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diff --git a/40348-8.txt b/40348-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b6abdb2..0000000 --- a/40348-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14378 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crime and the Criminal, 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 Crime and the Criminal - -Author: Richard Marsh - -Release Date: July 27, 2012 [EBook #40348] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRIME AND THE CRIMINAL *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books - - - - - - - - - - -1. Page scan source: - http://books.google.com/books?id=ron11TyTHZQC&dq - - - - - - -[Illustration: "She had fallen backwards through the open carriage -door." _Frontispiece_] - - - - - - - THE - Crime and the Criminal - - - - - BY - RICHARD MARSH - AUTHOR OF - "THE BEETLE," "THE MYSTERY OF PHILIP BENNION'S DEATH," ETC., ETC. - - - - - * * * * * - - WITH TWO FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS - BY HAROLD PIFFARD - - * * * * * - - - - NEW YORK - NEW AMSTERDAM BOOK COMPANY - 1899 - - - - - - - CONTENTS. - - * * * - - BOOK I.--THE CRIME. - - CHAPTER I. - THE OPEN DOOR. - - - CHAPTER II. - THE MAN WITH THE SILK HANDKERCHIEF. - - - CHAPTER III. - THE NAME ON THE SCRAP OF PAPER. - - - CHAPTER IV. - BLACKMAIL. - - - CHAPTER V. - THE FACE IN THE DARKNESS. - - - CHAPTER VI. - A CONFESSION. - - - CHAPTER VII. - A VISITOR. - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - MORE THAN HIS MATCH. - - - CHAPTER IX. - FOR THE SECOND TIME. - - - - BOOK II.--THE CLUB. - - CHAPTER X. - THE HONOUR OF THE CLUB. - - - CHAPTER XI. - WHAT MR. TENNANT HAD WRITTEN. - - - CHAPTER XII. - SIR HASELTON JARDINE. - - - CHAPTER XIII. - AN AFTERNOON CALL. - - - CHAPTER XIV. - SELLING BOOMJOPFS. - - - CHAPTER XV. - THE CLUB. - - - CHAPTER XVI. - DRAWING THE LOT. - - - CHAPTER XVII. - A LITTLE GAME. - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - DAMON AND PYTHIAS: A MODERN INSTANCE. - - - CHAPTER XIX. - THE PROMISE. - - - CHAPTER XX. - THE NEWS FROM TOWN. - - - - BOOK III.--THE WOMAN. - - - CHAPTER XXI. - THE ADVENTURES OF A NIGHT. - - - CHAPTER XXII. - LOUISE O'DONNEL'S FATHER. - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - MR. TOWNSEND COMES TO TEA. - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - WHAT MRS. CARRUTH SAW. - - - CHAPTER XXV. - MR. TOWNSEND'S DOUBLE. - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - ANNOUNCED! - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - MR. TOWNSEND IS MADE TO UNDERSTAND. - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - THE PRISONER COMES INTO COURT. - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - THE TRIAL BEGINS. - - - CHAPTER XXX. - MR. TAUNTON'S EVIDENCE. - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - THE CASE FOR THE CROWN CONCLUDES. - - - CHAPTER XXXII. - MRS. CARRUTH REMOVES HER VEIL. - - - - BOOK IV.--THE CRIMINAL. - - - CHAPTER XXXIII. - MR. TENNANT SPEAKS. - - - CHAPTER XXXIV. - MR. HOLMAN AT HOME. - - - CHAPTER XXXV. - THE WOMAN OF THE PORTRAIT. - - - CHAPTER XXXVI. - THE VARIOUS MOODS OF A GENTLEMAN OF FASHION. - - - CHAPTER XXXVII. - "CALL ME DORA." - - CHAPTER XXXVIII. - ON THE THRESHOLD. - - - CHAPTER XXXIX. - THE LAST MEETING OF THE CLUB. - - - CHAPTER XL. - MR. TOWNSEND REACHES HOME. - - - CHAPTER XLI. - TAKING LEAVE. - - - CHAPTER XLII. - HAND IN HAND. - - - - - - - THE CRIME AND THE CRIMINAL. - - - - - - BOOK I.-THE CRIME. - - (_The Story according to Mr. Thomas Tennant_.) - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - THE OPEN DOOR. - - -I ran down to Brighton for the Sunday. My wife's cousin, George -Baxendale, was stopping there, with the Coopers. The wife and I were -both to have gone. But our little Minna was very queer--feverish cold, -or something--and Lucy did not like to leave her with the nurse. So I -went down alone. - -It was a fine day, for November. We drove over to Bramber--Jack Cooper -and his wife, Baxendale, and I. When we got back to Regency Square it -was pretty late. I was to go back by the 8.40. When we had dined I had -to make quite a rush to catch the train. Jack and George both came up -to see me off. As the Pullman carriages all seemed full, I got into the -compartment of an ordinary first-class carriage. - -"You'll be better in there," said Jack. "You'll have it to yourself." - -I did, till just as the train was off. When the train had actually -started, a woman came hurrying up the platform. A porter threw open the -door of my carriage, and she got in. I let her have the seat by the -door through which she had entered. I went to the other end of the -compartment. I did not feel too much obliged to the porter who had -shown her in. Although it was not a smoking carriage, as I had expected -to have had it to myself, I had intended to smoke all the way to town. -In fact, I was smoking at that moment. I hardly knew what to do. The -train did not stop till it reached Victoria. There would be no -opportunity of changing carriages. I did not relish the idea of not -smoking, while I scarcely knew if I might venture to ask permission to -smoke of the new-comer. - -I made up my mind that I would. I had only just lighted a cigar. I had -not looked at her as she came up the platform, to notice what kind of -person she was. I had been too much engaged with Jack and George. I -turned to her, raising my hat as I did so. - -"May I ask if you object to----" - -I had got so far; but I got no farther. She looked at me, and, as she -did so, and I saw her face clearly, and met her eyes, my blood went -cold in my veins. - -The woman at the other end of the carriage was either Nelly, or Nelly's -ghost. If she was her ghost, then she was the most substantial ghost I -had ever heard of. And yet I had to stare at her for some moments in -stupefied silence before I could believe that she was not a ghost. -Before I could believe that she was genuine flesh and blood. - -She struck me as being as much surprised at seeing me as I was at -seeing her--and, at first at any rate, not much better pleased. We -stared at each other as if we were moonstruck. She was the first to -find her voice--she always was quicker, in every sense of the word, -than I am. - -"Tom!" she said. Then gave a sort of gasp. - -"Nelly!" It was all I could do to get her name to pass my lips. - -I am not going to enter into details as to what I said to her, and as -to what she said to me. Nothing pleasant was said on either side. When -a man meets a woman, even after a separation of seven years and more, -who has wronged him as Ellen Howth, as she was named when I first knew -her, had wronged me, he is not likely to greet her with sugared -phrases, especially when he has had every reason to suppose that his -prayers have been answered, and that she is dead. When I saw that she -had tricked me, for the thousand-and-first time, and that she was not -dead, as I have written, my blood went cold. When it warmed, it was not -with love for her. - -We quarrelled, as we had done many and many a time before. She had been -drinking. She was always bad enough when sober; when not sober she was -infinitely worse. Every moment I expected her to assail me with -personal violence. She threatened to, over and over again. I feared -that there would be some outrageous scene in the railway carriage. -Fearing this, and the scandal which such a thing would necessarily -entail, I formed a wild resolution. I determined that, even while the -train continued to fly through the air, I would leave the compartment -in which she was, and at any and every risk seek refuge in an adjoining -one. - -The resolution was no sooner formed than I proceeded to put it into -execution. There was no necessity to lower the window; the handle was -inside the carriage. Turning the handle, I rose from my seat. Whether -she mistook or designed to frustrate my purpose, I cannot say. No -sooner did I rise, than she came rushing at me. The violence of her -assault took me by surprise. The handle escaping from my grasp, the -door swung back upon its hinges. She had me by the shoulders. I -endeavoured to wrest myself free. There was a struggle. In the -struggle, unconsciously certainly to me, we must have reversed our -positions, because, suddenly loosing her grasp of me, before I had the -faintest suspicion of what was about to happen, she had fallen -backwards through the open carriage door, out into the night, and the -train was going at express speed to town. - -It was some moments before I realised what had actually occurred. When -I did do so, I sat down on the seat in a sort of stupor. I was roused -from it by the banging of the carriage door. It was being swung -backwards and forwards by the momentum of the train. I shut it, almost -mechanically; as I did so I noticed that the glass was shattered. It -might have been broken by the banging of the door, or she might have -broken it by striking it in her frantic efforts to clutch at something. - -What was I to do? My eyes wandered to the alarm-bell. Should I ring it -and stop the train? To what purpose? She might not be dead. Indeed, the -probabilities were that she was, at least, not quite dead. In such a -case I knew her well enough to be aware that nothing was more likely -than that she would at once denounce me as her attempted murderer. Then -in what a plight I should be! To the best of my knowledge and belief -she had brought her fate upon herself. I had nothing to do with it. -Undoubtedly, I had not opened the door to hurl her through. It is easy -enough after the event to say that at all hazards I ought at once to -have stopped the train, and explained what had occurred. I should have -done so had I been able to foresee the events which followed. I should -have been willing to have given a great deal to have saved myself from -bearing what I actually have borne. But, at the moment, I foresaw -nothing. My wits were woolgathering. I was confronted by the thought -that, in face of her allegations of my guilt, my protestations of -innocence might avail but little. I had suffered too much on her -account already to have any desire to suffer more. - -As I sat there thinking, something struck me a severe blow in the face. -It was a piece of glass from the broken window which had been loosened, -and which had been forced out of its place by the pressure of the wind. -I lowered the window, lest the remaining fragments should also be -driven from their places. The sharp edge of the piece of glass had come -into contact with my cheek. It had cut me to the bone. I put up my -handkerchief to stop the bleeding. As I did so I noticed that my -overcoat seemed to have been torn open in the struggle; the top button -appeared to be missing. - -The blood flowed freely from the open wound. The piece of glass seemed -to have cut me like a knife. My handkerchief was quite inadequate to -stop the flow. It was becoming soaked with blood. While I was wondering -what I should do if the bleeding did not shortly cease, the train drew -up at Victoria. - -The distance between Brighton and town had never before seemed to me to -be so short. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - THE MAN WITH THE SILK HANDKERCHIEF. - - -Now that I had reached Victoria I did not know what to do. I continued -to sit in a sort of bewilderment, wondering. Should I speak to the -guard, or should I not? Should I walk out of the station as if nothing -had happened? I was, or it seemed to me that I was, between the devil -and the deep sea. Whichever path I took was the path, not of safety but -of danger. - -While I sat hesitating and apparently incapable of anything but -hesitation, the carriage door was opened. I supposed that, seeing me, a -porter had opened it for me to alight. But it was not a porter who -stood there looking in--looking in, as it struck me, with eager -curiosity. It was an individual in a top hat and an overcoat ornamented -with fur cuffs and collar. Even in my state of confusion, and in that -imperfect light, I was at once struck by the fact that both hat and -overcoat were the worse for wear. The face under the hat was also the -worse for wear. The cheeks were ruddy, with a ruddiness which suggested -alcohol. The moustache and whiskers were too black for nature. The -eyes, which were at once both impudent and shifty, in colour almost -matched the whiskers. There was something about the man which reminded -me of some one I had seen before. Who it was, at the moment, I could -not think. - -He addressed me with what he probably intended for an ingratiating -smile, "This is Victoria." I told him I was aware of it. "All get out -here." I added that I was also aware of that. - -His eyes, which had been travelling round and round the carriage in an -eager, searching fashion, which, for some reason, made me curiously -uneasy, finally rested on my face. He at once noticed the blood-stained -handkerchief which I still was holding to my cheek. - -"Nose bleeding?" - -"No; I've cut my cheek." - -I don't know why I sat there speaking to the man as I did. - -"Permit me to offer you my handkerchief; yours seems soaked with -blood." - -Taking out a red silk handkerchief, the corner of which had been -protruding from the outside pocket of his overcoat, he held it out to -me. I was reluctant to take it. One is reluctant to accept the loan of -a silk handkerchief from a perfect stranger, more especially, perhaps, -from the sort of stranger he appeared to be. But what was I to do? I -was in want of a handkerchief. My own was worse than useless. It was -reeking wet. Great gouts of blood were commencing to drop from it. My -cheek was bleeding as profusely as ever. I was beginning to wonder if a -blood-vessel had been severed. One cannot buy handkerchiefs on a Sunday -night. I should have to borrow from some one. So I borrowed from him. -Unwillingly enough, I admit. As I applied his handkerchief to my cheek, -turning, I threw my own through the open window at my side. - -He rushed forward, as if to stay my arm. He was too late. The -handkerchief had gone. "Good God!" he exclaimed, "what have you done?" - -He seemed unnecessarily excited, considering that, in any case, the -handkerchief was mine. - -"I've thrown it away. You don't suppose that, in that condition, I -could carry it home." He looked at me with his eager eyes. - -"Was your name upon it?" - -"I believe so; why?" - -Leaning over, he laid his hand upon my shoulder. He spoke in a tone of -voice which, in spite of myself, sent a thrill all over me. - -"Man, supposing they find it? It may be a question of life or death. -Let's get out of this--come!" - -It was time that we left the carriage. I had noticed a porter staring -in, as if wondering why we remained its occupants. But that was no -reason why the stranger, thrusting his arm through mine, should have -almost dragged me out on to the platform. As he continued to cling to -me when we were on the platform, I remonstrated--"Be so good as to -release my arm." - -Paying no attention to my request, he made as if to hurry me on. - -"Come to a little place I know near here. I am a bit of a doctor. I'll -soon make that cut of yours all right." - -I did not budge. I repeated my request-- - -"Be so good as to release my arm. I am obliged to you for your -suggestion. I, however, prefer to go straight home." - -"Quite right; there is no place like home. Let's go and find a cab." - -Not at all nonplussed, he again made as if to hasten on. I still -declined to budge. - -"Thank you. I can perform that office for myself. If you will give me -your address, I will forward you your handkerchief. Or, if you prefer -it, I will deposit with you its value." - -"Sir, I am a gentleman." He drew himself up with an assumption of -dignity which was so overdone as to be ludicrous. The two last words he -repeated--"A gentleman!" - -"I do not doubt it. It is I who may not be a gentleman." - -"I, sir, can tell a gentleman when I see one." He laid a stress upon -the personal pronoun, as if he wished me to infer that such clearness -of vision might be a personal peculiarity. "I will give you my address -in the cab." - -Willing to humour him, I suffered him to stroll up the platform at my -side. I held out my hand to him when we reached a hansom. - -"Your address?" - -"I said I would give you my address in the cab." Leaning towards me, he -spoke in that curious tone which had impressed me so unpleasantly in -the railway carriage. "Get into the cab, man; I travelled from Brighton -in the next compartment to yours." - -I was foolish. I ought, even at the eleventh hour, to have addressed -myself to an official, to have made a clean breast of it, to have told -him of the accident, the unavoidable accident, which had happened on -the line. I know that now too well. I knew it, dimly, then. But, at the -moment, I was weak. The fellow's manner increased my state of mental -confusion. In a sense, his words overwhelmed me. I yielded to him. I -got into the cab. He placed himself at my side. - -"Where shall I tell the man to drive?" he asked. - -"Anywhere." - -"Piccadilly Circus!" he shouted. The cab was off. - -We sat in silence, I in a state of mind which I should find some -difficulty in making plain. I will not attempt it. I will only say that -I should have dearly liked to have taken my friend, the stranger, by -the scuff of his neck and to have thrown him out into the street. I did -not dare. - -When we were clear of the traffic I asked him, in a voice which I -scarcely knew to be my own, it was so husky and dry-- - -"What did you mean by saying that you travelled from Brighton in the -next compartment to mine?" - -"Mean? My dear sir, I meant what I said. It was a coincidence--nothing -more." He spoke lightly; impudently even. I felt incapable of pressing -him for a more precise explanation. He added, as a sort of -afterthought, "I'm a detective." - -I turned to him with a start. "A detective?" - -He pretended to be surprised by my surprise. - -"What's the matter, my dear sir?" He paused. Then, with a sneer, "I'm -not that sort. I'm the respectable sort. I'm a private detective, sir. -I make delicate inquiries for persons of position and of means." He -emphasised "means." "Have you a cigar?" - -"I gave him one; he proceeded to light it. I was conscious that, since -I had admitted him to a share of the cab, a change had taken place in -his bearing. It was not only familiar, it was positively brutal. Yet, -strange though it may appear--and I would point out that nothing is so -common as that sort of wisdom which enables us to point out the folly -of each other's behaviour--I found myself unable to resent it. - -"I've been down to Brighton on business; to make inquiries about a -woman." - -"A woman?" - -"A woman who is missing--women are missing now and then--Louise -O'Donnel. I suppose you never happen to have heard the name?" - -"Louise O'Donnel?" I wondered what he meant; there was meaning in his -tone. Indeed, every word he uttered, every gesture he made, seemed -pregnant with meaning. The more I saw of him, the more uncomfortable I -became. "I do not remember to have heard the name Louise O'Donnel." - -"Yes, Louise O'Donnel. You're quite sure you never heard it?" - -"So far as I remember, never." - -"Perhaps your memory is at fault; one never knows." He puffed at his -cigar--or, rather, he puffed at my cigar. "I don't think I'll give you -my address. I'll call for the handkerchief at yours. What is your -address?" - -I hesitated. I was quite aware that to give him my address would be to -commit a further act of folly. But, at the same time, I did not see how -I could avoid giving it him without a row or worse. - -"My office is in Austin Friars?" - -"Austin Friars? You don't happen to have a card about you?" - -I did happen to have one of my business cards in my letter-case. Taking -it out, I gave it to him. He looked at it askance, reading the name on -it out loud. - -"Thomas Tennant. Rather an alliterative kind of name. Almost like a -pseudonym." I sat in silence. "However, there may be some one about -with such a name." He slipped the card into his waistcoat pocket. "I -shall have pleasure, Mr. Tennant, in calling on you, for my silk -handkerchief, in Austin Friars; possibly to-morrow, possibly next week, -or the week after--but that I shall call for it, sooner or later, you -may rest assured." He looked at me with a grin. "Now that we have -transacted that little piece of business, I don't think there is any -necessity for me to inflict my company upon you any longer. I may as -well get out." - -I was thankful for the prospect of a prompt deliverance. But I was not -to be rid of him so easily, as his next words showed. He was drumming -with his finger-tips on the front of the cab. - -"By the way, you were good enough to mention something about a deposit -for my handkerchief. I think that, after all, I will trouble you for -one." - -I advanced my hand towards my pocket. - -"With pleasure. If you have no objection, I will buy the handkerchief -right out at a liberal price?" - -His reply was a sneer. - -"Thank you; I am obliged; the handkerchief is not for sale. I prize it -too greatly--as a present from my late lamented greatgrandmother. But -something on deposit I don't mind." - -"How much shall we say?" - -"Say--we'll say ten pounds." - -"Ten pounds!" I stared at him. The fellow's impudence was increasing. -"You are jesting." - -He turned on me quite savagely--his black eyes glared. - -"Jesting? What do you mean by saying I am jesting?" - -"I shall certainly deposit with you no sum approaching ten pounds." - -He continued to regard me as if he were taking my measure. I met his -glance unflinchingly. I wished him to understand that I was not quite -the simpleton he seemed to take me for. I think he grasped something of -my meaning. His tone became sullen. - -"Make it five pounds, then." - -"I am more likely to make it five shillings. However, under the -peculiar circumstances, as I don't know what I should have done without -your handkerchief, I don't mind going as far as half a sovereign, which -is about four times its value." - -His reply, though scarcely a direct answer to my words, still was -sufficiently plain. - -"You and I, Mr. Tennant, will spend the night together." - -"Again, I ask you, what do you mean by that?" - -The fellow smoothed his clean-shaven chin and grinned. - -"I mean, Mr. Tennant, that I am beginning to suspect that it may be my -painful duty to thrust myself on your society until I have ascertained -what became of the woman who got into your compartment at Brighton, but -who was not in it when we reached Victoria." - -A creepy, crawly feeling went all over me. This came of not having told -the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, directly the -accident had happened. Already I was suspected of the worst. And by -such a fellow! Already, to a certain extent, I was in his power. - -I did not give him the five pounds he asked. I did not make quite such -an idiot of myself as that. But I gave him much more than his ancient -rag was worth. He rattled the coins, gold coins, together in the palms -of his hands; he chuckled at the sound of them; he called out to the -cabman, "Stop!" Standing on the pavement, he took off his hat to me -with a sweeping flourish, saying, with a laugh-- - -"The handkerchief itself--that priceless relic of my late lamented -greatgrandmother!--I will call for at your office in Austin Friars." - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - THE NAME ON THE SCRAP OF PAPER. - - -I was quite conscious, as I drove home the rest of the way alone, that -I had made of myself, doubly and trebly, a fool. But, if possible, -still worse remained behind. - -How the African gentleman, of whom I read the other day, manages with -999 wives, I, for one, am at a loss to understand. When a man is on -good terms with one wife--and I had rather be on good terms with one -wife than on bad terms with 999--occasions do arise on which he -experiences little difficulties. For instance, I had been in the habit -of telling my wife everything--or, perhaps, it would be more correct to -write, practically everything. It would have been well for me if there -had been no reservations. As a matter of fact, I had said nothing about -two or three little incidents of my pre-nuptial existence. Notably, I -had said nothing about Ellen Howth--though that, perhaps, was rather -more than an incident. - -The result was that when I reached home I was in something of a -quandary. The wife plied me with the usual questions, to which I was -unable to supply the accustomed copious and satisfactory answers. She -wished to know how my face came to be cut in that terrible fashion. I -rigged up some cock-and-bull story about a broken window--a window had -been broken, but not altogether in the manner I led her to infer. Then -she found that a button was missing from my overcoat. Another -cock-and-bull story had to be manufactured to account for that. It did -not require a woman's keen eyes to discover that there was something -amiss about my general demeanour--that I "wore a worried look." In -endeavouring to satisfactorily account for that I blundered fearfully. -We went to bed with a shade of coolness perceptible on either side. I -felt that I had been ill-used generally, and Lucy felt that I had -ill-used her. - -The wife had bound up my face with a sticking-plaster. In the morning -the sticking-plaster was much in evidence. I had not had a good night's -rest. I should like to know who would have done, after my adventures of -the evening! I got up, not so much in a bad temper as oppressed with -gloom. Lucy, as a matter of course, plied me with her questions all -over again. We had a fencing match while dressing. The match was -continued at breakfast, till the buttons almost came off the foils. I -had resolved, in the small hours of the morning, to screw my courage to -the sticking point, and to make a clean breast of it to some one. I -told myself that the first plunge would be the worst, when I had taken -that all would be well. But, by the time I started for the City, I had -become so aggrieved with Lucy that my resolution, as it were, had -assumed a different hue. It was irresolution again. - -I bought all the papers. I searched them to learn if anything or any -one had been found upon the Brighton line. I did not see very well how -there could have been, in time for the fact to have been printed in the -morning papers. But a morbid anxiety constrained me to the search. -Pilbeam, who always travels with me to town, displayed almost as much -interest in the papers as I did. He wanted to know why I had bought -them. He became facetious in his way--which is his way, and, thank -Providence, his way only. I listened to Pilbeam's facetiĉ while I was -mentally asking myself if it would be better--for me--for her to be -found living or dead. In the one case I knew that she would denounce me -at once to the police, and I should sleep that night in gaol--and then, -what could I say or do? In the other, the odds might be slightly in my -favour. Under the circumstances, I naturally enjoyed Pilbeam's jokes. -They were so funny, and so suited to my mood. - -That was a dreadful day. There was no business doing. Had there been I -might have been saved from thinking--and from drinking. As a rule, I -never drink anything in town. But that day I had to. I was too -invertebrate to keep going without it. - -Soon after midday I was sitting in one of the City bars--one of those -in which men play chess and draughts and dominoes. I was leaning on one -of the little marble tables scribbling aimlessly upon a sheet of paper. -Some one, standing in front of me, addressed me by my name. I looked -up. It was a man with whom I had occasionally done business--a man -named Townsend, a tall, well-built fellow, with what one sometimes -hears called the "beauty of the devil." He had always been something of -a mystery to me. Although I had done a good deal for him at one time or -another, he had never given me an address at which, in case of -necessity, I could find him. His reference, which hitherto had been a -sufficient one, had been a City bank. He used to give me instructions, -and then would call at the office to see what I had made of them. He -certainly seemed to get hold of reliable information, principally about -mining securities; but that he was no City man I was persuaded. There -was about him an indefinable something which irresistibly suggested the -West End. He struck me as some butterfly of fashion with opportunities -and tastes for punting of various kinds. That he confined his -transactions to me I never for a moment believed, and in spite of his -being the best dressed and the handsomest man I ever saw, whenever he -gave me anything like a large line, before I operated I was always -careful to have an eye for cover. - -"I've been looking for you," he said, as I glanced up at him. "They -told me at the office I should probably find you here. I want you to do -a little deal for me." He dropped into a chair on the other side of the -table. "What's this you've been scribbling here; anything private?" - -He referred to the piece of paper on which I had been allowing my -pencil to scrawl, I knew not what. "It's nothing; only rubbish." - -He picked the piece of paper up; I was watching him as he did so. As -his eyes fell on it, not a little to my surprise a most singular change -took place in his countenance. Although his face was clean shaven, and, -therefore, as one would have thought, likely to give visual evidence of -any passing shades of feeling, it had always seemed to me the most -inscrutable of masks. Neither success nor failure seemed to make the -slightest difference to him. His expression was ever the same. The -change which now took place in it therefore, was all the more -surprising. In an instant there came into his face a look of the most -unmistakable terror. His eyes dilated, his jaw dropped open. He sat -staring at the paper as if paralysed by horror. - -"What the devil's this?" he gasped, when his attitude and his continued -silence were beginning to make me conscious of discomfort, and, -goodness knows, I had been, and was, uncomfortable enough without his -help! - -I had not the faintest notion what it was which had had on him so -singular an effect. I took the paper out of his momentarily nerveless -hands. So soon as I saw what was on it, I too had something like a fit -of the horrors. "Goodness gracious!" I exclaimed. - -It showed in what sort of groove my mind had been working. -Unconsciously I had been scribbling the name of the woman whom the -stranger, when we had been together in the cab the night before, had -told me he had been searching for in Brighton. There it was, "Louise -O'Donnel, Louise O'Donnel," scrawled all over the paper, perhaps fifty -times. - -"What an extraordinary thing," I murmured. - -And, indeed, it seemed to me to be a very extraordinary thing; and by -no means a pleasant thing either. Very much the other way. It showed -what I was capable of doing without being aware of it. I did not like -it at all. - -By the time I had regained some of my composure Mr. Townsend appeared -to have regained some of his. He had called the waiter, from whom he -was ordering brandy. I ordered brandy too--a shillingsworth; what they -give you for sixpence would have had no effect upon me. We both drank -before anything was said. Then Mr. Townsend looked at me over the top -of his glass. - -"May I ask, Mr. Tennant, what you know about Louise O'Donnel?" - -The effect which the discovery of that name upon the sheet of paper--my -sheet of paper--had had upon me was sufficiently capable of -explanation. Only too capable. Why it should have affected Townsend -surpassed my comprehension. I hardly knew what to answer when he put -his question. - -"Know! I know nothing." - -"Is that so? Then how came you to write the name upon that scrap of -paper?" - -"I know no more than the man in the moon." - -"Indeed. Then are you suggesting that its presence there is an -illustration of the new kind of force which promises to be the -craze--telepathic writing, don't they call it?" - -This was said with a sneer. Something about the tone, the manner in -which it was uttered, reminded me forcibly of some one I had heard -quite recently elsewhere. The resemblance was so strong that it came to -me with the force of a sudden shock. To whom could it be? It came to me -in a flash; the stranger of the night before. Directly he had appeared -at the carriage door he had reminded me of some one. Now I knew of -whom. He was sitting in front of me at that moment--Mr. Townsend. His -tone was the stranger's, his manner was the stranger's; even his face, -in some strange fashion, was the stranger's too. The stranger wore -side-whiskers and a moustache, he was older, he was not nearly so -good-looking, he lacked Mr. Townsend's peculiar air of polish, but in -spite of the differences which existed between them, there was the -resemblance too. The more I stared--and I did stare--the more the -resemblance grew. Mr. Townsend leaned towards me across the table. The -attitude was the stranger's. - -"Are you trying to think of where you heard the name before? I see that -you have heard it." - -"Yes; last night." - -"Last night!" - -He was holding the glass in which the waiter had brought his brandy -in his hand. As he echoed my words he brought it down upon the -marble-topped table with a crash. It was strange that it was not -splintered. - -"Last night, as I came from Brighton." - -Mr. Townsend must have been in an oddly clumsy mood. As I spoke it -seemed to me that he deliberately knocked his glass off the table on to -the floor. When he bent over it, it was to find it shivered into -fragments. From the waiter, who came to remove the broken remnants, he -ordered a fresh supply of brandy. I had my glass replenished too. - -"Have you a double, Mr. Townsend, moving about the world?" - -He was raising his glass to his lips when I put the question. He spoke -before he drank. "A double? What on earth do you mean?" - -"Because it was from the lips of your double I heard the name of Louise -O'Donnel." - -"My double?" He put down his glass, untasted. - -"I came up with him in the same train last night from Brighton." - -"You came up with him in the same train last night from Brighton? With -whom?" - -"Your double." - -His face was absolutely ghastly. He had gone white to the lips, and a -curiously unnatural, sickly white. I could not make him out at all. I -suspected that he could not make me out either. I know that something -about him had for me, just then, a dreadful sort of fascination. - -"I do not know, Mr. Tennant, if you are enjoying a little jest at my -expense. I am not conscious of having a double, nor am I conscious of -having come up with you last night in the same train from Brighton. By -what train did you travel?" - -"By the 8.40 express." - -"By the train, that is, which leaves Brighton at 8.40?" - -"Yes; and which arrives in town at ten." - -Unless I was mistaken, a look of distinct relief passed over his face. - -"Oh, then, you certainly never came from Brighton with me. It occurs to -me, Mr. Tennant, that you are not looking well. You almost look as if -you had had a recent serious shock. I trust that it is only my fancy." - -He looked at me with eager, searching eyes, which reminded me very -acutely of the stranger's. - -"I am not feeling very well to-day, and that's a fact." - -"You don't look very well. By the by, how came this double of mine to -mention the name?" - -Mr. Townsend nodded towards the sheet of paper, almost, as it seemed to -me, as if he were unwilling to pronounce the name which was upon it. - -"He merely mentioned that he had been down to Brighton to look for a -woman named Louise O'Donnel." - -Mr. Townsend's glass came down on to the table with the same startled -gesture as before. If he was not careful, he would break a second one. -And, since he glanced our way, so the waiter seemed to think. - -"Been looking for her? What had he been doing that for?" - -"That is more than I can tell you." - -Mr. Townsend sat and stared at me as if doubting whether I spoke the -truth. - -"May I ask you, in my turn, what you know about this mysterious Louise -O'Donnel?" - -He looked down, and then up at me. He smiled, his smile striking me as -being more than a little forced. - -"That is the funny part of it. I, too, know nothing of Louise -O'Donnel--no more than you do." - -"It seems odd that you should take so great an interest in a person of -whom you know nothing." - -"Does not the same remark apply to you?" - -"Not at all. I heard the name mentioned last night, casually, for the -first time. It seems to have lingered in my memory, and I appear to -have scribbled it, in a fit of abstraction, and, certainly, quite -unconsciously." - -Taking out a cigar, Mr. Townsend commenced to light it with an -appearance of indifference which was, perhaps, a trifle too pronounced. - -"Very odd, very odd indeed, that both you and I should seem to evince -so much interest in a person whose name we have merely heard casually -mentioned. It occurred to me that, when you found the name confronting -you, you appeared--shall I say startled?--as if it or its owner was -connected in your mind with disagreeable associations. Perhaps, -however, that was simply a consequence of the general ill-health from -which you say you suffer. And, I must say myself, that you don't look -well. I hope that, next time I see you, you will be better." - -He carried it off with an air. But I did not believe him. I felt -persuaded that he knew more of Louise O'Donnel than he chose to -confess. What he knew was more than I could say. But I felt equally -persuaded that he wished that he knew less. He went off without saying -anything further about the little deal which he had said that he wanted -me to do for him. It had, apparently, escaped his recollection. I, too, -had forgotten it till after he had gone. I had never felt less inclined -for business in my life. - -Scarcely had I returned to the office than the door opened, and, wholly -unannounced, the stranger of the night before came in. He might, -almost, have been waiting and watching for my return. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - BLACKMAIL. - - -Again I was struck by the man's resemblance to Mr. Townsend. It was -obvious even in the way in which he advanced towards me across the -room. It was almost as if Townsend had slipped on some costume of a -masquerade, and reappeared in it to play tricks with me. The fellow, -going to the centre of the room, crossed his arms, in theatrical -fashion, across his chest, and stood and stared at me--glared at me -would be the more correct expression. Not caring to meet his glances, -and to return him glare for glare, as if we were two madmen trying to -outstare each other, I fumbled with the papers on my table. - -"You have called for that handkerchief of yours? I am obliged to you -for the loan of it; but I had to leave home for town so early this -morning that my wife was not able to get it ready in time for me to -bring it with me. If you will give me your address I will see that it -is sent to you through the post." - -There was a considerable interval before he answered me--an interval -during which he continued to glare, and I to fumble with my papers. -When he did speak, it was in one of those portentous and assumed bass -voices, which one inevitably connects with the proverbial "Villain at -the Vic." - -"I have not called for my handkerchief." - -"Then, may I ask to what I am indebted for the pleasure of your -presence here. I have only just come in, and I have some rather -pressing business which I must do." - -"Your business has nothing to do with me." - -"Probably not; but it has with me." - -He came a step nearer, still keeping his arms crossed upon his chest. -This time he spoke in a sort of a hiss. It seemed obvious that at some -period of his career he must have had something to do with the stage. - -"Do you not know what has brought me here. Does your own conscience not -tell you, man?" - -I began to suspect that he had been drinking. I looked up at him. He -was eyeing me with a scowl which, to say the least of it, was scarcely -civil. - -"How should I know what has brought you here, if it is not a desire to -regain possession of your property? I take it that you hardly intend to -suggest a further deposit." - -I do not think that he altogether relished the allusion. His scowl -became less theatrical, and a good deal more natural. He seemed, for a -moment, to be at a loss as to what to say. Then a word came from -between his lips which startled me. - -"Murderer!" - -That was rather more than I could stand. I sprang to my feet. - -"What do you mean, sir, by addressing me like that? Are you mad?" - -My assumption of indignation did not seem to impress him in the least. -He returned to the basso profundo. - -"Have you seen the evening papers?" - -At the question something began to swim before my eyes. I had to lean -against the edge of the table. - -"No; what is there in the evening papers to interest me?" - -"I will show you." - -He began to unfold a paper which he took from his pocket. Laying the -open sheet before me on the table, he pointed to a column of leaded -type. - -"Read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest that, if you can." - -The heading of the column was enough for me. It was headed, "Tragedy on -the Brighton Line." I could read no farther. I dropped down into my -chair again. The stranger continued to regard me with accusatory eyes. - -"What's the matter with you? You don't seem well." - -"I've not been feeling well all day." - -"So I should imagine. Else you had been more or less than human. Since -you are not able to read the paper yourself, at which I am not -surprised, I will read it for you. The paper says that the body of a -woman has been found on the up side of the Brighton line, just before -Three Bridges Station." - -"Dead?" - -"Dead--murdered." - -I was speechless, tongue-tied. The whole hideous folly of which I had -been guilty rose in front of me, and paralysed my brain. I saw, too -clearly, and too late, the dreadful nature of the error I had made. I -realised the awful something which, owing to my own cowardice, now -stared me in the face. It might have been bad enough if I had played -the man; but it would have been better than this. - -The stranger kept his eyes fixed on my countenance. I have no doubt -that on it was seen some of the horror which racked me. His voice -sounded to me like an echo from far away. - -"That explains how it was that I saw a woman get into your carriage at -Brighton, and that she was not there when we reached Victoria. You had -left her on the line." - -I made an effort to shake off the stupor which oppressed me. It was out -of the question that I should continue to sit there passively, and -allow this fellow to jump, in his own fashion, at his own conclusions. -Better late than never! There might still be time for me to play the -man. I took out my handkerchief to wipe away the moisture from my brow. -I looked at the man in front of me. - -"May I ask you for your name, sir?" - -"My name is immaterial." - -"Excuse me, but it is not immaterial. You thrust yourself upon me last -night, you thrust yourself upon me again to-day. If I am to have -anything to say to you, I must know with whom I am dealing." - -"You are dealing with the witness of your crime." - -"That is not the case. I have been guilty of no crime." - -"Why do you lie to me? Don't you know that I could go straight from -this room and hang you?" He raised his voice in a manner which told -upon my nerves. I looked furtively about the room. I had to wipe the -moisture from my brow again. - -"Is it necessary that you should speak so loudly, sir! Do you wish to -be overheard? There are clerks in the adjoining room." - -"Then send them away; or don't try to hoodwink me--me!" He struck his -hand against his chest, accentuating the second "me," as if he were an -individual altogether separate and apart. "If I were to follow the -promptings of my bosom, I should go at once to the police, and leave -you to dangle on the gallows." - -"You are under a misapprehension, sir. I give you my word of honour -that you are. I may have been guilty--I have been guilty--of an error -of judgment, but not of a crime." - -"Do you call murder an error of judgment?" - -"There has been no murder--I swear it!" - -He held up his hand to check me. "Let me tell you how much I know about -the business before you go out of your way to lie to me." Seating -himself on the edge of my writing-table, he brought his right hand down -upon it now and then to emphasise his words. "Directly the train -started I heard two voices in the compartment next to mine--in your -compartment. The voices were raised in quarrelling. I had, by the -purest accident, seen a woman get into your compartment just as we were -leaving Brighton, and I knew that the voices were yours and hers. The -quarrelling got worse and worse. I feared every moment that something -dreadful would happen. I was just going to sound the alarm, when there -was silence. Immediately after a door banged--the door of your -carriage. I was afraid that something dreadful had happened. And yet, I -told myself, if nothing had happened I should look foolish if I stopped -the train. Unable to make up my mind what to do, I did nothing. When on -reaching Victoria I made a bolt for your carriage and found that the -woman was not there, I saw that my worst fears were realised. Then I -understood the sudden silence, and the banging of the door." - -"She had fallen out." - -"Fallen out?" - -"Yes." - -"Who opened the door for her to fall?" - -"I did." Seeing the slip I had made I endeavoured to correct myself. -"That is, I opened the door with the intention of leaving the carriage, -in order to escape her violence. In trying to prevent my leaving she -herself fell out." - -"If, as you say, the whole thing was an accident, why did you not sound -the alarm?" - -"I ought to have done; I know I ought to have done. I can only say that -it was all so sudden and so unexpected that I lost my head." - -"To whom have you mentioned a word about the--accident, until this -moment I have charged you with your crime?" - -"To no one. My reticence, unfortunately, is the error of judgment to -which I referred." - -"You call that an error of judgment! Then, let me tell you, it was an -error of judgment of a somewhat peculiar kind. A mere outsider would -say that reticence was the best course you could possibly pursue." - -The fellow's way of looking at the matter made things look blacker and -blacker. The moisture accumulated upon my brow so fast that I could -scarcely keep it from trickling down my cheeks. - -"It might have been the best course to pursue had I been guilty, but I -am not guilty; I swear it. I am as innocent as you are. It was my -misfortune that there were peculiar circumstances connected with the -matter which I wished to keep private. I feared to be misunderstood." - -"You were not misunderstood by me, I do assure you. I understood, and -understand you only too well. The point is that you still seem unable -to understand me. You still appear to be unable to realise that I was -in the next compartment to yours, that the divisions between the -compartments are thin, and that you shouted at the top of your voice. I -distinctly heard you threaten to kill the woman--yes, and more than -once, and in a tone of voice which sounded very much as if you meant -it." - -He was wrong, and he was right. That was the worst of it. Undoubtedly, -there had been strong language used on either side, uncommonly strong -language. A listener who was not acquainted with all the circumstances -might have supposed that some of it was meant. I can only protest that, -so far as I was concerned, I had never meant what I had said half so -much as she had meant what she said. No, nor a quarter as much. Nor, -for the matter of that, an eighth. She had aggravated me to such an -extent that I undoubtedly had said something--and perhaps in rather a -loud tone of voice--to the effect that I should like to kill her. But I -said it metaphorically. Every one who knows me knows that in practice I -am the least bloodthirsty man alive. I never could kill a cat. Even -when there are kittens to drown I have to leave them to my wife. -Instead of the woman having killed herself I would infinitely rather -she had killed me. - -But it was no use trying to explain these things to the man in front of -me. I saw that plainly. So far as he was concerned, my guilt was as if -it were written in the skies. Taking up a position in front of the -fire, he assumed what he possibly intended to be a judicial air, but -which struck me as being a mixture of truculence with impudence. - -"When a man threatens to kill a woman, and she is killed immediately -afterwards, one asks who killed her. I do not ask, simply because I -know. My impulse is to let the world know too. When I do get into the -witness-box my evidence will hang you." - -I thought it possible, nay, I thought it probable. If I had only made a -clean breast of it when the scoundrel had first accosted me the night -before! - -"The thing now is, what am I to do?" - -"I should have thought," I gasped, "that the thing now is what am I to -do." - -"Nothing of the sort. You have placed yourself outside the pale of -consideration. It is myself I must consider." He said this with a -lordly wave of the hand. - -Crushed though I was, I found his manner a little trying. - -"It is my misfortune that my ears are ever open to the promptings of -mercy." - -"I had not previously supposed that a characteristic of that kind was a -misfortune." - -"It is a misfortune, and one of the gravest kind. It is one, moreover, -against which I have had to battle my whole life long. The truly -fortunate man is he who can always mete out justice. But the still, -small voice of mercy I have ever heard. It is a weakness, but it is -mine own. My obvious duty to society would be to take prompt steps to -rid it of such a man as you." - -That was a pleasant sort of observation to have addressed to one. - -"It strikes me that you take rather a strained view of your duty, sir." - -"That would strike you. It doesn't me. But I will be frank with you. -Why should I not be frank--although you are not frank with me. Though -perhaps I can afford to be frank better than you can." - -He threw his ancient overcoat, faced with ancient mock astrachan, wide -open. He tilted his ancient silk hat on to the back of his head. He -thrust his hands into the pockets of his ancient trousers. - -"The plain fact is, Mr. Tennant, that I am a victim of the present -commercial depression." - -He looked it, every inch of him. Though, at the moment, I scarcely -cared to tell him so. - -"The depreciation in landed property, and in various securities, has -hit me hard." - -"To what securities do you allude?" - -I fancy he made an effort at recollection, and that the effort failed. - -"To South American securities, and others. But I need not -particularise." He repeated the former lordly gesture with his hand. -"The truth is that my income is not only seriously crippled, but that I -am, at this present moment, actually in want of ready cash." I believed -him, without his protestations. I judged from his looks. "Now, if I do -something for you, will you do something for me?" - -"What will you do for me?" - -"Keep silence. I am not compelled to blurt out all I know. If I show -mercy to you, what return will you make me for my kindness?" - -I did not quite like his way of putting it. But that I had to stomach. - -"What return will you require?" - -He looked at me; then round the room; then back again to me. He was -evidently making up his mind as to what it would be advisable for him -to say. - -"I should require you to make me an immediate, and, of course, -temporary advance of £100--in gold." - -"A hundred pounds? I am not exactly a poor man; on the other hand, I am -emphatically not a rich one. To me a hundred pounds are a hundred -pounds. Say ten." - -"Say ten! I'll be hanged if I say ten! And you'll be hanged if you try -to make me." - -"Twenty." - -"Nor twenty." - -"I'm afraid I could not go beyond thirty." - -"Then the discussion is at an end." - -"Suppose--I only say suppose, mind--that I was able to find fifty." - -"I won't take a penny less than a hundred pounds--not one centime." - -"Would you undertake to go abroad?" - -"Go abroad! I'll be shot if I would. You might go abroad. I have my -business to attend to. You forget that I am a private detective in a -very extensive way." - -"For how long will you keep silence?" - -"A month." - -"Then, in that case, I must decline to advance you even so much as a -hundred pence." - -"Two months." - -"No--nor in that case either." - -"Three months." - -"If you will undertake to keep silence until you are compelled to -speak, I will give your suggestion my most careful consideration." - -"Give it your most careful consideration! Oh, will you? It strikes me, -Mr. Tennant, that you are as far from understanding me as ever. If you -don't put the money down upon that table at once I go to the police." - -He straightened his hat. He began to button up his overcoat. He looked, -and, it struck me, sounded as though he meant it. I hesitated. If the -woman who hesitates is lost, so also is the man. I was lost before; I -was lost again, because I hesitated. I was conscious that still the -bold part was the better part; that I should be wise to go to the -authorities and tell them the whole plain truth, although so tardily. I -knew that this man was a mean bloodsucker; that he would spend my -money, and then come to me for more and more, and, after all, would -hang me if he could. But I dared not face the prospect of being handed, -there and then, to the police; of being delivered by him into their -clutches, with his evidence to hang me. I wanted to see my wife, my -child, again. I wanted, if I could, to prepare them for the cloud which -was about to burst in storm upon their heads. I wanted breathing space; -time to look about me; to make ready. I wanted to postpone the falling -of the hammer. So I gave him the hundred pounds which he demanded, -bitterly conscious all the while of what a fool I was for giving it. - -He would not take my cheque. Nothing would do for him but gold. I had -to send a clerk to the bank to get it. He thrust the washleather bag in -which it came, as it was, into his pocket. He was good enough to say -that he would not insult me by counting it; he would treat me as one -gentleman should always treat another. Then, with a triumphant grin, -and an airy raising of his hat, he left me to enjoy my reflections--if -I could. