that he was not, in all respects, a nice man." - -"Indeed! He was like a nightmare to me from the first moment I saw -him. As I grew to know him better I don't know if I hated or feared -him more." - -"You seem to have reproduced your mother's feelings towards George -Emmett." - -"Did my mother know him?" - -"To her sorrow. He chose to think himself in love with her--he did -choose, now and then, to think himself in love." Dorothy recalled the -fashion of his wooing her; and shuddered. "Because she preferred your -father--who, compared to him, was as Hyperion to a satyr--he chose to -consider himself aggrieved; and when George Emmett had a grievance he -invested it, and drew the interest, and waited for a time when he -could realise at a thumping profit. He was a bad friend; but a worse -enemy. When your mother declined his advances he promised her that he -would make her smart for it; she herself told me of his promise. He -kept his word. He spoilt her life, and your father's also." - -"But how? You told me just now it was because they quarrelled." - -"He was the provocative influence. When your father was a young man he -owed George Emmett money; nearly everyone who came in contact with -Emmett did owe him money; even your mother. He used his influence with -your father to breed in his mind suspicion of your mother; which would -not have been an easy thing to do had not your mother, in her hatred -of the man, actually gone out of her way to help him. It was a case of -two simpletons and a blackguard--they were like putty in his hands. -It's a long and a tangled tale; but the end was as I've told you. -Emmett's grievance against your mother didn't die with her. It lived -on. For years, financially, your father was always more or less in his -toils; and Emmett never lost an opportunity of fostering in him the -feeling of resentment at what he supposed was your mother's treachery; -it was as if someone had been continually dropping an irritant on an -open sore; the result was a festering horror. At last, even your -father realised that the thing had become past bearing. He did what, -if he had been another man, he might have done years before: he -strained every nerve--such nerves as he had left--to rid himself of -the incubus. And he succeeded. And though, when all was done, he was -practically a beggar, his freedom was cheap even at the price which he -had paid. The odd thing was that, scarcely was he beggared, when -Fortune, in one of her most fantastic moods, tossed wealth into his -hands--so that he was a rich man when he died. I was abroad at the -time of his death; but, as soon as I heard the news, I hurried home. I -found his will; I found his fortune; I found that he had left the -whole conduct of affairs in my hands; and, also, for the first time I -learned your address. I had never known it before; he was the only -person who had known it. I believe it was the only secret he ever -kept; and, for keeping it, I find it hard to forgive him even now. Had -I only been acquainted with your whereabouts I should have -communicated with you, both at regular and irregular intervals. I -should have asked you to regard me as a deputy father." - -"I could not have done that, ever." - -"No; I suppose you couldn't." But he meant one thing; and, in her -heart, she meant another. He went on: "So soon as I did know your -address I tore off by the very next boat and train to see you. I can -give you no idea of what were my feelings of amazement when the good -ladies at the convent told me that you had gone." - -"But didn't you know that I had gone?" - -"Didn't I know that you had gone! Did I know that the heavens had -fallen! I have had some curious moments in my life; but I verily -believe that the one in which I learnt that you had left the convent -with Mr George Emmett was the most singular of them all." - -"But had he no right to take me away?" - -"Right! That--that--we must not speak ill of the dead, so I will -say--that gentleman!" - -"But he said he was my guardian." - -"So those ladies told me. If the dead have any knowledge of what takes -place in this world, I wonder what your father's feelings were when he -became informed of his assumption of that--delicate office; I should -think he nearly jumped out of his grave. Especially as he must have -been conscious that the fault was again his own. Emmett was within -easy distance of the place at which your father died. He got there -before I did; and he gained access to your father's papers. -Fortunately he was interrupted before, as was supposed, he had an -opportunity to work any material mischief; but not, apparently, before -he had obtained at least two pieces of information. I have no doubt -that he found out how much money your father had left; obviously, -also, your address; and on that information he promptly acted. He -never lacked audacity; but when he carried you off in that fashion his -courage must surely have been at its highest." For the first time the -speaker showed signs of restlessness; beginning to move about the -cabin as if constrained to find relief for his feelings in motion of -some sort. "The most astounding part of it was, that he had duped -those innocent females with a completeness which was bewildering; no -one had the dimmest notion where he had gone, with you; he had left no -tracks behind him. A man with an unknown motor car, who knows the -highways and byways of Europe better than some people know their back -gardens, is not always an easy object to trace. I got wind of him -again and again; but I believe some occult sense warned him of my -pursuit; more than once it was as if he had slipped through my -fingers; till at last I could get no news of him at all. It was as if -he had vanished into space. So far I had chased him singlehanded; -feeling that this was an account which I should like to settle with -him singlehanded; but, in the end, I retired, beaten; resolved to -employ those resources of civilisation which, hitherto, I had -slighted; and, on the very day on which I had finally so resolved, I -found him." The man was working himself into a state of excitement -which was communicating itself to his listener; as was plain from the -strained eagerness with which she was hanging on his every word. "You -remember Billson?" - -"Oh yes, I remember Billson; I shall not easily forget him." - -"I also remembered Billson--luckily. I had been visiting a friend when -I saw, outside a tavern door, a motor car, with a chauffeur standing -by it whom I seemed to recognise. For a second I hesitated; then I had -it; it was Billson, Emmett's chauffeur. At the same instant he -recognised me and, scrambling into the car, would have been off if I -hadn't stopped him. The fellow had been drinking." - -"It seemed to me that he always had." - -"Like his master." - -"The master used to get more horribly drunk than the man." - -"Pleasant society for you to be alone in." - -"It wasn't--nice." - -The word came from her with a little gasp; which, as he noticed it, -seemed to increase Arnecliffe's restlessness. - -"I couldn't get anything out of him at first. It was only when I made -it quite clear that if he didn't tell me what I wanted to know I -should hand him over to the nearest policeman that he began to tell me -things, for some of which I could have twisted his neck off his -shoulders, then and there, only I refrained. Finally, he informed me -that his master's address, for at least that night, was 'The Bolton -Arms Hotel,' Newcaster. As to whether or