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - THE FACE IN THE DARKNESS. - - -I did not go home even when he had left me, though shortly afterwards I -started to. As I was going along Throgmorton Street I met MacCulloch. -He was jubilant. He had pulled off a big stake over some race or -other--upon my word, I forget what. It was one which had been run that -day. He asked me to have a small bottle with him. While we were having -it three other fellows joined us. Then MacCulloch asked the lot of us -to go and dine with him. I knew that I ought not to, but I didn't care. -I seemed to care for nothing. The moral side of me seemed dead, or -sleeping. I was aware that, instead of plunging into dissipation with -MacCulloch and his friends, duty, not to speak of common sense, -required that, without further loss of time, I should prepare Lucy for -the worst. Instead of following the path of duty, I went to dine, and -that without sending to Lucy a word of warning not to wait for me. When -the usually good husband does misbehave himself, it strikes me that he -is worse than the usually bad one. I speak from what seems to me to be -the teachings of my own experience. - -We went down, all of us, in two hansoms to the West End. I rode upon -MacCulloch's knees. We began by playing billiards at some place in -Jermyn Street. I know that I lost three pounds at pool. Then we dined -in a private room at the Café Royal. I have not the faintest -recollection of what we had for dinner, but I am under a strong -impression that I ate and drank of whatever there was to eat and drink, -and that of both there was too much. My digestion is my weak point. The -plainest possible food is best for me, and only a little of that. I was -unwell before the dinner was half way through. Still I kept pegging -away. I never did know why. By the time it was over I was only fit for -bed. But when I suggested that the next item on the programme should be -a liver pill or a seidlitz-powder and then home, they wouldn't hear of -it. Their idea of what was the proper thing for men in our situation -was another couple of cabs and a music-hall. - -I am not certain what music-hall it was. Something, I can scarcely say -what, leads me to believe that it was one at which there was a ballet. -So far as I was concerned, as soon as I was in my stall I fell asleep. -They wouldn't let me sleep it out. Some one, I don't know who, woke me, -as I understood the matter, because I snored. When sleeping my -breathing is a trifle stertorous perhaps; at least, so Lucy has -informed me more than once. Then we went for a turn in the promenade. -So far as I am able to recollect, MacCulloch who, I suspect, in common -with the other men, had been since dinner making further efforts to -quench his thirst, wanted to introduce me to some one whom he didn't -seem to know, and who certainly didn't seem to want to know me. I fancy -Kenyan, one of the fellows who was with us, trod upon somebody else's -toes, or somebody else trod upon his. At any rate there was an -argument, which in an extraordinarily short time began to be punctuated -by blows. Some one hit me, I don't know who, and I hit some one--I am -disposed to think MacCulloch, because his back was turned to me, and he -happened to be nearest. Then there was a row. The next thing I can -remember was finding myself on the pavement in the street--sitting down -on it, if I do not err. They did not lock us up; personally, I should -rather have preferred their doing so; it would have relieved me of a -feeling of responsibility. Having, I believe, helped me up, MacCulloch, -slipping his arm through mine, suggested that we should go upon the -spree. I did not, and do not, know what he meant, nor what he supposed -we had been doing up to then. Anyhow, I strenuously objected. I -insisted upon a cab and home. He, or some one else, put me into one, -and off I went. - -The presumption is that directly the cabman started I fell asleep. When -I awoke I found him bending over me, pulling at the collar of my coat. - -"Now then, sir, wake up; this is Hackney." - -I stared at him. I did not understand. "Hackney! What do you mean?" - -"The gentleman told me to drive you to Hackney, and this is Mare -Street. What part of Hackney do you want?" - -I supposed the man was joking. I had never been to Hackney in my life. -I did not even know, exactly, in what part of town it was situated. My -house is in West Kensington. Why he imagined that I wished to pay a -first visit to Hackney at that hour of the night I was at a loss to -understand. I told him so. In return, his bearing approached to -insolence. He wanted to know if I was having a lark with him. I, on my -side, wanted to know if he was having a lark with me. He declared that -the gentleman who had put me into the cab had instructed him to drive -me to Hackney. Then it dawned on me that MacCulloch, or his friends, -might have been having a little joke at my expense, and not the cabman. - -When I desired to be taken to West Kensington in the shortest possible -space of time, Jehu did not altogether appear to see it. He observed -that his horse was tired, that he ought to have been in the stable -before now, and that the stable was on the Surrey side of Waterloo -Bridge. We compromised. He was to drive me to the Strand. When there, I -was to find another cab to take me the remainder of the distance. When -we did reach the Strand the man demanded a most extortionate sum for -his fare. But, as I did not feel in a fit frame of mind to conduct -another heated argument, I gave him what he asked, none the less -conscious that I was enjoying myself in a most expensive kind of way, -as I was aware that Lucy, if she ever came to hear of it, would think. - -I was wide awake during the remainder of my journey. Having found -another cab, I made a point of seeing that its driver did not go wrong. -I did not want this time to find myself, say, at New Cross or Hampstead -Heath. When he drew up in front of my house--at last!--I was looking -forward, with a morbid sense of expectation and a bad headache, to the -sort of greeting I might expect to receive inside. But--I repeat it--I -was wide awake. - -Directly the cab stopped, I got out. As I stepped upon the pavement, -something came at me, through the darkness--a woman. It was a dark -night--it all happened very suddenly. The details of the figure and the -costume I could not, or at least I did not, make out. That I own. But -about the face I have not the slightest doubt. I saw it as plainly as -ever I saw a face in my life. It looked at me with wide, staring eyes. -There was a look in them which I had never seen before. The lips were -parted--I saw that the teeth were clenched. It was very white, and it -struck me, just in the moment during which I saw it, as looking -strangely white. - -But it was none of these things which made my heart stand still, which -made me, with a gasp of horror, reel backwards against the cab. I cared -nothing for what the face looked like. What I did care for was that I -should have seen that face at all. That it should have come to me, like -an accusing spirit, all in an instant, out of the darkness of the -night. For it was the face of the woman whom, like a coward, I had left -lying dead on the Brighton line. It was the face of Ellen Howth. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - A CONFESSION. - - -"He will be all right now." - -The voice seemed to come to me out of the land of dreams. I seemed to -be in a dream myself. What I saw, I seemed to see in a dream. It was -some moments before I realised that the man bending over me was -Ferguson, our doctor; that I was lying undressed in bed; that my wife -was standing by the doctor's side. When I did realise it, I sat up with -a start. - -"What's the matter?" I asked. "Have I been ill?" - -It struck me that, as he replied to my question with another, the -doctor's eyes were twinkling behind his glasses. - -"How are you feeling?" - -I felt, now that I was once more conscious of any sort of feeling, very -far from well. My head was splitting. Everything was dancing before my -eyes. I sank back on my pillow with a groan. The doctor laid his hand -upon my brow. It felt beautifully soft and cool. He said something to -my wife; then he went. Lucy went with him, I presume, to see him out. - -Presently my wife returned. She did not even glance at me as she -passed. Going straight to the other side of the room, she began busying -herself with something on the dressing-table. I might not have been -there for all the notice she took of me. I could not make her demeanour -out at all. Indeed, the whole proceedings were mysterious to me. She -was wont to be so solicitous when I was ill. - -"What's the time?" I asked. - -"Half-past four." - -That was all she said. She never turned her head to say that. The -silence became oppressive. "How long have I been lying here?" - -"It's an hour since the cabman rang the bell." - -"The cabman?" It all came back to me with a rush. The appearance of the -apparition--the face I had seen gleaming at me through the darkness; -the sudden blank which followed. I half rose in bed. "Has she gone?" I -cried. - -Then Lucy did turn round. Words came from between her lips as if they -were icicles. - -"Mr. Tennant, to whom are you alluding as 'she'? Have you not yet -grasped the fact that you are in the presence of your wife?" - -Then I perceived that I was misunderstood. I lay down again. Seldom had -I felt so ill. I closed my eyes; even then I saw things dancing about. -This unkindness of Lucy's was the final straw. I could have cried. - -"My dear, why do you speak to me like that? What has happened?" - -"I will tell you what has happened. I can quite understand how it is -you do not know. You came home, Mr. Tennant, in such a condition that -when you got out of the cab which brought you, you could not stand. Had -the cabman not been a good Samaritan you might have lain in the gutter -till the milkman came. If the milkman had found you it would, of -course, have been pleasant both for your wife and family. I thought you -were dead. I sent for Dr. Ferguson; but, when he came, he informed me -that you were only"--what a stress she laid upon the adverb!--"drunk." - -I knew that she misjudged me--that she had not even an inkling of the -situation I was in. But at that moment I could not even hint at it. She -went on-- - -"I don't know, Mr. Tennant, how much money you went out with. You have -come back with 1s. 3d. in your pockets." - -That "Good Samaritan" of a cabman must have robbed me. I felt sure that -I had more than 1s. 3d. when I got into his cab. - -"You have broken your watch; you have spoiled your clothes, and you -appear to have either given away or lost your hat. The cabman said that -you were not wearing one when you engaged him." - -That I could hardly believe. What could I have done with it? It seemed -incredible that I could have driven to Hackney and back without a hat. - -"I may add that, if you take my advice, at the earliest possible moment -you will have a bath." She moved towards the door. "I am going to try -to get some sleep in the spare room." - -I could not bear to think of her leaving me like that. I called to her, -"Lucy." - -"Well?" - -"You are hard on me. I have been dining with MacCulloch." - -"I don't know who MacCulloch may be, but next time you dine with him if -you give me warning I will keep a doctor waiting on the premises ready -for your return." - -"Lucy! You would not speak to me like that if you knew all. I am in -great trouble." - -Her tone changed on the instant. She came towards the bed. - -"Tom! What do you mean!" - -"I know that I have been a fool, and worse. Even you don't know how -great a fool I have been. To-night I have been trying to drown -thought." - -She knelt on the floor beside the bed, stretching out her hands to me -across the coverlet. - -"Tom! You're not playing with me, as they say some husbands do play -with their wives? Tell me what you mean?" - -I found this tone harder to bear than the other. A shudder went all -over me. I closed my eyes. What did I mean? How could I tell her? My -throat went dry and husky--a condition which was not owing to the -potations of the night. - -"I've been a good husband to you, haven't I? I've tried to be." - -"My darling, you've been the best husband in the world. That's what -makes this seem so strange." She alluded to the events of the night. -"Why have you been so silly?" Putting her arms about my neck, she drew -me towards her. - -"You have no conception how silly I have been." - -She laid her cool cheek against my fevered one. "Tell me all about it. -Is it money?" - -"Money would be nothing." - -Her voice sank. "What is it?" - -"It is something which happened last night." - -I felt her shiver. "I knew it. I felt there was something wrong when -you came in, although you would not own there was." - -"I was afraid to tell you." - -She drew closer to me. Again her voice dropped to a whisper. "What was -it, Tom?" - -"It was something which happened in the train." I paused. My tongue -seemed to stick in my throat. "When we left Brighton a woman got into -my carriage." - -"A woman?" She withdrew herself a little. Then I felt that I could not -tell her who the woman was; at least, not then. - -"She had been drinking. At least, so I suppose. As soon as the train -started she began to quarrel." - -"To quarrel?" - -"Yes. I was afraid there would be a row. You know the express does not -stop between London and Brighton. I did not know whether to pull the -alarm-bell or not. I made up my mind to try to leave my carriage and -get into the next." - -"Do you mean while the train was moving?" - -"Yes. I thought it better to run the risk than to stop the train, and -have a scene, and, possibly, a scandal. One never knows what may come -of being mixed up in that sort of thing with a woman." - -"Well?" - -"She tried to stop me leaving the carriage, and in trying she fell -out." - -"Tom!" Taking her cheek away from mine, Lucy looked me in the face. -"Fell out?" - -"Yes." - -"While the train was moving?" - -I nodded. - -"How awful! She might have been hurt! What did you do?" - -"That's where my folly began. I did nothing." - -She continued to stare at me, evidently not comprehending. My task was -getting more and more difficult. After all, I almost wished that I had -not begun it. - -"It was all so sudden, and I was so bewildered that I lost my head." - -"Then don't you know what became of her?" - -"I did not know till the evening papers appeared. She was killed." - -"Killed!" Lucy's arms were still about my neck. I felt them give a -convulsive twitch. "What did you do when you knew she was killed?" - -"Went with MacCulloch to dine. You see, it seems that the body was -found on the line. They appear to have jumped to the conclusion that -there has been murder done. It struck me that if I went and told my -story the odds were that I should be arrested as her murderer. I had -not the courage to face the situation, and so by way of a compromise I -went with MacCulloch to dine." - -Lucy removed her arms from about my neck. She put her hand to her -forehead as if perplexed. - -"Tell me, plainly, just what happened. How did she fall out? Was there -a scuffle?" - -"In a sense there was. To prevent my leaving the carriage she took me -by the shoulder. In trying to maintain her hold she got her back to the -open door. She must have stepped backwards before either of us realised -how near to the open door she really was, because, before I had the -faintest suspicion of what had happened or was about to happen, she had -disappeared." - -There was silence. I did not feel equal to meeting Lucy's eyes, but I -felt they were on my face. At last she spoke. - -"I see. No wonder I saw that something had happened. No wonder that you -found it difficult to tell me what it was." Rising to her feet, she -went to the fireplace. Leaning her elbow on the mantelshelf, she stood -in such a position that her face was turned away from me. "Is there any -probability of their being able to connect the affair with you?" - -"Given certain conditions, there is an absolute certainty. To my shame -be it said, that is really the reason why I went with MacCulloch to -dine." - -Then I told her about the fellow who had been in the adjoining -compartment. How he had forced himself upon me at Victoria; how he -claimed to have overheard all that had taken place; how he had arrived -at his own conclusions; how he had levied on me blackmail. Lucy -listened quietly, putting a question now and then, but never looking at -me all the time. - -"And am I to understand that this person believes that you committed -murder, and is prepared to go into the witness-box and swear it?" - -It was not only the question, it was, more than anything, the way in -which she asked it, which made me shiver. - -"The fellow is a scoundrel." - -"Is that why you gave him the hundred pounds? If he is such a scoundrel -as you say, why did you not show him the door, and defy him to do his -worst?" - -The calmness with which she spoke made me writhe. My tone became -dogged. - -"I have no excuse to offer. I was, and am, quite conscious of my -folly." - -"I don't wish to say anything unkind to you; I quite realise how you -stand in need of all the kindness one can show you; but I don't at all -understand your story as you tell it. Why did you quarrel with this -woman?" - -"I did not quarrel with her; she quarrelled with me." - -"But it takes two to make a quarrel. Why did she quarrel with you?" - -"I tell you, she had been drinking." - -"But, even then, what did she say to you, or what did you say to her, -which could have caused such a disturbance? Because, I can see, from -your own statements, that both of you had lost your tempers." - -I was silent. I knew not what to answer. - -"I suppose that the woman was a stranger to you--that you had never -seen her before?" - -What could I say? I felt that if I did not tell the truth then it would -come out afterwards. Better, while I was about it, make a clean breast -of everything. - -And yet I found it hard. Lucy's ideas are narrow. She has her own views -of things, and strong views some of them are. She thinks, for instance, -that there ought to be the same standard for a man as for a woman: the -same moral standard--that a man ought to come to his wife with clean -hands, in the same sense in which a woman ought to come with clean -hands to her husband. I am afraid that I had been rather in the habit -of finding favour in her eyes by endorsing her opinions. It seemed hard -that the only real peccadillo of which I had been guilty should be -cropping up against me after all this lapse of time. I had repented of -it, and put it behind me, long ago; and yet here it was, as fresh and -vigorous as ever, rising to confront me from its tomb. - -Lucy seemed struck by my continued silence. She repeated her question -in an altered form. "Had you seen her before?" - -"Many years ago." - -"Many years ago? You knew her, then?" - -"I used to know her, to my sorrow, once upon a time, long before I knew -you, my dear." - -The final words were intended as a sort of propitiation--I saw that she -was getting roused at last--but they failed in their effect. She stood -straight up, facing me, her fists clenched at her sides. - -"Who was she? What was her name?" - -"Her name was Ellen Howth. I assure you, my dear, that there is no -necessity for you to get warm. I have heard and seen nothing of her -since I married you. Indeed, these many years I have thought she was -dead." - -"Why did you think she was dead? What did it matter to you if she was -dead or alive? What did you know of her?" - -"Really nothing, I am afraid, to her advantage." - -"What do you mean? Tell me the truth, Tom, if you have never told me it -before. What was she to you?" - -"She was nothing to me. My dear, she was a person of indifferent -character." - -"Do you mean----" She paused. She came close to the bed. She leant over -me. "Was she----" - -I knew what she meant too well. My heart and my voice sank as I -replied. I did not know how she would take it. - -"I'm afraid that she was." - -She stood straight up. She drew a long breath. She looked down at me. -When she spoke her voice trembled--half with passion, half with scorn. - -"I see! Now I understand your story very well, and just what happened -in the train. And you are the man who has always held himself up to me -as different to other men--as a model of what a man should be. And all -the time you have had this story in your life; and how many more -besides?" - -"You are very hard on me, my dear. I assure you, this is the only one." - -"So you tell me now. Not long ago you told me there was not one." - -"I have always meant to tell you all about it." - -"Indeed? Then how skilfully you have concealed your meaning! I suppose -that, like other men, when you wearied of your light-o'-love you cast -her from you. Years afterwards she meets you in the train. She takes -advantage of the opportunity--probably the first opportunity which has -offered--to tell you what she thinks of you. Your coward conscience -plays you such tricks that you try to flee from her, even at the peril -of your life. She will not let you off so easily, so you threw her from -the train." - -"I did not. I never laid a hand on her. So far as I was concerned, it -was pure accident. I swear it." - -"Whether that is true or not can only be known to your God, and you." - -Lucy turned on her heels. Without another word she left the room. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - A VISITOR. - - -These might be a silver lining to the cloud. If there was, I should -have liked to have had a peep at it. Just then it would have done me -good. I could not see much promise of happiness either in the near or -in the distant future. I had been reading a good deal lately about the -"ethics of suicide." If my wife believed me guilty, I should find it -difficult to convince a judge and jury of my innocence. I might as well -commit suicide as hang. I should be the victim of a judicial murder if -they did hang me; but I did not see how my situation would be -materially improved by that. - -Such reflections did not tend to make me sleep. As a matter of fact, I -never closed my eyes. The consequence was that, when the time came for -me to rise and start for the City, I was ill--really ill. My head -burned. It felt every moment as if it would burst. I could not see out -of my eyes. The paroxysms of indigestion from which I suffered bent me -double. My wife came and found me in this condition. - -"You are not looking well," she said. - -I was aware of that without her telling me. I could not see how it -could be otherwise, suffering as I was suffering then. If ever there -was an object of pity, I felt that I was one. But there did not seem to -be much pity either in her voice, words, or manner. I said nothing in -reply to her remark. I only groaned. - -"Will you have your breakfast in bed?" - -"I don't want any breakfast, thank you." - -"Shall I send for Dr. Ferguson? Though I don't know if he is an -authority on dipsomania." - -"Lucy! don't talk to me like that!" - -"Why not? I merely made a statement of fact. And, of course, you are -suffering from the after effects of overindulgence." - -That was a charming fashion in which to endeavour to smooth the pillow -of an invalid. I changed the subject. - -"How is Minna?" - -Minna is my little girl--a little fair-haired darling she is. With all -her father's tender-heartedness; more--with, I hope, some of that -father's power of forgiving injuries. - -"I am going to send her away to-day." - -"Send her away?" - -"Certainly. I have not yet made up my mind whether I shall go with her -myself or send nurse with her alone. Are you well enough to enter into -a discussion?" - -"No," I said; "I'm not." - -Nor was I. At that moment I was neither mentally nor physically her -equal. Since, at any time, Lucy has about nine-parts of speech to my -one, I had no intention of measuring myself against her, -conversationally and argumentatively, when I had none. - -I was ill four days. So ill that I could not leave my bed. At least, I -was clear upon that point, if no one else was. I am almost inclined to -suspect that Lucy had her doubts; or she pretended to have them. I am -disposed to believe that she would not have allowed me to have stayed -in bed at all if she had had her way. She threw out hints about the -necessity of attending to matters in the City; though I explained to -her, as clearly as my illness would permit me, that in the City things -were absolutely stagnant. Then she dropped hints upon more delicate -subjects still; but to these I resolutely turned a deaf ear. I vowed -that I was too ill to listen. - -However, on the afternoon of the fourth day things reached a climax. -Facts became too strong for me. I had to listen. Lucy came into the -room with an envelope in her hand. - -"There is some one who wishes to see you." - -I supposed it was Parker, my senior clerk. He had been backwards and -forwards bothering me two or three times a day. - -"Is it Parker?" - -"No. It is a stranger to me. I believe you will find his name in that -envelope. He would not give it me." - -I opened the envelope which she handed to me. It contained half a sheet -of paper, on which was written, "The gentleman who travelled in the -next compartment to yours." At sight of those words I sat up in -bed--rather hurriedly, I fancy. - -"Good gracious!" I exclaimed; "where is he? I hope you haven't let him -in." - -"Jane let him in. At present he is in the drawing-room waiting to see -you." - -"It's that blackmailing ruffian." - -I gave her the sheet of paper. - -"I guessed he was something of the kind. So this is the man who holds -you in the hollow of his hand? I see." - -She might see, but I didn't. There was about her vision a clearness and -coolness which made me shudder. It was dreadful to hear her talk in -that cold-blooded way about anybody "holding me in the hollow of his -hand." She continued to regard me in a manner which I had noticed about -her once or twice of late, and which, although I said nothing about it, -I resented. - -"Perhaps now I may be allowed to talk to you as if you were a -reasonable man. During the last few days I have hardly known whether -you wished me to regard you as a child." - -"My dear!" - -"You have been lying there, pretending to be ill, doing nothing, and -worse than nothing, while your fate and my fate has been hanging by a -hair. I had not thought that my husband could be so contemptible a -thing." - -"Really, Lucy, I wish you wouldn't speak to me like that." - -"Possibly. I have discovered, too late, how you dislike to hear -unpleasant things." - -"I don't know that I am peculiar in that respect." - -"I don't doubt that there are other backboneless creatures in existence -besides yourself--unfortunately for their children and their wives." - -"Lucy, I won't have you talk to me like that--I won't." - -"Then get up and play the man! Do you know that the hue and cry is out -all over England for you?" - -"For me?" - -"For the man who threw the woman from the train. 'The Three Bridges -Tragedy,' they've christened it. The papers are full of it; it is the -topic of the day. They have found the carriage from which she was -thrown. It seems that it was all in disorder and stained with blood, -and that the window was broken. You said nothing about that to me. They -have found the porter who saw her into your carriage. Who was it saw -you off from Brighton?" - -"Jack and George. Why do you ask?" - -"Because the porter who admitted her to your carriage declares that you -were talking to two gentleman. They are looking for them now." - -"Surely they will never make Jack and George give evidence against me." - -"You may be sure they will. A porter has come forward who says he saw -you in the carriage at Victoria. He has given a description of you, -which is sufficiently like you to show that he will probably recognise -you if he sees you again. It seems that the only thing they are in want -of is your name." - -I sank back in bed, appalled. The prospect, in my weak state, was too -terrible for contemplation. It seemed incredible that a wholly innocent -man could, by any possibility, be placed in such a situation. - -My wife went on, her voice seeming to ring in my ears almost as if it -had been a knell of doom-- - -"Play the man! I have been playing the part for you up to now. Now play -it yourself. I need not tell you what it has meant to me to learn that -my husband has been, as it were, a living lie. You know how I have -believed in you, and what you have been to me because I believed in -you. To have the object of one's faith collapse, like an air-pricked -bladder, into nothingness, and worse than nothingness, is calculated to -give one something of a shock. But I realise that this is not a moment -for reproaches--that it is a time for deeds, not words. I realise, too, -that I still owe my duty to you, as your wife, although, as my husband, -you have failed in that which you owe to me. If you will take my -advice, you will get up, and you will go at once to a first-rate -lawyer; you will tell him the truth--the whole truth, mind--and you -will place yourself entirely in his hands, even if he counsels you to -surrender yourself to the police. I should do so without a moment's -hesitation." - -"It's all very well to talk about surrendering to the police. It's easy -enough in theory. It's I who shall hang, not you." - -"Tom, don't deprive me of all my faith in you; leave me something -of my belief; try to be a little of a man. Don't add blunder to -blunder--blunders which are worse than crimes--simply because you have -not courage enough to be frank. As for the man who is waiting to see -you in the drawing-room downstairs----" - -She was interrupted by a voice speaking from behind. - -"As for that man, is it not Paul Pry who says in the play, 'I hope I -don't intrude?'" - -The speaker was my friend, the blackmailer. He had forced himself into -my bedroom unannounced. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - MORE THAN HIS MATCH. - - -Yes, unannounced. I am sure that if I had had the least suspicion of -his approaching presence I should have kept him out by the simple -expedient of turning the key in the door. As it was, there he stood, as -bold as brass, holding in one hand the handle of the door which he had -closed behind him, and in the other his hat, the brim of which he was -pressing to his breast. - -A striking change had been effected in his appearance since I had seen -him last. He had expended a portion of my hundred pounds to advantage -in a tailor's shop. He was newly clad from top to toe. The overcoat -which he had on was new, and so also was the astrachan which made it -glorious. Thrown wide open, it revealed the fact that the gloss of -newness was still upon the garments which it covered. A gold -watch-chain ran from pocket to pocket of his waistcoat. Beautiful kid -gloves encased his hands. Spats adorned his brand-new polished boots. -His silk hat shone like a mirror. Even the dye upon his hair and -whiskers had been renewed; it gleamed a beautiful blue-black. In his -new splendour his resemblance to Mr. Townsend was more pronounced than -ever. Even in the state of agitation which, ill as I was, his sudden -appearance caused me, I could not but be struck by that. - -He showed not the slightest sign of discomposure at the manner in which -I greeted him. He stood grinning like a mountebank, not only as if he -was sure of a hearty welcome, but as if the whole house belonged to -him. - -"Sorry, Mr. Tennant, to hear you are unwell--really grieved. I can only -hope that it is nothing serious." - -His impudence was a little more than even I could stand. I let him see -it. - -"What the dickens do you mean, sir, by entering my bedroom?" - -In reply, he only smiled the more. - -"My dear sir, I am here out of pure consideration for you. When I heard -of your ill-health, I could not bear the thought of subjecting you to -the inconvenience of coming down to me. So, instead, I came to you." - -"Then, having come, perhaps you would be so good as, at once, to go -again." - -He turned towards me with a movement of his eyebrows, as if to express -surprise. - -"Gently, sir! Surely you presume upon the presence of a lady. Is that -the way in which you should speak to me? I have no desire to keep you. -My business with you ought not to detain me more than half a minute." - -He seated himself on a chair, which he drew up towards the fire. -Placing his hat upon his knee, he began to smooth the nap with his -gloved hand. Unbearable though I felt his insolence to be, I saw that, -unless I employed actual violence, I should not be able to induce him -to budge. I looked at my wife. I should not have minded so much if she -had not been there. I had borne with the fellow's insolence before; I -might have borne with it again. But I was conscious that Lucy's eye was -upon me, and that, unreasonably enough, she was expecting me to show -the sort of stuff of which I was made. I say that this attitude of hers -was an unreasonable attitude, because, what could she expect of a man -who was recovering from a severe attack of illness, and whose nervous -system was a shattered wreck. I temporised. - -"What do you want with me?" - -I fixed my gaze upon him. Avoiding it, he flicked his gloved fingers in -the direction of my wife. - -"At your service! Pray do not let me inconvenience the lady." - -"You do inconvenience the lady greatly." - -Both my tone and my manner were severe--as severe, that is, as they -could be--considering that I was in my night-shirt sitting up in bed. - -"I trust not. I would not wish her to leave the room one moment sooner -on our account." - -Then I saw what he was at. He wanted to get me alone and without the -aid of my wife's moral support to back me. I looked at Lucy. She was -standing very straight, looking alternately at both of us, as if she -were making up her mind which she ought to admire most--or least. I -caught a gleam from the corner of her eye. It was the one I sought. - -"I have no secrets from my wife. What you wish to say to me you may say -in her presence, and be so good as to say it quickly, sir." - -Leaning back in his chair, thrusting his thumbs into the armholes of -his waistcoat, the fellow looked at Lucy with a smile upon his impudent -face for which I could have struck him--and no doubt I should have -struck him, had my health permitted it. - -"No secrets from your wife? What a model husband you must be! Permit -me, madam, to tender you my most sincere congratulations--you have -secured a prize." - -My wife said nothing. But I saw her lips curl. - -"Do not address yourself to my wife, sir; address yourself to me." - -Still lolling back in the chair, the fellow turned, with the same -impudent smile, to me. - -"To you? Certainly I will address myself to you. I am here to address -myself to you, though my address will not occupy more than half a dozen -words. I want from you a hundred pounds. That is the only remark which -I wish to address to you." - -"What!" - -I was reduced to gasping. - -"Surely what I say is plain enough. And don't I say it plainly? I want -from you a hundred pounds." - -"This is Friday, and you only had a hundred pounds from me on Monday." - -"Yes, and this, as you say, is Friday. A hundred pounds are but a -hundred pounds. In the hands of a gentleman they fly. Especially when -he has to provide for what may be called preliminary expenses of a -certain kind, which, in themselves, make a hole in a century." - -I knew to what he referred. He meant that he had replenished his -wardrobe. As though that had anything to do with me. - -"Do you imagine that I am a bank at which you have a large current -account on which you can draw at sight." - -He laughed--or pretended to. - -"That is precisely what I not only imagine, but fervently believe." - -"Then your belief is a very foolish one. I assure you that you were -never more in error in your life." - -He glanced at a gold watch which he took out of his waistcoat pocket. - -"Why should we waste time over these small quibbles? Are we children, -you and I? I have an engagement shortly. If you have not the sum in the -house in gold I will take what you have in cash, and the balance in an -open cheque to bearer." - -"You will have neither cash nor cheque from me. I will not give you one -single penny." - -"Do you mean it?" - -He replaced his watch in his pocket. He rose from his chair. There was, -in his bearing a return to the manner of "the Villain at the Vic." The -fellow was theatrical all through. All his moods were equally unreal. -At the same time there was something about the change which I did not -altogether relish. - -"Of course I mean it. You don't suppose that I am going to be robbed -and plundered with impunity by you." - -"You prefer to hang?" - -"You know that I am as innocent of crime as you are, and probably much -more so." - -"Don't lie to me, you hound!" He turned with a sweeping gesture towards -my wife. "You must excuse me, madam, but you will do me the justice to -remember that I suggested your departure from the room. I cannot allow -your presence to debar me from plain speaking." Directing his attention -again towards me, he began to button up his brand-new overcoat, with a -deliberation which was, doubtless, intended to impress me. "As you have -been lying in your bed, like a cur hiding in its kennel--because pray -don't suppose that you can make me believe that you have been sick with -anything else but terror--I don't know, my man, if you are aware that -all England is on tiptoe, watching for your capture. If I were to point -you out, at this moment, in any street in England, the people would -tear you limb from limb. The whole country is thirsting, righteously -thirsting, for your blood." - -"It is false!" - -"Is it? Refuse to give me what I ask, and I will prove to you if it is -false." - -"I won't be robbed by you." - -"Then you'll be hung by me instead." He raised his hat, as if he was -about to put it on his head. "Once more, and for the last time, which -is it to be--the gallows or the hundred pounds?" - -"You'll get no hundred pounds from me. I swear it." - -"Then it will be the gallows. In ten minutes the news will be flashing -through the land that justice has its hands about the murderer's neck." - -He clapped his hat upon his head. He moved towards the door. I went all -hot and cold--anybody would have gone all hot and cold with such a -prospect as the scoundrel pictured in front of him. Whether, with a -view of appealing to his better self--if he had one, which I doubt--I -should have prevented his leaving the room, is more than I can say. I -might have done. After all, self-preservation is nature's first and -greatest law. I had, and always should have, an incurable objection to -being hanged by such a rascal. As it was, it was my wife that -interposed. - -"One moment, sir, before you go." - -He removed his hat--with a flourish which, as usual, was reminiscent of -the transpontine drama. - -"Madam, ten thousand, if you wish it." - -"Are you the person who travelled in the next compartment to my -husband's from Brighton?" - -"Madam, I am." - -"You look it." - -The fellow might be excused for looking a little startled--which he -certainly did do. I have found that particular tone of Lucy's, now and -then, a little startling myself. The man did not seem as if he quite -knew what to make of it. - -"I look it, madam--how do you mean?" - -"You look the sort of character." - -"To what sort of character, madam, do you refer?" - -"You look like the sort of person who would wear another man's -clothes." - -He drew himself bolt upright, as if his backbone had suddenly been -straightened by a spring. - -"Madam! I would have you to know that I wear no one's clothes but my -own." - -"You are wearing my husband's clothes at this present moment." - -"Your husband's clothes?" - -"Were they not purchased with his money?" - -"Madam! you have a very extraordinary way of putting things. Is it -possible that you intend to be offensive?" - -"Is it possible to be offensive to such as you?" - -"I, madam, am a gentleman, born and bred." - -"That you are a gentleman of a certain kind I have no doubt whatever." - -The man began to look badgered, as if he were growing conscious of a -feeling of tightness about the region of the chest. He commenced to -smooth the nap of his hat, violently, with his gloved hand. - -"I take it, Mrs. Tennant, that you don't quite realise the position in -which your husband stands." - -"And I take it that you don't at all realise the position in which you -stand." - -The fellow ceased brushing his hat, the better to enable him to stare. - -"I stand?" - -"Yes, you." - -"And pray, madam, how do I stand?" - -"Have you ever heard of such a thing as an accessory after the fact?" - -"An accessory after the fact?" - -"Because that is the position in which you stand--in the position of an -accessory after the fact." - -The man looked unmistakably uneasy. He continued to suspend the -operation of smoothing his hat. - -"You are pleased to be facetious." - -"You will find that that view will not be taken by a judge and jury." - -It was with a distinct effort that the fellow returned to an attitude -of defiance--squaring his shoulders and tugging at his moustache. - -"I have no wish, and no intention, to chop phrases with a lady. I -imagined, madam, that you desired to say something pertinent to your -husband's terrible position--with the gallows already shadowing him. -Since it appears to be otherwise I can but proceed to do my duty." - -"By all means do your duty. But you understand that when my husband is -arrested you will be arrested too." - -"Pooh, madam--you cannot frighten me!" - -"But I can, and will, get you penal servitude for life." - -"Can you, indeed, madam? May I ask how you propose to do it?" - -"By telling the plain and simple story of your connection with my -husband. That will be sufficient, as you know." - -"I know nothing of the sort; tell your story, and be hanged!" - -Thrusting his hat upon his head, the fellow marched out of the room in -a couple of strides. His exit, whether consciously to himself or not, -was marked rather by haste than by dignity. When he had gone I looked -at my wife. Lucy, on her part, looked at the door through which he had -vanished. - -"Now you've done it," I observed. - -Lucy turned to me with a smile hovering about her lips, which, under -the circumstances, I thought was a little out of place. - -"I have done it, as you say." - -"You don't seem to be aware of what you've done. What's the good of -talking to him like that? Do you suppose that you can frighten -him--that you can take him in? He knows very well that whatever happens -to me he'll go scatheless. He's the one witness whom the prosecution -will not be able to do without." - -"I think you are mistaken. With a man of that type the high horse is -the only horse you ought to ride. He desires nothing less than to get -into the witness-box, or I misjudge the man. I suspect that his own -record is not of a kind which he would care to have exposed to the -cross-examining light of day." - -Hardly were the words out of her mouth than there came a tap at the -panel of the door. Lucy shot a glance towards me. - -"Who's there?" she asked. - -Whom should it be but our friend the scoundrel. He came in with quite a -dove-like air of mildness, mincing, like a dancing-master, on his toes. - -"Excuse me, but even on the front door steps my heart got the upper -hand of me. I could not do what seemed even to approximate to cruelty. -I could not hang anybody--I judge not, so that I may not be judged. My -one aspiration is, and always has been, to be a friend in need. I -cannot help it, but so I am." - -Producing a parti-coloured silk handkerchief--brand new--he manipulated -it in such a manner as to diffuse an odour of perfume through the room. -My wife looked him up and down. Her tone was dry. - -"Your sentiments do you credit." - -"They do, I know it; but, such as they are, they are mine own." He -coughed. "So far as I am personally concerned, financial considerations -are as nothing. It is circumstances which weigh me down. Instead of one -hundred pounds, suppose we say seventy-five--in a cheque and cash." - -Lucy took upon herself to answer him-- - -"I am afraid we cannot say seventy-five." - -"Merely as a temporary advance, till Monday. I expect remittances on -Monday, very large remittances, from my agents." - -Lucy's tone was even drier than before. "I am glad to hear it." - -"Yes, quite so." The fellow glanced towards me. He came sneaking -towards my bed. He spoke to me under cover of his hat. "I think, Mr. -Tennant, if you were to ask your good lady to withdraw, and were to -allow me to have one word with you, between ourselves, in private--just -one--I know we should understand each other; I am sure we should." - -I looked at Lucy. She also looked at me. I am bound to admit that what -I saw in her eyes supplied me, to a certain extent, with the moral -stamina in which, owing to the severe illness from which I had recently -been suffering, I was temporarily deficient. I spoke to the fellow -plainly-- - -"No, sir. As I have already told you, I have no secrets from my wife, -and whatever you wish to say to me must be said while she is present." - -"You are--you are"--I suspect that he was going to say something the -reverse of complimentary, only Lucy's presence and attitude induced him -to change his mind--"a husband in a million. Now, Mr. Tennant, allow -me, as one gentleman speaking to another, to ask you if, considering -all things, you are not disposed to advance me, on unimpeachable -surety--that of my word--the sum of seventy-five pounds." - -"I am not, sir." - -"You are not? Strange! I confess I had not thought it possible. -However, I will not utter what may seem a word of reproach. We will -make it fifty pounds, then." - -"We will not. At least, I won't." - -"Then, since fifty pounds is insufficient to supply even my most -pressing needs, it is useless for me to attempt to carry the discussion -further. You are compelling me, Mr. Tennant, to take a step which, when -it is taken, we shall both of us regret. But, remember, whatever comes -of it--and ill will come--the act is yours, not mine. I wish you -good-day, sir; a last good-day! Also, madam, I wish good-day to you." -He marched to the door in a fashion which, this time, made up in -dignity what it lost in haste. With the handle of the open door in his -hand, he turned to me again, "I will concede still one more point. We -will make it forty-five." - -"We won't." - -"Then nothing remains." He vanished, to immediately reappear; his head -and shoulders were inserted through the partly open door. "Shall we -make it forty?" - -"Nor forty." - -Instead of taking the rebuff as final, he brought his legs and body -into the room after his head and shoulders. He addressed himself to -Lucy. - -"I am conscious, madam, that in this matter yours is the controlling -voice. May I ask if you quite realise the responsibilities of your -position? Your husband's life hangs in the balance. My necessities urge -me on. Were it otherwise, I shall be only too happy to give that -assistance of which, at present, I stand in need. Even as it is, you -shall find in me no huckster. In proof of it, I need only state that I -am willing to accept the loan of a paltry five-and-twenty pounds." - -"You won't get it." - -"Then what shall I get? I find it hard to believe that a man can be -reduced to the position of a mendicant! I ask again--what shall I get?" - -"Nothing." - -"That is not only foolish, madam, it is cruel. Shall we speak of such a -bagatelle as fifteen pounds?" - -"No." - -The fellow made a grimace as if he ground his teeth. - -"Ten?" - -"No." - -He threw out his arms as if appealing to the gods of the gallery. - -"Confound it; is a gentleman to be reduced to ask for the loan of a -trumpery five-pound note!" - -"Though he asks, he will not get it." - -He looked at Lucy, as if he could not believe she was in earnest. Then -he sighed, or groaned. His hat, which he had been holding in his hand, -he replaced upon his head. Throwing his overcoat wide open, he began to -examine his pockets, methodically, one by one, as if he searched for -something. He did not find it, whatever it was. - -"Bare, absolutely bare! This is awful. 'To err is human, to forgive -divine!'" He raised his hat about an inch from his head, possibly under -the impression that it was a text which he was quoting. "I came into -this house with my heart beating high with hope, filled with the milk -of human kindness, and it ends in this. It seems absurd to pawn a watch -within four-and-twenty hours of buying it, though I certainly never -should have bought it had I foreseen that I should receive such -treatment. Might I ask you to oblige me with the loan of a sovereign to -keep me going till I receive my remittances on Monday?" - -"Better not. Your request would only meet with a refusal." - -"Would it? That does finish it, that does. I'm off." I thought that -this time he was off finally, but scarcely was he off than he was back -again. He came hurrying towards me across the room. "I say, Tennant, -I'm actually without a cab fare. Lend me five shillings, there's a -trump." - -"I will not lend you fivepence." - -"You won't, won't you? Now we do know where we are." He glared about in -his best tragedy style. "Perhaps you will give me back that -handkerchief you borrowed." - -Lucy interposed. "I shall not." - -"You won't? Do you mean to steal it? Is it your intention to add theft -to the rest of the family crimes?" - -"I mean to keep it as evidence." - -"As evidence? What do you mean?" - -"As evidence of your being an accessory after the fact. If you take my -advice, with the proceeds of the pawning of the watch which you -purchased with my husband's money, you will remove yourself as far from -the reach of the police as you conveniently can." - -He put his hand up to his chin, as if pondering her words. - -"If you will lend me----" - -Lucy cut him short. She threw the door wide open. - -"I will lend you nothing. Now go--unless you wish me to send for the -police." - -He looked at her, not seeming to like what he saw. He scowled his -finest scowl. - -"Go? Oh yes, I'll go." He cast his eyes up towards the ceiling. -"Ingratitude, thy name is woman!" Then down to me--"Not to mention -man." He began to button up his overcoat as if in a hurry. "I'll be -even with some one over this, you see if I don't." - -Then he went finally. We heard him stamping down the stairs; then we -heard him shut the hall door behind him with a clatter and a bang as he -went out into the street. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - FOR THE SECOND TIME. - - -Lucy turned to me as soon as it was quite clear that the fellow had -gone. - -"Now get up and dress, and go at once to some great lawyer and tell him -everything. To whom shall you go?" - -"My dear! At this time of day? By the time that I reach town they'll -have all gone home." - -Lucy looked at me in that freezing fashion which has always struck me -as being so singularly unsympathetic. - -"What do you propose to do?" - -"Well, my dear, I think I'll get up and dress, if you don't mind, and -have a little dinner." - -"Dinner?" - -"Yes, dinner. It's easy enough for you to sneer, but if you'd been -living on toast and water, which, to some extent, during the last four -days, I practically have been doing, the prospect of a little decent -food would even appeal to you." - -She shrugged her shoulders. - -"And you're a man? As, I suppose, is the individual who has just taken -himself out of the house." - -"I should be obliged, Lucy, if you would not institute comparison -between that vagabond and me. I don't like it. In the morning I will -follow your advice. I will go to a lawyer, and I will place myself -unreservedly in his hands. Just now the thing is out of the question; I -shouldn't find one, to begin with; and, in the second place, I'm -hungry." - -We had dinner. Or at least I had dinner, and she looked on at me while -I was eating it. Her companionship did not tend to increase one's -appetite. She sat in front of me, bolt upright on her chair, her hands -clasped in her lap, eating nothing, and saying nothing either. She -seemed to be counting every mouthful which I took, as though I was -doing something of which I ought to be ashamed. I don't know what there -was to be ashamed of. I don't see why a man shouldn't eat, even if he -is going to be hanged, especially if he is innocent as a babe unborn, -and is about to be made the victim of a judicial murder, as I bade fair -to be. - -A knock which came at the front door just as I was finishing came as a -positive relief. I should have had words with Lucy if she had continued -to sit, like an unblinking statue, in front of me much longer. The -servant announced that the knocker was Mr. Keeley. Adolphus Keeley and -I on Fridays play chess together, all through the winter--one week at -his house, the next at mine. Owing to my illness, and the preoccupation -of my mind and body, I had forgotten that this was Friday, and that it -was his turn to come to me. - -When Keeley was announced Lucy looked inquiringly at me. - -"Shall I tell Jane to ask Mr. Keeley to excuse you?" - -"Certainly not." I had not been by any means looking forward to the -pleasurable prospects of a _tête-à-tête_. Keeley came as a relief. -"Tell Mr. Keeley I will be with him in a minute." - -Adolphus Keeley, to be frank, and to use an idiom, is not so wise as -they make them. He is well intentioned, but dull. I have known him -pretty well my whole life long, and I can stand as much of him as any -one. But that night I found him particularly trying. He persisted in -keeping the conversation in a groove for which I had a strong distaste. -One of his weak points is an inability to see a hint in time to take -it. I not only dropped hints, I threw them at him as hard as I could; -but I threw them all away. I had a dreadful time. In preferring his -society to Lucy's I had stepped from the frying-pan into the fire. - -He began as soon as I was in the room. - -"Well, Tennant, what do you think about the murder?" - -"Murder? What murder? - -"The Three Bridges tragedy; isn't it a dreadful thing?" - -At the mere mention of the subject a shiver went all over me. I tried -to make him see that it was a topic for which I had no relish. I might -as well have tried to put two heads upon his shoulders. - -"I have heard scarcely anything about it. I've been ill--very ill." - -"I heard that you'd been seedy. Got a bit fluffy on Monday, eh?" - -It is true that Mrs. Tennant was not in the room at the moment, but she -might have been just outside the door; and, in any case, the -insinuation was of an unwarrantable kind. - -"Got chucked from the Empire, eh? Went home Hackney way, without a hat. -I know. Shouldn't be surprised if you have been a little queerish; you -look puffy even now. I tell you what, Tennant, you ought to go in for -training. I could get a couple of stone off you, and you'd be all the -better for it. But about this murder. I'm not a bloodthirsty creature, -as a rule, but I should like to have the fellow who did it all alone to -myself for about five-and-twenty minutes." - -Keeley is one of the large army of muscular maniacs. He stands six feet -three in his socks. He spends most of his spare time in a gymnasium, -and the rest in what he calls "keeping himself fit." He could kill me -with a single blow of his fist. Just then Lucy came in. - -"Sorry to hear that Tom's been seedy, Mrs. Tennant." - -"He's been in bed." - -"So I hear. And what do you think of the murder?" - -Lucy had brought some work in with her. Seating herself by the fire, -she began busying herself with it. - -"Do you think it was a murder?" - -"I should think it was a murder. What else could it have been?" - -"The woman might have fallen out of the train by accident." - -"Accident? A lot of that!" I have told Lucy over and over again that, -in the presence of ladies, Adolphus Keeley is sometimes brusque to the -verge of rudeness. "Do you think that if there had been any accident -about it, the fellow who was with her wouldn't have given the alarm? He -knew better." - -I had been setting out the chessmen on the board, and turned to Keeley -with a pawn in either hand. - -"Which hand will you have?" - -"Left." - -The white pawn was in the left hand. We sat down to play. Still he -continued to prose. "Fred Courtney wanted to bet that they wouldn't -have the fellow in a month. I should be almost inclined to take short -odds that they'll have him within four-and-twenty hours." - -He had moved to king's pawn. I was about to give the usual reply, but -when he said that my hand faltered on the piece. - -"Within four-and-twenty hours? What makes you think that?" - -Keeley winked. - -"I've heard something, that's all. It's your move." - -I moved. - -He brought his knight out. I fancy that I brought mine. But I am not -sure. I found that, after all, I was not sufficiently recovered to do -myself justice over a chessboard. I am more than his match as a rule. I -have played him three weeks in succession--one night a week--without -his ever winning a game. But on that occasion I was not a foeman worthy -of his steel. He beat me with even ridiculous ease. And directly he had -won he began again. - -"You're fond of murders, aren't you?" - -"Fond of murders, Keeley! What do you mean?" - -"I've heard you say more than once that you like a first-class murder." - -"I don't remember ever having said anything of the sort. It seems -incredible that I could have done. It would have been in direct -opposition to all my principles." - -"Come!--I say!" He looked at me as if to see if I was joking. I -emphatically was not. "I've heard you say that you'd like to be in the -position of a murderer yourself, just for the sake of a new sensation." - -"Keeley!" - -"I have! And when the Putney mystery was on you took as much interest -in it as if it had been a personal matter. Why, you have even talked -about starting as an amateur detective to see if you couldn't ferret -out the business yourself. You used to declare that the fellow who did -it deserved flaying alive; and, when I suggested that there might be -extenuating circumstances, you used to get quite mad with me." - -"My dear Keeley, the Putney mystery belongs to ancient history. Won't -you have another game?" - -"But it seems to me that this Three Bridges business is quite as pretty -a puzzle. What did he kill her for? They talk about getting up a -sweepstake in the office. The possible reasons to be put down on pieces -of paper, and whoever draws what proves to be the right one when the -fellow comes to be tried and hung, to take the sweep. Now, what should -you say he killed her for?" - -"Would you mind changing the subject, Keeley. You forget that I have -been ill, and still am very far from well, and that the topic is hardly -one which is likely to appeal to an invalid's brain. I think I'll have -a little whisky, Lucy." - -I had a little whisky. In fact I had a fairish quantity; I had to, -since I had to bear the burden of Keeley's conversation. That -particular topic seemed to be the only one he had inside his head. He -harked back to it nearly every time he opened his mouth. Had I not -known the man I should have concluded that he was doing it out of sheer -malignancy. But I did know him. I knew he was thick-headed. Lucy was -not of the slightest use. She went on sewing in silence, as if all -subjects were indifferent to her. - -I was glad when Keeley rose to go. I went with him to the front door to -see him off the premises. After he had gone I remained standing on the -steps to get a mouthful of fresh air. It was a dark night; there was no -wind, and there was a suspicion of fog in the air. I was standing on -the bottom step but one. The nearest lamp-post was some distance down -the road. What with the darkness and the mist I could not see any of -the lamps on the hall doors on the other side of the street. It was -very quiet. There was not a sound of footsteps nor of any sort of -traffic. - -Suddenly, while I was thinking of nothing in particular, except that -Keeley had been making rather a greater ass of himself than he -generally did, I saw something begin to shape itself in the air in -front of me. It did not come all at once, but by degrees. First a dim -outline, then feature after feature, until the whole was there. It -began to take the shape of a face. It was a face--a woman's face--her -face--Ellen Howth's. For the second time it had come to me, unwatched -for, undreamed of, unawares, a visitant from the dead--come to me with -its awful, staring eyes. There could be no question this time about my -having drunk too much. I was as sober as I ever was in my life. I can -give no adequate conception of the havoc with which I realised that -this was so, and that the face was there. It came slowly towards me. -The idea of a closer contact was more than I could endure. As it -advanced, I retreated, backwards, up the steps. Still the face came on. -I got into the house, and banged the door, as it seemed to me, just in -time to shut it out. I staggered against the wall. Lucy came to me, as -I stood there trembling. - -"I was coming to tell you to come in. You will catch a cold." Then, -perceiving my state of agitation, "Tom! What is the matter?" - -"Lucy, I have seen a ghost." - -"A ghost?" - -"As I live and breathe, I have seen a ghost. Oh, my God!" - -"Tom!" - -"This is the second time I have seen it. I have a premonition that the -third time will mean death." - -There came a knocking at the door. Lucy looked at me. - -"It is Mr. Keeley back again. The servants have gone to bed. I will -open and see." - -It was not Keeley. It was a short, broadly-built man, with a bushy -beard. Other men were with him, though I could only just see them -standing in the shadow at the foot of the steps. The bearded man -addressed himself to me-- - -"Are you Thomas Tennant?" - -"That is my name." - -"I am a detective. You are my prisoner. I arrest you for wilful -murder." - -Then I saw that the men who had been standing at the foot of the steps, -and who now, uninvited, were entering the house, were constables. - - - - - - BOOK II.--THE CLUB. - - (_The Tale is told by Reginald Townsend, Esq_.) - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - THE HONOUR OF THE CLUB. - - -I had not a notion that it would be Louise, that evening at the -club--not the very faintest! How could I have? I did not know that the -lot would fall to me. I was the first to draw. When I saw that the card -which I had drawn was black, and that on it were inscribed, in gleaming -crimson letters, the words, "The Honour of the Club," it gave me quite -a start. Of course I knew that the odds were equal. But, somehow or -other, I had never expected to draw the thing. I held it up in front of -me. - -"Gentlemen, the Honour of the Club is mine." - -Pendarvon, in the chair, stood up. The others all rose with him. - -"Gentlemen of the Murder Club, charge your glasses to the brim." They -filled them with neat brandy. Pendarvon turned to me, holding his -tumbler above his head. - -"Mr. Townsend, we offer you our most sincere congratulations." - -The others all chimed in-- - -"We do!" - -They emptied their glasses, with inclinations of their heads towards -me. I don't fancy that, ordinarily, they would all of them have been -quite equal to drinking half a pint of brandy at one swallow, neat. -Some of them did not like it even then. As young Rasper-Stenning, who -was in front of me, put down his glass, he pulled a face, and caught at -the table. I thought he was going to be ill. - -Pendarvon went on-- - -"The Honour of the Club, Mr. Townsend, rests with you. We do not doubt -that, this day month, you will return it to us, as untarnished as when -it came into your keeping." They sat down. I rose. - -"Gentlemen, I thank you. I give you my word that, with me, the Honour -of the Club is safe. I will wear it next my heart. At our next meeting -I will return it to you with its crimson of a still more vivid hue. I -will show you that it is possible to paint even scarlet red." - -I put the Honour of the Club into my pocket-book. I went away with -Archie Beaupré. He wanted to know if I had any one in my mind's eye. - -"Not any one--unless it's you." - -He was lighting a cigarette. He laughed. - -"It's against the rules to kill each other. Have a light?" - -I had one. - -"I'll kill some one, never you fear. What is likely to afflict me is -not a poverty of choice, but an embarrassment of riches. The difficulty -will be to know, not whom to kill, but whom to leave alive. Think of -one's creditors. How they cry out for slaughter." - -But Louise O'Donnel never occurred to me. I was too fond of her. The -little witch had twined herself about my heart. When I thought of her, -I thought of nothing else but kisses. I don't know how many women I -have loved in my time--I hope that, as becomes a gentleman, I have -loved them all! I never loved one better than, at that period of my -career, I loved Louise. - -True enough, later on my love grew fainter. The fault was hers. My -experience, a tolerably wide one, teaches me that, when a man's love -does grow less, almost invariably the woman is at fault. The days went -by. The Honour of the Club remained in my pocket. I could not make up -my mind whom to choose. When it came to the scratch, I found the task -harder than I supposed. I thought of my scamp of a brother. Goodness -knows he would be all the better for killing. I might have pitched upon -him had not another choice been positively thrust upon me. None of -one's other relatives seemed worthy serious attention. The Depehurst -people are a nuisance. But one scarcely felt justified in killing one -of them, just by way of a joke, except it was Harold, who, what with -his temperance fad, and his anti-gambling fad, and his social purity -fad, and all the rest of his fads, is one of the most obnoxious prigs I -know. On the other hand, if one commenced killing men simply because -they were prigs, slaughter would know no ending. - -Then Louise began to worry me. The usual story--her character at stake. -As though it mattered! But, try as I would, I could not induce her to -take my point of view. Never was a girl more unreasonable. I had always -foreseen that she was the sort with whom one might have trouble. But -then I had always supposed that she loved me. I made at least a dozen -suggestions--delicately, and almost inferentially, as it were, because -she was in a state of mind in which a slip on my part might have made -her dangerous. Nothing would do for her except that I should marry her, -which, of course, was absurd. - -Then it happened. Up to the very last moment I was undecided. The fault -was hers all through. - -She was staying in lodgings at Brighton--really at my expense. I had -enough expenses of that kind upon my hands just then! Her tenancy was -up on the Monday. I told her to leave instead on the Sunday. She was to -meet me at East Grinstead. She might have been under the impression -that, having met me, she was to stay with me--if so, again the fault -was hers. Leaving town early, I met her at East Grinstead Station. We -lunched at a tavern near the station. After lunch we walked over to -Turner's Hill. At the inn we had a hybrid sort of meal. Afterwards we -started, as she supposed, to walk back to East Grinstead Station. - -In so supposing, she was wrong. - -She had been affectionate all day--too affectionate--with a sort of -affection which suggested what a good wife she would be to her husband. -When we left the inn, instead of going in the direction she supposed, I -turned towards Paddockhurst, intending to walk through Tilgate Forest -to Three Bridges Station, distant some four or five miles. She was a -stranger in that country. I knew every inch of it--a lonely one it is -at night. I made up my mind to put the issue plainly to her on the -road. And that then, if she did not promise to be reasonable, I would -do something for the Honour of the Club. The month allowed by the rules -was up on the Thursday following. At the meeting I should be called to -account. - -Louise continued to be as unreasonable as ever--if anything, she was -more so. She talked about my promises--as if they were anything! She -cried, making quite a scene--or rather, a succession of scenes. She -kept stopping, as we were going down Whitely Hill, accusing me of all -sorts of things. I fancy she was rather taken aback when I turned into -Tilgate Forest. It was pitch dark, and the walking was not too smooth. -The game seemed wide awake. We could hear the rustling of unseen feet, -the hurtling of unseen wings. Once we flushed a pheasant right from -beneath our feet. A startled cock-pheasant is not the quietest of -birds, but I don't think I ever heard one make such a noise as that -bird did then. It startled even me. Louise was frightened out of her -wits. I felt her trembling as she clung to my arm. - -All the way along I kept saying to myself, "Now! now!" And I should -have done it in the forest, only just as I was bringing myself to the -sticking point, my eyes were saluted by a crimson glare. I thought for -a moment we had gone further than I supposed, and had reached Wrench's -farm. Then I thought of the charcoal-burners. You will find them -somewhere in Tilgate Forest all the year round. Sure enough it was -them. Their furnace was glowing blood-red--they had built it close to -the path. They had raised a barricade of faggots to screen it from the -wind. Louise wanted to stop and look at it, I believe, because she -wanted the encouragement of its companionship. But I would not agree; I -hurried her on. I had no desire to be seen just then, even by a -charcoal-burner. As I was congratulating myself that we should get past -unnoticed, a short, stunted figure, starting out from behind the -barricade, glared at us through the gloom. - -Little was said by either of us, as, leaving the forest, we went across -the fields. Reaching the railway, we passed under the arch. I helped -Louise over the stile. We paused by the gate. About half a mile off -were the village and the station. I resolved I would give her another -chance; then if she was obstinate, I would do it. - -She was obstinate, even, as it seemed to me, in a positively ascending -scale. - -"You promised to marry me. I have your letter. I trusted you. If you -are going to leave me to face my shame alone, there is nothing for me -but death." - -That saying of hers finished it; there was nothing for her but death. -Only it came a little sooner than she quite bargained for. Just at that -moment a train went thundering over the bridge towards town. As it went -a cloud must have parted, because, suddenly, the moon came out. It -shone upon us two. Louise looked up at me through the moonbeams. -Although she had been crying--and I never knew a woman's face which was -improved by tears--her prettiness, revealed, all at once, by the -moonlight, particularly struck me. She looked prettier even than when I -first saw her at the Coliseum. Her beauty went to my heart. She put her -hand upon my arm--a tiny hand it was. - -"Reggie, has your love for me all gone? Don't you love me still?" - -"Oh, yes," I said; "I love you still." - -Then, putting my hands round her neck, I began to choke her. Hers was a -slender neck, so that I was able to put my hands right round and get a -good, firm grip. I don't think that at first she realised what I was up -to. She was thinking more of love than of death. At any rate she did -not attempt to scream. She looked to me as if she was startled. She -looked more startled as I increased the pressure. Appetite came with -eating. I had not altogether relished the business until I tackled it. -But, as I got a tighter and tighter hold, and felt her convulsive -writhings and her life slipping through my fingers, I began to feel the -joy of killing, for the killing's sake. I began to be filled with a -sort of ecstasy of passion--the sort of sensation which I had been in -search of when I joined the club. After all, it was worth feeling. -Lifting her up, I bent her backwards over the gate. She took longer to -die than I should have supposed. When she had ceased to move, and went -all limp in my grasp, I dropped her. My fingers were rigid with cramp. -For some seconds I could not move them. When I could, the pain was -excruciating. I found, too, that I was not only breathless, I was damp -with perspiration. - -She lay in an ugly heap on the ground. I arranged her draperies and -straightened her. In her pocket was a purse--one which I had given her, -so I was only regaining my own--some letters in an envelope, which, I -guessed, were also mine, and a handkerchief. I knew that she was in the -habit of wearing a portrait of mine, which I had been ass enough to -give her, in a locket round her neck. Opening her dress at the -bosom--which I had a job in doing--I found the locket tied to a piece -of ribbon. Tearing it off, I put it, with the other things, into the -inside pocket of my overcoat. Not wishing to leave the body lying there -for the first passer-by to find in the morning, picking it up I carried -it a few feet along the hedge which bordered the railway embankment. On -the other side of this hedge shrubs were growing on the sloping banks. -Raising the body above my head, I threw it, as far as I could, among -these shrubs. I distinctly heard it fall. Then, immediately after, I -heard a sort of rustling--exactly the sort of rustling which the body -might have made had it been alive and was rising to its feet. I knew -well enough that it was not alive; I had taken care of that. But the -sound was, in one sense, so apposite, and, in another sense, so very -much the other way, that it filled me with an unreasoning panic terror. -I started off running across the open meadow as if I had been running -for my life. - -I had meant to keep along the Brighton line to Three Bridges Station. -It was only when I struck the stile which leads to the footpath across -the Horsham line that I realised what an idiot I was. Then I pulled up, -and only then. I was in a muck of sweat. Sitting on the stile, I began -to mop myself with my pocket-handkerchief. I was exhausted--all of a -quiver. Something of my absurd attack of terror was with me still. I -actually thought that I had seen a face rise up from among the bushes -and stare at me--white in the moonlight. As I recalled my folly--even -though I was conscious it was folly--I shut my eyes and shivered. - -As soon as I felt myself presentable and in a condition to move, I went -along the Horsham line into the station. I gained the platform -unobserved. I made at once for a refreshment-room. I was aware that it -was not the part of wisdom to expose myself too much, but I felt that I -must have a drink, even though directly after I was hanged. There being -two refreshment-rooms on the up platform, I had two drinks at each of -them. - -The return half of my East Grinstead ticket was available to town from -there; so I had no concern on that account. As I came out of the second -refreshment-room, feeling that the stuff which they had sold me for -brandy had done me good, I tackled a porter about a train. The next, -and last, to London was at 10.20. Glancing at my watch, I found that it -was just past the hour. - -A woman, coming up to me as I moved from the porter, asked me the -question which I had just been asking him. I noticed what a pleasant -voice she had--few things in a woman appeal to me so much as that. -Something in her bearing suggested that she might not resent a desire -on my part for sociability. I gave her the information she required, -with additions of my own, thrown out by way of feeler. She responded; -we began to talk. The long and short of it was that I travelled with -her in the same compartment to town. - -Possibly I had at the moment an unconscious craving for congenial -society--I am a gregarious animal. Certainly, she did appeal to what I -take to be my instincts in an unusual degree. She was not in her first -youth, but she was still good-looking, and she was not made up. I hate -a woman who paints and powders; after all my experience I have never -got over a feeling that a woman who does that sort of thing can't be -clean. She was good style; if she was not exactly a woman of our world, -then she was either very clever or very near it. She had seen the -world, and it had not spoilt her. She was well dressed, and by the -right people. I would not have minded doing a turn in the Park with her -any day of the week. - -She was frankness itself--it was that which made me shy a little. With -strangers our women are not so frank, though that I have a sympathetic, -not to say fascinating, way about me, I make no doubt. It is not a -question of conceit; I know it. I ought to, considering it is the -leading article of my stock-in-trade. - -She said she was a widow. We got so thick that she gave me her -card--Mrs. Daniel J. Carruth, with an address at West Kensington. She -herself was English, her husband was American, which explained the -name. She had been out of England several years; had returned to find -herself alone. She felt her loneliness she said. I had no reason to -suppose she lied. - -"Have you no children?" - -"No. I have scarcely known whether to be glad or sorry. There is -something to be said on either side of the question." Looking down she -began pulling at the pile of her sealskin coat. "You must know that my -husband was many years my senior." I nodded. "It would have made a -difference if he had been young." - -Though I did not quite see the sequence, I nodded again. She had given -me permission to light a cigarette. I was at my ease. I was conscious -of feeling a really curious interest in Mrs. Carruth. - -She glanced up at me. Hers were fine eyes, though about them there were -two peculiarities--they seemed to be looking, not at me, but at -something far away, and they always smiled. - -"It seems so odd. When I left England, though I was poor, I had troops -of friends. Now I have come back I am rich, but all my friends seem to -have vanished into air. I have not one." - -"That is a state of things which is not likely to continue long." - -"Perhaps not; I hope not--one does not like to be friendless. But it is -all so different to what I had looked forward to. When one has been -absent a long time from home, and is able to return at last, one dreams -dreams. Only those who have experienced it can know how"--she -hesitated, as if for a word--"strange it feels when one is forced to -recognise that those dreams have been but dreams." She glanced down; -then up again. "I have many acquaintances; they are not friends." - -I agreed with her, asking myself at the same time what she might happen -to mean. Was she dropping a hint to me? If so, I might be more than -half disposed to take it. Mrs. Carruth appealed to me strangely, every -moment more and more. The minutes sped; before I knew it we were in -town. - -I saw her into a hansom at Victoria. She asked me to call on her; to -renew and improve the acquaintance made in the train. I said that I -would. What is more, when she was gone, I told myself that I would keep -my promise. - -Her voice lingered in my ears. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - WHAT MR. TENNANT HAD WRITTEN. - -There were several letters by the morning's post. One's creditors, at -any rate, seemed to be in town. Do those sort of people ever go away? -Lily Langdale wanted me to look her up. Confound little Lily Langdale! -I had looked her up too much already. Chirpy Mason, writing from Monte -Carlo, wanted to know if I could do him a hundred or two. Would I wire? -No; I would neither do the one or the other. I knew Chirpy. He had -probably made the same request to half a dozen more of us. There were -only two letters among the heap worth looking at. One contained just -two type-written words, "Buy Boomjopfs." No address, no signature, no -nothing. I put that aside. It would entail my going into the City as -soon as I could. The other letter was from Haselton Jardine:-- - - - "SLOANE GARDENS. - -"DEAR TOWNSEND,--If you are in town and this catches you, and you have -nothing else to do, come round to-morrow (Monday) and dine _en -famille_. Only Dora! I have something which I rather wish to say to -you. - - "Yours, - - "H. J." - - -I was to go down to them at Cockington on Friday. What had he to say to -me which would not keep till then, I wondered. But I had nothing else -to do--and there was Dora! So, scribbling a line of acceptance, I told -Burton to take it round. When I opened the paper I found that Sir -Haselton was leading for the defendants in the great diamond earring -libel case--Mrs. Potter Segundi against Lady Lucretia Jenkyns. I should -not have minded being in court to see the fun. They say Mrs. P. S. has -brass enough to start a foundry. I know, of my own knowledge, that Lady -J. is fairly well equipped. When I am in Queer-street I hope that Sir -Haselton will be briefed for me. - -It was past one when I got out. I ought to have gone straight to the -City. Instead, I dropped into the Climax, and had just one rubber. I -cut Pendarvon against Graeme and Bicketts. Pendarvon and I had the luck -of the devil: we scored a bumper. Altogether, with bets, I walked off -with about a pony. When I reached the City it was not very far from -four. I made for a broker in Austin Friars--a man named Tennant, Thomas -Tennant--as steady a file as ever I saw. I have done a good deal of -business through him at various times. I don't fancy that he has much -nose of his own; but he keeps quiet, asks no questions, and follows -instructions to the letter. - -Tennant was out. He was not in the House. A clerk thought that he was -at Danby's; he would go and see. I knew where Danby's was--it is one of -those City restaurants where there is more drank than ate--so I saved -that clerk his trouble, and went myself. - -I spotted Tennant directly I got inside the place--a plump little -fellow, with round, pasty face, and hair which always looked to me as -if he soaped it. A mild, unassuming neat-as-ninepence sort of man. He -had a table to himself. As a rule, in a mild sort of way, he is jolly -as a sandboy. Just then it appeared to me that he seemed hipped. Taking -a chair on the opposite side of the table, carelessly, thoughtlessly -enough, I took hold of a scrap of paper on which he had been -scribbling. When I glanced at it a thrill went down my back. It was a -bolt out of the blue. I do not think that in all my life before I was -ever so taken by surprise. - -Tennant had been scribbling all over the sheet of paper a woman's -name--"Louise O'Donnel." That my appearance on the scene at that -particular moment was a pure coincidence, I had, of course, no doubt. -It could not have been otherwise. But how came he to have been writing -that name? I could scarcely believe my eyes. I stared at the paper, and -then at him. - -"What is the meaning of this?" I asked. - -"The meaning of what?" - -When I showed him what he had been writing on the piece of paper he -seemed to be as much taken aback as I was. At first he wanted me to -believe that he had been writing a name over and over again without -having an idea of what it was that he was doing. I could not make him -out at all. He made me feel uneasy. - -So far as I was aware, I was the only person in England who had been -acquainted with the girl's real name. She had always assured me that -such was the case, and I had believed her. Everybody, except myself, -knew her by her stage name--Milly Carroll. Her father was the only -relative she had in the world, and he was in Colorado. Father and -daughter had fallen out. Coming to England with a burlesque company -from New York, she had left him on the other side of the world. If -this story of hers was true--and I did not, and do not, believe she -lied--she was not that sort of girl--how did Mr. Thomas Tennant come to -be in possession of her name? - -I put the question to him point blank. - -"What do you know about Louise O'Donnel?" - -"Nothing." - -"Nothing? Tennant, I say!" - -"I heard it mentioned for the first time in my life last night." - -"Last night?" The coincidence made me shiver again. - -"As I was coming up from Brighton." - -"Brighton?" I had to gasp for breath. "Did you come up last night from -Brighton? By what train?" - -"The 8.40." - -I figured it out in my mind. I should not be surprised if that was the -identical train which had rattled over the arch while Louise and I had -been leaning against the gate, just before I did something for the -Honour of the Club. And Tennant was in it. "Was the long arm of -coincidence going to make things pleasant for me?" - -"What did you hear about Louise O'Donnel as you were coming up from -Brighton?" - -"Nothing. The name was casually mentioned in my hearing, that was all. -It seems to have stuck in my head." - -It did seem to have stuck in his head--and it seemed to have crept -unawares from the ends of his fingers. That something had been said or -done to fix the name in his memory, I did not doubt. What had been said -or done was another matter. Somehow I did not seem to care to question -him too closely. Generally, in his own placid, fish-like fashion, -Tennant is as cool as you please. Then he was as fidgety as if he had -been sitting on hot bricks. He said he was ill, and he looked it--if -his ailment was not more mental than physical I misjudged him. - -I clean forgot all about the Boomjopf shares, which I had come up to -instruct him to buy. I left Tennant in Danby's without having mentioned -them to him from first to last. Indeed, I never thought of them till I -pulled Groeden's tip out of my pocket when I got home to dress for -dinner. Seeing the girl's name upon that sheet of paper made me all of -a fluster. - -Scarcely had I left Danby's when I all but cannoned into my scamp of a -brother. He seemed as little pleased to see me as I was to see him, but -as I had seen and heard nothing of him for the last two years, I -thought that I might as well do the fraternal. He looked seedy enough, -and cad enough to boot. The cad was in his face and bearing; the -seediness was in his clothes. He had on what looked like, not a second, -but a fourth-hand overcoat, trimmed with the usual imitation astrachan. -If he had his way, I believe that he would be buried in imitation -astrachan. - -"Not in prison then?" - -"No." He fidgeted inside his clothes. "I'm not in prison." - -"Recently come out?" - -"Nor have I recently come out." - -"Or just going in?" - -"Not unless, my dear Reginald, it is to visit you." - -Alexander was cheeky; he must be in funds, although he did not look it. - -"May I ask, my dear Alexander, what means you are at present taking to -increase your fortune?" - -He blew his nose with an old silk handkerchief and a flourish. Did he -ever do anything without a flourish--even pick a pocket? - -"I don't know, my dear Reginald, that it much matters to you what I am -doing, but I don't mind telling you, in confidence, that I am at -present devoting my energies to the detection of crime." - -"To what?" - -The idea seemed too funny. - -"To the detection of crime. In other words, I am a private detective, -on, I think I may say, a considerable scale." - -"The deuce you are! That is something new." - -"And you--may I ask what you are doing?" - -I stared at Alexander. He certainly was coming on. - -"I'm talking to you." - -"I trust that the occupation gives you satisfaction. I regret that I am -compelled to cut it short. My time is valuable. In fact, at this moment -I have a pressing appointment with a gentleman well known in City -circles." - -"A bailiff or a policeman, Alexander? They are both of them well known -in City circles." - -"Probably, my dear Reginald, they are better known to you than they are -to me. Good-day." - -"Good-day!" - -He raised his hat about three feet; I raised mine about three inches. -We parted, I do believe, for the first time in our lives, on the most -affable of terms. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - SIR HASELTON JARDINE. - - -Sir Haselton Jardine was a man whom I had rather been in the habit of -holding in awe. One never could be certain how much he knew. A man -could scarcely rise to the forensic heights which he had reached -without knowing something of almost every one. He was so quiet and so -self-contained that it was impossible to gauge the extent of his -knowledge until too late. - -He was rather short, and he was very thin, and he stooped. He had -colourless grey eyes, which you scarcely ever saw, though, if you had -your wits about you, you felt that they all the time saw you. He had a -peaked grey beard, too straggling to be Vandyke, and sandy hair, which -he parted low down on the right-hand side. His voice was as soft and -gentle as any girl's--when he was asking a jury to hang a man he was -always the very pink of courtesy, and I wonder how many he had sent -that way in his time. He had beautiful hands, and he either braced his -trousers too high or else it was a principle of his to have them made -too short. Jardine's trousers were a standing joke--he always looked as -if he had got into his younger, and distinctly smaller, brother's. He -was a widower, and Dora was his only child. - -I always had had a tenderness towards Dora Jardine. I suspected that, -under certain circumstances, she might not be ill-disposed towards me. -It was Sir Haselton that I felt shy of. He had the reputation of being -rich, apart from his practice at the bar, and that was supposed to be -worth fifteen thousand a year. Dora was pretty; he might very well have -eyes for an altogether bigger man than Reginald T. But somehow of late -I had begun to fancy that he himself had a partiality for me. He had -become quite fatherly. I was in a measure free of the house. On Friday -I was to go down to his country place at Cockington to shoot; he had -quite made a point of my making an indefinite stay. - -Now there had been his note of the morning! - -Sir Haselton was not visible when I arrived. I found Dora alone in the -drawing-room. Very nice she looked. Not one of the new order of tall -girls, but tall enough, and straight as a dart. Brown hair, which, -in certain lights looked golden, and which had a natural crinkle. -Pouting lips--very pretty ones--good nose and chin. Her eyes were -her most remarkable feature, as was the case with her father. Blue -eyes--laughing blue eyes I have heard them called--and innocent and -girlish too. But to me they were something else besides. I never knew a -man or a woman with eyes like that who was deficient in grit. I will go -further. If the women who have gone to the devil, and smiled when they -met him face to face, could be polled, I should be disposed to wager -that the majority of them had eyes like Dora Jardine's. I am not -insinuating anything against her--quite the other way. Only I am a -student of women's eyes. - -She was standing by the fire as I went in. She turned, holding out her -hand. - -"I am glad you have come," she said. - -I felt as I took her hand in mine--and I felt it not for the first -time--that she and I were kindred spirits, and that, girl though she -was, she was stronger than I. I said something; I don't know what. Then -I looked at the fire. I felt that her eyes were on my face. - -"What a strange face you have, as though, in you, were the makings of a -man." - -I don't know how she was in the habit of talking to other men; she was -always saying that sort of thing to me. I laughed. "What sort of man?" - -She did not answer my question. She ran her conversation on lines of -her own. - -"What have you been doing since I saw you last--killing time?" - -"Unfortunately, Miss Jardine, I have nothing else to do." - -"Would you like to have something?" - -"That depends." - -"On what?" - -"On the something." - -"I see. I suppose that you will be doing something else on Saturday; -you are going to kill papa's pheasants?" - -"You speak as though that was an improper thing to do." - -There was a slight movement of her shoulders. - -"I suppose that some men kill pheasants, and that other men rule -empires. I might like to do both things, but I confess that if I had to -choose I should prefer the empires." - -I looked at her. Quietly, and without any ostentation, she gave me back -glance for glance. Something from her eyes seemed to get into my veins. - -"Suppose it was not yours to choose?" - -"It would be were I a man." - -"It certainly has never yet been mine." - -"Then you certainly are not a man." - -Her high-faluting amused me. That the little, brown-haired, blue-eyed -thing should talk in such an inflated strain! And yet I felt that if -she had been a man she would have gone for the gloves--nay, that though -she was a woman she might go for them still. - -She went on-- - -"That is the very essence of being a man; that he can choose what he -will be and do." - -"You are on the wrong track. He might choose to win the Derby--plenty -of them do--but the odds are he will fail." - -"He might try." - -"And come a cropper. Men of that sort get posted every settling day. If -he is a cautious man he will limit his range of choice to things which -are within his reach." - -"Are you a cautious man?" - -As I met her eyes I could not have told her. I seemed to see so clearly -in them something which was not caution, something which thrilled and -kept time with a pulse of mine. While I hesitated Sir Haselton -appeared--his dress shoes making the shortness of his trousers still -more conspicuous. Immediately after, dinner was announced. - -They always feed you well at Jardine's, and it seems to me that lawyers -generally do. And, though to look at him you might not think it, -Jardine can drink with any man--perhaps to counterbalance the dryness -of his profession. And he has some stuff worth drinking. His guests can -do as they please; he himself is old-fashioned--he sticks to the cloth -when the women are gone. That evening, bearing the hint in his note in -my mind, I stuck to it with him. - -I was curious to know what it was he wanted to say to me; it took me -aback when it came. - -I lit up when Dora had gone--Jardine does not smoke--post-prandial -wine-drinkers seldom do. As he leaned back in his chair a lean, dried -up, insignificant little chap he looked; but whoever, on that account, -would have liked to have tried a fall with him would have done well to -get up early. The fingers of his left hand grasped the stem of his -wineglass, but, used though I was to his trick of peering through his -half-shut eyes, I could not make out if he was looking at me or at the -glass. - -"Townsend, I want to say something to you in confidence." - -I nodded; though I don't mind owning that I felt a bit uneasy. He might -have wanted to say all sorts of things to me in what he called -confidence--and he was the sort of man to say them too. His next words, -however, reassured me. - -"I am not a man of strong likes or dislikes"--I should rather say he -wasn't, being about the most bloodless creature going!--"but I like -you, if you will excuse me, Townsend." - -"Excuse you, sir? You flatter me too much." - -He smiled--if the wrinkling of his thin lips could be called a smile. - -"Flatter you? I hardly think I flatter you. I will tell you why I like -you, Townsend." - -He paused. I waited. The old fox kept twisting the stem of his -wineglass round and round between his thin white fingers. - -"I like you, Townsend, because, although you are out of the common run, -you are not sufficiently so to be unpleasantly conspicuous. You have -what I lack, passion. You are as likely to ascend to the top of the -tree as to the top of the gallows. I hardly think I flatter you." - -"You at least credit me with having aspirations." - -"I believe, Townsend, that your wealth scarcely exceeds the dreams of -avarice--eh?" The remark had so little connection with anything that -had gone before, that I think I stared. He favoured me with one of -those lightning flashes which are among the tricks of his trade--then -you can see what eyes he really has. "I said I wanted to speak to you -in confidence." - -"Precisely. You only flatter me too much." - -Again that wrinkling of the lips which he, perhaps, intended for a -smile. I wondered what the dickens he was at. - -"You see, Townsend, things reach my ears which do not come to other -men. May we take it, Townsend, that you are not a millionaire?" - -"You may certainly take it, sir, at that." - -"Pressed, now and then, for ready-money, perhaps." - -What was he driving at? Was he going to develop into a sixty per cent. -and offer me a loan? - -"I believe that most men are." - -"Yes--they are." It struck me that there was something about the pause -he made which was anything but complimentary. I was beginning to feel -like throwing something at him. "You have a brother, Townsend." How did -he know that? "Have you seen him lately?" - -"This afternoon." - -"So recently? Is he doing well?" - -"He said he was." - -"There is nothing clogs a man so much as a brother of a certain kind." - -"I take care that my brother does not clog me." - -"I believe, Townsend, that you do." What did he mean by the inflection -with which the words were uttered? "You are wondering why I talk to you -like this. I will explain." - -He took a sip from his glass. Then held it up in front of him, -connoisseur fashion. - -"I am something of a curiosity. I have lived my own life. In my way, I -have enjoyed it. But I have one thing with which to reproach -Providence. He has not bestowed on me a son." He emptied his glass. -"Townsend, why don't you drink? I can recommend this port. Drink up, -and let me fill the glasses." I let him. "That a son is not always an -unmixed blessing I am aware. On the other hand, Dora has been a model -child. Still, a daughter can hardly do for a father what a son can. So -I still am hoping for a son." - -What did the old beggar mean? He was still so long that I thought he -had forgotten to go on. But I did not feel that it was my cue to break -the silence. And at last he condescended to remember. - -"You have in you the makings of the sort of son that I should like to -have." - -"I? Sir Haselton, did I not say you flattered me?" - -"I hardly think I do. I think I know you pretty well. Dora seems to -think she knows you even better." Now I began to see his drift. - -"Townsend, what do you think of Dora?" - -"I have sometimes feared, sir, that I have thought of her too much." - -"Indeed." The word, as it came from between his lips, was a gently -murmured sneer. - -"I should not have imagined that you were that kind of man. Townsend, -would you like to marry?" - -"It has been my constant dream." - -"Has it? And about Lily Langdale and others?" - -What did he know about Lily, and the rest of them? I would have given -something to have learned just how much the old sleuth-hound did know -about everything or anything. I felt all the time that he had me at a -strong advantage. When I am in his presence I always do feel like that. - -"You yourself, sir, have been a bachelor." - -"True--I have. I take it, Townsend, that when you marry you will cease -to be a bachelor." - -"Undoubtedly." - -"What would you say to ten thousand pounds a-year?" - -"Sir!" - -"When Dora marries she will have that income to commence with. Should -her marriage prove a happy one, it will be increased." - -He paused, as if for me to speak. I deemed silence to be the better -part of wisdom. - -"The man who marries Dora will have to have a clean slate, if it has to -be cleaned for the occasion. I shall require him to give me a correct -statement of his position. I will see that his house is set in order. -He will have to take my name; Dora shall always be a Jardine. He will -have to enter public life." - -"Public life?" - -"Have you any objection?" - -"It depends upon what you mean, sir, by public life; it is an elastic -term." - -"He will have to enter Parliament. Means will be furnished to enable -him to do so. As a country gentleman he will have to take an interest -in local and in county government. He will have to play a prominent -part on the stage of national politics. He will have to aim at the top -of the tree. Dora has ambitions; her husband must have them too." - -When he paused I was silent again. There was a cut-and-dried way about -his fashion of settling things which nettled me. - -"Have you no ambitions, Townsend?" - -"I have such ambitions as a poor man may have." - -"A poor man is entitled to have the same ambitions as a rich one--if he -is strong enough. I was poor once upon a time. I did not allow my -poverty to hamper my ambition. What do you think of the programme which -I have drawn up for Dora's husband?" - -"I think it an alluring one." - -"For a strong man it has possibilities. You may take it from me that, -properly backed, you are strong enough to be able to say, with truth, -that few things are beyond your reach." - -"I think myself that, given the opportunity, I might find the man." - -"I think so too. You shall have the opportunity. You have heard on what -conditions. That is what I wanted to say to you. We shall see you at -Cockington at the end of the week. Perhaps, before you leave us, you -may have something to say to me." - -"I trust, sir, that I may have something to say to you that will be -pleasant to us both." - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - AN AFTERNOON CALL. - - -"You're sleeping it out. Are you going to lie in bed all day?" - -I opened my eyes. I looked up. Somebody was shaking me--Archie Beaupré. - -"You don't mean to say that you're awake? I admire your hours." - -"Is it late?" - -"I don't know what you call late. It's nearly one. Do you generally -sleep to this time?" - -"Made rather a night of it, my boy. It was five when I left the -Climax." - -"Oh, you went to the Climax, did you, after you left Jardine's? Win?" - -"A trifle. What brings you here--starting in the early-calling line?" - -Archie seated himself on the bed, murmuring-- - -"He calls this early." - -Beaupré is the third son of the Duke of Glenlivet--one of the duke's -famed thirteen. Not a bad sort--stone broke, like all the rest of us. -Archie was born in two different sections--one-half of him makes all -for wickedness, and the other half makes all the other way--and, -whichever half of him is to the fore, he's thorough. Jardine and I had -found him in the drawing-room with Dora when we had finished our -hobnobbing--at which I was not sorry. When a man has had the sort of -talk with the father which I had had, he is not, on the instant, all -agog for a _tête-à-tête_ with the child. He wants to straighten things -out inside his head a bit. We had left the Jardines together, Beaupré -and I. He had gone to some twenty-third cousin of his great -grandmother--the man's relations are as the sands of the sea for -multitude, and he keeps in with every one of them--and I had gone on to -the Climax Club. Now, I wondered what he wanted on my bed. - -When Burton had brought me my coffee, and Archie had put himself -outside a soda, tempered, he began. - -"Don't laugh at me, old chap." Of course, when he told me not to laugh, -I was at once upon the grin--it's human nature. But he went on, "I am a -miserable wretch, I swear I am." - -"Who says you aren't?" - -"What a muck I've made of things!" - -"Who denies it? Give me the rascal's name?" - -"And I might have been a respectable chap once, if I had liked." - -"My dear Archie! When?" - -He was too woebegone to heed my chaff. He went and leaned his elbow on -my mantelshelf, and his head upon his hand. - -"Reggie, I've been thinking that you and I ought to cut the Jardines." - -"The deuce, you have!" - -"For their sake. It is not fair to them that we should let them run the -risk of being contaminated by even a remote connection with the shadow -which, I suppose sooner or later, is sure to fall on us. It will come -specially hard on me--because I don't mind telling you, between -ourselves, that Miss Jardine's society to me means much." I stared; -things were coming out. "But the knowledge that this is so has come too -late. Unless the whole business of the club--I won't give it a name, -but you know the club which meets once a month in Horseferry Road--is a -ghastly joke." - -"That is what it is." - -"What?" - -"A ghastly joke." - -Beaupré looked up at me. I don't know what he saw in my face, but a -funny look came on his own--a look almost of fear. - -"Sometimes, Townsend, I don't know if you're a man or a devil." - -"The devil was a sublimated sort of man, and I expect he still is. This -coffee is just a trifle too sweet." - -It was my second cup. I was sitting up in bed and stirring it. - -"Of course, you have done nothing." - -He said "Of course"; but I saw he was uneasy. - -"Of course, I have." - -"Townsend!" - -The man gave quite a jump. He brought the back of his head with a bump -against the wall, without seeming to notice it. - -"I hope, as I said, on Thursday to have the pleasure of returning the -Honour of the Club with its scarlet a more vivid hue." - -He was glaring at me as if I had been some sort of hideous wild animal. - -"You don't mean that you have killed some one?" - -"Certainly. What else should I mean? Though I don't perceive that there -is any necessity for you to announce it from the tiles." - -He staggered to a chair, plumping down in it with the stiffening all -gone out of him. - -I laughed. - -"My dear Archie, you had better have another drink. You don't seem -quite the thing." - -He looked me straight in the face, I giving him look for look. When he -had sustained my glance for a moment or two he shut his eyes and -shivered. I saw a shudder go all over him. I drank my coffee. - -"You're sure that you're not joking?" - -"Some men joke most when they are most in earnest. Perhaps I am one of -them." - -"Who was it?" - -"A little girl I knew." - -"A girl? My gracious! When was it?" - -"Sunday evening." - -He turned to me with a sort of gasp. - -"Was it near Three Bridges Station?" - -"Within half a mile." - -"My God! It's in the paper! Townsend, what have you done?" - -"It is in the paper, is it? May I ask what is in the paper?" - -"They've found the body." He sprang from the chair. - -"Reggie, I wish that I had died before you did this thing, and before -ever I heard of that accursed club." - -"That is rather good, from you--the club having been a suggestion of -your own." - -"I had been on the drink, hadn't I? I was mad. I swear, before the -living God, that I never dreamed that you fellows would take the thing -up in bitter earnest." - -"My dear Archie, respect the proprieties, if you respect nothing -else--not quite that sort of language, if you please." He stared at me -and laughed--a queer laugh it was. "You remember the rule which directs -what course the members shall pursue towards a colleague who, for any -cause, turns tail and rats. That also, I believe, was a suggestion of -your own." - -"Are you afraid that I shall turn tail and rat? You need have no fear. -That I shall never do, especially now. If we are to go to the devil, -we'll all travel the same road. But there is one thing on which I do -insist. I insist on your ceasing your connection with the Jardines." - -"You insist?" - -"I beseech you, then." - -"I don't wish to say anything which may sound at all unkind, but don't -you think, my dear Archie, that you are taking rather a liberty in -intruding yourself into my affairs? The accident of our both being -members of the same club gives you no warrant for anything of the kind. -It certainly gives you none which I am likely to recognise even in the -faintest degree." - -He began to pace about the bedroom like a caged wild cat. Presently he -made an announcement: - -"It strikes me that I had better go home." - -"I trust that you will allow nothing which I have said to deprive me of -the pleasure of your society, but perhaps it might do you good if you -were to toddle home and take a pill." - -"Good-day!" he shouted. - -Snatching up his hat and stick from the couch, he banged out of the -room without another word. - -I don't mind owning--since, in these pages, at any rate, candour is the -order of the day--that when Beaupré had gone I did not feel altogether -up to concert pitch. Things were going contrary. The club did bid fair -to be a bit of a failure. Although the suggestion, as I had said, had -been Archie's, it was Pendarvon who had put it into shape. - -I don't quite know how Archie first came to think of the thing. Some of -us had been playing poker in his rooms. Pendarvon had been losing. He -began to tell us about a story which he had been reading in which there -was a suicide club. He said that he had half a mind to start such a -club himself. Archie at once suggested that he should go one better; -instead of a suicide, let him make it a murder club. Let the members -draw lots, and whoever drew the lot, instead of suicide let him go in -for murder--for the Honour of the Club. Pendarvon took up the idea in a -way which startled us. We had all been drinking; there and then drawing -up a sort of rough outline of the club, he got us all to promise to -join. There were to be thirteen members; the club was to meet once a -month; lots were to be drawn; whoever drew the lot was to kill someone, -not a member of the club, within the month. On this basis Pendarvon had -actually got the thing into shape. We had had one meeting. The lot had -fallen to me. - -I can safely say that if I had had the slightest inkling that old -Jardine was going to say what he had said I should have given -Pendarvon's pretty little plaything the widest of wide berths. I might -easily have succeeded in keeping Louise quiet by the use of some less -drastic means; at any rate, until I was sure of Dora. On Sunday I had -cared for nothing. The very next day I had something for which to care. -A golden future dangled before my eyes. - -It was like the irony of fate. - -Still the game might not be lost. I yet had time. I might, at any rate, -make my hay and enjoy it while the sun was shining. To-morrow--whose -to-morrow it was, or what weather it might bring, no man could tell. I -would live out to-day. - -I looked at the newspaper. It was as Archie had said; how funny that he -should be touched by Dora! They had found the body--but that was -nothing, if that was all--and it was all. I had not supposed for a -moment that the body could stay hidden. It had all happened just as I -expected. A platelayer, walking along the line, had seen something -lying among the bushes--Louise. There was some sensational rubbish to -catch the pennies of the mob, but the whole thing merely amounted to -this, that Louise was found. - -Queer stick, old Jardine! Fancy his having taken to me, after all! He -was a keen judge of character; I have seldom met a keener, and, as he -said, there was that in me which differentiates strength from weakness. -I had known, I had felt it, all along. I have, to begin with, the -courage of the devil. Give me something of a chance, and my foot in the -bottom niche, it should not be my fault if I did not reach the top of -the pillar of fame. - -The mischief was, my affairs were in a muddle. It was not money so -much; I could manage for that, and, if things went as they ought to go, -not impossibly Jardine would stand by me there. I had a shrewd -suspicion, from the remarks which he had dropped, that he knew as much -about my pecuniary position as he cared to know. It was other things, -and one of those things was Lily Langdale. It is extraordinary how I -always have managed to get myself mixed up with women. The teachings of -my experience I should sum up in something like a bull--the best thing -that can happen to a man is for him to be born sexless. - -While I was dressing Burton imparted a piece of information which -brought me to a rapid resolution. - -"Mrs. Langdale was here after you went out, sir. Made rather a noise. -Talked about stopping for your return." - -"Did she?" That settled it. - -I went straight off to Miss Lily. I was plain with her. She did not -like it--she was equally plain with me. What home truths one does get -from women! A woman in a temper is ten thousand times more candid than -a man. But she had sense enough to understand that she could scarcely -expect to score, on those lines, off me. I explained that what would be -done for her depended upon how she behaved herself, but I did not -explain that it depended much more upon Sir Haselton Jardine. - -Lily's place was in the Hammersmith Road. As I was leaving it, -something like calm having followed the storm--never, if you can help -it, leave a woman in a rage, it is cruel--whom should I encounter but -Mrs. Daniel J. Carruth, my acquaintance of the train. Very nice she -looked, with a natty little toque on her clever head, and a fluffy fur -thing round her throat. I have seen many uglier women ten years -younger--yes, and as far as appearances went, further gone in the sere -and yellow. - -She came sailing up when she saw me. - -"I hope, Mr. Townsend, that you are coming to give me a call, and that -I am just getting home in time." - -I was not going to give her a call. I had forgotten that the address -she had given me was at West Kensington. Her very existence had escaped -my memory. But when she asked me, why, I went. - -A decent house she seemed to have, in a street at the back of St. -Paul's School. An old fellow was in the drawing-room when we got in. I -say old, though I daresay he was not more than fifty. He reminded me, -somehow, of some one I had seen somewhere before, and known intimately, -as it seemed to me, but I could not for the life of me think whom. He -was tall and thin, and stooped, though he looked as tough as leather -and sinewy and strong. He was bald on the top of his head. What hair he -had, and the fringe of whisker on his chin, was grey. He wore an -undertaker's frock-coat, and in his open shirt-front was a diamond as -big as a pea. - -Mrs. Carruth introduced us. - -"Mr. Townsend, this is an old friend of mine, Mr Haines." - -The old chap did not stay long. I fancy he did not altogether relish my -intrusion, or what he took to be such. When he had gone I told Mrs. -Carruth that he seemed to remind me of some one I had known. - -"Is that so? One does sometimes fancy that one sees a resemblance. I -think that in your case it is only fancy. Mr. Haines is an American, a -Westerner. He has only recently arrived in England. He was my husband's -friend for many years." - -I found Mrs. Carruth very pleasant. Friendly--but not too friendly. She -seemed to do everything in fairly good style. The room in which we sat -was not only prettily furnished, it was distinctly that sort of -prettiness which costs money--it had no connection with the "How to -furnish a twelve-roomed house tastefully for £200" kind of thing. Tea -was served with the accompaniments of silver and Wedgewood china, by a -maid who knew her work. Altogether Mrs. Carruth and her way of doing -things favourably impressed me. - -She alluded to the queerness of our meeting. - -"I hope, Mr. Townsend, that you will not allow the informal fashion of -our introduction to each other to prejudice me in your eyes." - -"Quite the other way. Chance acquaintances are sometimes the -pleasantest one makes." - -"You speak from the man's point of view. From the woman's, I think that -you are wrong. I have had my share of moving about in the world. I have -found that, generally speaking, chance acquaintances are things to be -avoided." - -"It is I, then, who must warn you that both prejudgment and prejudice -begin with a 'P.'" - -"I promise, for my part, that I won't judge you until I know you -better. Only you must give me a chance. Were you really coming to see -me when we met?" - -"No, I wasn't. Frankly, I was not at all sure that you would care to -see me. I know, as you have said, that my view of chance acquaintances -is a man's; and how was I to know that your words as you rattled off in -your hansom were not merely intended as a courteous dismissal?" - -She put down her cup and saucer, seeming quite distressed. - -"Oh, I hope you won't think that of me! I assure you, Mr. Townsend, -that if I had wished to dismiss you I should have done so. I hope you -won't mind my saying--since you have yourself said so much--that as I -left you my feeling was that, for once in a way, I had made a chance -acquaintance which it might be worth one's while to cultivate. And, as -I told you, I was practically alone in this big town, and when one is -alone one does want friends, and--I think that that's all." - -That might be all, but I understood. When I left I felt that I liked -Mrs. Carruth even better than I had done at first. She interested me in -a really curious way. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - SELLING BOOMJOPFS. - - -The newspapers on the Wednesday and Thursday were beyond my -understanding. I had never before so clearly realised how great a stir -a little thing might make. The little incident at Three Bridges had -assumed the dimensions of an event of national importance. Had one of -the great decisive battles of the world just been fought it could -scarcely have seemed to occupy a greater space in the public mind. -Everywhere the words stared you in the face, everywhere you heard the -words slipping from somebody's tongue--Three Bridges Tragedy! At least -the thing received a magnificent advertisement. What a heap of money -would have been required to procure a similar advertisement for -Pickemup's Pills. - -They appeared to have got the business into an elegant muddle. Either -the luck was on my side, or some one had blundered. People seemed to -have leaped to the conclusion that Louise had been thrown from a -passing train--my pitching the body over the hedge on to the railway -embankment, read by the light of after events, amounted to a stroke of -inspiration. The papers were full of observations on the dangers of -English railway travelling. Why were not our carriages all thrown open -to the world? Our present system of horse-boxes rendered it possible -for the innocent A. to be cooped up with the dangerous B. through sixty -miles of country. The means provided for inter-communication, the -alarm-bell, and all the rest of it, were fatally insufficient, as -witness this most horrid instance. As I read I stared. - -From my point of view the most extraordinary part of the affair was -that there actually seemed some excuse for the public blundering. -Immediately after the arrival at Victoria of the 8.40 from Brighton, it -had been discovered that the window of one of the first-class carriages -was smashed to shivers, the compartment was stained with blood, and -bore every appearance of having been the scene of a recent struggle. -That was the very train which had passed while Louise and I had been -arguing at the gate--had another little argument been taking place on -board the train? But what capped the record was a statement which had -been volunteered by a Brighton porter. He declared--or was stated to -have declared--that he had shown a lady into the identical compartment -in which the window was smashed, just as the train was starting; that -the only other passenger the compartment contained was a gentleman, -whom, if he saw him again, he thought he should recognise; -and--_mirabile dictum!_ he had seen the body which had been found on -the line, and in the dead woman had instantly recognised the lady he -had shown into the carriage. The question now was--all the world was -asking it--where was the gentleman? - -Yes--where was he? - -On the Thursday I received another line from Groeden--"Sell Boomjopfs." -This recalled to my mind the fact that, by the Monday morning's post, -he had counselled me to buy them. I had started Citywards to act on his -advice. The curious coincidence of finding Mr. Tennant scribbling -Louise's name all over a sheet of paper had prevented my putting my -intention into execution. - -Groeden's latest advice sent me to the money article. Since Monday -Boomjopfs had gone up fourteen. What an ass I had truly been! A pretty -pile I had thrown away! What little game Mr. Groeden and his friends at -Johannesburg were up to, I was not sufficiently in the know to be able -to say. I took it that, the bulls having had an innings, the bears were -to have their turn. The top price having been reached, the word was -"Knock 'em." So off I went to sell what I had been fool enough to just -miss buying. - -I thought that I would give Tennant another try. When I reached Austin -Friars I was informed that he was ill--had been away from the office -since Monday. While I was hesitating what I should do--whether, that -is, I should give a commission to his managing man, or go elsewhere--I -heard a voice in the inner office which rather made me cock my ears. - -The voice was my rascally brother's. He was not speaking in a whisper. -His words struck me as queer ones. - -"If Mr. Tennant takes my advice, he'll see me though he's dying." - -"I shall see Mr. Tennant at his private address to-night. I will tell -him what you say. What name shall I give?" - -"Name? Tell him the gentleman who came up with him on Sunday night from -Brighton." - -I went out into the street, still not clear in my mind as to what I -should do. Presently, along came Alexander. But what a change had come -over him since Monday! Then he was a faded ruin; now he was a vision of -splendour. He was arrayed in new garments from top to toe--and not -garments which had been procured at a slop-shop either. Alexander must -have come into a fortune. The glory of him made one blink one's eyes. - -Again, at sight of me he did not seem glad. - -"Still out?" I began. - -"Sir!" He pulled his hat more over to the side of his head. "Allow me -to point out to you that the fact of your being my brother does not -entitle you to insult me. May I ask what you mean by saying 'Still -out'?" - -"My dear Alexander, is it possible that you can think me capable of -insulting you? I am only too glad to see that you still are out. And in -such gorgeous apparel! What universal provider have you been inspiring -with confidence?" - -He drew his imitation astrachan cuffs further down over his wrists. - -"I believe, my dear Reginald, that I informed you on Monday that I am a -private detective on a considerable scale. As such, it is part of my -business to wear disguises. You saw me in one of them on Monday. At -this moment I am in my usual attire." - -"Indeed! and excellently it becomes you. Almost anybody might mistake -you for a respectable person. Alexander, by the way, what was that you -were saying about your having come up with Mr. Tennant on Sunday night -from Brighton?" - -Alexander looked at me for a moment as if my question had knocked the -sense right out of him. Then, without a word, turning into a narrow -passage which was on our right, he walked off down it at the rate of a -good five miles an hour. I let him go, though what had sent him off in -such a style at such a pace was hidden from me. - -I did sell Boomjopfs, but not through Mr. Tennant's managing man. - -That night was to be the second meeting of the club. I dressed when I -got home: then I put my proofs into my pocket. After a solitary dinner -I started off to give back to the Club its Honour. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - THE CLUB. - - -The club held its meetings in Horseferry Road. I had never been there -in the daytime, but by night the approaches, the surroundings, the -place itself did not strike one as being particularly savoury. One -wondered what the deuce one was doing in that galley. - -We were instructed to tell cabmen to pull up at the Gas Light and Coke -Company's Offices. Since it was not deemed expedient to let even -jarveys know exactly where in that salubrious locality men with the -price of a cab-fare in their pockets happened to be going, the rest of -the distance was to be walked. - -I fancy that in the daytime the lower part of the house was used as -offices. When I reached it the street door was closed, the place seemed -deserted, not a light was to be seen. Each of us had been provided with -a pass-key. Letting myself in, I found myself in a pitch-dark passage. -Striking a match, I used it to light me up two flights of stairs. At -the top of the second flight I was confronted by another door. On the -left-hand side, against the wall, was an electric button. I pressed it -twice, then counted three; pressed it once, counted another three, then -pressed it twice again. Almost immediately afterwards a gong was struck -within. While the sound was still vibrating in the air, I sang out-- - -"Reginald!" - -As I uttered my Christian name the door was opened and Pendarvon -received me on the threshold within. - -"Welcome, Reginald! You are the first-comer," he said. - -We turned into a room on the right. The room was plainly furnished, the -walls were painted red, a red carpet was on the floor. In the centre -stood a good-sized oval-shaped mahogany table. Thirteen chairs were -placed round it. In front of each was a decanter of brandy and a glass. -In front of one was a manuscript book, bound in crimson morocco, pens, -ink, a crimson velvet bag, and a small heap of red cards, of the size -and shape of ordinary playing-cards. - -As Pendarvon had said, he and I, up to the present, had the place to -ourselves. Cecil Pendarvon was fairly tall and fairly broad--the florid -type of man. He had fair hair, fair beard, and light blue eyes. Your -first impression of the man was that he was always laughing. When you -came to study him a little closer you began to doubt if his laugh -suggested merriment. I knew him well. I had come to understand that the -more he laughed the worse it would be for some one. - -He stood, stroking his long fair beard, laughing at me now. - -"Pendarvon, I don't quite see what's the use of the counting, and the -ornamental ringing, and all the rest of it outside the door." - -"You mayn't see it now. One of these days you may. There may come a -time when it will be advisable that we should know that the person at -the door is not a member of the club." - -"If you mean that one of these days we are likely to receive a visit -from the police, you don't suppose that we should be able to keep them -out, if they had made up their minds to enter. We should be trapped -like rabbits in a warren." - -"I think not. That door is of sheet iron. It is held in position by -four steel bolts which run into a wall made of solid Portland cement. -By the time the police got through it we should be miles away." - -I looked round the apartment. - -"Is this room then not what it seems? Is there a hidden door?" - -"There is not. But there is something quite as good. There is a -fireplace." - -"A fireplace?" - -"And likewise a chimney, which is a chimney. When I took this place I -had an eye to all the possibilities. Look here." - -He went to the fireplace, a huge old-fashioned one, probably over six -feet wide. The stove occupied not one-third of it. He stepped inside, I -following. There was ample room for both of us. He pointed upwards. - -"Stanchions, which will make excellent steps." - -I saw that there were stanchions, rising one above the other, set in -the side of the chimney. - -"Where do they lead to?" - -"Climb up twelve, put your hand out to the right, you will find a bolt. -Draw it, push, a door will open. Go through it, you will find yourself -upon the roof." - -"The roof, at night--I thank you!" - -"The chimney-stack will be on your left, between you and a fall into -the street. Keep it on your left, go straight forward--you will find -yourself upon the edge." - -"The edge! Of the roof? Pendarvon, my thanks increase!" - -"If you feel for it on your right you will find a rail. This is the -rail of a bridge which crosses from this house to one in the street -behind. When I took this room I took that house. It will remain empty. -Cross the bridge. Close to your hand, on your left, you will find an -iron ladder set straight against the wall. Descend it, you will land -yourself on the flat roof of an outhouse. Within a foot of you, still -to your left, there is a window. It will be always left unlatched. You -have only to raise it, enter the empty house, strike a light, and walk -downstairs into the street. To reach that particular house, in that -particular street, by road, a policeman will have to walk two miles." - -"How long is this bridge of yours?" - -"Under twenty feet." - -"And how wide?" - -"Perhaps ten inches--it is a single plank. The rail by which you hold -is firmly fixed and bolted at either end. What the whole arrangement -was intended for originally is a puzzle I have not attempted to solve. -I heard of it. I thought it might suit us." - -"Don't you think we ought to do what the firemen do--have a full dress -rehearsal? I, for one, should hardly care to seek that path to safety -without having had some practical experience of the peculiarities and -perils of the way." - -Pendarvon laughed. - -"You fellows can have a rehearsal to-night, if you like--only you will -get yourselves into a deuce of a mess. I don't guarantee that you will -be able to keep yourselves clean. I only guarantee that that way, at a -pinch, you will be able to save your necks." - -As he finished speaking, the electric bell rang twice; there was a -pause; then a single ring; another pause; then twice more. Pendarvon -went to a gong which was suspended from the ceiling outside the room. -He struck it, not too loudly. A voice on the other side of the other -door exclaimed-- - -"Gustave!" - -As Pendarvon opened the door, he turned to me. - -"Gustave Rudini." - -It was Rudini--an undersized, ill-dressed little fellow, more like a -waiter out of work than anything else I know. Pendarvon had had some -difficulty in completing the tail of his thirteen. He had insisted that -there must be thirteen members. In order to make up the number he had -had to bring in three fellows who, to say the least of it, were not in -society. Of these three Rudini was one. According to Pendarvon, he was -a Swiss anarchist. Since he killed on principle, he was not likely to -hesitate to kill for fun. His was not a pleasant personality. He -addressed every one as "Citizen "--as he did me now. - -"Well, citizen, the good work begins." I asked him what he meant. "Have -you not seen about the bombs at Saragosa--that is what I call good -reading." - -I shuddered. I felt more than half disposed to knock the creature down. -Some demons had thrown bombs among a crowded audience at a theatre. No -end of people had been killed and injured. The brute called the account -of the affair good reading. - -I suppose he read my feelings in my face. He stretched out his hands in -front of him--with a snarl which was perhaps meant for a grin. - -"Do you not agree with me, citizen, that it is good reading? If it -comes to killing, why kill units instead of tens? It is only a little -matter of arithmetical progression." - -The next comer was a madman out and out. He was a religionist of a sect -of which, I suspect, he was the first member and the last. He believed, -it seemed, that death meant annihilation. Annihilation, to use a -paradox, was all he lived for. But it had been revealed to him--I never -heard by whom, or how--that he himself never could attain annihilation -until he had killed some one, as it were, to clear the way. So he had -joined the club, in order that his destiny might the sooner be -fulfilled. His name was Shepherd--Henry Shepherd. He was a lanky, -loosely-built man, with long iron grey hair, and sailors' eyes--eyes, -that is, which were calm and deep. As he entered, he seated himself at -table without uttering a word. He was the second of Pendarvon's -gathered and garnered three. - -The fellows now came hard upon each others' heels. Unless I was -mistaken, they had for the most part, been quenching their thirst. -Their eyes shone; their speech was inclined to be erratic; about some -of them there was a joviality which they had found in their glasses. -Teddy Hibbard, for one, was distinctly drunk. He came with Eugene -Silvester, who was not much better. The pair staggered up to me. - -Teddy tried to steady himself by a somewhat close attachment to -Silvester's arm. - -"I say, Reggie, old fellow, Eugene and I have been making up our minds -whom we'll slaughter. Whom do you think we've decided on?" - -"My dear Teddy, I haven't the faintest notion. Don't you think you'd -better take a chair?" - -"Thank you, old boy, I think I will." He took one just in time. -"We've decided on slaughtering the first chap we meet of the name of -Jones--there are such a lot of them about, you know." - -Archie Beaupré came across to me. He was among the last to arrive. He -also had been drinking. But liquor did not affect him as it did Teddy -Hibbard. He never lost his equilibrium. There never came a stammer into -his speech. Nor, in Iago's sense, did it steal away his brains. When -drink entered into Archie, the devil went with it. When he had drunk -enough to stupefy an ordinary man, he was very near to genius. In that -condition I have known him write lines which no poet need be ashamed to -own; and I have known him do things which must have set all the imps of -Satan chuckling. - -As he advanced to me, a casual acquaintance might not have supposed -that he had been exceeding in the slightest degree. But I knew better. -I knew it by something that was in his face, and in his eyes; by the -ring that was in his voice, when he spoke; by the very way in which he -clasped me by the hand. - -"Here's luck!" he said--"I'm with you all the way." - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - DRAWING THE LOT. - - -When we had taken our places, Pendarvon commenced proceedings. He -looked round at us and laughed, as if the whole proceedings had been -some mighty joke. - -"Gentlemen, the usual preliminaries, if you please." - -He had the crimson-covered book open in front of him. He read aloud the -oath by which we all had bound ourselves. As he did so, men sobered -down a little. The oath which he had evolved from his mischief-making -brain was calculated to make one sober. It was the rule that, at each -meeting, the oath was to be re-sworn. Having recited it, with his right -hand resting on the open page, Pendarvon affixed to it his signature. -The book went round. Each man recited the oath, his hand resting on the -page, and signed. - -By the time Pendarvon had the book again, a change came over the spirit -of the scene. The suggestion of frivolity which had been in the air had -vanished. Hibbard and Silvester, in spite of the assistance which they -had received from outside sources, did not look happy. Pendarvon read -out the signatures. When he came to one he stopped. - -"Teddy, have you signed?" - -Hibbard was indignant--or feigned to be. - -"Signed? Of course I've signed! Can't you read it?" - -Pendarvon tugged at his beard and laughed. - -"Be shot if I can! I can see a smudge, and that's all I can see. In a -matter of this importance a signature should be writ as plain as -copper-plate, so that all who run may read. Teddy, would you mind -signing again, this time a little clearer? and Silvester might follow -suit. You would not care to take us at an advantage, and be the only -two among us to keep your names dark." - -Pendarvon went to Teddy with the book in his hand. Placing it on the -table in front of him, he leaned over his shoulder while he wrote. - -"That's better, Teddy; that's plain as print. 'Edward Hibbard,' that's -something like a name. Now, Silvester, if you won't mind." - -Silvester leaned back in his chair, and frowned. - -"I don't understand. That's my usual signature. What else do you want?" - -"We want it a little plainer; nothing more." - -Silvester grumbled, but he did what he was asked to do. He signed -again, and plainer. That was like Pendarvon. If he had made up his mind -that a man should do a thing, the odds were that the man would do it, -although against his own will. - -Pendarvon returned to his seat in triumph. As he talked to us he kept -on laughing. The ugliest thing about him was his voice; it was harsh -and strident--sometimes it seemed to strike one like a whip. - -"Gentlemen, we have all of us been looking forward with pleasurable -anticipations to this, our second, meeting. I need not tell you why. A -month to-night our Honour was committed to the hands of one of us. We -are here to ask for its return." - -With a laughing gesture, he turned to me. - -"Reggie, our Honour is in your hands." - -As he sat down, I rose, and as I rose a sound which was almost like a -sigh went round the room. I fancy that some of the fellows were -preparing themselves for what might be to come, by taking in a -good supply of breath. That all eyes were fixed on me I was well -aware--fixed on me, I mean, with a curious, unusual kind of stare. They -looked at me as if they would have almost rather not, and yet could not -help but look. I took out my pocket-book; I laid it on the table. Every -little movement which I made was followed by their eyes. I doubt if -ever a man had a more attentive audience. - -"Gentlemen of the Murder Club, I greet you." - -I bowed to each individual. As I did so I noticed how pale they seemed -to look. - -"I occupy, on this occasion, a unique position. I take it that no man -ever stood in such a pair of shoes as mine before. There have been -murder clubs, which have been called by other names. They have -concerned themselves with revolutions--with religious, social, -political reforms. A murder club, the object of which has been -amusement, pure and simple, I doubt if there ever before has been. To -our founders I owe a special, a peculiar gratitude. Beaupré, I bow to -you--the original suggestion of our Club was yours." - -I bowed to Archie. In return he waved his hand to me. - -"And a devilish good suggestion, too!" - -"Beaupré, the words you use could not be bettered. They exactly -describe the theme. Mr. Chairman, I bow to you--it was you who clothed -with flesh the dry bones of the suggestion, breathed on them, and gave -them life." - -I bowed to Pendarvon. Laughing, he bowed again to me. He knew I hated -him, and I knew he hated me. - -"I owe these special thanks to our founders, gentlemen, because, during -the month which is past, they have provided me with such great, such -unwonted sport. So soon as I knew that the Honour of the Club was -indeed entrusted to my keeping, I became like the old-fashioned -sportsman, who had to do his own beating and flush for himself his -birds. In my case there was this marked peculiarity, that I did not -even know where to find the cover in which a bird might happen to be -hiding." - -Pausing, I looked each member in the face in turn. Odd spectacles they -most of them presented. The majority of them shifted their eyes as they -saw mine coming, as if they were unwilling, or unable, to meet my -glances. - -"Gentlemen, I found the cover and the bird. I have had the -gratification of being able to fulfil the promise which I made to you. -I return the Honour of the Club, dyed a more vivid crimson stain." - -As I spoke, two or three fellows gasped. I don't know who they were, -but the queer sound which they emitted caused me to smile. Taking out -the Honour of the Club from my pocket-book, I held it up in front of -me. There was silence. Then Pendarvon spoke-- - -"Are we to take you literally?" - -"In the sense that the Honour of the Club has, literally, been dyed a -more vivid crimson--that, in other words, it has been dipped in the -sacrificial blood? No. My meaning, there, was metaphorical. There was -no blood to dip it in." - -I handed the Honour of the Club across the table to Pendarvon. As he -took it, he looked at me askance. - -"That is not all you are going to tell us? The rules require you to -furnish full particulars." - -"Those particulars, Mr. Chairman, I am now about to furnish. The bird I -flushed, marked, and bagged was a hen." - -"A hen?" - -"A woman, Mr. Chairman. Name, Louise O'Donnel. Age, turned twenty. -Date, last Sunday. Scene, Three Bridges. Cause of death, -strangulation." - -Pendarvon leaned towards me over the table. - -"Are you responsible, then, for what the papers have christened the -Three Bridges Tragedy?" - -"I am." - -"Did you throw the woman from the train?" - -"I did not. I threw the woman from the field, over the hedge, on to the -railway embankment. I should explain to you, gentlemen, that it seems -not unlikely that I may become the subject of a curious coincidence. I -killed the bird under the railway bridge. As I was doing so a train -passed overhead. This must have been the train of which you have read -in the public prints. I cannot pretend to predict the course of events, -but I can assure you that whoever smashed that window and had that -little rough and tumble in the railway carriage had nothing to do with -the Three Bridges Tragedy. For that I am responsible, and I alone." - -Silence followed my words. I glanced round. Various expressions were on -the fellows' faces, and among them was one which suggested doubt. I -noted, with amusement, that what I had anticipated had taken place. -They doubted if I had done what I had declared I had. - -Pendarvon gave this feeling voice. - -"The case is a little delicate, dear Reggie. A man say that he has done -a thing, and then when B, on the strength of what A says, goes and does -likewise, he may find that A has been having a joke with him--don't you -see my point?" - -"You want proofs." - -"You say that this Three Bridges business is yours. Suppose that some -one else is arrested for it, and--we will go so far--is hung, what -shall you do?" - -"Do? Why, let him hang." - -"I see. Of course. You would." - -"In a matter of this sort proofs are rather difficult to give, unless -you were all to come with me to see the fun. I will tell you my story." - -Then I told them exactly what had happened on the Sunday evening, as it -is written. At the close I took two letters from my pocket-book. - -"Mr. Chairman, I have here two letters. The first is the one which I -wrote asking the lady to meet me at East Grinstead--that I took from -her pocket after she was dead. The second is the one in which she -promised that she would. I have pleasure in submitting them to the -attention of the club." - -I passed the letter to Pendarvon. From one of my tail pockets I -produced a small parcel. - -"You will have observed, gentlemen, that it is stated that nothing was -found in the woman's pockets. That was owing to the fact that I had -previously taken the precaution to empty it. I hold the contents of her -pocket in my hand: a letter--that the chairman has--a purse, some keys, -a pocket-handkerchief. This scrap of silk ribbon suspended this locket -to her neck; in the locket you will find my portrait. That also I took -from her after she was dead. I offer it, with the other items, for the -inspection of the club." - -Pendarvon read the letters carefully through; then, without remark, he -passed them to the man who sat beside him. After examining my relics, -he passed them too. The batch went round. One or two of the men -carefully examined each separate item; most just glanced at them in -passing; some seemed to shrink from touching them, as if afraid of -coming into close contact. - -When they had gone round, Pendarvon rose. - -"I think, gentlemen, that our friend's statement has given general -satisfaction." - -Rudini tapped with his finger on the table. - -"It was a woman; it is not a man's work to kill a woman." - -Pendarvon laughed. - -"There, Rudini, you must excuse me if I differ. I think that it is -essentially a man's work. The women are always killing us. It is just -as well that we should take our turn at killing them. Indeed, were it -not too late I should almost be disposed to suggest that it should -always be a woman who was killed." - -Budini brought his fist down with a bang. - -"Then I shall go." - -"It will be soon enough, Budini, for you to talk of going when the -suggestion's made. I repeat, gentlemen, that I think that Mr. Townsend -has satisfied us that he really has done something for the Honour of -the Club. As he himself says, in cases of this sort, the ocular proof -it is almost impossible to give. But he has given us proofs, as it -seems to me, of a sufficiently convincing kind. Are you content? Those -of you who are will please stand up." - -All rose--Rudini after a moment's hesitation. - -"I see, gentlemen, that we are all content. We have excellent cause. Be -so good as to charge your glasses. We thank you, Reggie; we appreciate -the good deed which you have done, and we drink to your next fortunate -adventure." - -They drained their glasses--not, I suspect, before some of them were in -need of what was in them. They would have sampled the brandy before had -it not been a rule of the club that nothing was to be drunk except in -response to the chairman's toasts. - -Pendarvon continued-- - -"There only remains one thing for our friend to do." - -He wrote something in the book in front of him. Then he passed the book -to me. - -"We have to ask you, Reggie, to put your name to that." - -I saw that he had put the date of the preceding Sunday, and then-- - -"Louise O'Donnel--For the Honour of the Club." - -"If I put my name to that it may be tantamount to a confession of -murder." - -"Precisely--it is in accordance with our rules--for our general -protection--we shall have to sign a similar memorandum in our turns." - -"May I ask where this book is kept? One does not like to think that -such an interesting volume is left lying about." - -Pendarvon pointed to a safe which was fitted into the wall. - -"At present it is kept in there. It is as good a safe of its sort as -you are likely to find. I have the only key But I agree with you that -the proper custody of the book is a matter of importance. I would -suggest that a safe be obtained with thirteen different locks and -thirteen different keys, which it will be impossible to open except -without common consent." - -"Your suggestion, Mr. Chairman, is a good one." - -"Then, by the time we meet again such a safe shall be obtained. In the -meantime--sign." - -I signed. Outwardly, I believe, that I was calm enough. In my heart I -wished that, before I had ever heard of him or it, Pendarvon and his -club had been at Timbuctoo, and stayed there. - -As he blotted my signature, Pendarvon laughed. I felt, as I heard, that -I had been a fool not to have exchanged him for Louise. To my ear, -everything about the man rang false--and always had. - -"Townsend, what an excellent hand you write! If only every one wrote as -clearly! I wish I could. As you are aware, it now becomes my pleasant -duty to inform you that the Honour of the Club which you have returned -to us to-night will be framed in gold, and will be awarded to you as a -diploma of merit." - -"You may keep it." - -"Reggie!--the idea! As though I would rob you of what you have so -fairly earned!" He closed the crimson-coloured volume. "Our next -business, gentlemen, is to ascertain the fortunate individual to whose -keeping the Honour of the Club is to be now entrusted. Since you, -Townsend, have won our diploma of merit, it becomes my duty, as a mere -postulant, to resign to you the chair. You will conduct the drawing, in -which, of course, you yourself will not take part. Gentlemen, Mr. -Townsend will be our chairman, until some equally fortunate colleague -has gained his diploma." - -He rose from their seat, beckoning me towards it with his hand. As I -accepted his invitation, there was some tapping of hands upon the -table, and Archie called out, "Hear, hear!" I took up the little heap -of cards which was on the table in front of my new seat, counting them -so that they all could see. - -"As you perceive, here are eleven." Kendrick sat on my left. I handed -the bag to him. - -"Colonel, will you be first to draw?" - -Kendrick was the oldest man among us. His hair and moustache were white -as snow. He was rich, respected, with troops of friends. Why he had -joined us was more than I could say. I guessed that it was to gratify -some private grudge. However that might be, I saw that his hand -trembled as he thrust it into the bag. He took some time in choosing. -When at last he drew his card, glancing quickly at both sides of it, he -threw it down upon the table. - -"Blank!" he said. "Not yet." - -Rudini sat next to him. He made a little speech before he put his hand -into the bag. - -"If I am what Mr. Pendarvon has called the fortunate individual, it -will be no woman I shall kill. I would sooner kill a thousand men. It -is for that I joined the club." - -But he was not the "fortunate individual." He drew a blank. He was -shortsighted. He had to peer at it closely before he saw it was a -blank. - -"As the Colonel says--not yet. My time will come." - -Poindexter sat by Rudini--the Honourable Jem. I always thought it was -rather a shame to drag him in. He was only a boy, just out of his -teens. He said nothing when he got the bag; he made up in eloquence of -looks for paucity of words. There was a white, drawn look about his -face which made him look as old as any one of us. He fumbled with the -mouth of the bag, as though it was not large enough for him to get his -hand in. When he did get one hand in, he dropped the bag from the -other. Pendarvon laughed. - -"Upon my word, you're shivering, Jem; is it with joy?" - -The Honourable picked up the bag. - -"What's it to do with you what I am shivering at?" - -He stared at the card he drew. Then he gasped, "Thank God, it's blank!" - -Pendarvon laughed again. I believe that the laughter which they say is -heard in hell must sound like his. - -"Why, Jem, one would almost think that you were glad." - -The Honourable said nothing. He tried to stare at Pendarvon. But it was -a failure. He put his head down on the table. And he cried. He was only -a lad. - -Old Shepherd came after the boy. When he saw that it was his turn he -did a very curious thing. He got off his chair and he went on to his -knees, and he said-- - -"I am going to pray." - -He closed his eyes, and he clasped his hands in front of him. I suppose -he prayed. I know we stared. Pendarvon was shaking with laughter--it -was with soundless laughter for once in a way. I suppose that the man -prayed for at least five minutes. I wonder that we were still so long. -I was on the point of politely requesting him to cut it short when he -rose from his knees. He put his hand into the bag. He drew a blank. - -"My prayer," he said, "has not been answered. I fear, sometimes, that -it will remain unanswered to the end." - -What he meant it is not for me to say. It was plain that, as I have -observed already, he was stark mad. In the next chair was Teddy -Hibbard. He turned to Shepherd-- - -"I say, old chap, what was it you wanted?" - -"The Honour of the Club. I am waiting and watching and hoping for the -end." - -"Are you? Then if I get it I'll give it you; a beginning's more my -line." - -He also drew a blank. When he perceived what it was he held it out -towards Pendarvon and winked, "I'm not sorry." With a dexterous -movement he threw it across the table, so that if Pendarvon had not put -up his hand and stopped it it would have struck him in the face. "Put -that in your pipe and smoke it, see." - -When Silvester took the bag he began to shake it. - -"We're getting warm." He turned to Shepherd. "I echo what Teddy's said. -If I draw the Honour of the Club I'll pass it on to you." - -Shepherd shook his head. - -"That will not do. I must draw the lot myself." - -Silvester held out the bag to him. "Would you like to have another -try?" - -"I must draw it, in due order, in my proper turn." - -"It strikes me that you're not quite so anxious as you make out. I -don't mind owning that my anxiety is all the other way. I should like -to have a little longer run before I earn my diploma." - -He drew a blank. Next to him sat Archie. Silvester passed him the bag, -with a laugh--a queer laugh, which had in it a hysteric note. - -"Try your luck, Beaupré--three shies a penny!" - -Archie looked him in the face. - -"There is no necessity for me to try my luck, Silvester. I know it -before I try. I knew it before I came into this room. You fellows -drawing was but a mere matter of form. I am to draw the Honour of the -Club. It is written in the skies." - -His voice rang through the room. I noticed that Pendarvon tugged at his -beard, and stared at him, as if he could not make him out. But I, -knowing the man as I did, knew his mood. Slipping his hand quickly into -the bag, in an instant he drew it out. Without glancing at the card -which he had drawn he held it up to us between his fingers. "See! The -Honour of the Club!" - -It was. - -There was silence. Approaching the card to his face, Archie touched it -with his lips. - -"Welcome, thou dreadful thing!" He half rose to his feet. "Gentlemen, -did I not tell you? As you perceive, the fortune of war is mine!" - -I stood up as he sat down. - -"Bumpers, gentlemen." They filled and rose. "Beaupré, feeling, as we -must, that the Honour of the Club could not possibly be in better or in -more deserving hands, we tender you our best congratulations on your -good fortune as you know full well." - -Then they all said in a sort of chorus as they drank, "We do." - -"You have the prospect, nay, the certainty, of good sport before you, -Beaupré--sport of a rare and of a most excellent kind. I speak from my -own experience. That this day month you may have as pleasant a story to -tell as mine--Beaupré, I can wish you no better wish than that." - -Then Archie spoke. He held the Honour of the Club out in front of him -while he was speaking. - -"Mr. Chairman and gentlemen, I have not words with which to thank you. -I would I had. They would indeed be warm. Mr. Chairman, to you I would -particularly say that your good wishes strike me deep. They cut into my -heart. For my fondest hope as I listen and as I look at you, with this -piece of pasteboard held in my safe keeping, thinking of all that you -have done on behalf of its twin brother, is that I may play half as -well the man." He bowed round the table. "I thank you." - -And he sat down. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - A LITTLE GAME. - - -Six or seven of us were in the street outside the club when the meeting -was over. Where the rest had vanished to I do not know. There was not a -cab to be seen. I doubt if a cab ever does ply for hire in that -locality. Besides, what would be one cab among so many? The night was -fine. Archie put his arm through mine. - -"Come along, lets pad the hoof, my dears." - -Off we went, the lot of us abreast. We had not gone a dozen yards -before we came upon a policeman coming along as if the pavement had -been in his family for years. - -"Now, officer," cried Silvester, "make way!" - -The officer slowed. He thrust his thumbs into his belt. He surveyed us -with a genial grin which might almost have suggested that we were -friends of his. - -"What are you gentlemen doing here? This isn't the sort of place -for the likes of you. If some of the chaps caught sight of those -shirt-fronts of yours they might rumple 'em a bit." - -Silvester pulled up the collar of his coat. - -"My dear Mr. Policeman, how you frighten us! Could you tell us where we -are or which is the way to anywhere?" - -The officer jerked his thumb over his shoulder. - -"If you go straight on, through Strutton Ground, it'll take you out -into Victoria Street, but you'll find it a roughish way." - -We did find it a roughish way. We also found that there were some -roughish people thereabouts, especially the proprietors of the costers' -barrows. It must have been at least eleven, but they were carrying on a -market in the gutter as briskly as if it had been the middle of the -day. I said to Archie, as soon as I saw what sort of place it was, that -we had better sneak through in single file, and thank our stars when we -found ourselves out of it. But the others didn't seem to see it. They -were bent on improving the shining hour. And they improved it. When I -did begin to understand that I was in Victoria Street, at last, some -gentleman had borrowed my hat, and I had to tie a handkerchief under my -chin to keep the rest of my hair on my head. - -"A lively five minutes," observed Teddy, picking what were either -pieces of a potato or of an onion from his eye. - -I moved a little from him. Owing to his having been upset among the -dried fish on a coster's barrow he smelt a bit strong. Silvester held -up something in the air. - -"I've got a cabbage, and, by jove, I believe some one's got my watch." - -There was a roar of voices issuing from the street through which we had -come. - -"Here they are again!" I cried. "I've had enough of it. I'm off. Hi! -cabby!" - -Two hansoms were prowling by. I jumped into one. Two or three of the -fellows followed me. We drove away from our friends of Strutton Ground -with a parting yell, the rest of the fellows in the second hansom -bringing up the rear. - -They would not let us in at the Criterion. The individual at the door -seemed to think that there was something in our appearance which was -not exactly what it ought to be. Silvester presented him with the -cabbage for which, quite unintentionally, he had exchanged his watch. -But so far from allowing that handsome contribution to the family -larder--it had cost Eugene perhaps fifty pounds--to melt his heart, the -stiff-necked Cerberus actually threatened us with the police. So we -adjourned to the tavern at the corner till they turned us out. Then we -went for a quiet stroll along Piccadilly, seven abreast, which soon -landed us in the thick of a row. It was a fight of giants while it -lasted. But the police were one too many. They bore the Honourable off -in triumph. We followed him in a body to Vine Street Station, where -every one was most polite. But they wouldn't hear of bail. A policeman -had a most dreadful eye, and he made out that it was Jem. So we had to -leave him in the hands of cruel strangers to spend the night. Poor Jem! - -When we got outside, being all of us so clear-headed and in such a -thoroughly judicial frame of mind, Archie proposed that we should -adjourn to his place and have a hand at cards. We belonged to perhaps -two dozen clubs between us, but they were none of them sufficiently -cerulean--though blue enough--to have admitted us without our first -having gone through the ceremony of going home and washing ourselves -and changing our clothes. So, as that sort of thing would have been an -awful bore, we snapped at Archie's kind invite. And some uncivil -policeman coming up and suggesting that it would be well for our own -health and for the health of the neighbourhood if we stood not on the -order of our going, we tumbled into a couple of cabs and went. - -Archie's rooms were in Wilton Street. As the cabs drew up at his door, -Pendarvon came strolling up. He pulled up at the sight of us. He -stared. He appeared surprised. As every one who had been favoured with -a near view of us during the last hour or so had appeared surprised, -however much we might feel wounded, we could scarcely openly resent -such an exhibition on the part even of a friend. - -"What on earth have you fellows been doing?" he inquired. "You don't -seem to me to have a whole suit of clothes between you." - -Archie explained-- - -"My dear Pendarvon, if you had been doing what we have been doing, you -would look as we are looking. Come inside!" - -So Pendarvon entered with the rest of us. - -When we were in we found that with Pendarvon we were six. We had been -seven without him. The Honourable we had dropped at Vine Street, and -Lister, for anything any one seemed to know to the contrary, was a -clear case of lost, stolen, or strayed. Of the six, Gravesend was -obviously no good for cards. He fell asleep as soon as he had found a -chair to do it on. It did not seem to rouse him to any appreciable -extent even when he tumbled off. The best we could do for him was to -put him comfortably to bed on the hearthrug in Archie's bedroom. There -was no fear of his doing himself a mischief if he rolled about. - -Of the five who were left, Teddy was not exactly fit. But as the idea -of leaving him out, filled him with nothing else but wrath, we cut him -in. Silvester had quenched his thirst, but I do not think I ever saw -him too drunk to play. He presented a truly remarkable spectacle as -regards attire. The gentleman who had borrowed his watch, or some of -his friends, had taken away the large portion of his shirt to wrap it -up in. His coat was slit right down his back. Waistcoat he had none. -And he had tied his braces round his waist in order to retain -possession of what was left him of his trousers. However, with the -assistance of one of Archie's dressing-gowns, he managed. The more -Archie drinks, the more he's in the vein. As for me, I was ready to -play for my boots. And Pendarvon was as sober as a judge. - -Beaupré made it poker--poker is his pet game. We began with a ten -shilling ante, and a ten pound limit. It made a pretty game, while it -lasted. In the first jack-pot, when it came to threes, Silvester -declared that all his cash was gone. It was he began the IOU's. Teddy's -luck was wonderful. Before very long very nearly all our ready-money -had gone his way. I had ten tenners and gold when I began. They soon -paid a visit to Teddy. Pendarvon seemed to have a pocket full of money. -He brought out a whole sheaf of bank-notes to give our appetites a -twist. - -Teddy had just taken another plump jack-pot when Beaupré ran dry. He -replenished his pockets at his desk. When he came back, Pendarvon was -about to deal. - -"Don't you think," he said, "that this is a little slow? Suppose we -double the limit. Teddy, I suppose you don't object." - -Teddy said he didn't. More than half drunk, and fancying himself in the -vein, he was not likely to object. I took it that Archie had already -lost a hundred and fifty. I saw that he had only brought about another -century to table. I guessed--for reasons--that he was squeezed for -funds. I suspected that he might not care to plunge deeper than we were -already. And so, to save him, I struck in. - -"So far as I am concerned, I am content to go on as we are. It's good -enough for me." - -To my surprise, and to my amusement, Archie was quite vehement upon the -other side. - -"Rubbish! This sort of thing's only fit for babes, not men! Reggie, -where's your courage--make it twenty." - -So we made the limit twenty pounds. - -Luck began to slip away from Teddy--small wonder either! He did some -outrageous bluffing, against Pendarvon, too, who is one of the hardest -men to bluff there is about. Teddy waxed wild. He and Pendarvon were -the only two left in. They raised each other till there was, perhaps -five hundred in the pool. Then Pendarvon saw him. Teddy threw down his -cards with a curse. - -"Ace high." - -"Fours." - -Pendarvon showed four sevens. Teddy had paid for his whistle. - -After that, the luck, and, for the matter of that, the play too, went -dead against him. He kept on drinking--he was not in the least fit for -poker, but he would keep on playing. Archie, too, kept on the shady -side. Silvester about held his own. I had an occasional hand worth -backing. Pendarvon and I bid fair to share the spoils. - -One round we all came in. I was first bettor. Silvester was blind. I -opened with the limit. Each man went the limit better in his turn. When -there was four hundred in the pool Silvester went out. Another round or -two and Teddy went. There was over five hundred in the pool. Pendarvon -had raised the limit over Archie. It was sixty pounds for me to come -in. I had a straight, knave high. I saw the sixty. Archie saw it, and -went twenty better. Pendarvon raised him twenty. I saw the forty. -Archie scribbled another IOU--he had been reduced for some time to -paper. He had raised again. Pendarvon followed suit. I thought that it -was enough for me, and went. The two kept at it. There must have been -over a thousand in before Pendarvon saw. Archie laid down his hand, -with a smile, as though he felt sure that, this time, the luck was his. - -"A full--queens high." - -Pendarvon laughed. - -"Not good enough! I take this pool--I pip you." - -He also had a full--with three kings on top. Silvester spoke. - -"Will somebody kindly stick a penknife into Teddy." - -I looked up--poor Teddy was asleep. When, however, we charged him with -it, he endeavoured to wake up and call us names. He insisted on -continuing to play. It proved to be as much as he could do to pick up -his cards--more than he could do to see them when picked up. The very -next round, when asked if he proposed to cover the ante, he threw down -his cards face upwards on the table, observing that it was no good -coming in on a hand like that. He had held three queens! I struck. I -declined to go shares in a robbery. - -"Teddy," I remarked, "if you'll take my advice you'll go home to bed. -Just now poker's not your line." - -"I'm not feeling very well," he said. "I hate this game; it makes me -ill. Let's play something else." - -"We will. We'll sing 'Rock-a-by, baby,' and play at going to sleep. -Come along, Teddy, let me offer you the temporary loan of my arm." - -Archie interposed. - -"Hang it, Reggie, you're not going! Put the beggar to sleep alongside -Gravesend on the rug." - -"I'm not going to sleep on the rug," said Teddy, "I hate the rug." - -We compromised, putting him to bed on the couch in Archie's bedroom. It -seemed unlikely that he would fall off, since he was asleep before we -had the whole of him laid down. While we were together in the bedroom, -I said a private word to Archie. - -"If you'll hearken to the wisdom of the wise, old man, you'll cut it. -You're not in the vein." - -He chose to misunderstand my meaning. - -"Do you mean I'm drunk?" - -"I think I am--at least too drunk for poker; and too sleepy, also. If -you'll allow me, I'll get home." - -Archie looked at me in the way I knew, all his Scotch temper in his -eyes. - -"Are you afraid, or broke? Or what the devil's up?" - -Pendarvon called from the next room. - -"Are you fellows having a little game by yourselves?" - -I jerked my thumb towards Pendarvon as Archie and I went in together. - -"That's just what is up--the devil." - -We four went at it again. I reckoned that at that time Archie had lost -about two thousand pounds--nearly the whole of it to Pendarvon in -IOU's. His heavier losses all came afterwards. Silvester also lost. He -made a very nasty loser. He allowed things to escape his tongue which, -under other circumstances, might have brought the sitting to a prompt -and a turbulent close. Pendarvon, to whose address Silvester's little -observations were principally directed, seemed to take it for granted -that the fact of his being three-parts drunk covered a multitude of -sins. For my part, on the whole I won. By degrees, as Silvester's -sulkiness increased, the game resolved itself into a sort of triangular -duel. Archie went for Pendarvon, and Pendarvon went for me. As he -found, for the most part, that his assaults were unavailing, and that -my mood was beatific, Pendarvon began to follow Silvester's lead and -lose his temper. Not, however, on Silvester's lines. The more enraged -he grew, the more he laughed. I knew the gentleman so well. - -Archie began to play like a lunatic. Once Silvester declined to come -in. I had four knaves; it was the second four hand I had had within a -very few minutes. Of course, I started to back it for all I was worth. -What Archie and Pendarvon had was more than I could guess; I did not -much care. I felt that, whatever they had, I was about their match. I -had taken one card, wishing them to suppose that I had drawn to two -pairs. Archie had had two. I took it that he had started with a -triplet. Pendarvon had had three; apparently he had opened with a pair. -It seemed from the betting that they had both improved their hands, for -neither seemed disposed to tire. The pool crept up to a thousand. Then -Archie found fault with the rate of progression. - -"Confound this limit! It's child's play; we shall be at it all night. -Will either of you see me for £500?" - -Pendarvon hesitated, or appeared to. - -"Having fixed a limit, isn't it rather against the rules to travel -outside? But, so far as I am personally concerned, I don't mind seeing -your five hundred, and raising you another five. What do you say, -Townsend?" - -"I object. At this point of the game to change the points in such a -fashion would simply be to plunder you. I hold the winning hand." - -Archie became excited, and not quite civil. - -"That's rot. I say ditto to Pendarvon, Reggie. Will you pay a thousand -to see our hands?" - -"I will do this. I will agree to each man tabling a thousand, and -showing his hand." - -"Done!" Archie scribbled an IOU. "Now, Pen, down with your thousand." - -Pendarvon counted out a heap of Archie's IOU's, laughing as he did so. - -"I hope that's good enough." - -I drew a cheque on a sheet of paper. - -"Now, Archie, if you please, let us see your hand." - -He faced his cards. - -"A straight flush!" he cried. - -For a moment he took my breath away. That he could have drawn two cards -for a straight flush had not entered into my philosophy. My next -feeling was that the thing looked ugly. For a man with a straight flush -in his hand to propose to increase the stakes was--well, not the thing. -While words were coming near my lips, Pendarvon leaned towards him. - -"Where is your straight flush? Show it us?" Then, with a laugh, "That's -not a straight flush." - -Archie stared at his cards. - -"What do you mean?" Then, with a shout, "I'm damned if it is!" - -As he recognised the fact, he seemed to me to turn quite green, and he -swore. In his haste, giving only a single glance at his cards, he had -let himself in. It was all but a straight flush--a case of the miss -which is as good as a mile. His hand was four, five, seven, eight, and -nine of hearts. It was a flush, but not a straight flush--he had -overlooked the absence of the six. The curious part of the thing was -that he should have drawn to such a hand. - -Pendarvon faced his cards. - -"I fancy, Archie, that I am better than you." - -He was. He had a full. Three aces and a pair of kings. No wonder he had -been willing to back his luck. I don't know what his feelings were when -he found that I could show still more. - -"Fours. I think that takes it." - -It did. - -As I scooped the plunder, Silvester rose. - -"Show four whenever you like--eh, Townsend?" - -His tone was disagreeable, and meant to be. - -"I wish I could." - -"I should say that your wish was gratified. It occurs to me that this -is distinctly a game at which the soberest wins." - -We looked at him. He looked back at us. He was evidently in a state of -mind in which he was disposed to pick a quarrel with us, either -separately or altogether. The thing to do was not to gratify his whim. -He treated Archie to a peculiarly impertinent stare. "That was an odd -mistake of yours. I'm drunk, but I'm not drunk enough for that, and I -never could be." He gave Pendarvon a turn--"You didn't choose your -cards badly. But it's only a question of courage. Take my tip, next -time you make it fours." He lurched away from the table. "I'm off. -You're welcome to what you've got--cut it up between you." - -He staggered from the room. Archie rose, intending, as host, to see him -off the premises. Pendarvon caught him by the arm. - -"Let the beggar see himself out. If we have luck he may break his neck -as he goes downstairs. He's made a bid for it." It seemed that he had. -We could hear him stumble down two or three steps at a time. We -listened. There was the sound of another stumble. Pendarvon laughed. -"Bid number two." - -Directly afterwards we heard him fidgeting with the handle of the front -door. Archie grew restless. - -"He'll raise the dead if he goes on like that much longer. Let me go -down, and let him out." - -We heard the door open, and immediately afterwards shut with a bang. - -"He's let himself out. I fancy a little more rapidly than he intended. -I'll bet an even pony that he's gone face foremost into the street. -Let's hope it." Pendarvon picked up a pack of cards. "It's my deal. -What are we going to do?" - -Getting up, Archie helped himself to another soda and whiskey. - -"Who'll have some?" We both of us did. "Let's play unlimited. I'm sick -of this." Pendarvon raised his glass. - -"Here's to you, Archie; you're a gambler." - -"I thank the stars I am. Have you any objection, Reggie?" - -I shrugged my shoulders, perceiving that remonstrance would be thrown -away. - -"I'm at your service." - -"Then we'll play unlimited." - -And we did. - -It was a warmish little game. There is something about unlimited poker -which appeals to one. The spirit of the gamble gets into one's veins -like the breath of the battle into the nostrils of the soldier. One -feels that it is a game for men, and that the manhood which is in one -has a chance to score. Archie evidently meant going for the gloves. He -never bet less than a hundred, and a thousand--in pencil on a scrap of -paper--was as nothing to him. If we wanted to be in that game we too -had to treat thousands as if they had been sovereigns. At the beginning -the luck went round to him--possibly because it took some little time -to make his methods ours. He bluffed outrageously. With a pair one was -not disposed, at the commencement, to pay a thousand to see his cards. -The result was that he scooped pool after pool. When he had made it -plain that, if we wanted him to show, we should have to pay, we began -to pay. - -And luck began! - -The ante was fixed at a tenner. I was ante. The other two had come in. -Making good, I drew three to a pair of sevens, without improving my -hand. Pendarvon opened with a hundred, Archie promptly making it five. -I had not had a sight--I had had no cards--for the last five hands. -This time, the devil entering into me, I made up my mind that I would -find out what sort of game Archie was playing, and have a view if it -broke me. I saw his five hundred. Pendarvon saw it too. Then Archie -turned up a pair of knaves. I yielded without showing, and to my -surprise, Pendarvon did as I had done. A pair of knaves seemed hardly -worth fifteen hundred pounds. It looked like easy earning. - -The same thing went on time after time. Archie could not be induced to -see a man while he could keep on raising. The very next hand, when we -had both come in, Archie started with a five hundred bet. So Pendarvon -and I let him have the entries. And we had a twenty pound pot. - -We had gone right round and come back again to pairs, when Pendarvon -announced that he could open. He made it a hundred to enter. Archie and -I went in--though, so far as I was concerned, I had an empty hand. -Pendarvon took two, Archie stood pat, and I drew five, finding myself -in possession of a pair of aces. Pendarvon started with five hundred -pounds; we seemed to be getting incapable of thinking of anything -under. Archie raised him nine thousand five hundred pounds, tabling his -IOU for a round ten thousand. I retired; a pair of aces was not quite -good enough for that. If I was to be broken, I might just as well be -broken for something better. Pendarvon looked at Archie as if he would -have liked to have seen right into him. - -"Have you the Bank of England at your back?" - -"What are you going to raise me?" inquired Archie. - -"Nothing. I go. The courage is yours. I opened with a pair of jacks." - -Pendarvon showed them. I doubt if he had anything more. I doubt if -Archie had as much. But, still, ten thousand. The average man is not -inclined to go as far as that upon a pair of jacks. I could see that -Pendarvon felt that he had been bluffed. It put his back up. He meant -to be even with Archie--and he was. - -"Let me clearly understand what unlimited poker means. Does it mean -that I'm at liberty to put half a sheet of notepaper on the table and -say I raise a million?" - -Archie fired up at the innuendo Pendarvon's words seemed to convey. - -"What do you mean by half a sheet of notepaper? Do you suggest that my -IOU is nothing but half a sheet of notepaper?" - -"Not a bit of it. Why should I? My dear Archie, don't get warm. Only we -are none of us millionaires. I know I'm not. Ten thousand pounds is a -considerable sum to me. We, all of us, are playing on the nod. Before -you go any further suppose we name a date by which all paper must be -redeemed." - -"I'm willing." - -"Suppose we say that it must be redeemed within a week?" - -"I'm willing again." - -I also acquiesced. I saw the force of what he said, and I saw the pull -which it would give him over Archie. Where Archie was likely to find -such a sum as ten thousand pounds within a week was more than I knew, -and, unless I greatly erred, more than he knew either. Pendarvon is a -man of substance. His stannary dues alone are supposed to average -thirty or forty thousand pounds a year, and if it came to a question of -ready-money not improbably he could buy up Archie lock, stock, and -barrel, and scarcely feel that he had made a purchase. - -Archie must have been possessed by the very spirit of mischief. He -entirely refused to be out-crowed on his own dunghill--even though he -knew his rival to be the larger and the stronger bird. Almost -immediately afterwards Pendarvon started the betting with a thousand -pounds. Archie retorted by raising him fourteen thousand, laying on the -table his IOU for fifteen thousand pounds. I went. I had two pairs, but -the atmosphere promised to grow too hot for me. Pendarvon laughed. - -"I'll see your raise." - -He placed his own IOU on Archie's. - -"Three kings." - -Archie faced them. Pendarvon laughed again. He threw his cards away. - -"Too good!" - -He had supposed that Archie was bluffing--and had paid for his -supposition. - -The game fluctuated. Pendarvon had Archie once or twice upon the hip, -paring down his winnings. At last we came to what proved to be the -last, and hardest-fought-for pool of the sitting. It was a pot. We had -gone right through the hands. In the second round Archie opened when it -came to two pairs or better. He made it a hundred to go in. I went in, -though I had only queens. I kept the pair and an ace, and took two--two -more queens. Pendarvon and Archie both stood pat. I perceived that the -scent of a big battle was coming into the air--when I saw my four -queens, and made sure that they were four queens, it did me good to -smell it coming. - -Archie began, for him, very modestly--with a five hundred bet. I turned -it into a thousand, which Pendarvon doubled. Then we went at it, hammer -and tongs. As I raised Archie, and Pendarvon every time raised me, it -made it impossible for Archie to even the bets, and force a display. At -last it grew too hot even for him. I reckoned that I had thirty -thousand in the pool. Pendarvon had made it another four thousand for -Archie to come in. Although he was beginning to look as if he was not -altogether enjoying himself, in he came. I raised him. Pendarvon raised -me. The betting went on. I had IOU's for sixty thousand in the pool. -The fates alone knew where the cash was to come from if I lost--unless -it came from Sir Haselton Jardine, against which possibility the odds -seemed pretty strong. Pendarvon raised me five thousand more. Archie -realised at last that he could not see us unless we chose to let -him--and that we did not mean to let him. He threw down his cards with -a curse--it being a bad habit of his to use strong language when, if he -only knew it, milder words would serve him at least equally well. One -can damn so effectively with a softly-uttered blessing. - -When Archie went I saw Pendarvon. - -"Fours," he said. - -I felt a shudder go all down my back. - -"Four what?" - -"Tens." - -"Queens." - -As I faced them, in its holy of holies my heart sang a loud Te Deum. -Pendarvon stood up, still laughing. - -"That's enough for me." - -When I heard the peculiar something that was ringing in his laughter, -knowing the man as I did, I knew that Mr. Pendarvon would watch for me -and wait. His turn would come. - -"I'm hanged!" cried Archie, "if I haven't thrown my money clean away!" - -He certainly had--that is, if his IOU's represented money, which his -best friend might be excused for doubting. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - DAMON AND PYTHIAS: A MODERN INSTANCE. - - - "WEST KENSINGTON. - -"DEAR MR. TOWNSEND,--Will you come and dine with me one evening next -week? I am always free. - -"I want to ask your advice on a small personal concern. You know the -world so much better than I do. - - "Truly yours, - - "HELEN CARRUTH." - - -The next morning, when I woke from dreams of poker, this was the first -letter which I opened. It was nicely written, in a small, round hand, -as clear as copperplate--somehow it did not strike me as being the -writing of a woman who did not know the world. Mrs. Carruth seemed -friendly. With a background of intentions, as usual? What was the -"small personal concern?" An excuse?--only that and nothing more? I -wondered. - -I had to go down to Cockington by the afternoon train--to Dora, and to -Haselton Jardine. I should probably stay there till Tuesday or -Wednesday--it depended. I might make it Thursday with Mrs. Carruth--if -anything turned up at the last moment I could always send an excuse. -Something about the woman attracted me. A _tête-à-tête_ might prove -amusing. There and then I scribbled an acceptance--appointing Thursday. - -I was conscious of the possession of a head--the adventures of the -night had left the flavour of brandy behind. We had made up accounts -before we parted. There had been diversions! I had a nice little -pocketful of money. Pendarvon owed me seventeen thousand odd, Archie -owed him over four thousand, and me over thirty-five thousand. As I -surveyed Archie's heap of IOU's I felt that I had better make early -inquiries into the prices current of waste paper. Pendarvon's seventeen -thousand I would get within the week, or mention it. - -No need to trouble myself about Pendarvon. While I still was fingering -his paper, Burton brought me an envelope on which I recognised his -handwriting. - -"Mr. Pendarvon's servant waits for an answer, sir?" - -The envelope contained a cheque and note. - - - "ARLINGTON STREET. - - "_Friday_. - -"DEAR TOWNSEND,--Enclosed find a cheque for £17,450. Short reckonings -make long friends. Please give IOU's to bearer. - - "Yours, - - "C. P." - - -I packed up his IOU in an envelope, with a word of thanks, and handed -them to Burton. Pendarvon was the sort of man one liked to play -with--when one won. He might not prove so pleasant an opponent when one -lost, and owed one's losings, and was pressed for cash. Asking for no -grace, he gave none. Archie would have to find that four thousand in a -week. - -Poor dear old Archie! - -What was I to do? I had as much chance of getting thirty-five thousand -pounds out of him as out of the first beggar I might meet in the -street. Well, I could afford to be magnanimous. I was like unto him -that expecteth nothing. I might let him off--if his beggarly, but -proud, Scotch blood would suffer it. It might be worth my while to put -him under an obligation. - -He came in just as I had finished dressing--looking as if he had been -spending the time since I had seen him last in trying to find that five -and thirty thousand pounds. His eyes were bloodshot. His face was white -and drawn. He was a vivid illustration of the night it must have been. -Vouchsafing no greeting, sitting down without a word, leaning on the -handle of his stick, he stared at nothing with his bloodshot eyes. - -I opened the ball. - -"Are you coming down with me to Torquay by the three o'clock?" Silence. -"I suppose you haven't forgotten your engagement with Jardine?" - -"I can't keep it. For a sufficient reason." - -"What's that? Feel seedy? The run down will do you good. You'll feel as -fit as a fiddler by the time you get to Cockington." - -"That's not the reason." - -"What is it then? I suppose you're not going to throw them -over--they'll want your gun." - -"The reason I'm not going is because I have not sufficient money with -which to pay the fare." - -I stared. I had not supposed the thing was so bad as that. Yet it was -characteristic. In one of his moods he was just the man to play for his -boots, and not miss them till he wanted to put them on. - -"I suppose you're joking." - -By way of reply he relinquished his stick, stood up, and solemnly -turned out his pockets one by one. He held some coins out towards me in -his hand. - -"Six-and-ninepence. That represents my cash in hand. Of course, there -is always the pawnshop." - -"Stuff. You can always borrow." - -"I am glad to hear it. From whom? Give me the gentleman's name. He is -not known to me, I'll swear. I must be unknown to him, or he would -never lend." - -"Can't you do anything on a bit of stiff?" - -"I repeat--give me the gentleman's name." - -"If it comes to that, I'll lend you a hundred or so to go on with -myself, as you very well know." - -"I owe you five and thirty thousand pounds already." - -"Look here, Archie, I don't want to make myself disagreeable, as you -believe, but when you like you can be about as much of an idiot as they -make them. Your proceedings last night would have been more appropriate -at a symposium in the county asylum. As to what you say you owe me, -we'll postpone the settling day, with your permission, to when your -ship comes home." - -"The arrangement was that all paper was to be taken up within a week." - -"Rubbish. You and I know what those sort of arrangements are worth." - -"Are you suggesting that I'm a thief?" - -"I'm doing nothing of the sort. I'm asserting that you're a fool." - -"Reggie!" - -"Archie?" - -He glared at me so that, for a moment, I thought that he was going to -give further proof of the truth of my words upon the spot. But he -changed his mind. He dropped on to a chair with a sort of gasp. - -"What you say is correct enough. I have no right to cavil. I thank you -for the word." He sat silent. Then he added, "But it's not only you I -owe, I owe Pendarvon." - -"If you take my advice, you'll pay Pendarvon." - -"It's not advice I want; it's money. I owe the man, in round numbers, -four thousand five hundred pounds. I don't know where to turn to raise -four hundred." - -"My dear Archie, you must excuse my saying, that's your affair. You -would punt--although he gave you warning. The man lost heavily himself. -This morning he's sent me round a cheque to settle." - -"He has, has he? He is an honest man. My God! what it is to have -money!" - -"That's nonsense. If you were made of money you would not be justified -in playing as you played last night." - -"That's right. Give it me. I deserve it all. I wonder what my father -will think when he finds out, once more, what sort of son I am." - -"He'll think of the days of his own youth. When they are confronted -with similar revelations, all our fathers do." - -"I doubt it. I don't think my father was ever such as I am. Certainly, -he never bound himself to commit murder within a month. I suppose that -you have not forgotten that the Honour of the Club is in my keeping." - -I had not. I had very clearly understood that it was that fact which -had caused him to make the spectacle of himself which he had done. I -stood contemplating the fire, twisting Mrs. Carruth's note between my -fingers. He repeated his own words bitterly--"The Honour of the Club." - -"It's a pretty club." - -"My faith it is!" - -"Your only bantling." - -"Don't say that. It's Pendarvon's. You know it is. It's the biggest -part of the debt I owe him. When I think of it, I feel like killing -him." - -"Why don't you?" - -"It's against the rules. You stood by the rules, and so will I." - -"Who are you going to kill?" - -"For one thing, I shall kill my father. It will be as good as his -death-blow when he hears of the sort of thing I am." - -"That sort of murder won't come within the scope of the definition. If -it did, possibly seven men out of ten would be entitled to the diploma -of the club. Archie, I'll make you a proposition. I'll give you the -money to pay Pendarvon, and I'll cry quits for what you owe me, if -you'll agree, since you must kill some one, to kill any person I may -nominate." - -"Reggie!--what devil's game are you up to now?" - -"At present, none. At this moment I have not the faintest reason to -wish myself rid of any living creature. But before the end of the month -the situation may be altered. Is it a deal?" - -He hesitated; rose, and began to walk about the room. I watched him as -he did so. I noticed how he clasped and unclasped his hands. He turned -to me. - -"I agree." - -I sat down, then and there, and wrote him an open cheque for five -thousand pounds. - -"The balance will enable you to rub along for a time. If you take my -tip, you'll let Pendarvon have his coin at once--before leaving town." - -He took the cheque. Scanning the figures, he began to fold it up with -nervous fingers. A smile--of a kind--wrinkled his lips. - -"What things we may become! If ever there was blood money, this is it. -And I'm a Beaupré. And do you know, Townsend, that for ever so long -I've been dreaming dreams." He looked up at me, with a sudden flashing -of his eyes. "Dreams of Dora Jardine." - -I turned again to the fire--smiling in my turn. - -"You told me so before." - -"But I never told you what sort of dreams I had been dreaming. I never -told you how she fills all my veins till, in all the world, I see -nothing, think of nothing else, but her. I never told you how she is -with me by day and by night, sleeping and waking; that, wherever I am, -and whatever I do, I am always repeating to myself her name. I never -told you that the dreams which I have dreamed of her have driven me -mad. I never told you that." - -"With all due respect to you, I should hardly have believed you if you -had." - -"Why? Because I am the thing I am? There's the pity of it! I have been -so conscious of my unworthiness, so conscious that I never could be -worthy, that, constrained by some madness which I verily believe is in -my blood, I have become more unworthy still." He came closer to me. His -voice dropped to a sort of breathless whisper. "And yet, Reggie, do you -know, I believe that, in spite of all, she cares for me." - -"I think not." - -He became, all at once, almost ferocious. - -"You think not! What right have you to think? How can you tell what -grounds I may have for my belief?" - -I turned to him. I had purposely kept my back towards him while he had -been indulging in his hysterical ravings. Now I was surprised and -amused to see what a change his hysterics had produced. His cheeks were -flushed. His eyes were flaming. He seemed to have increased in stature. -He seemed to have lost all traces of the hang-dog air with which he had -entered the room. - -"I ought, Archie, to have stopped you. If I remember rightly I did stop -you on a previous occasion. I have, I assure you, good cause for -thinking that your belief is an erroneous one; that cause is, that I -have reason to believe that she cares for me." - -"For you--Reggie!" - -"I will be frank with you. With her father's express approval I am -going down to Cockington to-day in the character of Miss Jardine's -suitor." - -"You!--My God!" - -"Very shortly I hope to receive your congratulations on the confessedly -undeserved good fortune which has dowered me with such a wife." - -"But"--the man was trembling so that he could scarcely -speak--"you're--you're a murderer." - -"I am as you will shortly be. Let us hope that my man is not listening -to these plain truths. What then?" - -He began fumbling in his waistcoat pocket. - -"I won't have your money. You can't buy me body and soul--no, not -altogether. She shall know what manner of man you are." - -He threw my cheque from him on to the floor. - -"I see. Having led me into crime, you are going to tell of me. Is that -sort of conduct in accordance with the Beaupré code of honour? Are you -sure that you are not proposing to play Judas merely because I have -conquered where you have failed?" - -"No! No! I won't tell! I won't tell! You know I won't! But--that you -should be going to marry Dora Jardine!" - -He sank in a heap on to a chair, looking once more as pitiable an -object as one would care to see. - -"Come, Archie, pull yourself together. Have a drink, and play the man. -Pick up the cheque, run down with me to Cockington, and wish me luck -upon the road. Surely your own experience has taught you that love's -transferable. So long as one has an object it does not much matter what -it is, or whether it's in the singular or plural. Between ourselves, I -believe that Miss Whortleberry, the American millionairess, is with the -Jardines. You marry her--and her millions--I promise you I won't tell." - -My words did not seem to brighten him up to any considerable extent. He -sat staring with wide open eyes, almost like a man who had been -stricken with paralysis. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - THE PROMISE. - - -But he went with me to Cockington. More, he picked up the cheque, and -cashed it, and let Pendarvon have his money before he went. He struck -me as not being very far from drunk when we started. Having commenced -to drink, he kept at it like a fish. He was in deliriously high spirits -by the time we reached our journey's end. I began to suspect that there -was literal truth in what he had said; that there was a strain of -madness in his blood; and that, consciously or otherwise, he was in -actual training for a madhouse. The more I considered it, the less his -conduct for some time past smacked to me of sanity. - -It was past nine when we reached Jardine's. At the door they told us -that dinner had been kept waiting for our arrival. It was ready to be -served as soon as we appeared. Making a quick change, I hurried down -into the drawing-room. As I entered Dora Jardine advanced to meet me. - -"We expected papa by the same train by which you came, but he is -detained in town. I have just had a telegram from him to say so. He -says that he hopes to be here for the shoot, so perhaps he will come -down by the mail--it gets here in the middle of the night, just before -four." I bowed. She added, in a lower tone of voice, "Isn't it odd how -some people have too much to do, and others have too little?" - -"I am afraid, Miss Jardine, that such inequality is characteristic; -while, if you are referring particularly to me, I assure you that very -shortly I hope to be overwhelmed beneath the pressure of innumerable -engagements." - -She turned to the others. I knew them all. There was her aunt, Mrs. -Crashaw, fat, not fair, and more than forty, a childless widow, who was -understood to be rich. Lady Mary Porteous, the Marquis of Bodmin's -sister, who was not so young as she had been. And there was Miss -Whortleberry, the daughter of Asa Whortleberry, late of Chicago, and -the present possessor of all his millions. Miss Whortleberry was one of -those young women who seem to be America's most peculiar and special -product. To look at she was a graceful, slender little thing, with big -eyes and a face that was almost angelic in its innocence. An -unsuspecting stranger might have been excused for taking it for granted -that in the frame of a delicate girl there was the simple spirit of a -child. A more prolonged inspection would, however, have revealed to him -the fact that her costume was, to say the least of it, more suggestive -of Paris than Arcadia. But it was when she opened her mouth that she -gave herself away. Her voice, quite apart from its nasal twang, always -reminded me, in some queer way, of Lancashire streets; it was hard and -metallic. Her conceit was simply monumental. You could not talk to her -for half an hour without discovering that there was only one heaven for -her, and that was the heaven of dollars, and that, in her own -estimation at any rate, she was its uncrowned queen. - -She was lolling back in a corner of a sofa as I advanced to her. She -vouchsafed me the tips of her fingers. - -"Ah, it's you." - -That was all the greeting she condescended to bestow. - -There were four men. George Innes--Lord George Innes--who, on the -strength of being one of the finest shots in England, is in hot request -wherever there are birds about. I believe Innes is one of the cleanest -living men I know. He is not rich, but, I take it, he lives within his -income. He is fond of a modest gamble, but he won't play for big -stakes, and he will only sit down where there's ready-money. His manner -is a trifle suggestive of a poker down his back, but if I had been run -in a different mould I could have fraternised with Innes. The man to me -rings true--he is a man. He dislikes me--it is perhaps, just as well -for him that he should. - -Then there was Tommy Verulam, an ass, if ever there was one. I suppose -he was there because of his father. I don't know what other -recommendation he has. Then there was Denton, the man who writes. -Personally, I have no taste for men who write. They may be all right in -print, but generally they are nothing out of it, and the worst of it -is, they are apt to think they are. And Silcox, M.P. I am told that he -is very popular in his party, as being the only man in the Radical gang -who is a fool, and knows it. - -Presently Archie appeared. He was flushed. I thought he looked -uncommonly well. He is a handsome beggar in his way. Dora received him -with a something in her air which made his flush mount higher. I -guessed how she set all his pulses tingling. Even Miss Whortleberry -extended to him a welcome which, for her, was quite affectionate--he -was a son of the Duke of Glenlivet. - -Dora went in with Innes, as being the biggest there. I came in with the -tail. We would change all that! - -After dinner I made straight for the drawing-room. Something seemed to -tell me that I had better make the running while I could. It was the -pace which would win. Besides, the consciousness that I was once more -in Dora's near neighbourhood had on me the same queer effect which it -evidently had on Archie. I found her talking to the Whortleberry. -Presently the millionairess went off with Mary Porteous. I had Dora to -myself. - -It was odd how the recognition of this fact gave me what positively -amounted to a thrill. And yet, for a moment or two, neither of us -spoke. She sat opening and shutting her fan. I sat and watched her -performance. And when I did speak at last, my voice actually trembled. - -"I have been thinking of what you said to me the other evening." - -"What was that?" - -"Have you forgotten?" - -"Haven't you?" - -"I could scarcely have been thinking of it if I had forgotten." - -"What did I say?" - -"You gave me courage." - -"Courage?" - -"Yes." - -"Were you in want of courage?" - -"Of that particular sort of courage. Some men only get that particular -sort of courage from a woman. I know you gave it me." - -She glanced up with those strange eyes of hers. - -"Tell me what you mean." - -"It would take me an hour to explain. Don't you know?" - -"You never struck me as being in want of courage of any sort or kind." - -There was an ironic intonation in her voice, which, in some subtle -fashion, recalled her father. - -"Is that meant as a reproach?" - -"No." She hesitated, as if to consider. Then went on, "It is not so -much your courage which I should have questioned, as the direction in -which it has been shown. It is a sufficiently rare quality to make it -unfortunate that any of it should be wasted. How much of it has been -wasted you know even better than I do." - -"I understand you. I thank you, not only for what you say, but also for -what you leave unsaid. I am not only going to turn over a new leaf, -Miss Jardine; I am going to commence a new volume. Though I shall -always feel, myself, that you have commenced it for me." - -"I am content, so long as it is a volume of a certain kind." - -What did she mean? I seldom knew quite what she did mean. She puzzled -me almost as much as her father. She was not like the average girl one -bit. As she looked at me with her curiously smiling eyes, with the -suggestion of strength which they conveyed to me, I felt that it was -probable that she knew much more of the contents of my volume, the one -which I claimed to be just closing, than I was likely to know of hers. - -"Do you know, Miss Jardine, that you are making of me a proselyte." - -"In what sense?" - -"I have never, hitherto, believed in the influence of women. You are -making of me a believer." - -"That certain women have influence over certain men I think there can -be no doubt whatever. I have influence over you; you have influence -over me. Only"--she stopped my speaking with a movement of her fan--"I -should be on my guard against your influence over me until I felt that -my influence over you had produced certain results." - -"I suppose that any attempts on my part to guard against your influence -would be vain." - -"You would not attempt to make them. You are not that kind of man." - -"Miss Jardine!" - -"You are not. You would not attempt to resist the influence of any -woman. You would rather welcome it as a sort of study in sensation, as -far as it would go. But it would not go far. It would soon reach a -bed-rock of resistance. As soon as it reached that rock it would vanish -into nothing." - -"You flatter me by making so close a study of my peculiarities." - -"I do not flatter you. I take an interest in you, because, for one -reason, you take an interest in me. Now, Mr. Townsend, I am sure that I -should find that bed-rock of resistance at a greater distance from the -surface. If ever you welcomed my influence you might find it go much -farther than you had at first intended. So I warn you in advance." - -I was silenced, not so much by her words as by her bearing. Her eyes -had an effect on me which no eyes had ever had on me before. They -mastered me, and made me conscious of a sense of satisfaction at being -mastered. - -"You make me afraid of you." - -"Just now you said I gave you courage." - -"The two things are compatible. Fear of you might give me courage." - -"You mean fear of appearing contemptible to me?" - -"Exactly." - -"Then that sort of courage I should like to give you." A gleam came -into her eyes which was almost like a flash of lightning. "Perhaps I -will." - -"Do I not tell you that you have given me a taste of it already?" - -We might have reached delicate ground. When a man and a woman deal in -personalities, and persevere in them, a situation of some sort is apt -to ensue. Archie's appearance postponed the crisis which I was -beginning to think was nearer even than I had supposed. Archie seemed -in a condition of almost feverish exaltation. In the look with which he -favoured me there was something which certainly was not altogether -friendly. Dora did not seem to notice it. She welcomed him with a -smile. As he sat down on the other side of her I got up. I left them -together. - -"Poor chap!" I told myself as I strolled off, "let him have his -innings. He must be badly burned or he would make a more strenuous -endeavour to avoid the fire." - -Lounging into the little drawing-room beyond, I came into collision -with the aunt. She had the place to herself. She appeared to be just -waking up from the enjoyment of forty winks. I daresay if I had not -come upon the scene she would have had another. At the sight of me she -roused. She beckoned me to occupy an adjacent chair. She was the aunt, -and I still was unattached. I sat beside her. - -"What do you think of Dora?" Her tone was confidential. She spoke to me -under cover of her handkerchief. Seeing that I was puzzled, she -explained--"I mean, how do you think she's looking?" - -"I think she's looking very well." - -"Isn't she! Wonderfully well! Don't you think she's lovely?" - -I hardly knew what to say. She could scarcely expect me to be ecstatic. - -"Indeed I do." - -"Of course you would!" She smiled--such a smile. "And she's all she -looks, and more. She is good as she is beautiful, and so clever. -Extraordinarily so! She's a wonderful girl!" She closed her eyes, as if -the wonder was too great for visual contemplation. "I often think that -it is unfortunate that she was not born a man." - -"You can scarcely expect me to agree with you there." - -"You wicked creature!" She prodded me with her fat fingers in the arm. -Mrs. Crashaw was one of those old women who, whenever they can, -punctuate their remarks on the persons of their listeners. She arranged -her bracelets on her wrists. "Haselton tells me that he has a very high -opinion of you, Mr. Townsend." - -"I am very glad to hear it. I only hope he does not think more highly -of me than I deserve." - -"I hope not. Young men nowadays are so wicked. They deserve so little. -As you probably are aware, Mr. Townsend, I am Haselton's only sister. -He reposes in me his entire confidence. He has no secrets from me." - -I believed her! She might be his only sister, but Sir Haselton Jardine -was as likely to repose his entire confidence in a woman of Mrs. -Crashaw's type as in the first town crier. Whatever he told her would -probably be told with, at least, one eye to advertisement. - -"My brother Haselton is a man of peculiar gifts. A remarkable man. A -man of genius if ever there was one. He is, of course, respected by all -of us, by his country and his Queen. He has a marvellous knowledge of -the world, and a great esteem for those sacred things which are too -often disregarded. And when I learn that he has a high opinion of any -person I know that that person must be all right upon the moral side. I -am glad, Mr. Townsend, to be able to think this of you." - -I looked down. I could not help but smile. - -"Thank you, Mrs. Crashaw; you are very good." - -"In this age of flippancy, the most shocking things are suffered. I -hear, I assure you, of things which would astound you. I have made -Haselton's hair stand up on end. It always gives me pleasure to hear of -a young man who is not only clever but good. For my part, let them say -what they will, I think it is better to be good than clever. I hope, -Mr. Townsend, that you will always bear that in mind." - -Again she prodded me in the arm. I could but bow my head. - -"The man who marries Dora will be a most fortunate man. She has money -of her own. She will have money from her father. She may have money -from me--mind, I make no promise--I say she may have. It depends." Mrs. -Crashaw smoothed out her ample skirts in front of her. "Then there is -the family influence and position. With a clever girl like Dora for a -wife nothing ought to be impossible to her husband." - -The dear old thing might be prosy, but it did me good to hear her -talking. Such observations, coming from such a quarter, carried weight -and meaning. They meant that my position looked already as if it was -assured. They meant that the whole thing--spontaneously, so far as I -was concerned--had been threshed out in family councils, and that then -the decision had been given for me. The thing seemed too good to be -true; and yet it was true--here was the living witness. I was in for a -stroke of fortune so stupendous as to seem to verge on the miraculous. - -If only I had known of it before last Sunday! If only I had suspected -that the thing was even possible! Why had I been so blind? Why had I -not seen it coming? Why had Sir Haselton not dropped a hint in time? -Oh, if he only had! - -But the game was not yet lost. Lost?