not you were in his company -he professed ignorance, and, possibly, he did not know. Within -half-an-hour I was being borne as fast as an express could carry me to -Newcaster. It was latish in the evening when I got there. When I -reached 'The Bolton Arms' they told me Mr Emmett was dining. I said to -the waiter that my name was Gilbert. I hardly know why; I had a sort -of hazy idea that he would come rushing down to see what Gilbert it -could possibly be. Then I called the waiter back, and, scribbling 'A -messenger from Harry Gilbert' on a scrap of paper, sent him up with -that instead. When Emmett came down he was inclined to bluster, but -the house was crowded. Many of those who were there I fancy knew him, -either by sight or reputation. He was quick enough at appreciating the -odds on any given event; he saw that here was a case in which bluster -wouldn't pay. He took me upstairs to his private sitting-room; we -found it empty. I had a notion that finding it empty was a surprise to -him. The dinner-table was laid for two; I had a strong feeling that he -had expected to find whoever it was he had been dining with still at -table; that the discovery of his, or her, absence came upon him with -something of a shock. I asked him with whom he had been dining. He -said with his wife. 'Your wife!' I cried. He laughed, and said that he -was perhaps a little in front of events in speaking of her as his -wife; but that she ought to be his wife; and that, if she behaved -herself, before long she should be. She came of a bad stock, he added, -and his treatment of her entirely depended on her own behaviour. -Knowing that he had been tearing about Europe with you; thinking of -what Billson had told me; his suggestiveness, his words, his tone, his -manner, these things were pretty hard to bear. Oh, I'll go into a -court of justice, and admit that I'd have liked to have taken him by -the throat and have choked the life out of him then and there. I asked -him where you were. He looked me up and down, evidently inquiring of -himself how much I knew, and then said that you were in safe-keeping -hundreds of miles from Newcaster." - -"But I was there, in the room!" - -Mr Arnecliffe stared. - -"There, in the room? But how could that have been possible?" - -She explained. He stared still more. - -"Did he know?" - -"I couldn't say; it was not easy to tell what he knew. I wondered -then, and I've wondered since." - -"Then you heard all that was said?" - -"I heard, without understanding. You've no idea what a state of mind I -was in; I was more than half out of my wits. I don't remember a single -word either of you said; you might have been talking in a foreign -tongue. I didn't seem to hear your words then. You see, I didn't know -who you were; I didn't even know who he was, except that he said he -was my guardian; that I seemed wholly at his mercy; and that I was in -mortal terror of him. All that you have said about my father, and -mother, and everything is strange to me. In that room at 'The Bolton -Arms' I was the most ignorant, helpless, friendless, miserable -creature in the world!" - -"What had taken place between you?" - -"He wanted me to marry him; he had wanted to before. He said I should -have to marry him, and it seemed to me I should, and I would rather -have died." - -"You saw what took place, if you didn't hear?" - -"Oh yes, I saw; and--and----" - -"That was the worst?" - -"No, no; that is not what I was going to say; nor was that what I -felt. I didn't know who you were; I didn't know what your quarrelling -with him was about; yet, I felt that you were my friend." - -"By what instinct?" - -"I can hardly tell you; I suppose it was an instinct of -self-preservation. You see, I was half paralysed with fear; all my -remaining senses were bound up in the desire to escape from him--that -was the only thing for which I cared--to escape." - -"Then you did not hear what was the actual provocation?" - -"No; I think I heard you say he was a thief; but I am not sure; even -that may have been only in imagination." - -"I did say he was a thief. He was trying to steal your money; he had -stolen you; he had stolen many things in his time; he was a thief many -times over. But I said more than that." He paused; again his mouth was -twisted by that whimsical smile. "All these things which I am saying -to you I should not say--at least, in such a shape--were it not that, -placed as I am, I must take the fullest advantage of the only -opportunity which is ever likely to offer. You and I are meeting for -the first time and the last; we shall never see each other again." - -"Why?" - -Again the pause, and the smile. - -"In courts of justice, out of England, sentimental reasons sometimes -prevail; but, in England, no. The stronger the motive, the greater the -crime. As when you and I bid each other, presently, good-bye I shall -entrust myself to the safe-keeping of our excellent police, it is not -unlikely that, in the book which contains my story, the last page is -practically finished, and that the colophon is all that remains to be -added." She was still; but not with the stillness which signifies -acquiescence. He went on: "I say this in order that you may understand -why it is that I think it desirable that you should be placed in -possession of certain facts which you ought to know; even though I may -have to do it with what seems brutal brusqueness. That, also, is why -I'm anxious to take advantage of the only chance which I am ever -likely to have to assure you that I did not do what I did without what -seemed to me then, and seems to me still, to be sufficient -provocation. He made a certain definite, hideous statement regarding -your mother, and regarding you; and when I warned him to be careful, -and withdraw it, he said that, so far from withdrawing it, he would -proclaim it publicly wherever he went; and because, knowing the man, I -believed that he would do so I killed him." - -"I should not have blamed you if you had done so; I think I would have -done it myself if I had dared; but--you didn't kill him." - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - THE TELEGRAM - - -Mr Arnecliffe regarded the girl, in silence, for a second or two, as -if puzzled; when he did speak it seemed, from the question he put, -that he had not grasped her meaning. - -"Then, from your post of vantage, you did not see all that occurred?" - -"I saw you hit him." - -"And with that blow I killed him. If, by your words, you mean that -this was a case in which killing was no murder--that's another story. -Should I be asked, in the dock, if my intent were homicidal, I doubt -if, even with the rope dangling in front of me, I should be able to -say that it was not. With a clear conscience I could not confidently -assert that the design to kill him did not come into my heart the -moment Billson told me that he was at 'The Bolton Arms Hotel.'" - -"All the same, you did not kill him." - -"You say that, having seen me? I am not afraid to bear the -consequences of what I did; I am even not ashamed of what I did. I -will certainly not seek salvation by attempting to conceal plain -facts." - -"But you have your facts all wrong. You know only half the story; I -know it all. I doubt if I'm not as much responsible for his death as -you are." - -"Child, you're dreaming. How can that be, since, when I found him he -was alive, and when I left him he was dead?" - -"In the first place, I believe I knew, all along, that you were going -to kill him; I had, in a way I can't describe, a premonition of what -was going to happen." - -"So, even from behind your curtain, you perceived, from the first, my -homicidal intention--which makes it bad for me." - -"But still worse for me; because I might have saved him had I chose; -but I didn't choose. My one feeling was that you were going to help me -to escape; and--I was glad." - -"Is that what you meant when you said that part of the responsibility -was yours, you fantastic child?" - -"No; I will tell you what I meant, if you will listen--and you will -see that I'm not fantastic." - -She told him what had happened after he left the sitting-room, having -propped George Emmett up in his chair. Of how the supposed dead man -had been laid on the table; of how, when she was left alone with him -in the darkness, she had heard sounds which unmistakably showed that -he was coming back to life; and of how, in his struggles, he had -fallen from the table on to the floor. He heard her with growing -amazement; interrupting her now and then with exclamations. When she -had finished he was silent; as if he were turning over what she had -said in his mind; then, looking her very straight in the face, he -asked her, with that queer smile of his: - -"Are you quite sure that imagination played no part in this strange -story; and that you've not told it me in the hope that it might do me -a service?" - -As she answered him her manner was disdainful. - -"In other words, you are asking if I have not deliberately told you -what I know to be false. It is no use your pretending that is not what -you asked; because, as you're very well aware, that's what your -question comes to. It so happens that there's a sequel to what you -call my strange story which may perhaps convince even you. That person -in the boat who just now advised us to take refuge here was the one -who took me from Newcaster to Mrs Vernon's house. It was he who gave -me shelter when at last I escaped from 'The Bolton Arms.'" - -"Then in that case he's a man I should very much like to know. What is -his name?" - -"He told me, Eric Frazer; but it seems that, really and truly, he's -the Earl of Strathmoira." - -She spoke as if she felt that such a style and title only ought to be -uttered in tones of reverential awe--but it was not with any show of -reverence that he heard it. - -"Strathmoira? I know something of the man. He's an eccentric." - -"Pray what do you mean by that?" - -This sterner manner suggested something very like indignation; as if -she resented what she suspected might be an imputation. He laughed at -her. - -"I assure you that I mean nothing to his disadvantage; only that he's -a person who has ideas of his own, and who puts them into practice." - -"Well, and why shouldn't he? If the ideas are not bad ones?" - -"Why shouldn't he--indeed! If more of us followed his example we might -be both happier and wiser. But--what's that sequel you were speaking -of?" - -She eyed him as if she were still in doubt as to whether or not he -hinted depreciation of the absent Mr Frazer. - -"I'm coming to it, if you'll have a second's patience. Yesterday -morning, early, he went into Newcaster, and there he learnt not only -that Mr Emmett had fallen from the table to the floor--in fact, and -not in my imagination only--but also that it was the fall which had -actually killed him, and not your blow at all." - -"How came Strathmoira to discuss the subject with you?" - -"He knew all; and I told him everything." - -"Wasn't that rather a risky thing to do?" - -"I didn't tell him anything till he had found out for himself all that -I had to tell. Besides, are you hinting that he might have betrayed -me? You say you know something of him; you can't know much! So far -from betraying me he nearly got himself into the most frightful -trouble through trying to keep me what he thought safe. I don't know -what he wouldn't have done rather than let any what he would have -called harm come to me. It frightens me when I think of it now." - -"Lucky man!" - -"I don't know why you say that. It seems to me that he was very -unlucky ever to have come across me--I bring ill-luck to everyone! It -is I who am lucky altogether beyond anything I deserve. However, I -didn't mean to discuss Mr Frazer--I mean the Earl of Strathmoira--it -seems such an extraordinary thing that an actual earl should have done -all that he did for me." - -"It does!" - -"Yes, it does! I don't know what you mean, but it is an extraordinary -thing! You can laugh at me." - -"But I wasn't!" - -"You were very nearly--however, I don't care. I was about to say that -the point is that you can see for yourself that, since it was the fall -from the table which was the cause of Mr Emmett's death, it's quite -plain that, as I said, you didn't kill him." - -"Miss Gilbert, you would make an excellent lawyer." - -"You are laughing at me again. Pray why now?" - -"I assure you that I am not doing so in any opprobrious sense. Only, -while I quite see your point, it seems to me that it's one rather for -lawyers than for a plain man." - -"Why? It is a plain statement of a plain fact!" - -"Still, the fact remains--doesn't it?--that if it had not been for the -blow I struck him he would not have died?" - -"It doesn't follow; if they hadn't put him on the table he might have -been alive now." - -"Who might have been alive now? Excuse me if I startle you; but you -were so interested in each other's conversation that, in the din of -this orchestral display with which the elements are favouring us, my -modest knocking went unnoticed. I knocked even twice; then, as I was a -little damp, I thought it possible that you might forgive me if I came -in out of the wet." - -The speaker was the _soi-disant_ Eric Frazer, whose tapping, in the -heat of their discussion, had gone unnoticed. Not alone was he, as he -put it, a little damp; he was obviously soaking wet. His clothes stuck -to him as if they were glued to his skin; looking the more remarkable -because, originally, they had been very nice clothes indeed--the -cherished productions of a fashionable tailor. His hair and moustache -were plastered to his head and face. Water trickled from him in -rivulets on to the pretty carpet which covered the cabin floor. At -sight of the spectacle which he presented Dorothy gave a cry of -dismay. - -"Oh, what has happened?" - -The new-comer looked at her with that twinkle in his eyes which she -had already found it so difficult to meet. In spite of the singularity -of his appearance, his manner was as imperturbable as ever. - -"My dear Miss Gilbert, the greatest joke. I have always wondered what -it would feel like to swim in your best Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, -and now I've had such a chance of finding out. Only you can take it -from me that, in the water, patent-leather buttoned boots are a -mistake. I had to take mine off. And as I'm not quite sure where I -left them, I must beg you to forgive me if, for the moment, my feet -are only concealed from your sight by socks. May I ask you to do me -the honour of making me known to this gentleman, and this gentleman to -me." - -Dorothy looked as if she did not know what to make of him; one had a -notion that she had not once known what to make of him, since the -moment of their first meeting. - -"But you--you look as if you had been nearly drowned." - -"Not at all; merely moistened. Between ourselves, I am not sure -whether, on a night like this, it is drier in the river, or out of it. -What did you say was this gentleman's