--it was all but gained! I had but -to breast the tape, and win. The riding would do it. Luck was on my -side. - -I turned in early. I had had little enough of bed the night before. I -wanted to get up fit, with a clear eye and steady hand. I did not want -Innes to beat me too badly with the birds. One likes to hold one's own, -whatever is the game. - -In the corridor, as I was making for the sheets, who should I meet but -Dora. She thought that I was going to make changes in my costume, to -fit me for the smoking-room. - -"Going to change your coat?" - -"Not I. I'm going to bed." - -"Really?" - -"Really. I want to make some additions to to-morrow's bag. Sir Haselton -won't thank me if I don't." - -She looked at me as if she was trying to read my face. When she tried -to do that I felt, in some occult fashion, that she succeeded. I would -have been prepared to wager that she had her father's power of reading -faces--and more. - -"I want you to promise me something." - -"What is it?" - -"I want you to promise to top Lord George's score." - -"You ask a hard thing, Miss Jardine. I do not profess to be Lord George -Innes's equal as a shot." - -"I believe, if you like, you can do anything." - -"You believe too much of me. Honestly, for my sake, I wish you would -believe a little less." - -"Will you promise?" - -"I promise that I will try my hardest, that I will do my best; and, as -the archer says in 'Ivanhoe,' no man can do more." - -"You will hare to do more for me; you will have to promise, and you -will have to keep your promise." - -It seemed an unreasonable request to make--especially in that insistent -fashion--such a promise no man could be sure of keeping. A thousand -things might be against him. I might shoot better than I had ever shot -in my life, and yet not be certain of topping the score. Yet, when I -saw the something that was in her eyes, I cast caution to the wind. - -"I promise." - -She held out her hand. - -"Good-night." - -She allowed me to retain her hand for a moment in mine. - -"I know you will keep the promise you have made." - -She was gone. I turned into my room. And, when in it, I reflected. - -"If she knows that I will keep the promise I have made she knows a good -deal more than I do. I wonder what will happen if I don't. I can, as a -rule, see pretty straight along the barrel of a gun, but I do hope to -goodness the birds will be good enough to cross my line of fire. She's -the sort of girl to take the miscarriage even of such a promise as an -omen. I want the omen to be all the other way." - -Some one knocked at the door. It was Archie. He had a smoking jacket -on. - -"Aren't you coming down into the smoking-room?" - -"I am not. And, if you take my tip, you won't go either. You must be -almost as much in want of a trifle of bed as I am." - -"I am obliged to you. I make my own sleeping arrangements." His tone -was snappy. He seated himself on the arm of a chair. "Were you in -earnest in what you said to me this morning?" - -"To what are you referring?" - -"To what you said about Miss Jardine." - -"Certainly I was in earnest." - -He fixed his glance upon me in a fashion I did not relish. - -"Haven't you a grain of pity? Is there nothing human about you, -Townsend?" - -I felt strongly that that sort of thing must cease. The idea of Lord -Archibald Beaupré's mentorship was an idea not to be endured. - -"There has been a good deal about your manner towards me lately, -Beaupré, to which I have objected, and with good cause. You have -presumed on the friendship which exists between us in a manner of which -I should have thought you, of all men, would have been incapable." He -flushed. I saw I had struck home. "You must excuse me saying that if -you consider that the fact of our being acquainted with each other -entitles you to unwarrantably interest yourself in my private affairs, -I must request that that acquaintance shall cease." - -"You don't understand me--or you won't." - -"I understand you better than you imagine. You are not the first -jealous man I have known." - -He went white and red. - -"It isn't jealousy; I swear it isn't." - -"It is a matter of complete indifference to me what it is. I object to -it in any case." - -He was silent for some seconds. He stared at his toes. - -"Tell me one thing--have you proposed to her?" - -"I shall tell you nothing. After the tone which you have used towards -me I decline to allow you to ask me questions." - -He got off the arm of the chair. - -"Then God help her." He went to the door. At the door he turned again. -"I don't believe that He will suffer it." - -Then he went - -If Archie went on like that much longer, he and I should quarrel. -Vicarious morality is a variety of the article to which the most -liberal-minded inevitably objects. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - THE NEWS FROM TOWN. - - -I woke up feeling as fresh as a daisy. When Burton drew up the blinds -the sun came gleaming through the bedroom windows. - -"There's been a slight frost, sir, but I think it's going to be a clear -day." - -From where I lay in bed the sky looked cloudless. - -"It seems just the morning for a shoot." - -"I think it is a shooting day, sir--there's no wind, and a good light." - -As Burton said, it was a shooting day. When I had dressed I went -straight down on to the terrace. There was a slight nip in the air, and -the faintest whisper of a breeze. It was the sort of day which makes -one feel that it is good to be alive. I seemed to be the first one -down. I never felt more fit. I stood there drinking in great draughts -of the clear, cool air, with greater relish than I ever drank -champagne. If one always lived in such an atmosphere, with plenty of -money in one's pockets, one could afford to be a model of all the -virtues. - -Some one spoke to me from behind. It was Dora. - -"You are the first on the scene." - -I turned. She was standing at the open window of the morning-room. - -"Am I the first to whom you have wished good morning?" - -"The very first. Good morning, Mr. Townsend." - -She held out to me her hand. I retained it in mine. A wild impulse -seized me to kiss her on the lips. It was all I could do to hold my own -against it. Her eyes were so provoking, her mouth so tempting. She -allowed me to keep her hand in mine, though she might surely have seen -my desire showing through my face. And I have no doubt she did, for she -smiled at me. - -"Well--good luck." - -"I will keep my promise." - -I released her hand. A gleam of colour was glowing on her cheeks. I -doubted if she was not making fun of me. - -"After all, papa cannot come. He wishes you to shoot without him. He -says that he will certainly be down tonight." - -We shot without him. I do not think that he was missed. I had never -seen Sir Haselton Jardine handling a gun, but I should not fancy that -he was much of a performer. He did not strike one as being built that -way. - -I spoke to Innes as we were strolling to cover. - -"Innes, I'm feeling in first-rate shooting trim to-day. I don't -pretend, for a moment, to compare my shooting to yours, but would you -like to have a sporting wager?" - -"How?" - -One peculiarity of Innes's is that he never uses two syllables where -one will do. - -"Bet you a pony that I kill more birds than you." - -"Birds? or all in?" - -"All in if you like." - -"Done." - -That decided it. I had not expected that he would bet. I had a sort of -suspicion that he rather avoided making bets with me, but now that he -had bet, if I did not win his pony and keep my promise, luck would have -to be against me with a vengeance. - -There were seven guns--the house lot, and a local. Innes, Archie, I, -and the local had the best places. The local was a man named Purrier. -He seemed to be something in the gentleman farmer sort of line. He -could shoot, though he was a pot hunter if ever there was one. Sport -did not seem so much to his taste as killing. He potted ever so many of -his birds before they had a chance of getting up. Archie shot wildly. -He evidently had not taken my advice and gone to bed when I did. When -he is in form his gun can be relied upon. At his performances on that -occasion, I saw Vicary, the head-keeper, more than once pulling a face. -Innes, as usual, performed like a book. And his luck was better than -mine. The birds would rise his side. I never missed a chance. Yet, by -lunch-time, he was nineteen pheasants, two rabbits, and a hare to the -good--twenty-one in all. - -I was a bit surprised to find that luncheon was done in swagger -fashion. It was the first time I had shot at Jardine's. I had not been -aware that they did things in quite such style. There was a portable -kitchen, and a tent, and a regular table, and a lot of servants, and -there were the ladies there. One doesn't care, if one is at all keen, -for lunch being made a feature, when one is shooting. But I did not -object so much just then. Dora's face was welcome, though I had such a -pitiful tale to tell. We sat down anyhow. I planted myself beside her. - -"I haven't kept my promise." - -"Pray, how is that?" - -"The stars in their courses have fought against me. The enemy is -twenty-one ahead." - -"That is nothing. You will keep your promise before you have finished. -I know you will." - -How she knew is more than I can say. She knew better than I did. And -she knew quite right. I kept my promise. After lunch, I made up for all -my ill-luck of the morning. Her words may have had something to do with -it--and the tone in which the words were uttered. I believe they had. -Anyhow, I wound up by beating my friend, the enemy, with more than two -score birds in hand. - -The local made all the running at the start. He shot like a keeper, for -the larder, or like a dealer, for the shop, grassing bird after bird -before it had a fair chance to stretch its wings. Some of the birds -seemed a trifle tame; they were either weak on the wing or else they -had been overfed. They would not rise until they were compelled. Some -of them had to be driven right on to our guns before they would get up. -This was nuts for the local. When he had a chance to stop them they -never got up at all. - -I began catching Innes all along. But it was in the last cover the -trick was done. The bag for the day was close upon two thousand. Of -these over seven hundred were winged in that last cover. Vicary had -kept his _bonne bouche_ for the finish. - -When we reached it Innes and I were about equal. When the slaughter -began he did all he knew. But I did better. I brought them down as fast -as I could get the guns; and I fancy that my guns were loaded quicker -than his. While it lasted it was as hot a bit as one could wish. - -When it was over Innes came to me. - -"You win." - -"I think I do. What do you make your total?" - -He told me. I told him that I made mine forty-seven more. - -"I did not know that you were quite so many as that. But I knew that -you were in front. The birds have broken on your gun in a crowd." - -I owned that was so. - -"I know that the luck has been mine. Of course, as a shot I am not to -be compared to you. It was like my cheek to back myself. But, somehow, -I seemed to know, in advance, that I should have the luck." - -"It has not, by any means, been all luck. You're a good shot, Mr. -Townsend." - -Archie came slouching up. He had lost his temper--as he was wont to do -when he had been making an ass of himself. - -"Did you ever see anything like my shooting? I can't hit a haystack." - -He was looking at Vicary, but whether he was speaking to him is more -than I can say. Vicary chose to think that he was. Evidently Jardine's -head man knew his business--he had given us a first-rate day. But he -was one of those keepers who like to see their birds shot. When they -were missed, and the principal offender gave him such a chance as that, -he was not likely to let it pass him. - -He looked at Archie. His face assumed an expression of rustic -stupidity--it was a distinct assumption. Nature had made him look as -sharp as a ferret. - -"Well, sir, I did understand from Sir Haselton as how you could hit -haystacks." - -Archie went red all over, then went white to the lips. - -I take it that last spinney was a good four miles from the house. So we -drove home. It had kept clear, but it had again turned frosty. There -was a keen bite in the air. They had sent our coats in the brake. The -ladies were having tea when we got back. When we had changed we joined -them--all but Archie, who, I imagine, stayed in his room to sulk. Innes -and I got in together. The others were already in evidence, including -the local, who was to stop and dine. - -Mary Porteous called out as we came in-- - -"So you've had a good day?" - -I answered. Innes, if he could, always saved his words. - -"First-rate." - -"And I hear that you've gained all the honours, Mr. Townsend." - -"I've had a good deal of luck, Lady Mary--more than my share. But, I -believe, as a matter of fact, that Mr. Purrier heads the score." - -Mr. Purrier disclaimed the soft impeachment. - -"I doubt it. I never saw better shooting, Mr. Townsend, than yours." - -"It's very good of you to say so. You all seem very nice and -complimentary." - -Mary Porteous laughed. - -"How modest we are!" - -People went into the billiard-room after tea. I stayed for a moment or -two behind with Dora. I had not had a chance of a word with her at tea. -She had been entertaining Silcox and Purrier--it was she who sent them -to billiards. The rest trooped after them. We were left alone. I had -been sitting a little in the shadow, on the other side of the room. I -crossed to her. - -"I've kept my promise." - -"Thank yon. It is almost as if you had done me a special and a most -particular favour. But I knew you would." - -"You seem to know me very well." - -"I know you much better, perhaps, than you imagine." - -"But, I assure you, I do not always necessarily keep promises which I -make." - -"Of that I am certain. But, before you make a promise to me, I shall -know--know, mind!--if you will keep it. And I shall never ask you to -make a promise which I do not know that you will keep." - -"Are you a seer?" - -"So far as you are concerned, I am." - -She touched my arm lightly with her hand. I protest that she set me all -a-trembling. There was a pause. She removed her hand. I do not believe -that I could have spoken while she had it there. - -"Papa has telegraphed that we are not to wait dinner for him, so we -shall dine at eight. Papa says that he will dine alone, as he is -bringing work with him from town. It seems to me that life is coming to -mean, more and more, to him, nothing but a synonym for work." - -I made up my mind, on the instant, that I would--if I could--put the -matter to the touch before Sir Haselton Jardine appeared upon the -scene. I felt that I could not hold myself in much longer, even if I -tried. I was beginning to feel a longing for this girl such as I had -never felt for a woman before--and I own that, in my time, I have -longed for particular women now and then. Apart from all other -considerations, I yearned to have her, to win her, to call her -mine--for herself, and for herself alone. She always had exercised over -me a sort of cerebral attraction. This attraction had grown and -strengthened. It was both intellectual and physical. It was beginning -to overwhelm me. I knew that, when the moment came in which we should -see each other eye to eye, for the first time in my career I should -look upon the face of my undoubted master. I had met my master in my -mistress, if the fates would but let me win her for my wife. If but -Dame Fortune had that crowning mercy to bestow! The knowledge that -she was my master was beginning to fill my veins with a frenzy of -desire--we should be so fairly mated. - -As I was dressing, the look which I had seen in her glances was -haunting me. I told myself that, after dinner, I would put my fortune -to the touch, and lose or win it all. - -And so I did! - -We were a lively lot at dinner--all but Archie. He was black as black -could be. Tommy Verulam began chaffing him about his shooting. Tommy -himself, I should say, could shoot as well with one end of his gun as -with the other. But that did not prevent his being down on Archie. The -worse a man is at a thing himself, the more disposed he seems to be to -exploit the deficiencies of others, especially if he is a fool of the -transcendental sort. Tommy had heard Vicary's remark about the -haystack. So he told the tale--with embellishments of his own. I -thought Archie would have thrown a plate at his head. There would have -been a row royal if the ladies had not been present. Trying to snub -Tommy--I expected that Vicary would hear something from headquarters -about that little slip of his tongue--Dora endeavoured to extend her -sympathies to Archie. But Archie would have none of it. The light had -gone out of the world for him. - -Directly the ladies' backs were turned the band did begin to play. -Leaning his arms on the table, Archie addressed himself to Tommy. - -"Mr. Verulam, have you ever had your head punched?" - -Tommy gaped. - -"What the doose do you mean?" - -"What I say. If you haven't, consider your head punched now." - -Innes interposed. - -"For shame, Beaupré!" - -Archie turned on him like a wild cat. - -"You mind your own business! Don't you interfere with me!" Evidently, -as regards interference, in Archie's estimation what was sauce for the -goose was not sauce for the gander. He stood up. "Mr. Verulam, so long -as you are in this house you are in sanctuary. On the first occasion on -which I meet you outside, I shall kick you." - -With that he stalked out of the room--it's a pretty Scotch temper he -has of his own! - -But I cared neither for his bad taste nor for his bad temper, and as -little for Tommy's folly. I went in search of Dora. I peeped into the -drawing-room. Mary Porteous was making a noise at the piano, but in -spite of the noise she made Mrs. Crashaw was having forty winks upon an -easy-chair. - -The millionairess was nowhere to be seen, nor was Dora. From the -morning-room there was a door leading into the conservatory; entrance -to this conservatory was to be gained from the drawing-room as well. I -went to the morning-room. I looked into the conservatory. At first I -thought it was empty. But, when I went farther into it, there was Dora. - -The glass house was a large one. In the centre was a fountain. The -water fell into a basin in which were goldfish. Looking into this -basin, seated under the shadow of a palm, was Dora. - -She was thinking, perhaps, of me. She did not become conscious of my -approach until I was close upon her. - -"A penny for your thoughts." - -She looked up with that odd smile which, to me, seemed to glorify her -countenance. - -"They ought to be worth more than that to you." - -I was silent. I, too, looked into the basin. The goldfish were swimming -round and round. The fountain fell into the water with a musical -splash. The noise of the piano came from the drawing-room beyond. Now -that I was close to her the task seemed harder than I had supposed. My -ready tongue seemed to have forsaken me. My pulses were throbbing in my -veins like some young lad's. - -It was she who broke the silence. - -"Your thoughts; are they worth a penny too?" - -"Can you not guess them?" - -"That is not an answer to my question." - -"I have not your gift of prescience. I cannot tell if they are worth a -penny to you. To me they are worth more pennies than I am ever likely -to possess." - -"You place a high value on your own thoughts." - -"Shall I tell you what they are?" - -"If you like. Though, is it worth the trouble, if you are sure that I -can guess?" - -"Give me leave to tell you them." - -"I give you leave." - -"I was thinking what fallible creatures we men are." - -"Is that all? Surely that is not worth a penny, even to you." - -"Because so small a thing may change all our lives." - -"Not worth a penny yet." - -"Have you bewitched me?" - -"I cannot tell." - -"I believe you have." - -"You are not bewitched so easily." - -"As you say, I am not so easily bewitched. That makes it still more -strange." - -"I await the penny's worth." - -"Will you forgive me, Miss Jardine?" - -"For what?" - -The words trembled on my lips. And yet, without a struggle, I could not -utter them. As I looked into the water, all at once my eyes seemed -blinded by its glare. - -"For loving you." - -She was still. I did not dare to turn to look upon her face, for fear -of what there might be there to see. - -"You have your methods, Mr. Townsend." - -"In what sense, Miss Jardine?" - -"I await the penny's worth." - -On a sudden a great shame came over me; a sense of overwhelming horror. -I sank on my knee. I hid my face in my hands on the basin's edge. - -"God help me!" - -The cry was wrung from me by something which, for the moment, was -stronger than I. - -"Hush!" - -The word was whispered. Then she, too, was still. - -"Begin again." The words seemed to come to me like the words which we -hear in a dream. "What is done, is done. You cannot put it behind you -altogether. But it is done. It is not yet to do. And, because it is -done, therefore, you need not do it again, in the time which is to -come. If you have strength--and you have strength, Mr. Townsend--play -the man." - -I had never thought that any one would have had to bid me play the man. -But she had to bid me then. She laid her hand upon my shoulder. Beneath -her touch a shudder went all over me. Then I looked up at her. - -"You are not for such as I am." - -"But you are for such as I am." - -I held my breath. I knew not what to do or say. I stared in front of -me, not understanding what it was I saw. - -"What is it that you say?" - -"Are you so deaf? All in an instant have you become so dull? Come, I -will do the wooing, since you are afraid to woo me." That ever I should -have been told by a woman that I was afraid to woo her! "If you but -love me half as I love you, you will fill the world with the fame of -the great deeds which you will do for love of me, and leave behind a -name which men never shall let die." - -"Dora! Dora! My Dora!" - -"Well, if I am your's----" - -"If? Is it only if?" - -"Will you be mine?" - -"Body, soul, and spirit. I do believe you have bewitched me. I am going -mad for the love of you!" - -"I am content." - -"Is this a dream of ecstasy from which there will soon be waking?" - -"I would that you might wake to something soon." - -"What's that?" - -"To the fact that I am here." - -I woke to it. It was worth while to have lived if only to have woke to -what I woke then. For I woke to find that her face was close to mine, -that I might take her in my arms, that I was free to smother her with -kisses. - -Loving is such sweet pain. I learned it then! - -And hardly had I loosed her, than some one came upon us. It was Sir -Haselton Jardine. I saw his well-regulated eyelids suffered to open to -enable him to shoot one of his swift glances. I saw his lips wrinkled -by his imitation of a smile. And he said-- - -"I hope I do not interrupt you. I am but now arrived from town." - -Dora, all rosy red, ran into his arms. - -"Father!" she cried. - -"My dear!" Then to me, "How are you, Townsend? I said I thought it -possible that you might have something to say to me before you went -away." - -"I trust, sir, that I may have." - -I believe that I, myself, was blushing like any boy. - -While we were standing there--forming, no doubt, a sufficiently awkward -group--Tommy Verulam came running in. He seemed to have recovered from -the effects of his little episode with Archie. He was quite excited. - -"I say, I've just been looking at the London papers. It seems that -they've got the chap who murdered the woman at Three Bridges." - -I turned to him. - -"Indeed! Who may he be?" - -"His name is Tennant--Thomas Tennant. I hope they'll hang the brute, -upon my soul I do." - -Sir Haselton struck in-- - -"I am briefed by the Treasury to prosecute. If the man's guilty, it -will be a positive pleasure to have a hand in sending him to the -gallows." - -As I was endeavouring to grasp the drift of what it was that they were -saying, I saw that Archie Beaupré was staring at us through the -drawing-room window. - - - - - - BOOK III.--THE WOMAN. - - (_The Story as told by Mrs. Carruth_.) - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - - THE ADVENTURES OF A NIGHT. - - -To have fallen out of an express train going at full speed! I have had -some strange experiences, for a mere woman. But this, I think, beats -all. - -And to owe it to Thomas Tennant! I will be even with him yet. - -I went down to Brighton to spend the Sunday with Lettice Enderby--she -was acting at the theatre there. I found her not feeling very well. We -spent the day alone together. After dinner I had to make a rush for the -train. Who should I find myself shut in with as soon as the train had -started, but Tommy Tennant. - -It was years and years since we had seen each other. And all the world -had happened since we had. But, so far as personal appearance was -concerned, he had not changed a bit. He was still the same jack-pudding -sort of little man, with round eyes and rosy cheeks. I knew him at -sight. What was queerer, he knew me. I take that as a compliment. I -flatter myself that I have not changed, except for the better, since -those days of long ago. Tommy's prompt recognition was the best -testimony to the truth of this fact I could possibly have had. - -Although more than seas divided us, and never was a past more dead than -his and mine, at the sight of Tommy all my old grudge against him came -back again. Perhaps the glass or two of wine I had had with Lettice -might have had something to do with it, but directly I saw him I flew -into a rage. Tommy Tennant always has been the ideal man I hate. Give -me them good or give me them bad, but do give me them one or the other. -The irresolute, backboneless, jelly-like sort of man is beyond -endurance. - -If Thomas Tennant ever had a backbone he lost it in his cradle! - -He always used to be afraid of me. In that respect, as in the others, I -found he had not changed. He was frightened half out of his life -directly he saw who it was. When I began talking to him he started -shivering--literally shivering--in a way which made me wild. I do like -a man who can hold his own. Talk about conscience making cowards of us -all; I like the man of whom nothing can make a coward. He got into such -a state of mortal terror that he actually tried to steal out of the -carriage and escape from me while the train was going, for all I know, -perhaps fifty miles an hour. - -That was how the trouble all began. It would have spoiled the sport to -have let him go, so I tried to stop him. He had opened the carriage -door, and in endeavouring to prevent his going out, I went out instead. - -That is the simple truth. - -There never was a more astonished woman. I doubt if there ever was one -with so much reason for astonishment. How it happened, or exactly what -happened, I do not know. There was not time enough to clearly -understand. I discovered that I was standing upon nothing, and then -that I was flying backwards through the air. After that I suppose I -lost my seven senses. - -I could not, however, have lost them for long. Perhaps for not more -than a minute or so. When I came to I opened my eyes, and looking up -saw that the moon was shining in the sky overhead, and that it was -almost as light as day. I wondered where I was, and whether the end of -the world had come. I found that I was lying among a group of bushes on -what seemed a sloping bank, and that something very like a miracle had -taken place. Falling out of the train while it was rushing along the -top of an embankment, I must have gone, backwards, into a bush, which -while it had let me through, had sufficed to break my fall. I must have -rolled down the bank, until I was stopped by the clump of bushes amidst -which I found myself. - -The miracle was that I was unhurt. I was a trifle shaken and a trifle -dazed. But not a bone was broken, and I felt that, so far as material -damage was concerned, I could get up when I chose and walk off, -practically as if nothing had occurred. - -But I was a trifle dazed, and it was some moments before my senses -quite returned to me. What hastened their return was the fact of my -hearing footsteps. I listened. Somebody was walking, and not very far -off either. The person, whoever it was, seemed to be quite close at -hand. I did not know whereabouts I might be lying. I was only aware -that I was somewhere between Brighton and London. I had no notion how -far I might be from a station or a town. It struck me that it would be -just as well that I should discover who the pedestrian might chance to -be. - -As I was about to rise, with the intention of prospecting, something -heavy falling among the bushes almost on top of me startled me half out -of my wits. I sprang to my feet. At the bottom of the bank on the other -side of a fence which formed a boundary between the railway and the -country beyond, a man stood, staring at me in the moonlight. He was -tall, and he wore a long black overcoat and a billycock hat; even then, -and in that light, I could see he was a gentleman. But it was the look -which was on his face which took me aback. I never saw such a look on a -man's face before. He stared at me as if he was staring at a ghost. And -just as I was about to accost him, and to request his assistance, at -least to the extent of informing me as to my whereabouts, leaping right -round, he began to tear across the moonlit field as if Satan was at his -heels. - -I was going to call and beg him not to leave me, a stranger in the -land, alone in the lurch like that, when I was reminded of the -something which had fallen among the bushes, and which had first made -me conscious of his presence, by kicking against something which felt -soft and yielding, and which was lying on the ground. - -I stooped down to see what it was. - -"Sakes alive! It's a woman!" - -It was; a young woman--and she was dead. No wonder he had stared at me -as if he had been staring at a ghost. No wonder, as he saw me looking -at him from among the bushes, that he had thought that the victim of -his handiwork had risen from the dead to look again upon his face. No -wonder he had torn for his life across the grass, feeling that she was -at his heels. - -I seemed to be in for a pretty thing. I have looked upon dead folk many -a time; yes, and upon not a few who have come to their death by -"accident." I have lived in parts of the world in which life is not -held so sacred as it is in England; where not such a fuss is made every -time the doctor is forestalled--where the doctor is not the only -individual who is licensed to kill; where men shoot now and then at -sight, and, when they are pushed to it, women too. I know a girl--and -liked her--who shot a man who had insulted her in New Orleans, and left -him on the sidewalk. Nobody said a word. She is married now to a rich -man, and to a good man, as good men go, and she has a family, and she -is highly esteemed. In England that seems odd, but I suppose the fact -is that when one is in Rome one does as the Romans do, and that is all -about it. - -And at that moment I happened to be in England, and I made up my mind -there and then that, if I could help it, I would have no finger in the -pie. I had no desire to go into the witness-box--I would almost as soon -have gone into the dock. Cross-examining counsel have a knack of making -mincemeat of a witness. Things come out--the things which one would -much rather did not come out. I had not returned to England, a widow, -with my big pile, with the intention of coming such a cropper at the -outset. Rather than be mixed up in such a mess, I would almost sooner -take my passage in the first steamer back to the States, and count the -ties out West again. - -Please the fates, I had done with scandals--fresh ones, anyhow--for the -rest of my days. The woman was dead. She was beyond my help. Let -whoever found her hang the man who laid her there. The house in which I -lived was too transparent for me to indulge in the luxury of throwing -stones. - -I gathered myself together. The most miraculous part of the business -was that my clothing seemed to have escaped uninjured; falling -backwards had been my salvation. I peeped at my face in my handglass. I -seemed to be all right--right enough, at any rate, to pass muster at -night and in a crowd. I went up the bank to the line. From that -altitude I had a good view of the surrounding country. Straight along -the line to the left, not so very far away, lights were glimmering. I -made up my mind to chance it, to keep along the line and to make for -them. - -They proved to be the lights of a station. The station was Three -Bridges Junction. I managed to enter it to the best of my knowledge and -belief, entirely unobserved. I thanked my stars when I felt the -platform beneath my feet. - -From the mirror in the waiting-room I learned that my handglass had not -deceived me. I could pass muster. A woman in the room addressed me--she -and I had it to ourselves. - -"Excuse me, miss, but do you know your back's all covered with weeds?" - -As she brushed them off I thanked her, murmuring something about my -having been sitting on the grass. - -Going out on to the platform I all but came into collision with the man -who had stood staring at me from the other side of the railing. The -sight of him fairly took my breath away. He was going from me or he -could scarcely have failed to notice the singularity of my demeanour. -It was he--there could be no mistake about that. But, lest I might be -in error, I resolved to have another glimpse at him. Before I could put -my resolution into force he had vanished, into what I discovered to be, -as I strolled slowly past it, a refreshment-room. - -I should not wonder if he did stand in need of refreshment! - -There did not appear to be a seat in the place. English people talk -about the discomfort of the American depôts but my experience is that, -from the discomfort point of view, the average English station runs the -American depôt hard. I sat on one of those square trollies which the -porters use for baggage. There I watched and waited for my gentleman to -emerge, refreshed. The trolley was close to the refreshment-room. I -could see him at the bar. He was not content with one drink. He -disposed of two. - -Probably he needed them! - -Presently he came out. He had had his back towards me while he had been -drinking. As he came out of the buffet, turning, he walked in the -direction of the trolley on which I was sitting. He moved right past, -so close to me that by putting out my foot, I could have tripped him -up. - -It was he. My first impression had not been wrong. That he had got -cured of his fright was plain--certainly he showed no signs of it. He -seemed quite at his ease. His hands were in the pockets of his -overcoat, an umbrella was under his arm, a cigarette was between his -teeth. There might not have been such a thing as a ghost--or the shadow -of the shade of a ghost--in all the world. - -Back he came. He sailed up to a porter. I heard him asking him when -there was a train to town. As the man, having given the information, -was making off, I cut in. I put to my gentleman the question which he -had put to the porter. - -"Can you tell me when the next train starts for London?" - -He told me what I asked, adding a word or two on his own account, as I -had expected and desired. I responded. He seemed disposed for -sociability. Why should I object? We began to talk. The end of it was -that we travelled in the same compartment up to town. - -It was so funny! - -He was that most remarkable product--an English gentleman. Given the -real article--and there is no mistaking it when once encountered--there -is nothing in the world which can be compared to it. I speak who know. -He was tall. He was perfectly dressed. He was handsome--I never saw a -more handsome man. And he had that air of infinite, yet unconscious, -condescension which the English gentleman, alone of all the creatures -of the world, is born with, and which, willy-nilly, he carries with him -from the cradle to the grave. - -They tell you in the different countries of the world that the -Englishman is awkward, shy, ungraceful, seldom at his ease. May be; but -not the English gentleman. He is the only man I have known who is -always at his ease in every possible situation. But he is not to be -found on every bush. Even in his own country he is the rarest of rare -birds. Being born a peer, even though he can trace his tree to Noah, -does not make a man a gentleman--you bet that it does not. I believe -that an English gentleman is a caprice, an accident. He is not to be -accounted for by natural laws. And though, for all I know, he may be -trusted by his fellows, he is not to be trusted by a woman. He has one -code of honour for his own sex and another for ours. - -That is so, though it may not be according to the copybooks. - -My friend the gentleman was a real smart man. As he lolled back in his -seat, enjoying his tobacco, it did you good to see him smile. His voice -was typical of his kind, it fell like music on your ears. As you looked -at him and listened, you could have sworn that he had not a care upon -his mind. He was at peace with himself, and all the world. And it was -all so natural; he was to the manner born. - -I found him quite delightful. I could see what he was doing--he was -reckoning me up. And he was puzzled where to place me. I took him into -my real confidence, for reasons of my own, and that puzzled him still -more. I told him nothing but the truth. How I had gone out to America, -and met poor dear Daniel, and married him. And how he had died and left -me a widow, and his pile to comfort me. And how I had come back to -England childless and forlorn and all alone. I laid stress upon my -loneliness. I think that touched him. When a woman tells a man that she -is lonely he takes it that she means that there is not a man anywhere -in sight, and that the coast is clear for him, and that does touch -him. His manner became quite sympathetic. He was as nice as could -be--allusive, as a real smart man can be, with a delicate, intangible -directness almost equal to a woman's. - -We were almost like old friends by the time that we reached town. He -put me into a hansom at Victoria station. I asked him to come and see -me, to have consideration for my loneliness. He promised that he would. -All the way home, as the cab bore me through the streets, I kept -thinking of Mr. Reginald Townsend--that was the name which he had given -me--and of the woman he had left, lying by the line, amidst that clump -of bushes. - -I believe I have written that I like a man to be thorough. It seemed -probable that Mr. Townsend was that. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - - LOUISE O'DONNEL'S FATHER. - - -Next day Jack Haines came to see me. Mr. Haines promised to be a -nuisance. - -Jack Haines and Daniel J. Carruth had been partners. I might have -married either of them, for the matter of that. I might have married -any one in Strikehigh City. Of two evils I chose what seemed to me to -be the lesser, which was Daniel. For one thing, he was the boss partner -and had the larger share, and for another, he was the older man. I -could have twisted either of them round my finger, but it occurred to -me that I might manage best with Daniel. So I became Mrs. Daniel J. -Carruth, and poor dear Daniel lived just long enough to capitalize -his share--he made a better thing of it than we had either of us -expected--and then he died. Hardly was he buried than the chief mourner -at his funeral, Mr. Haines, wanted me to marry him. He hinted that it -would be just as well to keep the partnership alive, which struck me as -absurd. Anyhow, I did not seem to see it. I came straight away to -England, instead of marrying him, with the intention of getting as much -fun out of Daniel's dollars as I possibly could. - -What I had not bargained for was his coming after me. - -The folks in Strikehigh City had all lived queer lives, but I rather -guess that, in some ways, Jack Haines had lived one of the queerest. He -had told me about it over and over again, and, whatever I might think -of him, I knew that he had told me the truth. - -He had been married. He and his wife had lived like cat and dog. She -had died. She had left a daughter. He had brought the daughter -up--trying to rule her with a heavy hand. There came a time when she -objected. There was a disturbance--she left him. That was just before -he came to Strikehigh City--in fact, her going sent him there, and he -had never seen her since. I could see plainly that he had been more in -the wrong than she had. In his way, he loved her. His conscience -pricked him all the time. When Daniel died, it began to prick him worse -than ever. Finding that I would not have him, he set himself to look -for her. - -This I learned from his own lips when I met him again in London. - -It seemed that, when she had left him the girl had gone on to the -stage--attaching herself to a variety show. From that she had passed to -a burlesque troupe. The burlesque troupe had gone to England--she went -with it. The burlesque troupe returned--she had stayed behind. No doubt -for reasons of her own. Jack Haines wanted very much to know what those -reasons were, because, no sooner had the troupe gone, and left her, -than she vanished. No one seemed to have the faintest notion what had -become of her. She had simply disappeared--gone clean out of sight. - -The old man had come over to see if he could not succeed where others -had failed; if he could not light on the clue which others had missed. - -The desire to find the girl had become with him a regular mania. It was -like a bee in his bonnet. It occupied his thoughts, to the exclusion of -all else, both by night and day. As I have said, the man was becoming a -nuisance. I did not want to quarrel with him, but I saw that, without a -quarrel, I never should be rid of him. He insisted on making me his -confidant. And, although I took care never to give him a chance to say -a word outright, I knew that, as soon as he had found the girl, he -would renew that hint about the desirability of keeping the partnership -alive. - -On the day after that little trip to Brighton, he turned up in my -drawing-room. I had run over to Kensington High Street for something. -When I came back, there he was--and I was not by any means best pleased -to see him there. - -I should have disliked him for one thing if I had disliked him for -nothing else--he was so deadly serious. I do not think I ever saw him -smile. Indeed, I doubt if he had a smile left in him. He had no sense -of humour, and, to him, a joke was as meaningless as double Dutch. He -was bald at the top of his head, his face was as long as one's arm, his -eyes generally had an expressionless, fishlike sort of stare, and, -since he had assumed the garb of respectability, he was always attired -in funeral black. He seemed to be under the impression that that was -the only hue in which respectability could appear. As for his temper, -it varied from doubtful to bad, and from bad to worse, and when he was -in a rage, which he quickly was, he was by no means an agreeable person -to have to deal with. He and Daniel were always falling out, and, until -I came upon the scene, he used to ride over poor dear Daniel roughshod. -But, when I did I let him understand that whoever fell out with Daniel -fell out with me. - -For my part, I did not wonder so much at his daughter's having run away -as at her having lived with him as long as she did. - -His hat was on one chair, his umbrella on another, he himself sat, with -his hands clasped in front of him, on a little centre table, in an -attitude which suggested that he was about to offer prayer. He did not -rise as I entered--respectability has not yet worked such havoc with -him as that. He stared at me as I went in, solemnly speechless, as if -he wondered how I could venture to interrupt the meeting. - -"Well, Mr. Haines, any news?" - -I did not care if there was any news, but I did object to his sitting -and staring at me like that. - -"She is dead." - -"Dead!--You don't mean it!--How do you know?" - -"It was told me last night in a dream." - -Among the rest of his little peculiarities, he was one of the most -superstitious creatures breathing. In religion, I believe, he called -himself a spiritualist. Anyhow, he was always seeing things, and -hearing things, and having things revealed to him. Talking to him in -some of his moods reminded one of that scene in Richard II. where the -poor dear king wants to sit upon a gravestone and talk of epitaphs. - -"Is that the only reason why you know that she is dead--because it was -told you in a dream?" - -"Do not mock at me. The voice which speaks to me in visions does not -lie. I saw a coffin lying in an open grave, and 'Louise O'Donnel' was -on the coffin-lid." - -"You did not happen to see in which particular graveyard that grave -might be located." - -"I did not. But I know that she is dead. My daughter, oh, my daughter!" - -I had to turn aside to smile. I grant that it was not a subject for -laughter--but he was so funny! - -"And as I looked the coffin-lid was lifted. And, on her breast, there -was an open wound." - -He rose slowly, painfully, inch by inch. He pointed with his right hand -towards the floor. - -"Woman, my daughter has been slain." - -"Really, Mr. Haines, you are always seeing the most dreadful things in -dreams. If I were you I should take less supper." - -"It's not the supper. It's the spirit." - -"Well, in that case, I should take less of that." - -He frowned. - -"You know very well what I mean. I am not speaking of the spirit of -alcohol, but of the spirit of the soul. Now one task is ended. Another -is begun. I will be the avenger of blood. Mine will it be to execute -judgment on him who has destroyed my daughter's body, having first of -all destroyed her soul." - -"Jack Haines, what nonsense you do talk." - -"What do you mean, woman?" - -"My good man, do you think that you awe me by your persistence in -calling me woman? I am a woman; but let me tell you in confidence that -you strike me as only being part of a man!" - -"You jeer at me. You are always jeering. You know not what you say." - -"That is good--from you. Your style of conversation may have been -suited to Strikehigh City, where they all were lunatics. But in London -it is out of place." - -"London!--bah!" - -He threw out his arms, as if to put the idea of London clean behind -him. - -"Precisely. Then if it's London!--bah! Why don't you return to -Strikehigh City?" - -"I will finish the work which I came to do. Then I will return." - -I had sat down on an easy-chair. I had crossed my legs, and was -swinging my foot in the air. Old Haines stood glowering down at me, -clenching his fists to hold his temper in. I looked him up and down. -After all he was, every inch of him, a narrow-minded, cross-grained, -hidebound New Englander. - -"You are more likely to see the inside of a prison if you don't take -care. You know, they manage things differently upon this side. Jack -Haines, let me speak to you a word in season--a candid word. It may do -you good. You killed your wife; I do not mean legally, but you killed -her all the same. A prolonged course of you would be sufficient to kill -any wife." - -"Woman!" - -"You drove your daughter from you. So unwilling was she to have it -known that she was connected with you, that she took her mother's name. -She called herself Louise O'Donnel. Under that name she came to -England. Conscious that, even underneath her mother's name, you might -trace her out in England, she has changed her name again. Under that -new name she is deliberately hiding herself away from you." - -"It is false." - -"It may be. It is but a surmise. But, as such, it is at least as much -likely to be correct as yours." - -"She is dead." - -"You have not one jot or tittle of proof that she is anything of the -kind." - -"I will have proof." He brought down his fist upon my pretty, fragile -table with a crash. "I will have proof." - -"Don't destroy the furniture." - -"Furniture!" He glared at the inoffensive table as if he would have -liked to have chopped it into firewood. "You should not anger me. I say -that I will have proof. And I will have proof of who it is has murdered -her. And I will find him, though he hides himself in the uttermost -corners of the earth. And when I have found him I will have a -quittance." - -"What do you mean by that?" - -"Do you not know what I mean? Have you known me so short a time that -you should need to ask?" - -"Do you mean that, if there is anything in these wild dreams of yours, -you will kill the man who has killed your girl?" - -He raised his hands above his head in a sort of paroxysm. - -"Like a dog." - -"Then let me tell you that you are treading the road which leads to the -gallows. They manage things in their own way upon this side. Killing's -murder here. And the more excuse you think you have the tighter you're -likely to fit the rope about your neck." - -"The hemp has not been sown which shall hang me on an English gallows. -Do you think I am afraid?" - -He gave me the creeps. Although it surpassed my powers to adequately -explain the thing, I knew that he had a trick of seeing things which -had taken place before they became known to other people. I had had -unpleasant experience of it more than once. One might begin by laughing -at what he called his dreams and his visions, but, in the end, the -laugh was apt to be upon the other side. - -It was quite possible that his girl was dead. Young, pretty, simple, -innocent, alone in a foreign land--what more possible? It was even -possible that she had been done to death. Some one might think that no -one would miss her. In that case, that some one might as well at once -place himself in the hangman's hands as wait to interview Jack Haines. - -I was glad to be rid of him. He was not a cheerful companion at the -best of times. But since he had got this bee in his bonnet he was more -than I could stand. - -In the afternoon I went to see Kate Levett. Kate and I had been -together in Pfeinmann's "King of the Castle Operatic Combination." We -were friends all through. I fancy it was a case of "a fellow-feeling -makes us wondrous kind"--after a fashion we were girls of a feather. -When the Combination came to eternal grief at Strikehigh City, we went -different ways. I stayed where I was, Kate went East. It was at Boston -she married Ferdinand Levett. He was touring at that time through the -States as acting manager for a famous English comedy company. It was a -case of marriage at first sight as it were. It proved to be the best -thing Kate had ever done in her life. Levett turned out a regular -trump, and they hit it off together to a T. Now they were settled in -England, and, although Kate had kept off the boards, they were doing -uncommonly well in a modest sort of a way. - -When I turned up at their flat on the Thames Embankment, at the back of -the Strand, Kate wanted me to stay and dine. So I stayed. After dinner -we went to a theatre. Levett was at business--managing the Colosseum, -so we went there. To finish up, we went back to supper at the flat. - -I had gone originally to Kate with the idea of gleaning a little -information. Before I left I had got all that I wanted, and, perhaps, a -little more. What I wished to find out was whether Kate knew anything -about a Mr. Reginald Townsend. She and her husband knew something about -all sorts and conditions of men, and it struck me that my friend, the -gentleman, was just the sort of man of whom one or the other of them -might have heard. - -I did not want to seem too anxious. So I just slipped my question in -casually, as if I was indifferent whether I received an answer to it or -not. I kept it till after supper. Kate was at the piano strumming -through all the latest things in comic songs. I was lolling in a -rocker, joining in the chorus whenever there was a chorus. Ferdinand -was taking his ease upon a couch. We were all as snug as we could be. -Kate had been saying she knew somebody or other, I don't know who, when -I struck in. - -"Between you, you two seem to know pretty nearly every one." - -"Those whom we don't know are not worth knowing." - -"Quite right, my dear!"--this from Ferdinand, on the couch. - -"Have you ever heard of a Mr. Townsend?" - -"What!--Reggie Townsend?" - -She spun round on the piano-stool like a catherine-wheel. - -"Reginald Townsend--that's it." - -She and her husband looked at each other--in that meaning sort of way. - -"Fred, have we ever heard of Reginald Townsend?" - -Ferdinand laughed. She held out her hands in front of her. - -"Why, my dear, there have been times and seasons when we've heard of -little else but Reginald Townsend." - -"Perhaps your man is not my man. My man's tall." - -"So's our man!" - -"And dark." - -"You couldn't paint our man blacker than he is." - -"And very--very swagger, don't you know." - -"Our man's the swaggerest man in town. It's impossible that there could -be two Reginald Townsends. What do you know of him?" - -"Oh, I only met him once. But he rather struck me." - -"Take care that he doesn't strike you too much. He's not only the -swaggerest, he's also the wickedest man in town. I could tell you tales -of him which would shock your innocent ears. He's a terror, isn't he, -Fred?" - -"He has rather liberal ideas on the subject of the whole duty of man." - -"I should rather think he has." - -And Kate went off at score. I could see from what she said that my -friend the gentleman was all my fancy painted him. When she gave me an -opening, I slipped another word in edgeways. - -"Is he received in respectable society?" - -"That depends, my dearest child, upon what you call respectable -society. He's the boon companion of dukes, marquises, and earls, and -that kind of thing. He visits the best houses and the best people. But -I was raised at Salem, Mass., and our ideas of respectable society were -perhaps our own. I haven't found that they obtain to any considerable -extent round here." - -It was scandalously late when I left for home. - -The same thing occupied my thoughts in the cab as on the night -before--my friend the gentleman. Whatever could have made him do the -thing which he had done? That is, if Kate's Reginald Townsend was -mine--of which, by the way, I had no doubt. A man may be all that's -bad; he may be worse than a murderer, but he takes particularly good -care not, if he can help it, to be the thing itself. What could it be -which, in the judgment of a man in his position, had compelled him to -place himself within the shadow of the gallows? - -The problem occupied my mind. The man had been placed by nature in such -a fortunate position. It appeared that he had so much to lose--and he -had lost it all! What for? I wondered. What was it which had -constrained him to choose between the devil and the deep sea--and then -to choose the devil? - -As I thought of it, and how handsome he was, and how well bred, and how -there was everything to please a woman's taste, and to gratify her eye, -a wild notion germinated in my brain--which was watered by -circumstances, and grew. - -I dismissed the cab at the end of my road. The night, though dark, was -fine. The horse was tired. I had no objection to saving the creature's -legs by walking the rest of the way. I did not suppose that, at that -hour of the night, or, rather, of the morning, there would be any one -about. - -In supposing that, however, I was wrong. - -The street was a pretty long one. When I got about half way along it I -perceived that a cab was stopping at a house in front of me. As I -reached the cab a man got out of it in a fashion which, to say the -least of it, was rather sudden. He plunged on to the pavement, rather -than stepped on to it. As his feet touched solid ground, he turned -towards me. - -It was Tommy Tennant! - -For a moment I was frightened half out of my wits. It was such an hour, -he was without a hat, he looked wild and dishevelled, his appearance at -such a place--within a stone's throw of my own house--at such a moment -was so wholly unexpected, that it fairly took my breath away. - -But if his appearance startled me, my appearance seemed to have an even -more startling effect upon him. He gave one glance at me and tumbled in -a heap on to the pavement. - -The driver of the hansom leaned down towards me from his perch. - -"It's all right, miss; he's only been enjoying of hisself. The cold -stones will cool 'is head." - -I said nothing; I hurried on. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - - MR. TOWNSEND COMES TO TEA. - - -I have not lived in the world so long as I have done, and seen so much -of it, without realising how small a world, after all, it really is, -and how full it is of coincidence; but I do think that this beats all -the coincidences of which I ever heard. - -To think that I should have pitched on the one street in London which -Mr. Thomas Tennant has chosen for a residence! It seems that I have. I -lay awake for an hour trying to account for his sudden appearance from -that cab. At last I hit on something. I sat up in bed with quite a -jump. - -"Can it be possible that he lives in this street?" - -Rest was out of the question till I had made sure. I got out of bed--it -was nearer five than four--and I tiptoed my way downstairs. I routed -out a directory, and I hunted up the street. Sure enough he did. There -was his name, as large as life--"Thomas Tennant." He lived at No. 29. -My house was blank--it had been empty at the time the directory had -gone to press--but I had taken No. 39. - -"Well, this beats everything! To think that I have spent all this -money, and come all this way, to plant myself five doors from Mr. -Tennant!" - -He might be unwilling to have me for a neighbour, but I could assure -him that I was equally unwilling to have him. I did not wish the first -entry on the fresh leaf which I had turned to be a reminiscence, and -especially a reminiscence of that particular friend. - -I thought that was strange enough, but stranger things were yet to -follow. What a queer little world this is! - -Recognising that it was no use addling my brains by puzzling out -conundrums at that time of the morning, so soon as, by reading it over -and over again in the directory, I had made quite sure that my eyes had -not misled me, and that Tommy did reside five doors away, I toddled up -to bed again. "There is nothing like leather," says the proverb. I say -there is nothing like sleep. Give me plenty of sleep and I am good for -anything. As I have always been blessed with a clear conscience--if -there is a vacuum where the conscience ought to be it must be -clear--and, what is equally to be desired, a good digestion, I have -ever found sleep come at my bidding. Once I have my toes well down -between the sheets, my head on the pillow, and the blankets well up to -my ears, I snooze. I know I did just then. And I never dreamed; none of -Jack Haines's lively visions came my way. - -I looked at my watch when I awoke. It was past eleven. I just turned -over. I had a stretch. I believe that, when you wake in the morning, it -does you good to have a stretch; it seems to help you to realise that -there is a piece of you between your head and your heels. "What should -I do?" - -"I'll have some tea." - -I had some tea. The girl brought me the letters and the papers. There -was nothing in the letters, but in the papers there were ructions! - -At first I could not make out what it was all about. Directly I opened -the _Telegraph_ these were the words, in big, black letters, staring me -in the face: "Murder on the Brighton Line." That was my friend, the -gentleman! But at first, as I have said, the more I looked at it the -more I couldn't make it out. - -A platelayer--whatever that might be in connection with a railway -line--going to his work in the morning had seen the body lying among -the bushes--in that clump of bushes, I took it, where it had almost -fallen on top of me. That was all right. Where I found the puzzle was -in what directly followed. The girl had, of course, been murdered in -the field, probably within a foot or two of where I had seen Townsend -standing. The papers, or the people who inspired the papers, seemed to -think that the murder had taken place in a train, and that then the -body had been thrown on to the line. What could have made them think -such a thing as that? - -As I read on the whole thing flashed upon me; it was another -coincidence! - -It seemed that when the 8.40 train from Brighton had arrived at -Victoria--the 8.40? Why, that was the train in which I had travelled -with Tommy! My stars and bars!--it was discovered that the window in -one of the carriages was shivered to atoms, that the carriage was -marked with blood, and that it bore signs of having been the scene of a -recent struggle. - -Jerusalem! what was coming next? I had to put down the paper and take -another drink of tea. - -Nothing came next except what they called a "presumption," and if ever -there was a piece of real presumption it was that same. - -The presumption, according to the papers, was that the railway carriage -had been the scene of a hideous tragedy--of a frightful murder, of one -of those recurrent crimes, which force us, from time to time, to -recognise the dangers which, in England, at any rate, are associated -with railway travelling. The identity of one of the _dramatis -personĉ_--as poor, dear Daniel used to say, "I'm a-quoting"--was -unfortunately, but too evident. There was the woman who had been found -lying among the laurels--I wonder if they were laurels?--with her face -turned towards the skies. As a matter of fact, she had lain face -downwards. It was owing to that I had not seen her face. She was a -silent but an eloquent witness--that was touching. The public -demanded the prompt production of at least another of the _dramatis -personĉ_--"still a-quoting"--of the man--it would not, perhaps, display -too much rashness to hazard the prediction that it would prove to be a -man--who had hurled her there. - -If that did not point to Tommy, I should like to know to whom it -pointed. - -I began to wonder. What had Tommy done when I had made my exit? Had he -done nothing but twiddle his thumbs and stare? It would be -characteristic of him if he had. He never did do the right thing at the -right time if there was a wrong thing which could be done. The window -might have been smashed by the banging of the door. I dare say that -there had been signs of a struggle. I could not make out about the -blood, but, perhaps, in the midst of his muddle, Tommy's nose had -started bleeding. That was just the sort of thing his nose would do. It -was quite conceivable, to one who knew him, that Tommy had toddled home -without saying a word to any one about the lady who had tumbled out -upon the line. If so---- - -If so, and I kept in the background, it was equally conceivable that, -as a glorious climax to the muddle, because of that woman who had been -found upon the line, Tommy might find himself in a very awkward fix. - -I had to take another drink of tea. - -I found what might turn out to be the top brick of the building while I -was in the very act of drinking. Tommy himself might think that I was -dead. I might have died. From a mere consideration of the odds point of -view, I ought to have died. The miracle was that I wasn't dead. Tommy -knew nothing about the woman who had been thrown on the top of me. He -might think--he was capable of thinking anything, but in the present -instance it was natural that he should think--that the body which had -been found was mine. - -If he did think so? - -But he had seen me the night before. The fact rather supported my -theories than otherwise. He had glared at me as if I had been a ghost. -The sight of me had struck him senseless. According to the cabman, he -was drunk. Knowing what he knew, or what he thought he knew, he might -very well suppose that I was a creature born of his delirium. - -It appeared to me that my cue, for the present, at any rate, was to -keep sitting on the fence. I might still be even with Tommy, and that -without having to move a finger of either hand. As for my friend, the -gentleman--we should see. - -Oddly enough, I came across Mr. Reginald Townsend that very afternoon. -I had been shopping--shopping was about all there was for me to do; -after Strikehigh City I found life pretty dull West Kensington way, but -then I had expected it to be dull. As I was strolling homewards, who -should I see but Mr. Reginald Townsend. He was a sight for sore -eyes--at least, he was a sight for mine. I like to see a man that is a -man--handsome, well set up, and dressed as only the thoroughbred man -knows how to dress. I am not so particular about a man's morals as -about his manners, and his manners were all they ought to be. From his -bearing, as he stood there, in front of me, you would have thought I -was the very person he had wanted to see and had expected to see. I -don't believe that he had supposed that I was within a hundred miles of -him. I should not have been surprised to learn that, until my actual -presence recalled it to him, he had entirely forgotten my existence. - -He was the sort of creature one finds amusing. - -After poor, dear Daniel one liked to feel that one was connected with -such a picture of a man. One liked to feel that he was doing credit to -one's good taste as he was walking by one's side. - -I asked him to come and have a cup of tea. He was delighted, or he -professed to be. When I remembered the occasion on which I had first -encountered him it seemed to me that, in his heart of hearts--or -whatever it was that passed for his heart of hearts--he must wish that -I was at the bottom of the sea. He could not like being reminded of -Three Bridges Junction. But one can never tell. From his manner he -might have met me first of all in Queen Victoria's drawing-room, and -none but pleasant memories might have been connected with the meeting. - -When we got indoors, who should I find in the drawing-room, sitting in -solitary state, but Mr. Haines. The look he gave me! And the look he -gave my friend, the gentleman! The old nuisance might have been my -husband. - -Mr. Townsend appeared oblivious of there being anything peculiar in -the old worry's demeanour, and, fortunately, the old worry did not stay -long, considerably to my surprise. I was afraid that he would make a -point of outstaying Mr. Townsend. But it was all the other way. After -he had tried to freeze us for about five minutes he disappeared. - -"It's very odd," said Mr. Townsend, as soon as he was gone, "but I've -either seen that gentleman before or somebody very like him. There's -something in his face which positively haunts me." - -I shook my head. - -"Your imagination plays you a trick; it sometimes is like that. Mr. -Haines has only been in England, for the first time in his life, for -about a month. He was my late husband's partner. I fancy he is under -the impression that I'm a little lonely." - -"That is a complaint which may easily be cured." - -"The complaint of loneliness?" - -"You will be able to make as many friends as you desire." - -"It is not so easy for a woman to make friends as you may, perhaps, -suppose--that is, of course, friends who are worth the making. You see, -I have ambitions." - -"Ambitions?" - -"Yes, ambitions." He looked as if he would have liked to have asked me -what I meant, only he was too civil. "In my position I think I am -entitled to have ambitions." - -He still seemed puzzled. It did me good to look at him, to know that he -was sitting there, to breathe in, as it were, the aroma of his -refinement and his high breeding. I have always hungered for those two -things in a man, and I have never had them. I could understand a -woman's falling in love with my friend, the gentleman. For the first -time in my life the idea of a woman being in love with a man became -conceivable. - -All too soon--for me--he rose to go. - -"You will come again?" - -"I shall only be too happy." - -"Seriously, I mean it, Mr. Townsend." - -"And equally seriously I mean it too. Our acquaintance was made in an -informal fashion, but I trust that, in course of time, I may be able to -induce you to allow the informality to stand excused." - -"It will be your fault if you do not." - -When he went an appreciable something seemed to have departed with him, -and that although his voice, his presence, seemed still to linger in -the air. I found myself touching the cup from which he had been -drinking, even the chair on which he had been sitting, with quite a -curious sensation. - -It was very odd. - -I believe that if I had been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and -the right sort of man to whom to attach myself, and to become attached -to him, I should have been one of the best women in the world. I agree -with Becky Sharp, that for a woman five thousand a year is something; -but it is nothing, after all, without a man. Love in a cottage is a -lunatic absurdity. Love itself may be all stuff. But there is something -which, for all I can tell, may be akin to love. If one never knows it, -life can never have its fullest savour. Perhaps, after all, for every -square peg there may be a square hole somewhere in the world. If, when -it meets it--it might; one can conceive that such meetings are--it -cannot claim, and obtain possession, it will be hard upon the peg. - -I had half a mind to tell the girl to put the cup which he had used -aside and keep it free from the contamination of anybody else's lips -until he came again. It would seem so silly. And yet---- - -Somebody came striding into the room. I turned. It was Jack Haines come -back again. I almost dropped the cup, which I was holding, from my hand -in my surprise. He was looking as black as black could be and his -manners proved to be in full accord with his looks. - -"Who is that man?" - -"What man? What is the matter with you, Mr. Haines? I thought that you -had gone." - -"You know what man I mean--he who has just left your house." - -"I am at a loss to know how it concerns you. That gentleman is a friend -of mine." - -"He is a thing of evil." - -"Mr. Haines!" - -"He is a shedder of innocent blood!" - -Jack Haines was becoming really charming. I had always known he could -be pleasant. I was only just beginning to realise how pleasant he could -be when he tried. - -"Mr. Haines, are you stark mad?" - -"Woman!" - -"Sit down." - -He was raging like a wild bull about the room. - -"Why should I sit down?" He threw up his hands. "I warn you against -that man!" - -"Sit down!" - -I pointed to a chair. He sat down--I knew he would--and he looked as if -he would like to eat me for forcing him to do it. - -"Now, Mr. Haines, if you feel that you have, to a certain extent, -mastered your excitement, perhaps you will be so good as to tell me -what is the meaning of your behaviour." - -"Nelly----" - -"To you, Mr. Haines, I am Mrs. Carruth." - -"Nelly, I say!" - -In proof of his saying it, he stretched out towards me his clenched -fist. - -"Even at Strikehigh City, I did not think you capable of insulting an -unprotected woman." - -"I'm not insulting you." - -"If you think not, then your ideas of what an insult is must be your -own." - -He rubbed his hands slowly up and down his knees. He stared at me hard. -He shook his head. - -"It's very hard; it's very hard. Between you and the girl, I'm -suffering. The lines have fallen on me, and they're cutting right into -my vital places." He brought his hands down upon his knees with a -sudden thwack. "I asked you first, before even Daniel said a word to -you; I laid myself at your feet." - -"Was that my fault?" - -He looked at me in silence. Then he drew the back of his hand across -his brow. - -"No; it was not your fault. I'm not blaming you. It was to be. Some men -are made for women's feet to spurn." He paused. "Mrs. Carruth--since it -is to be--I mean you well." - -"Some people's meaning is very badly expressed." - -"That's me. That's me all through--yes, right along. I ask you again, -Who is that man?" - -"Are you referring to the gentleman who has just been kind enough to -come and see me? That is Mr. Townsend." - -"Then Mr. Townsend is a thing of evil--he is!" He held up his -forefinger to me with a warning gesture. I did not interrupt. "When I -came near him I knew him for what he was. I saw right through. He is a -whited sepulchre. I saw the blood gleaming on his hand. I could not -stay where he was. I went outside, and stood on the corner of the -street until I saw him go. And when I came back, I found that his -presence was still with the house." - -For my part I was glad that it was--if it was. - -"This sort of talk, coming from you, is very ridiculous. Has your own -life been so pure that you should attempt to blacken another man's -character merely because he is my friend?" - -"Pure? No; no man's life is pure. We are born to evil like the sparks -fly upwards. But there's a difference." - -"Pray, in what does the difference consist? I presume you have not -forgotten that at least a portion of your record is known to me?" - -He shook his head with dogged insistence. - -"There is a difference. You know there is a difference. There's bad -ones and there's bad ones; and Mr. Townsend's the sort of creature that -no woman ought to have any truck with. He'll bite you if you do." - -I got up from my chair. - -"I am sorry this should have happened, Mr. Haines. I fear I shall have -to ask you to come and see me more seldom than you have been in the -habit of doing. I hope Mr. Townsend will be a frequent visitor. It -would be pleasant neither for you nor for me for you to have to meet -him, in my house, when you hold the opinions of him which you say you -do." - -He pressed his lips. He looked, if anything, sourer than ever. - -"So Mr. Townsend is going to be a frequent visitor, is he? And how -about Daniel?--and about me?" - -I laughed. - -"About you, Mr. Haines? I hope, Mr. Haines, that you will have a cup of -tea." - -He had one. And did penance in having it. For he hated tea. - -And it was cold. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - - WHAT MRS. CARRUTH SAW. - - -All sorts of things have happened--past all belief. Tommy Tennant has -been arrested for murder--for the murder of me! Those wise police! And -Reginald Townsend is coming to dine. - -But let us proceed in order. Each thing in its place, and one at a -time. - -To take two or three things to begin with. The muddle they have made -about what happened at Three Bridges is, really, in its way, quite -marvellous. And it all pans out so clean--or seems to--to those who are -looking on. No one is talking of anything else, and some of them talk -of it to me. It only wants Mr. Townsend to favour me with a few -remarks, and Tommy to add a postscript, to make me begin to think that -I must be dreaming. - -They have found the porter who saw me into the train at Brighton, and -he has declared that the corpse is me! What a sweet creature that -porter man must be! And they have found the porter who saw Tommy get -out of the empty, blood-stained carriage at Victoria. But how they have -found Tommy himself I don't, as yet, altogether understand. I know they -have not found me. - -I have had another sight of Tommy since the one on that first -night--or, rather, so early in the morning. And, again, the manner of -it was curious. - -I have been in rather a predicament since I realised that Tommy and I -were neighbours. There has been a certain delicacy about the situation. -I might tell tales of him--he is married! I have seen his wife--such a -pretty woman; but, unless I am mistaken, she wears the breeches! But -they would not do him a tithe of the injury his tales would do me. And -we women are so handicapped. The justice of the world is so unjust. A -man may steal the horse, while we may not look over the hedge. -Primitive civilisations are, after all, in certain respects, the best; -but then they lack the very things we want! - -I'm a widow--_bonâ fide_. I could put down as much hard cash, dollar -for dollar, as many women who are famed for riches. I want to begin -again. I have ambitions. I want to ruffle it among the best of them. -Why shouldn't I? I have the qualities. So I have taken this highly -respectable house in this highly respectable street, and furnished it -in a highly respectable manner. I wanted to look about me--to find out -where I am. I did not want to start with a splash, or folks would want -to know who I was. And there are people who could tell them. For -instance, Tommy for one. I want some one to launch me; some one fully -equipped with the necessary equipment to give me a good send-off. - -Tommy, if he liked, could spoil me. On the thin ice of my perfect -respectability, at this stage of the game, I stand or fall; and, if I -do fall, I fall right in. If I had known that Tommy and I were -neighbours, I should have behaved in a very different fashion when I -discovered we were fellow-passengers. I should have shown a spirit of -Christian forgiveness; and, in excusing the past, I should have buried -the hatchet. Tommy is a good-hearted creature, in his way. I could have -easily induced him to hold his tongue, or even to assist me with a -helping hand. - -Now that boat is burned! - -My first impulse, when I discovered that we were neighbours, was to fly -before he made the same discovery on his own account. Had he chosen, he -might have made my position absolutely untenable. While this mood was -on me, I did my little best to conceal the fact. When I went out, I -took care not to pass his house, lest he should see me from the -windows. And the funny part of it was that the first time I did pass -his house, he saw me. - -The papers were full of the Three Bridges tragedy. The hue-and-cry was -hot against the man who had travelled in that blood-stained carriage. -What amazed me was his continued silence. It showed not only abject -cowardice, but drivelling idiocy to boot. Anything was better--for -him!--than keeping still. It was the Friday night. I had some letters -to post. I had a headache. I felt that I must have some fresh air, or a -change of air if fresh air was not obtainable; so I took them myself to -the pillar-box at the end of the road. Doing so involved passing -Tommy's residence. But it was dark; there was more than the suspicion -of fog--the risk seemed small. - -I went on the opposite side of the street. The fog was so thick that, -when I had despatched the letters, it seemed absurd to take -precautions. - -"I'll stroll back past Tommy's. Why should I be afraid of him?" - -I strolled. The fog appeared to be thicker every moment. The houses in -the street, externally, were as like as two peas. I really found it -difficult to find out exactly whereabouts I was. I was thinking of -Tommy, and of how eagerly he was being hunted, and of what a sensation -I might make by sending his address to Scotland Yard--when there he was -in front of me! - -Right close in front of me! - -He was standing at the bottom of a flight of steps--his own -steps--hatless, his hands in his trousers' pockets, as if, like me, he -had come out to get a change of air. Suddenly he became conscious of my -presence. He turned my way, and stared. The encounter was more than I -had bargained for. It made me feel a trifle awkward. But the effect -which it had on him was most astounding. The look which came upon his -face actually frightened me--it's a fact! I had not thought that a -human countenance could have been capable of an expression of such -awful horror. To look at him--and I had to look!--made me go all cold. -As I advanced, he went--automatically, I am sure--backwards up the -steps, never removing his eyes from off me, the awful something that -was on his face intensifying every second. At the bottom of the steps I -paused--I had to; something made me. I don't know what he thought; but, -as he saw me standing there, he made a convulsive movement backwards, -went into the house, and banged the door. - -I am cool enough as a rule. It takes something to put me off my -balance. But I was off my balance then. The whole thing was so unlooked -for, and seemed so strange; it unnerved me. When Tommy had gone I found -that I was trembling. - -But the incident was not by any means concluded. - -When I had gone a few steps further on, I all but cannoned into what -seemed to be a crowd of men, who, of malice prepense, were blocking up -the pavement. What with the fog and my state of fluster, I did not -perceive what they were till I was right upon them. - -They were policemen. - -My nerves were in such a condition of tension that, when I realised -that fact, it was all I could do to prevent myself from screaming. - -"I beg your pardon," I mumbled. "I did not see you." - -"It's all right, miss," said a voice. "Pass on." - -I passed on. But I had not passed on another dozen yards when, it -seemed to me, by a sort of inspiration, I guessed what might have -brought them there. What _might_ have brought them there? What had? - -Be the consequences what they might, I felt that I must stay and see -what was about to happen. Turning, I went back a little way; and, -keeping as much in the shadow as I could, I stood and watched. - -A man, who was dressed in ordinary private clothes, went on in front. -The policemen divided in two sections. Two of them followed closely on -this man's heels. The rest went out into the road. - -Just as I expected, the man in plain clothes passed up Tommy's steps. -He hammered with the knocker at Tommy's door. The door was opened. He -went in. The two policemen went in with him. - -I knew that, even while I was standing watching there, Tommy was being -arrested for the murder of me! - -The confusion of my ideas filled me with panic terror. He had seen me -not a minute back. He had only to tell the policemen so. They would -come and find me there. There would be an end to all my dreams. - -I rushed home. For the first time in my life I could not sleep. Indeed, -I scarcely tried to sleep. All night I lay in agony. A thousand -thoughts came crowding on my brain. I lost my self-control. I was half -stupefied with fear. I wished that there were a hundred miles between -my house and Tommy's. More than once, even in the middle of the night, -I nearly made a bolt of it. I was so oppressed by the consciousness -that he had only to send these policemen five doors along the street, -and there was I. - -But I did not lose every fragment of common sense. I did not become an -utter fool. When the morning came, I was still there to see it out. - -Next day I never moved outside the door. I bought all the evening -papers. They were selling them in the streets all day. Tommy filled -them all. "Arrest of the Three Bridges Murderer!" "Examination before -the Magistrates!" They were shouting the words in the streets all day. -It seemed that they had taken him to East Grinstead, wherever that -might be, early in the morning, and brought him before the magistrates -directly they got him there. To me the whole business was amazing. Why -had he not told them at once that he had seen me, and put the police on -my track? I was close at hand. They could scarcely have failed to find -me. So far as he was concerned, there would have been an end of the -affair upon the spot. - -But Tommy's ways always were beyond my finding out. - -What the newspapers called his examination was of the most perfunctory -kind. The police simply said that they had arrested him, and he was -remanded for a week. - -And on Thursday Mr. Townsend was coming to dine. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - - MR. TOWNSEND'S DOUBLE. - - -That Thursday was wet. It drizzled all day long. I was not feeling -well. I had had trouble with one of my maids--caught her tampering with -a lock, and sent her packing on the spot. Altogether I was feeling run -down. - -The best of us women get the blues at times! - -Things were worrying me, as things will if one is not feeling quite the -thing. I was almost disposed to tell myself that I had made a mistake -in coming to England. After all, I should have done better by remaining -on the other side. Here there were so many things which were against -me--in England there is no mercy for the woman that repenteth. And -getting myself mixed up in this business was scarcely a promising -beginning. - -The arrival of my friend, the gentleman, acted as a pick-me-up. It did -a poor, nerveless creature good to gaze on so vivid a representative of -sunshine and of strength. I was leaning back upon a couch when he came -in--somehow his knocking at the door had set all my pulses twittering. -It was with an effort I looked up and met his eyes. - -He looked so well in evening dress--it was the first time I had seen -him in it. When one has lived for years with savages one notices such -little things. - -"It is good of you to come to cheer me. I am so much in want of being -cheered." - -He laughed, retaining my hand for a minute in his. - -"The want is common to us both. I am in want of being cheered as much -as you--we will cheer each other." He sat down on a little easy-chair, -which he drew in front of me. "I have only just returned from -Devonshire, which is like coming from the sunshine into the night." - -"Have you been there alone?" - -"I have been staying with a friend--Sir Haselton Jardine." - -Sir Haselton Jardine? Where, quite recently, had I heard that name? Of -course! It was the name of the famous counsel. I had seen it stated in -that day's paper that he was to be retained by the Crown to prosecute -Tommy. - -I wondered if that item of news had come Mr. Townsend's way. - -"Sir Haselton Jardine? Is that the lawyer?" - -"Yes. I suppose he's the greatest barrister at the Bar just now." - -"Didn't I see that he was going to have something to do with this -murder there's all the stir about?" - -I had to let it out--I could not help it. So far as any effect which -the allusion had upon my visitor was concerned I need not have tried. -He never turned a hair. I was watching the white hands, which were -resting on his knee. Not a muscle quivered. - -He replied to my question without a moment's hesitation, and in his -ordinary tone of voice. - -"He tells me that he's going to prosecute. He seems rather eager about -the business, too. If the chap is guilty I don't fancy Jardine will let -him slip." - -I was still for a moment. I looked into my visitor's eyes with wonder, -and--I don't mind owning it--with admiration. This was the sort of man -it was worth one's while to know--he was a man. - -"Don't you think the affair is rather an odd one?" - -"Very odd, indeed--and not the least odd part of it is that I know this -fellow Tennant very well." - -"No!" I was startled. - -"I do. He's a stockbroker. He's done a good deal of business for me. -Unless I am mistaken, he is, or was, almost a neighbour of yours." - -"I know. He lives five doors down the street. But fancy your knowing -him. It seems so strange." - -He made a little movement with his hands. - -"In this world it is the strange things which happen." - -"That is true." - -As I sat there, looking at him, I realised how true it was with a -vividness of which he probably had no notion. This man was a study for -the gods. His attitude of perfect unconcern was not acting, it was -nature. - -I felt that, having gone so far, I must go farther. - -"Do you think he's guilty?" - -"It seems almost incredible. He always struck me as being one of the -pleasantest and most inoffensive little chaps alive." - -"Every one seems to think he's guilty." - -He smiled. - -"Every one's an ass." - -"Suppose he were to be found guilty, and was hanged, and all the time -he was innocent; how dreadful it would be." - -Another little movement with his hands. - -"It's the way of the world. The innocent are always being hung. Half -the time we guilty ones go free." - -This was a man. I went still further. - -"Do you know that we met each other, for the first time, on the night -which the murder happened?" - -"Am I likely to forget it?" - -"Thank you. It's very kind of you to say so. But do you know that we -must have met each other quite close to what they call the scene of the -tragedy." - -"I believe that we were within half a mile of it." - -"And it must just have happened." - -"Probably within twenty minutes of our meeting. By all of which you -will perceive that our acquaintance in the beginning was cemented with -blood." - -What did he mean? What kind of creature was he? I really began to -wonder. - -We went in to dinner, for which, by the way, he already had given me an -appetite. - -I had seen a good deal of men--of all sorts and conditions of men!--but -I never saw a man who came within measurable distance of Mr. Reginald -Townsend in the exercise of that very rare, and wholly indescribable -gift, the gift of fascination. I should say that he would have been a -favourite alike with men and women--I will stake my bottom dollar, as -poor, dear Daniel would have said, that he would have been popular with -every woman. To me the average "fascinating man" is a monstrosity. He -so obviously bears his honours thick upon his brow. He so plainly tries -his hardest to live up to them. There was nothing of that sort about -Mr. Townsend. The charm was in him; it would come out of him whether he -would or he would not. He was not conscious of it. There was no sign of -effort. There was no effort. He was always natural, always completely -at his ease. He could not help but give you pleasure. You yourself did -not notice the glamour of his manner and his presence till, as it were, -it had compassed you about. - -Nor were his powers of fascination decreased by the fact that he was -the best bred, the best dressed, the most graceful, and the handsomest -man I ever saw. - -This sounds like tall talking. But it is not. I am no tall talkist, -especially where men are concerned. It is the simple truth. My friend, -the gentleman, was a man in twenty millions; any woman would have been -proud to own him. - -I felt this very strongly, with a tendency to personal application, -before the dinner was through. His conversation did me good. He talked -as if he had been brought up in the same cradle with all the leading -members of the British aristocracy. There was nobody who was anybody -whom he did not seem to know, male and female. To listen to him talking -was like reading the Almanach de Gotha and the Court Guide bound up -together. Only it was better, and a deal more satisfying. - -He began to speak of a particular friend of his, one Lord Archibald -Beaupré, in a way which set me all of a tremble. - -"I will bring Archie to call on you--if I may." - -This Lord Archibald Beaupré was a son of the Duke of Glenlivet, and, so -far as blood went, not very distant from the Throne itself. - -"I shall be very glad to see him, or, indeed, any of your friends. Is -this Sir Haselton Jardine, with whom you have been staying, a married -man?" - -"He is a widower." - -"Has he any family?" - -"He has a daughter." - -I don't know what there was in his tone, but there was something when -he said "He has a daughter" which made it almost seem as if he had -slapped my face. I felt almost as if he had taken my breath away. I -found myself echoing his words. - -"A daughter? I see." - -There was silence. Something seemed, all at once, to have taken the -heart out of the conversation. It floundered, fell flat; seemed, for a -time, to die. I knew very well what that something was just as plainly -as if it had been told to me. - -It was that daughter of Sir Haselton Jardine. - -It may seem odd. I had never seen the girl. I had never heard of her -before. But, all the same, I hated her right then. She spoilt my -dinner. That's a fact. And, straight on the spot, she made me stand to -arms. - -I knew he loved her. And it made me feel--well, I had never thought -that a little thing like that could have made me feel so queer. - -I had meant to talk to him about my plans for the future. To have asked -his advice upon points on which I wished him to think I needed it. I -wanted to beguile him into showing interest in what I had set my heart -upon, until he had drifted, though but a little, into the current of my -affairs. But, somehow, after all, I did not seem to care to try. At -least, not then. I let him go. - -He was very nice. I was conscious that the man was almost like a woman -in the quickness of his intuition. That, if it came to shooting I -should have to move like lightning to get my shot in first. That he -would detect any intended movement towards my gun even before the -intention was wholly formed. And instinct told me that he was aware -that I had perceived the intonation with which he had said "He has a -daughter," and that it rankled. I do believe that for the first time in -my life I had given myself away. And to a man. But this man could read -the stars. And after dinner, he was particularly nice, because he -happened to have read them. - -After he was gone I sat for ever so long in the drawing-room forming -plans. The first wild notion had come to me before. I gave it form and -fashion then. I, too, would buck the tiger. Why not? Who would have -more cause than I? It is a peculiarity of my constitution that, -whatever the game, I always play better when the stakes are high. - -I would win my friend, the gentleman. I would go the limit every time -until I did. - -In winning him I should win all. Everything my soul desired. At a -single coup, the game. - -First of all, I should win the man. He was well worth winning--just the -man. - -Then I should win social recognition. By becoming Mrs. Reginald -Townsend I should be spared years of struggling--struggling, too, which -might only bring failure at the end. He wanted a clever wife, and he -should have her. He wanted a good wife, and he should have her too. He -wanted a wife who believed in him; he would never meet one who believed -in him more than I did. He wanted a wife with money; probably there was -not in England half a dozen possible women who had as much as I had. -Given a wife who had all these things I doubted if there was a -drawing-room in which he could not make her welcome--from the Queen's -own drawing-room, downwards or upwards. Practically he could place -Society--with a big S!--at her feet, to do with as she chose. - -To think of it! What a realisation of one's dream. What a short and -what an easy cut to the Kingdom of the Blest! - -Again, in making him the captive of my sword and of my bow, I should be -giving one to the daughter of Sir Haselton Jardine. That, also, would -be worth the doing. To dislike any one is a mistake. I reminded myself -of that over and over again. But I knew I hated her. - -As to whether I should be able to win him--on that point I had no -shadow of doubt. It was true that the overtures might have to come from -me, but they should come. And when they came they should come in a -guise which he would find resistless. - -Or we should see! - -I slept very well that night--soothed by my own fancies. I remember -very well that, when I was in my bedroom, just before I got between the -sheets, I looked at the hand which he had held in his, and, just where -his hand pressed it, I kissed it. It was a silly thing to do, but it -did me good. - -I wondered if, when he had held her hand in his, she was silly too. -But, no doubt, she had freehold rights--or she thought that she had -freehold rights--to what was much better worth the kissing. - -Never mind! But bide a wee! - -Days slipped by. At his next examination before the magistrates things -began to look very black indeed against poor Tommy. I suppose the -witnesses supposed they spoke the truth--so far as I could see, there -was no possible cause for their wishing to do otherwise. But how they -lied! Unconsciously, we will hope, and in their haste. It was becoming -plainer and plainer that unless something, as yet wholly unsuspected, -turned up in his favour, Tommy bade fair to hang. - -Well, I have seen a man hung on suspicion of stealing a horse, and -directly he was hung the horse in question has turned up underneath the -thief that really stole him. As Mr. Townsend observed, sometimes it -seems as if the innocent were born to hang. If everything in life were -certain, where would be the sport, and what would be the use of -betting? - -It is the element of chance that makes the game! - -One afternoon something happened which struck me as being distinctly -curious. It was after lunch. I was thinking of taking the air. I had -just gone into the drawing-room for a moment, when there came a -knocking at the door. - -"Now, who's that, I wonder?" I stopped the servant on her way to answer -the door. "Eliza, let me know who it is before you say I'm in." - -I knew who it was directly she opened the door. It was no good telling -him that I was not in. He did not even ask. He came himself to see. It -was old Jack Haines, and with him was a stranger. - -It was the stranger who made me open my eyes. I had to stare. For he -was--and yet he wasn't--the living, breathing image of my friend, the -gentleman. He was Reginald Townsend, with a difference. And the -difference--which was all the difference--was this: Reginald Townsend -was a gentleman; this man was emphatically quite another kind of thing. - -And Jack Haines treated him as if he was quite another kind of thing. -He treated him as if he had been nothing but a cur, and the man bore -himself as if he was used to being treated like a cur. - -Mr. Haines strode into the middle of the room. He pointed to the -stranger. - -"You see this creature?" - -It was an awkward sort of introduction. I scarcely knew what to make of -it. The more I looked at him, the more I wondered who the man could be. - -"He's a detective--a private detective. That's what he calls himself. -If he is, he's the English kind. When first I landed on this darned old -island I went to him, like the fool I was, and I said, 'I want to find -my girl.' And he said, 'I'm the man to find her.' And I said, 'You -are?' And he said, 'You bet. It's only a question of money, that's all -it is.' And that's all it has been ever since--a question of money. -That's the only time he told the truth. If you knew the amount of money -he's had out of me you would laugh. He kept thinking that he's found a -clue, and wanting twenty pounds to find out if he'd found it, and every -time he got that twenty pounds he found out he hadn't. And now he -thinks he's found another clue, and I've brought him along with me in -here to find out what sort of clue he thinks he has found." - -The man coughed behind his hand. He puffed out his chest. He drew -himself upright. He tried to think himself a man. - -"You are severe, Mr. Haines, uncommonly severe. Even detectives are but -fallible. But, on this occasion I do not only think I have a clue, I am -positive--quite positive." - -"What's the figure?" - -"Figure? Expenses--merely!" - -"And what's the clue?" - -The man seemed a trifle fidgety. - -"I am afraid that I am scarcely in a position at present----" - -Mr. Haines cut him uncivilly short. - -"Stow that! You don't touch a nickel till you tell me what's the clue." - -The man cleared his throat. He looked round and round the room, as -though looking for the clue. Mr. Haines's inquisition seemed more than -he had bargained for. - -"As you are aware, Mr. Haines, I have searched all England for Miss -Louise O'Donnel." - -"Judging from the amount of money you've had I should think you've -searched all Europe." - -Again the stranger cleared his throat, as if he deprecated the -allusion. - -"You probably have it in your recollection that at one time I believed -that I had traced her to Liverpool. Circumstances have recently -occurred which have brought to me the knowledge that in so believing I -was right. She is in Liverpool." - -Mr. Haines began to tremble like a leaf. I saw how easily this man, or -any other man, could play upon what seemed to have become the -dominating passion of his existence. - -"Whereabouts in Liverpool? Tell me that!" - -"Unfortunately, at this moment, that is beyond the limit of my power. -But this I will undertake to do. If you are disposed to expend a -further sum of fifty pounds I will undertake to place you in -communication with her within, yes, certainly, within fourteen days." - -"You swear it?" - -The man threw himself into an attitude which he, no doubt, intended to -be sublime. "As one gentleman to another I undertake, sir, to do what I -have said." - -"You shall have your fifty pounds. I will go and get it. Stay here." -Mr. Haines turned to me. "Do you mind my leaving him here while I go -and cash a cheque? I want to give him the money in your presence, and -on conditions which you shall hear." - -"I have no objection." - -I had not. Indeed, I had been wondering how I might find the -opportunity to ask the man a question which should be entirely between -ourselves. Whether he was as willing to be left alone with me as I was -to be left alone with him, is more than I can say. He ought to have -been. Mr. Haines took me at my word. He stamped through the hall and -from the house. The stranger and I were _tête-à-tête_. - -He did not seem to be exactly at his ease. Mr. Haines had not offered -him a chair. He seemed to think that he would like one. Indeed, he said -as much. - -"With your permission, madam, I will sit down." - -"I would rather you did not." - -He was about to act on his own suggestion when my words arrested him. -He seemed disconcerted, looking at me as if wondering what it was that -I might mean. I went on, "Of course you are lying again?" - -The man drew himself up with what he intended to be an air of dignity. - -"Lying?--Again?--Madam! May I inquire what you mean?" - -"Pray don't put on that sort of air with me. I understand you very -well, my man. You are too common a type not to be understood. Of -course, you are lying again and of course I shall tell Mr. Haines so -when he returns." He looked as if he felt that in exchanging Mr. -Haines' society for mine he had made a change for the worse. "Or, -rather, I shall tell Mr. Haines unless you give me satisfactory answers -to the questions I am about to put to you." - -"I assure you, madam, that, as a gentleman----" - -"Stop! Confine yourself to answering my questions. On your answers will -depend whether or not I shall keep silence. What is your name?" - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - - ANNOUNCED! - - -The man twiddled his hat round and round between his hands, as if he -sought inspiration from its brim. I sat and watched him. He was a poor -kind of scamp. He was so easily nonplussed. - -"My name, madam? Yes." He struck himself with the palm of his hand upon -his chest, affably, as it were. "My name is Trevannion--Stewart -Trevannion." - -"Have you ever heard of Mr. Reginald Townsend?" - -Mr. Trevannion went all of a heap. He looked at me like a startled -rabbit. He turned, as if to obey an impulse which suggested that he -should make a rush from the room. But he thought better of it. Instead, -he put his hand up to his chin, appearing, all at once, to be plunged -into a sea of contemplation. - -"Townsend? Townsend? No! I don't seem to remember the name." He glanced -at me out of the corner of his eye. He saw that it would not do. "Stay. -I had a client of the name of Townsend--he was a merchant in the West -Indies--but his name was John." - -"You won't get that fifty pounds." - -Again he drew himself up, with an attempt at that air of dignity which -he seemed so anxious to assume. - -"I haven't the honour, madam, of being acquainted with your -name--excuse me, you must permit me to conclude--but I have to assure -you that you appear to altogether misunderstand my character." - -After all, Mr. Trevannion was amusing. I laughed at him. - -"I should be sorry to do that. In proof of it, if you could manage to -tell the truth, just once in a way, should it not be too great a strain -upon your constitution, I shall be happy to add twenty guineas of my -own to Mr. Haines's fifty." - -He appeared to be more startled than ever. This time his amazement -seemed to be of a pleasurable kind. - -"How much?" - -"Twenty guineas." - -"Honour?" - -"Straight." - -He adjusted his coat upon his shoulders. - -"I'll do it. Hanged if I won't. Why shouldn't I? I'm not afraid of him! -He's nothing to me! What is it that you desire to know, madam--for your -twenty guineas?" - -"Have you heard of Mr. Reginald Townsend?" - -"I have." - -"I thought you had. What relation is he to you?" - -"Relation?" He sought for inspiration from the ceiling. "Cousin." - -"Cousin? I see. You're sure he's not your father?" - -"Father? No, certainly not! Absolutely not! There's not the slightest -ground for any presumption of the kind." - -"You won't get the twenty guineas." - -"Madam!" - -"Lied again." - -"I will be candid with you, madam. I will tell you the truth. Why -should I conceal it?" Mr. Trevannion shot his cuffs. They were a trifle -soiled. "The fact is that, for reasons of his own--what they are I have -not the slightest notion! I think it possible that they may not be -wholly to his credit! Mr. Reginald Townsend does not appear anxious to -advertise the particular degree of consanguinity which binds us to each -other--or, rather, which ought to bind us to each other--because, as a -matter of fact, so far as he is concerned, with me affection never -dies! I never can forget that the same heart nourished us both!--the -binding is merely theoretical I'm his brother--his elder brother--and, -as such, qualified to take my place beside him in all the salons of the -land." - -He looked his brother. I had guessed he was a sort of Corsican brother -from the first. He was like a caricature--all alive, oh!