name?" - -"This is Mr Arnecliffe." - -"And I am the Earl of Strathmoira. May I take it, Mr Arnecliffe, that -you are an old friend of Miss Gilbert's?" - -"I am an old friend of her father's; and I should have hoped, if -time had permitted, to have become also a friend of his daughter's; -but--time doesn't permit." - -"Doesn't it? Is that so? Why doesn't time permit?" - -Dorothy burst out, with sudden warmth: "I wish you wouldn't talk like -that! I wish you wouldn't!" - -Strathmoira glanced from one to the other. "If Miss Gilbert wishes you -wouldn't talk like that, why do you, Mr Arnecliffe? And what might be -the meaning of your cryptic observation, anyhow?" - -"Referring to what I see the papers speak of as 'the Newcaster -tragedy'; Miss Gilbert informs me that you are already acquainted with -part of the story; her part. If I supplement it with my part, you will -find that my observation at once ceases to by cryptic." - -Strathmoira regarded the speaker as if he were endeavouring to find -out what kind of man he was; then he shook his head. - -"A cryptogram is so often spoilt by the solution; it ceases to be -mysterious directly you know what it means; and it generally means so -little. With your sanction, Miss Gilbert, I think I will hang my coat -over the back of a chair; I fancy it may dry more quickly off me than -on. I imagine, Mr Arnecliffe, that your supplement merely amounts to -the fact that you're the bottle man." - -"Practically; so you will perceive for yourself in what sense time, -for me, is limited." - -"I'm dull, Mr Arnecliffe, dull. I don't see." - -"Then I will try to make myself more explicit. As I propose, -presently, to hand myself over to the custody of the police, I am not -likely to be able to do much more in the way of making friends." - -Dorothy made as if to speak; but the earl stopped her. - -"Pardon me, Miss Gilbert, but--may I conduct what promises to be this -pleasant little discussion with Mr Arnecliffe? Why, sir, do you show -this predilection for the society of the police? And as I am rather -disposed to put myself, at the earliest possible moment, into some of -the garments which I am hopeful Mr Vernon, or his son, keeps somewhere -on the premises, will you be so good as to make your answer brief, and -to the point?" - -"You know what is the charge against me; why should I run away?--why -shouldn't I face it?" - -"You take something for granted; because, it so happens, that I don't -know there is a charge against you. I know that there is a charge -against Miss Gilbert; and also another, rather a droll one, against -me." - -"Against you!" cried the girl. "What is the charge against you?" - -His lordship waved his hand airily. - -"My dear Miss Gilbert, the police, on occasion, are such humorists, it -is not a matter of the slightest consequence. Rest easy in your mind; -I am in danger neither of penal servitude nor of execution. What I -wish to explain is, I am not aware that Mr Arnecliffe has been -explicitly mentioned in the matter at all; therefore, as I have -already remarked, it appears to me that he takes a good deal for -granted." - -"Doesn't what you have yourself said more than justify the course I -propose to pursue?" - -"How? Pray how? Do, sir, explain!" - -"You admit that a charge of complicity is being made against Miss -Gilbert, of which she is entirely innocent." - -"I am not entirely innocent! I am not!" - -"'Ssh, Miss Gilbert, 'ssh! please permit the gentleman to continue; -and we'll take the lady's innocence for granted, sir." - -"But that's just what you sha'n't do--that's just what I won't have--I -know that I'm not innocent!" - -"Very good; since the young lady apparently prefers it, we will take -her guilt for granted, Mr Arnecliffe. I don't suppose that a little -trifle of that sort will seriously affect the line of reasoning you -were about to follow. Pray, Miss Gilbert, suffer the gentleman to make -his meaning clear--I do so want to get into a suit of somebody else's -clothes. Now, Mr Arnecliffe, you were saying?" - -"If I go to the nearest policeman, and say, as I intend to do, I am -the man who murdered George Emmett, so far as Miss Gilbert is -concerned, the matter will be at an end." - -"Your reason is based upon more than one fallacy, really. Consider--a -warrant has been issued for Miss Gilbert's arrest--good! or, if you -prefer it, bad. Do you suppose the police won't execute that warrant, -if they get a chance, merely because you say she's innocent? They'll -keep her under lock and key until there is some more substantial proof -of her innocence than your bare word; if it can be avoided you surely -don't wish to subject her to the inconvenience of spending even a few -hours in jail. There is another point. From what I can gather she is -the only material witness of your guilt; yet she assured me that, -though they put her in the witness-box, she wouldn't give evidence -against you." - -"I wouldn't--I'd die first!" - -"You hear? There's a refractory position to take up! From what I have -seen of the young lady I shouldn't be surprised if she kept her word, -to the extent of defying judge and jury--conceive the pains and -penalties which your inconsiderate action would bring down on her -devoted head." - -"What do you suggest? You know that she has already been arrested -once, and that she only escaped----" - -"Through your dropping the unfortunate policeman into the river--I -know." - -"He is hardly likely to let the matter rest where it is in -consequence." - -"Poor man! he was so wet! I've a sort of idea that I'm beginning to -get dry." - -"The probability is that the whole countryside is looking out for her -at this moment; if she manages to evade pursuit to-night the odds are -that she will be taken again in the morning. Do you suggest that I -shall stand by, and suffer her to be taken, and keep silent?" - -"Mr Arnecliffe, I have not yet touched on the point which tells most -against the course of action you are proposing to pursue. You say you -are going to tell the first policeman you are so fortunate as to -encounter that you're the man who murdered George Emmett. Let me tell -you, sir, that in making that statement you will be incurring a very -grave responsibility; since it is by no means certain that you did -murder George Emmett." - -"That's what I said! That's what I told him! That's what I was trying -to explain to him when you came in!" - -"Am I to understand that you hesitated to give Miss Gilbert's -statement the weight it deserved?" - -Arnecliffe laughed. - -"You surely don't propose to associate yourself with Miss Gilbert in -splitting hairs!" - -"Splitting hairs, sir? No! That is a process in which I propose to -associate myself with no one. If you will have the goodness to permit -me to finish what I have to say it will shortly become quite clear -that nothing is farther from my mind than any species of equivocation. -You will probably have heard that that genius of a local doctor was -prepared to certify that the man was dead when he wasn't." - -"Of course he heard; I told him--I suppose that's what he calls my -hair-splitting." - -"Then, Miss Gilbert, in that case he is a singular person; unless we -can put it down to mere ignorance of the meaning of his own -language--because, sir, the man was not dead. On the contrary, he was -so much alive that he contrived, shortly afterwards, to throw himself -off a table on to the floor. There, face downwards, on the floor they -found him; whereupon, it seems, a second local genius decided that he -had been killed by the fall--in spite of which pronouncement, let me -assure you, quite between ourselves, that it is by no means sure that -he is dead even yet." - -"Mr Frazer! I mean----" - -What the girl did mean she did not herself seem to be certain. -Arnecliffe eyed the speaker as if he were searching for outward and -visible signs that he was indulging in some recondite jest; then -asked: - -"Are you serious?" - -"When I was in Newcaster yesterday morning I made all possible -inquiries; I was in Newcaster again to-day, and inquired still -further. I honestly believe, without being, I think, unduly conceited, -that I have nearly as much medical knowledge as the local sawbones. I -put two and two together. I returned to town; then, this afternoon, I -saw the man who, so far as I know, is the greatest surgeon living. I -told him the whole story, as I knew it; and, also, as I suspected it. -Without pledging himself in any way, he agreed with me in thinking -that it was at least possible that the last diagnosis was as defective -as the first--he has gone down to Newcaster to find out. I meant to -say nothing till I had heard from him, one way or the other; but my -hand has been forced. He has promised to let me have a telegram, -directed to Mr Vernon's house, so soon as he himself is certain. It -may come at any moment; it may have come already. I would suggest to -you, Mr Arnecliffe, that you do nothing, except sit tight, until we -know what the contents of that promised telegram are. It was with that -idea in my mind that I sent you here; and, before starting to join -you, I managed to convey a hint that, if a telegram did arrive for me, -it was to be brought to me here, with the least possible delay." As he -finished speaking the door was opened--to admit Jim Vernon. "Why," -exclaimed Strathmoira, "I shouldn't be surprised if this is the bearer -of tidings. Jim, you're kindly welcome to the family houseboat; -especially as I'm hopeful that, somewhere on board, you've some sort -of a suit which you can lend me." - -The new-comer stared at the speaker in undisguised amazement. - -"My hat, what a sight you are! Why ever have you been trying to drown -yourself, rigged out like that?" - -"My dear Jim, suit first; questions afterwards. What is that I see in -your hand?" - -"You've been and let us in for no end of a jolly nice thing--they're -in a pretty state of fluster round at our place--the police seem to -have taken the whole house into custody--I'd no end of a job to get -away, I can tell you that. I left the mater in hysterics on the couch; -the pater waltzing about like a tiger in a fit; and Frances using -language hot enough to singe your hair--you can bet your life there's -no place like home to-night!" - -"I think I asked you what that is you're holding in your hand." - -"This? So far as I know it's a telegram; but as it's addressed to you -I haven't opened the envelope to inquire, so you can look for -yourself." - -Jim handed the yellow envelope to Strathmoira, who promptly tore it -open, glanced at its contents, then held the slip of pink paper above -his head, with the somewhat singular exclamation, which suggested--if -it suggested nothing else--that, at last, even his imperturbability -was moved: - -"What ho, she bumps!" - -"Hollo!" observed Jim. "Does she? What's up now?" - -"Nothing's up, my dear Jim, nothing whatever." He turned to Arnecliffe -and the girl. "This is the telegram which, as I told you, I expected -to receive from that famous surgeon. It's brief, and to the point. -This is what he says; and it's all he says: 'The dead man is still -alive." As you will notice, he seems to be a man who economises -words." - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - THE SURGEON AND THE LAWYER - - -A room in a house not a hundred miles from Newcaster. In it Mr and Mrs -Vernon, looking as if they were somewhat in doubt as to what they were -doing there; their son, Jim, who was manifestly enjoying himself much -more than he had any notion of; their daughter Frances, who, -obviously, had no doubt whatever that this was an occasion on -which she was a young lady of importance. Also present, Dorothy -Gilbert--very white, very anxious, and much prettier than she -suspected. Miss Gilbert was Miss Vernon's especial and particular -charge--it was that fact which made her conscious that she was a -person of importance. She kept quite close to her, as if desirous of -giving her the comfort and assurance of her near neighbourhood; -sometimes holding her hand, sometimes with her arm about her -waist--and in that position a pleasanter picture than those two girls -presented it would not be easy to imagine. There also was the Earl of -Strathmoira, in a dark grey suit, which became him; and with that calm -air of positively graceful assurance, which became him even better. -And Mr Leonard Arnecliffe was there, offering such a complete contrast -to the handsome earl--carelessly dressed; with about him such an -appearance of having been buffeted by life's tempests; and with, on -his queer face, that humorous, tender something which made it almost -beautiful. - -These are the persons of our drama, with whom we already are familiar; -but there were still two other persons in that room, whose -acquaintance we have yet to make. One was Sir Derwent Dewsnap, whose -surgical fame, one hardly need remark, was world-wide. Few men have -performed more operations than Derwent Dewsnap; few have done more -cutting and carving on the outside and inside of the human frame--and, -as a cynic once observed, he looked it. But, while his knowledge and -experience of general surgery was great, his skill in dealing with the -human cranium, and especially that part we call the brain, it has been -stated, was almost superhuman. Nowadays every great surgeon is a -specialist, and Dewsnap's speciality was brain. Not, of course, in a -mental sense; he was not a mental pathologist at all; but in -operations on the brain he was _facile princeps_. - -He was shortly going to perform one of the most delicate operations on -the cranium which even he had ever undertaken; and these persons were -gathered together to receive from him an expression of opinion as to -his probabilities of success. - -The other person to whom we have yet to be introduced was -Plashett--Alexander Plashett; a name which has only to be mentioned in -order to conjure up a vision of one of the greatest criminologists who -ever made a practical study of the law. What Plashett did not know -about crime and criminals was not worth knowing. He had caused so many -scoundrels to reap the just reward of their ill-doings, and so many -more to get off scot free, that it was actually whispered, where those -things are whispered, that on whichever side Plashett was the -gentlemen of the jury were. Of course that was not a whisper which was -to be taken precisely at the foot of the letter; but it undoubtedly -was a fact that counsel would rather be briefed by Plashett than -against him. - -He was there in that room to represent the interests of certain -persons who might find themselves in a very uncomfortable position -indeed if there was an unfortunate termination to the operation on -which Sir Derwent was so shortly to be engaged. Thus, while no one -cared a button for the person on whom the operation was about to be -performed, everybody hoped that he would come well out of it--which -seeming paradox is explained by the fact that the person in question -was Mr George Emmett; and that if he died in Sir Derwent Dewsnap's -hands one of the individuals in that room would quite possibly be -hanged for him. Therefore, when the Earl of Strathmoira put a question -to the great surgeon his reply was anxiously awaited. - -"So it seems, Sir Derwent, that, to perpetrate what sounds like a -bull, the odds are even?" - -Sir Derwent was a precisian even in words, as he immediately made -plain. - -"Odds, my lord, are never even; nor does a wise surgeon express a -positive opinion as to the result of even the simplest operation: so -many considerations enter into the matter of which a layman has no -idea. As regards the case of Mr Emmett, I have only to mention that -the operation which I am about to attempt has, so far as I am aware, -never hitherto been performed to show how worse than futile, and also, -how unprofessional, it would be for me to pose as a prophet." - -"Hear, hear! Exactly." - -This encouragement came from Mr Plashett, to whom the word -"unprofessional" apparently appealed. Thus supported, Sir Derwent went -on, with that pedagogic air for which he was renowned: - -"I should not wish, on such an occasion, and before such an audience, -to enter into those details which could only be properly touched on in -an operating theatre; but I may remind you that the subject has -already been twice given over as dead, and I can assure you that that -is not so strange as to the lay mind it may seem. The conditions were -all compatible with death: the motionless pulse and heart; the absence -of any movement of the lungs, of any signs of respiration. But it so -happens that, in the course of my wide experience, once, and only -once, I encountered a similar case, and the knowledge I obtained then -I was able to apply now. It was the case of a man who, falling from a -fourth-floor window on to the pavement below, fractured the cranial -bones almost precisely as Mr Emmett's had been fractured." There were -those among his auditors who were disposed to feel that, in spite of -what he had said, he was entering into details which were a trifle too -technical. But Sir Derwent, having warmed to the subject, went -heedlessly on: "In that case also the patient was pronounced to be -dead, and he was actually placed in his coffin before it was learned -that he wasn't. To put it shortly and popularly, pressure on the -_medulla oblongata_, caused by contact of a minute fraction of bone -with one of the cranial arteries, had produced that extraordinary -simulation of death. Had that state of things been discovered in time -an operation might have been possible; but it wasn't. The coffin was -placed in the hearse, and the hearse was on the road to the cemetery, -when one of the undertaker's men, who was walking beside it, heard a -sound proceeding from within, which so startled him that the hearse -was driven straight back to the house, and the coffin opened, when it -was found that its occupant had turned right over on his side, and had -killed himself in doing so. There was no mistake about his being dead -that time; and it was only dissection which showed what the cause of -death had been, and how he might possibly have been saved. So you see -how nearly on all fours the two cases are: Emmett pronounced dead, -and, as was supposed, really killing himself by a fall off a table. -Found, after all, to be alive, I am now about to attempt the operation -which might have been attempted in what I will call Case No. 1. Under -such circumstances I can hardly be expected to offer a confident -prognostication either on its success or failure. I will, however, go -so far as to say that, if it fails, Mr Emmett will hardly be any worse -off than he is already; while, if it succeeds, he may be restored not -only to life, but to long life, and almost, in a degree, to his primal -vigour. Beyond that purposely vague statement I must beg you, my lord, -not to press me to go." - -No one did press him. It was possibly felt that he had said quite -enough, without pressure; and that, if they were not heedful of their -ways, he might pile horror on to horror. The earl transferred his -attention to the lawyer. - -"And if Sir Derwent meets with the success which we all anticipate, -knowing his superlative skill, how will the matter stand then, Mr -Plashett? That is, should George Emmett be restored to the health -which he doesn't deserve, what action will the police be able to take -against anyone with whom he may have had, say, a little difference of -opinion?" - -"I should say none. With Emmett dead, or nearly dead, then the police, -representing the Crown, are compelled to act. But with Emmett alive -and kicking, then the onus lies with him; it is only on his initiative -that action can be taken, since it is only on his sworn statement that -it can be alleged that an offence has been committed. If a man has his -head broken, say, for argument's sake, with a bottle, he may have -reasons of his own for not wishing to say anything at all about it; -and there is no power vested in the police to make him say anything if -he doesn't want to. Emmett dead is to be feared; but alive, not at -all--that is, if I apprehend the statements which have been made to me -correctly. I know something of the gentleman, and I am quite sure--I -am not often sure of anything, but I am quite sure of what I am about -to say--I repeat that I am quite sure that he will not be disposed to -go into the witness-box and complain to a magistrate, or to a judge, -that his head was broken under the circumstances under which it was -broken; since, if he were so foolish, the verdict would undoubtedly -be--And serve you right!" - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - TIDINGS - - -There was a garden to that house. Jim Vernon and Dorothy Gilbert were -walking side by side down one of the paths. Sir Derwent Dewsnap had -gone over to Newcaster, to perform that operation; and Mr Plashett had -gone with him, in order that he might be close at hand, and ready for -any eventuality. It was an hour which seemed big with fate to Dorothy; -and the youth would whistle. She bore with the sound till it could be -borne no longer. Had he been an observant youth he would have seen -what she was suffering; but observation of that kind was not his -strongest point. So at last she was constrained to drop him a hint. - -"I should be so much obliged if you wouldn't make that noise." - -"Noise? What noise?" - -"I suppose you call it whistling." - -"Suppose I call it whistling? It is whistling, isn't it?" - -"Then, if it is, please don't. If you only knew how I keep thinking of -what that man is doing." - -"What man?" - -"Sir Derwent Dewsnap." - -"Isn't he a freak? My hat, I shouldn't care to have him cut chunks off -me; it gave me the creeps only to hear him chatter." - -"If his hand were to slip; if anything were to happen; if he were to -make the least mistake; life would be all over for me; and I'm only -just beginning to understand what it means." - -"Tuppence!" - -She looked at him in righteous indignation. - -"Pray what do you mean by saying that?" - -"That's about the value of the remark you made; if it's worth as much. -It won't make one farthing's worth of difference to you if Dewsnap -cuts him into six good-sized pieces. Why should it?" - -"You don't understand." - -"That's where you're wrong--you don't understand; I do. The only -person it might affect is Arnecliffe--and I wouldn't mind getting -three months myself if I had a chance of doing what he did." - -"I am sorry to hear you talk like this." - -"You're not--really? Why, robbing a bank is nothing compared to what -Emmett did. He stole a nice, clean, simple little girl; all because of -her money--and, all because of her money, he tried to jockey her into -marrying him--and all he got for it was a crack on the head with a -bottle. If he chooses to croak in consequence that's his fault, nobody -else's. Don't you see that yourself?" - -"I certainly do not see what you pretend to." - -"I say, are you liverish?" - -"Not that I'm aware of." - -"Then, take my tip, and don't feign a vice if you haven't got it. -Strikes me that you take yourself, and every other jolly thing, too -seriously. You mayn't guess it, but I'm betting that in about five -years' time you'll be looking back at this episode as if it were a -regular rare old spree. People do have so few real adventures -nowadays. Look at me! I haven't had one in the whole of my life--and -you've had one already!--a tip-topper, too! It's an asset--mind you, -it's an asset; something you can put in the bank and draw upon. Why, I -consider that little tiddley-bit, when you were behind the curtain, -and saw the whole jolly show, was worth no end." - -"It only proves that you haven't the least idea what you're talking -about." - -"That remark only proves that you don't know where you are. Why, -you're only--I don't know what your age is." - -"Never mind my age." - -"Well, there can't be much of it to mind. I believe Frances is older -than you, and she's only a kid." - -"Mr Vernon----" - -"You needn't call me Mr Vernon; you can call me Jim." - -"Thank you; I prefer to call you Mr Vernon." - -"Very well, Miss Gilbert. I was about to observe, when you interrupted -me, that, already, at your age, you're set up with a stock of A1 -stories which will last you the rest of your life; you'll only be able -to appreciate what that means when you arrive at years of discretion. -When you've married--if you ever do marry; and a girl with your money -is pretty nearly sure to find someone who'll have her--you'll be able -to tell your grandchildren----" - -"My grandchildren!" - -"Or someone else's, it makes no odds--you'll be able to tell them tale -after tale, and they'll love you for it; children always love -grandmothers who tell them stories; and yours needn't be lies either, -because they're such first-class ones in themselves that they'll need -no embroidering. What an advantage that will be in your declining -years you've no conception, or you'd be more truly grateful for what -has lately happened to you than at present you are." - -"I think you're the most ridiculous person I ever met; and the rudest. -Are all boys like you?" - -"Boys? Well! You're younger that I am." - -"I shouldn't have thought it possible that anyone could be that." - -"My dear Miss Gilbert, in knowledge of the world, compared to you, I'm -a grandfather. You ought to treat me with respect." - -"Ought I? Do the other boys with whom you associate?" - -"Miss Gilbert, you misunderstand the situation. I am at the -university; and so are most of the men of my acquaintance." - -"Is that so? I didn't know they took them so young." - -He looked at her as if he could have said a great deal; but he said -nothing--he drew a long breath instead. Presently he began again to -whistle. She bore it in silence for a second or two; then she asked -innocently: - -"Do all the other boys you know make a noise like that, and call it -whistling?" - -He looked at her again, but he attempted no reply; he continued to -whistle. Presently Frances came towards them, down one of the side -paths. Dorothy waited for her; Jim strolled on, whistling as he went. -When she came to Dorothy, Frances glanced at his back, as he went -whistling on. - -"Has Jim been entertaining you?" - -"Very much--more even than he meant." - -"Isn't he droll?" - -"Extremely--I never thought anyone could have been so droll." - -Frances surveyed her friend with doubt in her eye. - -"Have you and he been having a discussion?" - -"I don't know that it can be called a discussion; he's so droll. -Frances, are all boys like Jim?" - -Frances looked round as if she were afraid of eavesdroppers; then -said, in lowered tones, as if she were delivering herself of an -announcement of the most mysterious and amazing significance: - -"Dorothy, I'm beginning to think that they are." - -"How odd! and at the convent we used to think that they were such -heroes." - -"I'm inclined to think that they assume more heroic proportions when -they're at a distance." - -"But when do they cease to be boys?" - -"I'm commencing to wonder. None of Jim's friends are as old as that." - -"Your cousin's not a boy." - -Frances glanced at Dorothy; but Dorothy happened at that moment to be -looking in an entirely different direction, so their glances didn't -meet. - -"You mean Strathmoira? No, he's a dear." - -"What do you mean by 'he's a dear'?" - -"Well--hasn't he been a dear to you?" - -"If you mean that he's been kind, no one could have been kinder. What -would have happened to me if it hadn't been for him I dare not think. -I don't know how I ever shall repay him." - -"Oh, you'll find it easy, with all that money. Fancy your being a -millionairess after all!" - -"I'm not a millionairess." - -"You've got heaps and heaps of money--because Mr Arnecliffe as good as -told me so; and as he really and truly is your guardian he ought to -know." - -"I suppose your cousin's very rich." - -"Lord Strathmoira, my dear, is my mother's cousin; not mine. He's not -poor; but then earls, my dear, are not like common people. You need -such a deal of money if you want to play the part properly, if you are -an earl; and I shouldn't be a bit surprised if he could do with more. -Is Mr Arnecliffe rich?" - -"I haven't a notion." - -"There's been a story in his life." - -"How do you know?" - -"I can see it in his face." - -"Oh! How can you see it in his face?" - -"Dorothy?" - -"Yes." - -"How are you going to repay him?" - -"He doesn't want repaying." - -"Doesn't he?" - -"He's not that kind." - -"Isn't he? He seems to have done a good deal for your family." - -"Oh yes; a good deal." - -"I wonder how old he is. He must be pretty old if he was your mother's -friend. His hair is turning grey." - -"He doesn't seem old to me. I like hair--that shade." - -There was silence for some seconds; then Frances said: - -"Do you know, Dorothy, I've come to the conclusion that you're going -to be a beautiful woman." - -"Frances! How can you be so absurd? Please don't be silly!" - -"And do you know, at the convent I never even guessed you were going -to be pretty. It never dawned on me till that morning when I saw you -standing on our lawn. Then I said to myself: 'I do believe that girl's -going to be beautiful'; and now I'm sure of it." - -"If I'm going to be--I notice you use the future tense--pray what are -you now?" - -"Oh, I'm pretty; I know exactly what I am; I've no delusions. I once -heard mother say to an aunt of mine--she didn't know I heard, but I -did--'Frances is the sort of girl to make a good man happy'--and -that's exactly what I am: prettiness of my kind runs in the family; -Jim's a pretty boy. But you--yours is going to be the kind of beauty -men rave about; and I don't call it fair." - -"I never imagined you could be so ridiculous. What don't you call -fair?" - -"That a girl should have both beauty and gold. One or the other, but -not both. Think of the quantities of quite respectable girls who have -neither. Why, I myself know heaps--plain and penniless. Dorothy, it's -tragic for a girl to be like that; you mayn't know it, but it is. -Fortune ought to share out her gifts with a more equal hand: she -shouldn't give one person so much more than her proper share." - -"I'm not in a mood for jesting. Your brother said I was a simple -girl." - -"He did! How dare he! That Jim!" - -"But I assure you I'm not quite simple enough to credit the kind of -stuff you're talking. I didn't know you thought I was a positive -imbecile." - -"Very well. Would you like me to ask Strathmoira what he thinks of -your appearance?" - -"Frances! How dare you! Do you mean to say that it was because he -thought---- I won't say it." - -"You needn't. And I don't mean to say that it was because he saw you -were going to be beautiful that he showed himself a friend in need, in -the first instance. He's the sort of person who would help a lame dog -over a stile, no matter how ugly it was. But, having helped you over, -he, so to speak, walked across the field with you because--well, -because he did think so; and I haven't the slightest doubt that he -would be willing to walk round this garden now because he thinks so -more than ever. I've heard mother say that Strathmoira is a -connoisseur where a woman's concerned. If you'd had freckles and a red -nose he'd never have bought you a hat to shade them. My dear Dorothy, -it's not the slightest use your being annoyed with me because you're -going to be lovely. It's not my fault. For all I've had to do with it -you might have been a quite ordinary-looking girl. Still, one is bound -to admit that, from the merely ornamental point of view, a lovely girl -is more interesting than the other sort; and I've a vague suspicion -that some men are of that opinion to quite an appreciable extent. I -believe you're like your mother." - -"Frances! What makes you think so? Mr Arnecliffe says I'm like my -father." - -"Yes, I daresay; possibly you are. A child may resemble both its -parents. Anyhow, I believe you're like your mother." - -"But what makes you think it?" - -"Well, for one thing I can see it in Mr Arnecliffe's eyes." - -"Frances! What a provoking person you are! How can you possibly see a -thing like that in--in anybody's eyes?" - -"Perhaps you can't; I can." - -"How can you?" - -"I've a theory, which amounts to conviction, that Mr Arnecliffe -regarded your mother as if she were a goddess, and that he adored her; -so, when you happen to be within his line of vision, I can see from -the look which comes in his eyes that he thinks you're like her. - -"Frances!" - -It seemed that that was all Miss Gilbert could say. She stood still; -her cheeks crimsoned; for some cause she seemed to have all at once -grown tremulous. Miss Vernon went glibly on, as if she saw nothing -unusual in her friend's demeanour: - -"Of course I may be wrong; I'm not always right; but as I understand, -from one or two observations which Mr Arnecliffe has let drop, that -your mother was something quite superior to look at, I thought you -might care to know that I believe you're like her. You might ask Mr -Arnecliffe; I daresay he'd tell you if you did. Here is Mr Arnecliffe; -you'll have a chance of asking him at once. And Strathmoira! I -shouldn't be surprised if a message has come from Newcaster." - -The Earl of Strathmoira and Mr Arnecliffe were walking together down -the centre path which led from the house. The two girls stood still to -await their coming. The crimson had gone from Dorothy's cheeks as -suddenly as it had come--embarrassment had given place to anxiety. - -"If--if it's bad news!" she said. - -"If I were in your position I don't know what I should call bad news." - -"Frances! I--I wish you wouldn't talk like that!" - -"But I don't. If he's dead it'll be no loss, the world will be well -rid of such a creature; and if he's not dead, it's just as well that -he should keep on living, in order that he may be punished as he -deserves." - -There was no mistaking, from Lord Strathmoira's manner as he came up, -what was the nature of the tidings which he brought. - -"Dewsnap's done it!" he exclaimed. "He's snatched that unhallowed -scoundrel from the grave. The operation's been successful beyond his -most sanguine expectations. Five minutes after it was over the patient -turned round, and, looking at him, was heard to mutter: 'Who the devil -are you?'--which sounds as if George Emmett were himself again. -Dewsnap says that there's no reason, if the most elementary -precautions are taken, why, so far as that tap on the head is -concerned, George Emmett shouldn't live for ever. So the tragedy's a -comedy after all." He was looking at Dorothy, but her glances were all -for Arnecliffe; who, on his part, seemed to have eyes for nothing and -no one but her. When they began to move she fell in, as of course, at -Arnecliffe's side; presently, when they came to a bypath, they turned -into it together; while Miss Vernon and Strathmoira went straight on. -When they had gone a little way his lordship smiled, as if in the -enjoyment of some private jest, and he said: "I congratulate you, -Frances, on the taste you have shown in choosing your friend; she is -one of whose friendship anyone, under any circumstances, might be -proud." - -Miss Vernon's tone, as she replied, was demure: - -"Thank you very much." - -After an interval he continued: - -"You're not to tell your mother, and you're not to tell her or anyone; -I daresay you'll laugh, but I don't mind telling you that I'd ideas -about her myself. They came to me when I saw her standing bareheaded -in the morning sunshine, outside my caravan door--from nowhere, there -and then. But this fellow's put them out of joint. It seems to me that -theirs is a case of Kismet." - -They had gone several more steps when she put to him a question which -seemed to have very little to do with what he had just been saying: - -"You are a good man--aren't you?" - -"I don't know why you ask; have you any particular reason for -supposing that I am worse than the crowd?" - -"No; none at all. Only--I was wondering if it wasn't possible that you -might find another girl who could be--trusted to make a good man -happy." - - - - - - - THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH. - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Coward Behind the Curtain, by Richard Marsh - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COWARD BEHIND THE CURTAIN *** - -***** This file should be named 40347-8.txt or 40347-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/3/4/40347/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the -Web Archive (Oxford University) - - -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 - www.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 1.F.3. 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 MERCHANTABILITY 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 are 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 information page at www.gutenberg.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. 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 -contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the -Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -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 www.gutenberg.org/donate - -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: www.gutenberg.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty 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: - - 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. |