--of my friend -the gentleman; reminding me of nothing so much as a picture I once saw -in "Cassell's Popular Educator." It was called "The Child: What shall -become of Him?" On the top line they showed you portraits of the child -at various periods of his life, as he advanced towards honoured age. -While, on the bottom line, were portraits of the child, also at various -periods of his life, as he advanced towards the other kind of age. Mr. -Trevannion recalled the portraits of the child advanced towards the -other kind of age. - -While he still continued in the pose which he had done his best to -strike, and before either of us had spoken again, Mr. Haines came in. - -Mr. Haines made short work of this brother whose affection did not die. -He counted nine five-pound notes and five separate sovereigns on the -table. - -"There are fifty pounds. You mark it?" - -"I certainly do observe that there appear to be fifty pounds." - -"Appear to be! There are!" - -Mr. Haines raised his voice to a roar, which made Mr. Trevannion jump. - -"Exactly--as you say--there are." - -"You can have that fifty pounds on the understanding that you undertake -to place me in communication with my girl within fourteen days. If you -don't, next time I find myself in communication with you I'll have -value for my fifty pounds. You hear?" - -"While you continue, Mr. Haines, to speak so loudly, I can hardly fail -to hear." - -Mr. Haines covered the money with his hand. - -"Swear that you will find my girl for me within fourteen days." - -I had noticed Mr. Trevannion's eyes begin to glisten directly the money -appeared. He seemed to fear that he might find such an oath a little -difficult of digestion. Still he swallowed it. - -"I swear." - -Mr. Haines turned to me. - -"You hear? He says he swears." He removed his hand. "Take the money. If -you're lying to me again, when next we meet there'll one of us have -fits." - -Mr. Trevannion took the money in rather a hurry, as if he feared that, -after all, Mr. Haines might change his mind. - -"I may truly say, Mr. Haines, that I never saw a father's love which -equalled yours. It is a rare, noble spectacle. It will be my pride, as -well as my pleasure, to restore, in the shortest possible space of -time, your child to her father's arms." - -"Mind you do." - -Mr. Trevannion had disposed of the money. He turned to me. - -"Eh, madam, might I have the pleasure of saying one word to you in -private?" - -"Certainly not." - -He seemed surprised. - -"With reference to that little matter----" - -I interrupted him. - -"Mr. Haines, if you are finished with this person might I ask you to -relieve me of his society?" - -Jack Haines chose to fly into a rage. - -"What the devil, sir, do you mean by wanting to speak in private to a -lady who's a friend of mine! Outside!" - -Mr. Trevannion went outside, Mr. Haines accompanying him to the door to -see him go. - -The very next day the Corsican brother obliged me with a call--my -friend, the gentleman. He came accompanied by a friend--none other than -that Lord Archibald Beaupré, of whom he had spoken. - -My lord was long and thin and a little weedy. His hair was sandy, and -parted, with mathematical exactness, precisely in the middle. It would -not be many years before he went bald. His eyes were light blue--the -kind of eyes which not only suggest a bad temper, but a senseless -temper too. It is excusable--though foolish--to fly into a fury about -something. But people with those sort of eyes are apt, when they feel -that way disposed, to get into a rage about nothing at all, and to go -blind with passion when they are at it. Milord's manner was very well. -Only he struck me as being the least bit condescending--as if he was -conscious of what a well-born man he was. - -It was very kind of Mr. Townsend to bring him, and so I told him. - -By the way, all the time I was looking at Mr. Townsend, I could not -help my thoughts travelling to Mr. Stewart Trevannion. How alike they -were, and yet how different. How came the two lives to be lived on such -different roads? Sometime it might be worth my while to improve my -acquaintance with Mr. Trevannion. One might acquire from them a scrap -or two of gossip which might prove useful by and by. Could this man -ever be like that man? I doubted it. This had what the other had -not--the courage of Old Nick. He would never crouch, whatever else he -did. - -But, as I was saying, it was very kind of Mr. Townsend to bring his -friend. Although there was something about the fashion of his -introduction which, instinctively, put my back up. I wondered what he -had said to milord before he came. Nothing could exceed Mr. Townsend's -courtesy, but I had a kind of suspicion that he was seeking to -recommend his friend to my notice as a substitute, as it were, for -himself. I almost felt as if he were throwing us, with all the delicacy -and grace conceivable, at each other's heads. I could have sworn that -he told milord, before he brought him on the scene, that I was a rich -American widow, and that he had dropped, perhaps, something stronger -than a hint that I was just the sort of woman whom it might be worth -his lordship's while to marry. - -If he had, he had thrown his hint away. He was trying to travel along -the wrong line of rails. That bird would not fight. There was only one -man's wife I meant to be, and he was himself that man. - -They went away together. When they had gone, somehow or other I felt a -trifle sore. I was beginning to get into a funny frame of mind. I was -half disposed to feel that I should be willing to get my friend the -gentleman--to get just him, and nothing more. I had never thought that -I should fool like that for any man; or that I could. It puzzled me. - -Things went on worse and worse for Tommy. At the close of his next -examination before the magistrates, he looked as much like hanging as -any man cared to do. As I read, I could scarcely believe my eyes. I -stared and I stared. I almost began myself to believe that he must be -guilty--that I must be dead. It just showed that things are not always -what they quite seem. - -A new witness went into the box. He said his name was Taunton. I soon -saw that if Tommy was to be hanged it would be Mr. Taunton who would -hang him. - -It was Mr. Taunton, after all, who had given the police the office. It -was he who had delivered Tommy into their hands. He had travelled in -the same train with Tommy from Brighton. He had been in the next -compartment. He had heard all the argument. And, from what he said, he -must have been listening for all that he was worth. - -But there! When I read all that was in the paper, I gasped for breath. -In imagination I already saw the rope round Tommy's neck. - -Who would have thought that it ever would have come to that? - -Two or three days afterwards I received a shock. I was looking through -the morning paper when I came upon a paragraph which sent all the blood -running out of my finger-ends--or it seemed to. It was in the column of -daily gossip. Here it is:-- - - -"An engagement is announced between Mr. Reginald Townsend, one of the -best known and most popular society figures, and Dora, daughter and -only child of Sir Haselton Jardine. We understand that the marriage -will take place very shortly. This announcement will be received with -the wider public interest in view of the position of counsel for the -Crown which Sir Haselton Jardine will occupy, should Mr. Thomas Tennant -have to stand his trial for the Three Bridges murder. It is understood -that the trial will be set down for the next Lewes Assizes. In that -case the judge will be Mr. Justice Hunter." - -When first I saw the thing all that struck me was the bold fact of the -engagement--that it was announced. On a re-perusal, it began to occur -to me that the announcement was rather oddly worded. It might almost -have been done with malicious intent. Beginning with marriage, it ended -with murder. - -A comfortable juxtaposition! - -What was more, there seemed to be more murder in it than marriage. The -stress seemed to be laid upon the murder. Certainly the impression -likely to be left upon the imagination of the average reader was a -combination of blood with orange blossoms. - -I wondered who had inspired the paragraph in that peculiar form, and -what would be my friend the gentleman's sensations if, as I had done, -he should chance to happen on it unexpectedly. - -But, still, the engagement was announced. - -That thing was sure! - -The more I thought of it, the more I went all hot and cold. No wonder I -had hated her directly he had told me that such a creature was in the -world. Her name was Dora! What a name! It sounded Dolly. It must be her -money he was after. He could not care for a woman with a name like -that. She must be brainless! - -Well, other women had money; and brains as well. - -So the newspaper man had been given to understand that the marriage was -going to take place very shortly. Was it? A marriage was going to take -place very shortly. But not that one. We should see! - -I pranced about the room; I worked myself into a rage. I felt that I -must have it out with some one. - -And I had. I had it out with Tommy's wife! - -It was all that paragraph. - -The day before a servant had offered herself as a candidate to fill the -place of the one I had dismissed. She referred me for her character to -her late mistress. When she told me who her late mistress was I stared. -It was Mrs. Tennant. It occurred to me, very forcibly, that one of -Tommy's servants would hardly do for me. Things might get about, and -tales be told. I gave her application scant consideration. - -Now, in the middle of my rage, it struck me that here was an -opportunity to get rid of some of it--on some one else's head. I might -bait Mrs. Tennant. I could pretend to go and ask about the servant's -character, and give the servant's mistress one, just by the way. I went -and put my hat on, and made myself look as nice as I knew how, and off -I trotted there and then. - -I thought it more than possible that I should not be admitted--in her -position some people would have declined to see strangers on business -of any sort or kind. But I was. At the door they asked my name and what -I wanted. When I said I had come about a servant's character, I was -shown into a sitting-room. And presently in came Tommy's wife. - -Directly I saw her I knew I had made a big mistake. I perceived at a -glance that she was not anybody in particular--I mean that she was not -a lady, or much to look at. She was just a woman. But, all the same, I -knew that if I tried to close with her the odds were that I should get -a fall. - -She was just that kind! - -She waited for me to begin. So I began--quite a thrill going through me -when I realised that I was actually talking to Tommy's wife. - -"I have called about a servant named Jane Parsons." She moved her -head--the motion was scarcely equivalent to a bow. "She tells me that -she was in your service. She has referred me to you for a character." - -"I have nothing to say against the way in which Jane Parsons performed -her duties." - -Her voice was of that peculiar kind which you never hear issuing -from between the lips of any but an Englishwoman, and from but few of -them. Sweet, soft, gentle, yet incisive and clear. It may seem -ridiculous--one can only speak of one's own experience--but I have -never known it to be a possession of any but a good woman. It is apt, -when I hear it, to have a most absurd effect upon me--for some occult -reason, which I do not pretend to understand, it makes me go ashamed -all over. - -"May I ask why she left you?" - -She flushed, though very slightly; and, perhaps unconsciously, she drew -herself up straighter. I saw that, unwittingly, I had rubbed against a -raw. - -"Did she not tell you?" - -Jane Parsons had not told me. I said so, though I did not think it -necessary to explain that I had got rid of her before she had had a -chance to get as far. - -She hesitated, as if mentally selecting the fittest words. - -"Jane Parsons left me because I was in trouble." - -At once I perceived my opportunity. I saw what it was she meant, though -I pretended innocence. - -"In trouble? Indeed? Was there illness in the house?" - -"There was worse than illness. To do Jane justice, I do not think she -would have left me merely because there was illness in the house." - -"I am afraid I do not understand." - -Mrs. Tennant smiled--very faintly, and not with joy. - -"It is immaterial. The point is, I did not discharge the girl. She left -me of her own accord. I should have been glad to have kept her. She is -sober, clean, honest, and industrious. As good a servant as I should -wish to have." - -I pretended to look at a little memorandum book which I took from my -purse. - -"Your name is Tennant--Mrs. Tennant?" - -She nodded her head, still faintly smiling. - -"My name is Tennant." - -"I perceive that the names are similar; but I take it that, in spite of -the similarity, you are in no way connected with the Three Bridges -murderer?" - -The shot sped straight home. She went red all over, then white as a -sheet. Her lips trembled. I thought for a moment that she was going to -cry. But she didn't. - -"I don't know what it matters to you or how it concerns a servant's -character; but I am the wife of the Mr. Thomas Tennant who is being -wrongfully accused of murder, but who is wholly innocent of any crime." -Then, with what was very like a hysterical outburst, she added, "He is -the dearest and the best husband in the world." - -"Dear me!" I rose from my seat. I went to the door. "I had no notion -that you were in any way connected with that dreadful creature, or I -certainly should not have troubled you. To think that you can be the -wife of such a man! Of course it is altogether out of the question that -I could knowingly engage a servant who had lived in such a house as -this!" - -Without waiting for her to summon a servant to escort me to the door, I -showed myself out into the street. - -I had given her one. But now that I had done it I was not by any means -proud of the gift I had bestowed. Indeed, when I got indoors I could -have bit and slapped and scratched and pinched myself--and worse. Women -are cats. There is no doubt of it. Especially to each other! I know it, -to my sorrow, of my own experience. If there was one thing on which I -had always prided myself, it was that--at any rate, in that respect, I -was not like other women. Whatever else I was, I was not a cat. - -And now I had been the cat of all the cats! - -And all because of that stupid paragraph in that stupid paper. - -When I thought of that pale-faced woman, with her sweet, true mouth, -and brown eyes, and of all the trouble she had to bear, and of how I -had gone out of my way to add to the bitterness of it all, and to rub -it in, I could have banged my head against the wall. - -But there! the thing was done. And when a thing is done--especially a -thing like that--it is not the least use being sorry. One may as well -pretend that one is glad. And, after all, the engagement was announced. -And why did they announce it, if they did not want to drive me into a -rage? - -Poor Tommy! He bade fair to have the most to suffer. After his next -examination before the magistrates, they committed him for trial. -According to the newspapers, it would take place almost immediately. -Things were moving fast. It was time that I should move as well. It was -time that I should come to an understanding with my friend the -gentleman. - -So I wrote to him to come and see me, putting a touch or two into my -note which I knew would bring him. - -And he came. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - - MR. TOWNSEND IS MADE TO UNDERSTAND. - - -I wondered if he had an inkling of what it was that I might have to say -to him. He showed no signs of it. But one could not tell. I felt, -instinctively, that his intuition was every whit as keen as mine. While -as for his appearance of perfect ease, it clothed him like a skin. - -As he lounged in an easy-chair I drank in, as it were, the atmosphere -of his grace and elegance and charm of manner. I felt that I was going -to enjoy myself. I believe that the fighting instinct is the strongest -instinct that I have. I knew that, at least, for once in a way, I was -going to cross swords with a foeman who was worthy of my steel. - -I began to play with him, as a preliminary to the earnest which was to -follow. - -"I hear that I am to congratulate you, Mr. Townsend." He made a slight -movement with his hands--it was a pretty little trick he had. "I -understand that you are about to make a change in your condition of -life. You are about to be married." - -"In that respect I do deserve your congratulations, for if ever there -was a marriage which, to one of the parties at any rate, promised all -that the heart of man could desire, it is that on which I am about to -enter. Therefore, Mrs. Carruth, I do solicit your congratulations." - -He looked me straight in the face as he said this, a smile peeping from -the corners of his lips. The first score had been with him. And I felt -he knew it. - -"I saw that the engagement was announced." - -"I know that it was announced--I believe at the suggestion of Sir -Haselton Jardine." - -"It was rather an odd announcement, the one I saw." - -"Odd? In what way?" - -"Perhaps the oddity was also part of Sir Haselton Jardine's -suggestion." - -"What was there peculiar about the one you saw?" - -"Well, there was a little about the marriage, and a good deal about the -murder." - -"What murder?" - -"The Three Bridges murder. It seemed to me to be rather a funny -mixture. It was not so much an announcement of the engagement as of Sir -Haselton Jardine's connection with the murderer." - -"His connection with the murderer?" - -"As counsel for the Crown." - -"I'm afraid I don't quite follow your meaning." - -"No? Really?" - -He got up. - -"I fear, Mrs. Carruth, I must tear myself away. I have an appointment -which I am inclined to think is already overdue." - -"You mustn't go. Did I not tell you in my note that I have something -which I particularly wished to say to you? Have you forgotten? I am -coming to it now." - -"I am but too disposed to yield to temptation, Mrs. Carruth, being -fully conscious of how good it is of you to say anything to me at all." - -He said that kind of thing with an easy assurance and an exquisite -grace, which seemed to rob it of its banality. Resuming his seat, he -continued to look me straight in the face. He gave me no lead. I had to -make one for myself. - -"It is about the murder." - -"The murder? Every one seems to be talking of that!" - -"Are you going to let Mr. Tennant hang?" - -To look at him one would not have imagined that he understood me in the -least. - -"I am afraid that that is an issue which scarcely rests in my hands. I -wish the poor chap well. I don't know that there is anything else that -I can do for him. Is there any talk of a petition being got up in case -he is convicted?" - -"You see, I saw you do it." - -"You saw me do--what?" - -He asked the question as coolly as you please. - -"The murder!" - -It might have been my fancy, but I thought that a sort of greyness -passed for a moment over his face, and that the pupils of his eyes came -to a point. But certainly he showed no other signs of discomposure. - -"I suppose, Mrs. Carruth, that you are jesting?" - -"I have been jesting. I jest no more." - -He watched me for some seconds with anxious scrutiny. - -"What am I to understand you to mean?" - -"You are to understand that I saw you commit the murder with which Mr. -Tennant stands charged." - -He continued to examine my face. Reading as much of it, I suppose, as -he desired to read--which, possibly, was more than I intended. Not the -slightest shadow of a change took place in his own. Having concluded -his examination, he got up from his chair. He went to the fireplace. -Leaning his elbow on the mantelboard, he stood looking down into the -burning coals. - -To judge from his demeanour, what he had just now heard possessed only -the smallest personal interest for him. - -"Where were you?" - -"I was on the bank. You almost threw the lady upon my head." - -"Really?" He positively smiled. "How do you know it was I?" - -"I saw you. You stood on the other side of the hedge and stared at me." - -He glanced up from the fire. - -"Did you rise up, like a sort of accusing spirit, from the middle of -the bushes?" - -"I did. That kind of thing was enough to make any one rise." - -"How very odd! Do you know, I took you for a ghost. You gave me a -horrid fright. I took to my heels, and ran for my life." - -"I know you did. I saw you start off running." - -He laughed softly. He seemed to find the thing amusing in a way which -began to strike me as a bit uncanny. His gaze turned to the fire. - -"Do you know, I thought that you were that kind of woman from the -first?" - -"What do you mean? That I was what kind of woman?" - -"I mean nothing disagreeable, on my honour. Only I thought that we -might be sympathetic." - -His words or his manner, or both together, cut me as if he had struck -me with a lash. So far he seemed to be doing all the scoring. I was -silent. I still would bide my time. He went on-- - -"By the way, how came you to be upon the bank?" - -I hesitated. Should I tell him anything? And, if anything, how much? I -knew that he was watching me. I decided to be frank. - -"I fell out of the train." - -"What train?" - -"I was in the same compartment with this Mr. Tennant. We had a -discussion. In the course of it I fell out." - -"While the train was moving?" - -"Yes. It was a miracle I was not killed. As a matter of fact I fell -among some bushes, and was not even scratched." - -"You say that you fell out. Do you mean that you fell out with Mr. -Tennant's help?" - -"He had nothing to do with it. It was a pure accident. He may have -thought that he had, but he had not." - -"Is it possible that he thinks you were killed?" - -"It is extremely possible. When that body was found I believe he -thought that it was mine." - -"This is very curious; but if he saw the body he would know it was not -yours." - -"Would he see it? Taking it for granted that it was mine, he would not -want to see it, and would they compel him to see it against his will?" - -His tone was contemplative. - -"I suppose they wouldn't--no. So, if he is found guilty, and is -sentenced to be hung, he will actually go to the gallows under the -impression that he deserves his fate. I never heard of anything so -curious." - -It occurred to me that not the least curious part of the situation was -the fashion in which he appeared to regard it from the point of view of -a mere outsider. He continued to gaze at the fire. Presently he smiled -again. - -"And now may I venture to ask you why you have told me this extremely -interesting scrap of news?" - -"Because I intend to save the life of an innocent man." - -"How?" - -"By laying the real facts of the case before the police." - -"Unless I do what? I suppose there is something I can do to save -myself. Otherwise you would have laid the real facts of the case before -the police before." - -"There certainly is a way by which you can constrain me to silence." - -"Oh, yes; there are several ways of doing that." - -Something in his tone caused me to grasp the revolver which I had -slipped into my dress pocket. I had not known how he might take what I -had to say. I had thought that it might be just as well that I should -come prepared. - -"You need not fondle that pretty little pistol of yours. I was not -thinking of that way, I assure you." - -The man's quickness of perception verged upon the supernatural. - -"It is a matter of indifference to me whether you were or were not -thinking of it. I am not afraid." - -"I believe that you are not." - -"I am not. You are wrong in saying that there are more ways than one of -constraining me to silence. There is but one." - -"And that is?" - -"You may save yourself from the law by the law, and, so far as I am -concerned, only by the law." - -"Explain yourself." - -"According to the law of England, on a capital charge, a wife may give -no evidence against her husband." - -Unless I was mistaken, he slightly started. Anyhow, his elbow came off -the mantelboard and his arm fell to his side. There was silence. - -Presently he returned his elbow to its former place upon the -mantelboard. - -"I see." - -It was an ejaculation, rather than anything else. To the best of my -judgment his face was expressionless as a mask. But I could not see his -eyes--he kept them flamewards. Next time he spoke he confined himself -to the utterance of a monosyllable. - -"Well?" - -"So far as I am concerned, that is all." - -He stood up straight. He faced me, turning his back to the fire. - -"May I ask why you wish to marry me?" - -"I? It is you who wish to marry me, surely." - -He regarded me with unwavering eyes. - -"Let us be frank with one another. Why do you wish to marry me?" - -"I am not conscious of having expressed any wish of the kind. I merely -suggest that if I were your wife, in time, your neck would be saved. -Otherwise----" - -I allowed the sentence to remain unfinished. - -"I am not a prize in the matrimonial market." - -"I have not inferred that you were. However, that is a question of the -point of view." - -"And your point of view is?" - -"You have certain things I want." - -"As for instance?" - -"You have position--I have money." - -"What sort of position do you imagine me to have?" - -"You have the _entrée_ to the best society in England." - -"It does not follow that I can give that _entrée_ to my wife." - -"If you have a particular kind of wife, it does." - -"And you would be that particular kind of wife?" - -"I should. I have sufficient brains, sufficient looks, and sufficient -money." - -"What is your idea of sufficient money?" - -"I can spend, say, between forty and fifty thousand pounds a year, and -still economise." - -For the first time, he evinced genuine surprise. I thought I had him; -but I had not. - -"Between forty and fifty thousand pounds a year? No. Then why do you -live in such a place as this?" - -"If you have any doubts as to the existence of the money, I shall be -happy to give you ample proof, not only that my income is considerably -over the larger of the two sums which I have mentioned, but also that -it is certain to increase." - -"Then you are a rich woman, even as riches go. You might have -your choice of the best _partis_ in England. You would have no -difficulty in marrying a man who really has what I only have in your -imagination--family and influence. For instance, there is Archie -Beaupré. He has some of the bluest blood in England in his veins. He -has just the things you want. Why not marry him?" - -"If I did, you would hang." - -He smiled. It seemed to me that this time his smile was a little -strained. - -"Again I am compelled to ask, why do you wish to marry me?--me, in -particular?" - -"I will hint at a possible reason--one which may commend itself to you. -You said, just now, that when first you saw me something told you that -we were sympathetic. That something told you aright--we are." - -I had hit him at last. Something came into his face and eyes which said -I had. It stayed only for a moment. But it stayed long enough to show -that, under that expressionless mask, there was a volcano raging. - -"You certainly are an unusual type of woman." - -"Precisely; and you are an unusual type of man. We approximate." - -He laughed out loud. But, to my ear, there was something in his -laughter which was scarcely gay. - -"But, my dearest lady, you are aware that I am already engaged to be -married?" - -I shrugged my shoulders. - -"I have seen something about it in the papers." - -"And now you hear it from me as a fact. There are circumstances as -connected with my engagement which render it certain that, if by any -overt act of mine, it is ruptured, I shall be ruined, I shall forfeit -my reputation; I shall lose, entirely, and for ever, what you say you -want--that fragment of a position, which in reality is all that I -possess." - -I simply tilted my chair backwards, pressed the tips of my fingers -together, and smiled at him. - -"I have enough money to buy it back again--all that you are likely to -lose, and more. I would not allow any consideration of that kind, if I -were you, to frighten me. Besides, I think that, perhaps unconsciously, -you exaggerate. However, don't let us carry the discussion just now any -farther. The great thing is that we understand each other. Should I -remain a free agent, or, in other words, should I not be your wife, in -time, I shall do my utmost to save the life of an innocent man." - -"What do you mean by being my wife in time?" - -"Within eight-and-forty hours of the jury bringing in a verdict of -guilty against Mr. Tennant." - -"Poor wretch! Then, I take it, you do not require a promise from me -now?" - -"Neither now nor at any other time. From first to last the matter is -purely one for your own consideration. It is your affair, not mine. -There are such things as special licenses. I believe one can get -married within twelve hours. By the way, Mr. Townsend, I want you to do -me a favour." - -"If I can. What is it?" - -"I want you to get me a ticket for the trial." - -He started--really! The start was unconcealed. There was no mistake -about it. - -"The trial? Do you mean for Tennant's trial?" - -"I do." - -"Do you propose to be present?" - -"Certainly." - -"What for?" - -"It will be so funny." - -"Are you meditating active interposition?" - -He eyed me as if he would have searched out my inmost soul. His -anxiety--obvious at last--amused me. - -"My dear Mr. Townsend, you may take my word for it that I shall stand, -literally and exactly, to every syllable I have uttered. You need be -under no apprehension of my interposing in the trial. I shall do -nothing in the business, of any sort or kind, until eight-and-forty -hours after Mr. Tennant has been found guilty. What I am to do then -rests, as I have explained, with you. You will be able to obtain the -ticket I require from your friend, Sir Haselton Jardine." - -The keenness of his scrutiny relaxed. Possibly he deemed it wiser to -pretend that he was satisfied, even if he was not. - -"If I can get you a ticket, you shall have one. I think I have read -somewhere that, on a question of taste, there is no room for -disputation." He smiled--his natural smile once more. "And now, dear -Mrs. Carruth, let me assure you that I am very sensitive of the -compliment which you have paid me and of the still greater honour which -you would do me. Of my own unworthiness I am but too conscious. But I -would ask you to let me tell you frankly--since frankness is the order -of the day--that, were it not for the ramifications and complications -of my unfortunate position, I should long ere this have been at your -feet, upon my knees. I protest that, more than once when in your -presence, I have experienced the greatest difficulty in keeping myself -upstanding." - -I laughed. How the man could lie! With what a grace! - -We parted the best of friends. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - - THE PRISONER COMES INTO COURT. - - -I got the ticket, and I went to the trial. - -I travelled in the same train with the judge. At Victoria, as -I was standing at the carriage door, a little old gentleman, of the -beer-barrel type of architecture, went toddling by. He wore gold -spectacles, he had a very red face, a double chin, and big, pursy -lips--the sort of old gentleman one would have liked to have smacked on -the back. - -Another old gentleman was standing near me. He was tall and thin. When -the little old gentleman went toddling by this other old gentleman -moved his head in the toddler's direction and his arms in mine. - -"Judge Hunter." - -I was most benign. - -"Indeed! Is that Judge Hunter?" - -"Going down to Lewes Assizes; been spending a day in town." - -That was a Monday. Of course, the day before had been Sunday. But what -the man meant is more than I can say. - -The thin old gentleman and I shared a compartment. He fed me with -scraps of information by the way. - -"Good judge, Hunter. He has one qualification which a good judge ought -to have." - -"What is that?" - -"Been a bit of a rogue himself." - -"Is that a qualification which goes to the making of a good judge? Then -what a number of good judges there must be." - -The thin old gentleman smiled. - -"I don't mean in a criminal sense, you understand. He's not been in -prison, and that kind of thing. But Hunter has not lived exactly the -life of a saint. In the case of a judge a fellow-feeling ought to make -one wondrous kind." - -"I see." - -It was a delightful journey. The sun was shining; the air was warm and -sweet; the country through which we passed seemed lovely. Perhaps I was -in the mood! - -As we rattled through Three Bridges Junction the thin old gentleman -recommenced his process of feeding me with titbits of information. - -"This is where the murder took place." - -"Is that so?" - -How different it looked in the sunshine! - -"Just about there"--he was pointing through the window of the -carriage--"is where they found the body." - -I wondered if he was right. I, myself, had the vaguest notion. I had -not been in a position to make a mental map of my surroundings. It -struck me that it must have been a little farther on; to me, at the -time, it had seemed to be a good distance from the station. But then I -had to allow for the rate at which we were moving. I had walked along -the line. - -"It was a dreadful thing--dreadful! It makes one's blood boil when one -thinks of it. I do hope that, this time, no false sentimentality will -be allowed to interfere, and that they will hang the man." - -I had become used to hearing that sort of remark. Everybody seemed to -be taking it for granted that Tommy was guilty. I could but acquiesce. - -Lewes seemed to me to be a charming town--all up-hill and down--though -I must confess that there was a little more up-hill than down. And all -so old! I do so like a town to be old. Of course one would never dream -of living in it, but it is so nice to visit. - -The assizes were not to open till the Tuesday. Tommy's trial was not -expected to begin till the Wednesday. So I had time upon my hands. I -was truly rural. I went to Newhaven--a horrid hole!--and across the -road to Seaford--which was much of a muchness. And I lived on the Lewes -Downs. What a breeze there was up there! And what a view! And I saw the -prison--the outside of it, I mean, not the inside. It was built right -on the edge of the downs--rather cool in winter, I should think. - -I came on a warder. He was smoking a pipe. I suppose he was taking -the air. He was a big man, with a huge red beard and one of the -best-humoured faces I ever saw. I wondered what he did with his -good-humour when he went inside. I should think it must have been -against the prison rules to take it in. - -We foregathered. He was affability itself. He pointed out the various -parts of the prison. - -"That is the debtors' wing, that is; that's where we keep the hard-up -'uns. A chap can't earn five-and-twenty shillings to pay his poor rate, -perhaps, so we spend ten pound over locking him up. That's a pretty -game, that is. I've never been able to make head or tail of it myself. -But, of course, it's no affair of mine. Those are the convicted wards. -We haven't got enough prisoners of our own to keep the place properly -going, so they send us a few down from town--some of the worst they've -got. Nice ones some of them are. That's the chapel. Oh, yes, we have a -regular daily service; we couldn't get on without one, could we?--twice -on Sunday--Protestant and Catholic. They're very particular, some of -'em, about their religion. We chaps don't do much in the service. All -our time's took up in looking after the boys; and the worse a man is, -the more he likes his bit of chapel. That's where we keep the prisoners -who are awaiting trial--Tennant's in there." - -"Indeed! How very interesting! And what sort of a man is he?--I suppose -he's a dreadful man?" - -The warder began combing his beard with his fingers. - -"Not a bit of it; don't you think it. He's as decent and nice a chap as -ever you'd wish to meet." - -"Don't you think he's guilty?" - -"Oh, I don't know nothing at all about that. Some of the very worst -murders ever I have known have been done by some of the very nicest -chaps ever you met--when you come to talk to 'em, I mean. I don't know -how it is, but so it is. He'll be hung--safe to. That's where they'll -hang him. You can't see it from where we are, but there's a little yard -in there where they build the gallows. I expect I shall have the charge -of him in the condemned cell. I generally do have. I've hung 'em before -to-day; but it's not a nice job." - -Poor, dear Tommy! It made me go queer all over to hear the man talk of -him like that. What a funny world it is? Or is it the people in it who -are funny? - -When the trial began the court was like a theatre. I got in early--for -reasons of my own. I wanted a particular place, and succeeded in -obtaining the object of my heart's desire. - -I had had a peep in at the court on the opening day of the assizes. -What I wanted was a position in which I should not face the prisoner. I -found that the prisoners were placed in a sort of railed enclosure. -Their feet were about on a level with the lawyers' heads. On one side -of this enclosure was a kind of pew. So long as the occupants kept -their seats it was impossible for any one in the enclosure to even -guess at their identity. I soon saw that a seat in this pew was exactly -what I wanted. If I wore a thick veil, and made certain changes in my -attire, Tommy would never dream that the woman whom he was charged with -having murdered was actually sitting within reach of his hand, a -spectator of the trial. - -When I reached the court the usher--or whoever it was--wanted me to sit -on the bench, on a line with the judge and immediately facing the -prisoner's dock. He assured me that that part of the court was -specially reserved for ladies who were ticket-holders, and that it was -quite impossible that they could be allowed to sit anywhere else. This -impossibility I rather doubted, and when I presented him with two -beautifully bright, new yellow sovereigns he seemed to doubt it too. - -"I don't want to be conspicuous," I explained. "I just want to see -everything without being seen." - -Nothing could have possibly been truer or more reasonable. Possibly -those two sovereigns aided that usher to see both the truth and the -reason. Anyhow, he showed me into actually the seat I wanted. - -Very soon the place was crowded. No end of ladies graced the bench. -Some of them must--unlike modest little me!--have come to be seen as -well as to see. Certainly they were dressed for show. The court wore -quite an air of fashion. - -Among the crowd, but not on the bench, was Tommy's wife. She came in -with an elderly lady and gentleman, whom I took to be her father and -mother, or else Tommy's--I could not make my mind up which--and a -younger gentleman, who still was pretty well on in years. I had no -doubt that he was Tommy's solicitor. As Mrs. Tennant came in two of the -barristers, who were sitting among a heap of others at a table, stood -up and shook hands with her. I found out afterwards that, as I -suspected at the time, they were Tommy's counsel. Somebody must have -known who she was, because, directly she appeared, quite a buzz of -whispering went round the court. The women on the bench leaned towards -each other, and stared and did everything but point at her. They might -have been ladies--gentlewomen, as my old mother used to have it, they -were not. She removed her veil and looked at them--just once, and that -was all. She looked very sweet and pale and troubled, but grit to the -finger-ends. - -Other counsel were sitting cheek by jowl with Tommy's counsel. One of -them, turning as Mrs. Tennant entered, looked her keenly up and down. -He was an ugly, mean-looking, colourless, bloodless little man. His -robe, or whatever they called the thing he wore, was different to the -others--it was of silk. I wondered what he was. - -Suddenly there was a stir in court. Somebody appeared like an -undertaker's mute--only he wasn't a mute--from a door at the back. - -"The judge." - -Everybody rose to their feet. In waddled the fat little fellow I had -seen in the train. He reminded me, somehow, of the comic man in the -burlesque. He had on an enormous wig, about sixty yards of what, from -where I sat, looked like some sort of scarlet blanketing, and--as if -that wasn't enough!--fur. He presented a dreadful spectacle. Goodness -knows that he had a red enough face of his own! They might have put him -in white. - -There was some rubbish which I did not understand--and did not want to. -It was some time before I could take my eyes off the judge. He was -something to stare at. The more I looked at him the more I wondered -what they would do if the man was struck with apoplexy. To me the risk -of something of the kind, which he seemed to be running, was simply -awful. - -Then they swore in the jury. Among them were some of the -stupidest-looking men I ever saw. If they were married it was a pity -they could not have sent their wives, and they themselves have stayed -at home. There must have been more sense somewhere in the family. - -Then somebody said-- - -"Bring in Thomas Tennant!" - -A hush came over the court. All eyes were turned in one direction. I, -alone, did not dare to turn to look. There were movements behind me, -then all was still. I noticed that Mrs. Tennant had removed her veil -again, and had turned round in her seat and was looking at some one -whom I could not see--looking at this some one with a smile. - -I knew that she was looking at her husband, and that Tommy was going to -be tried for the murder of me. - -As I sat there, scarcely daring to breathe, staring straight in front -of me, yet seeing nothing, my thick veil obscuring my features, my -hands tightly clasping the knob of my umbrella, I was experiencing the -most singular sensation I had ever known. - -It was worse than stage fright, by a deal. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - - THE TRIAL BEGINS. - - -I am not able to describe all that took place. To begin with, -everything that happened seemed to me for some time to be happening in -a dream. When, afterwards, I read the account in the newspapers, it -came to me with all the force of novelty. - -The fact was that, for ever so long, it was all I could do to prevent -myself from swooning and making a scene and spoiling it all. - -It seems funny that, after having gone so much out of my way, and taken -all that trouble, I should have been such a goose; but I was. - -When I begun to have my wits about me I found that the mean-looking -little man who had so keenly eyed Mrs. Tennant was making a speech. -Then I understood, not all at once, but by degrees, that he was counsel -for the Crown, that he was opening the case for the prosecution, and -that, in short, he was Sir Haselton Jardine. - -So this was the father of Mr. Townsend's Dora! - -Well, if the daughter in any way resembled the father, I could not say -much for Mr. Townsend's taste. - -But the thing was out of the question. I was certain that he did care -for her, and it was altogether impossible that he could care for a -woman who in any way whatever resembled this shapeless, pulseless, -mummified little man. I knew my friend, the gentleman, too well. I felt -persuaded that, as regards resemblance, or rather want of resemblance, -to her father, Dora Jardine was one of nature's eccentricities. - -It seemed odd when I did begin to come to myself, to notice how the -people hung upon every word which the little man was uttering--and they -had to hang if they wished to hear. He seemed to be speaking in a -whisper. His voice matched his appearance and his size. After one had -listened for awhile, however, one began to realise what a singularly -penetrating whisper it was. He never raised his voice; he made not the -slightest attempt to produce an effect. He spoke as one could fancy a -machine might speak, yet each syllable must have been audible to every -person there. - -And probably his speech, as a whole, produced a strong impression on -every one who heard it. I only heard--to understand--the concluding -words, but I know that when he sat down I felt as if the first string -of the rope which ultimately was to bury the man behind me had been -woven before my eyes. - -"Call Samuel Parsons!" - -Samuel Parsons proved to be a big, shock-headed man of the navvy type. -He was not examined by Sir Haselton Jardine, but by another barrister, -who was as big and blustering as Sir Haselton was small and quiet. - -Samuel Parsons was a ganger. He had been walking along the up line to -his morning's work, when he saw something lying among the bushes about -half-way down the bank. It was a woman. She was dead. He described the -position in which she lay, and exactly whereabouts he found her. - -Tommy's counsel asked no questions. - -A policeman followed. He had been informed that a woman had been found -dead on the line. Went to see her. Described the position in which she -lay. Was informed that she had not been touched before he came. She was -quite cold. Was well dressed. Her clothes were wet. It had rained -earlier in the morning. There was nothing about her to show who she -was. Examined her linen later; there were no initials or marks on it of -any kind. Her pocket was empty. - -Again Tommy's counsel asked no questions. - -A porter came next--Joseph Wilcox. He was examined by Sir Haselton -Jardine. Joseph Wilcox was a pleasant-faced young fellow, who gave -his evidence with a degree of assurance and an air of conviction -which--considering what his evidence was--took me aback. If ever there -was a witness who seemed convinced of the truth of his own testimony, -Joseph Wilcox was the man. And yet---- - -Well, this is what his evidence amounted to:-- - -He was the porter who had shown me into Tommy's carriage when the train -left Brighton. I had not noticed him. Indeed, I remembered nothing at -all about him. He declared that he had noticed me particularly. He -should have known me again if he had seen me anywhere. Asked what had -made him notice me, he said because I had come running up just as the -train was starting, and--this with something of a blush--because I was -so good-looking. I ought to have blushed, but I did not. Asked to -describe me, he gave a pretty glib and pretty clear description of a -woman who was not in the least like me. - -I wondered what impression Joseph Wilcox's ideas of my personal -appearance made on Tommy. I guessed that they did impress him, because -presently a scrap of paper was handed from the dock to the counsel in -front. - -Asked if he had seen me since, he said that he had. He had gone to East -Grinstead, and had seen me in the mortuary, dead. Had he the slightest -doubt that the woman he had seen in the mortuary dead was the same -woman he had shown into the carriage? - -He had no doubt whatever. - -He said this with an air which, I am persuaded, impressed every one who -heard him with the conviction that there was no doubt. - -I wondered what Mr. Wilcox's feelings would be if he ever came to learn -that he had done his utmost to hang a man by the utterance of as great -a lie as ever yet was told. - -Sir Haselton then asked him if he had noticed if there was any one in -the carriage into which he had shown me. There was--a gentleman. He had -occasion to notice him because he had been leaning out of the carriage -window talking to two other gentlemen who had come, apparently, to see -him off. - -"Should you know him again?" - -"I should." Mr. Wilcox pointed towards the dock. "This is the -gentleman." - -"You are certain of that?" - -"I am quite certain." - -As Sir Haselton sat down I felt as if he had woven another strand. - -Tommy's counsel rose. - -I found out afterwards that his name was Bates, M.P., Q.C. He was tall, -well-built, grey-headed. His wig suited him. He had a bold, clear -voice, and a trick of standing with one hand under the skirt of his -gown and the other pointed towards the witness. - -"You appear to have noticed this unfortunate woman very closely, Mr. -Wilcox. Can you tell us something else which you noticed about her?" - -"In what way?" - -"Did you notice, for instance, if she had been drinking?" - -"I did not." - -"Can you swear that she had not been drinking?" - -"There was nothing about her which made me suppose that she had." - -Mr. Bates sat down. If Tommy had told him that I had had too much to -drink he had told as big a story as was ever told. - -"Call George Baxendale!" - -Mr. Baxendale was the first gentlemanly-looking witness who had -appeared in the box; he was also the one who seemed to be least at his -ease. He was a tall, fair, slightly built man, with long, drooping -moustache, the ends of which he had a nervous trick of twisting. He -glanced towards the dock with what he possibly intended to be a -friendly smile. The distortion of his visage, however, which actually -took place, more strongly resembled a ghastly grin. - -He was examined by Sir Haselton's colleague. - -"Are you related to the prisoner?" - -"I am related to his wife. I am Mrs. Tennant's cousin." - -This explained the ghastly grin. - -"Do you remember Sunday, the 8th of November?" - -"I do." - -"Where were you?" - -"I was at Brighton, staying with some friends of mine." - -"Did any one come to see you on that day?" - -"Yes. Mr. Tennant." - -"By what train did he return to town?" - -"By the 8.40." - -"Have you any particular reason for remembering that it was by that -train he returned to town?" - -"Well, for one thing, Jack Cooper and I went up to the station to see -him off." - -"What happened while you were at the station seeing him off?" - -Mr. Baxendale told of my getting into Tommy's carriage. He answered the -questions which were put to him as if he was desirous of giving as -little information as he possibly could, which did not make it better -for Tommy. He had not noticed me particularly. Did not think he should -know me again. Had seen the body at East Grinstead. Had not recognised -it. Could see no likeness. Still, it might be the same woman. Could not -swear that it was, or that it was not. Had really not taken sufficient -notice of the woman who had got into the train. - -His questioner sat down, leaving an impression on the minds of the -people that if the witness had not been Mrs. Tennant's cousin some of -his questions would have received different answers. - -Mr. Bates stood up. - -"About this woman of whom we have heard--was there nothing about her -which you noticed?" - -"There was." - -"What was there about her which you did notice?" - -"It struck me that she had been drinking." The witness became voluble -all of a sudden. "She seemed to be in a state of excitement, which, -probably, was induced by drink. She certainly was not a lady. She -struck me as being a woman of a certain class. In fact, I was just -going to suggest to Tennant that he should get into another -compartment, when the train was off." - -"Why were you going to make that suggestion to Mr. Tennant?" - -"Because I knew that he was a shy, nervous sort of fellow, who easily -loses his presence of mind, and I thought that, cooped up in a -compartment alone with a woman of that sort, who was in that condition, -without a stoppage before he got to town, there might be -unpleasantness." - -"You thought it probable that she might annoy him?" - -"I thought it extremely probable." - -When Mr. Bates sat down, the other counsel once more got up. He -proceeded to turn Mr. Baxendale inside out. - -He could not swear the woman had been drinking. He only surmised it. -Could not exactly say what caused him to surmise it. She was excited. -That might have been owing to her anxiety to catch the train. Women do -get excited when they are flurried. She might have been a lady. Had -no groundwork of fact for his suggestion that she was a woman of a -certain class. It was quite true that, as he had said in his -examination-in-chief, he had not noticed her. Should not like to swear -that she was not a teetotaler and a lady of the highest birth and -breeding. In fact, he should not like to swear to anything at all. He -might get down. - -He got down, looking badgered. - -I owed him one. - -He was followed by the Mr. Cooper with whom he had stayed at Brighton. -Mr. Cooper was a short, thick-set man, looking just what he was, a -captain in the navy. His manner was self-contained; his answers short -and to the point. - -He had accompanied Mr. Baxendale to see Tommy off. Had seen me get into -his carriage. Had scarcely glanced at me. Should not know me again. Had -seen the body at East Grinstead. Could not say if it was the same -woman. Was not qualified to express an opinion. - -Mr. Bates asked no questions. - -Next came a porter, John Norton. He had an anxious, careworn face, and -grizzled hair. His manner was tremulous. He kept fidgeting with his -cap. More than once he had to be asked to speak up. He was examined by -Sir Haselton Jardine. - -Was a porter at Victoria Station. Remembered the 8.40 from Brighton -coming in on Sunday, November 8th. It was due at Victoria at 10 p.m. -Noticed a gentleman sitting alone in a first-class carriage. It was the -prisoner. Noticed he was holding a white handkerchief to his cheek. -There were red stains on it, as of blood. Was going to open the -carriage door when a gentleman jumping out of the next carriage opened -it instead. When he passed again the gentleman was standing at the door -of the compartment speaking to the prisoner. Prisoner was holding -another handkerchief to his face--a silk one. Presently the prisoner -and the gentleman went off together. Passed the carriage again -immediately afterwards. Saw something lying on the floor. Found it was -pieces of glass. Found that the carriage was in disorder. There were -stains of blood on the cushions and the carpet. The window, in front of -which the prisoner had been sitting, was down. On pulling it up, found -that the glass was smashed to pieces. Gave information to the guard. -Efforts were made to find the prisoner, but he had left the station. -Was certain that the prisoner was the man he had seen sitting in the -empty carriage. - -Mr. Bates asked no questions. I wondered what was the defence he -intended to set up. If he was going to do nothing more to earn his -money than he was doing at present, it seemed to me that Tommy might as -well have kept it in his pocket. Here was Sir Haselton Jardine twisting -the rope tighter and tighter round Tommy's neck, and Mr. Bates seemed -to be doing nothing at all to stop him. - -I would have asked John Norton questions. - -The guard of the train came next. John Norton had called his attention -to the broken window. He corroborated what John Norton had said as to -the condition of the carriage. He had noticed that the alarm bell -appeared untouched. Nothing had attracted his attention on the journey. -The compartment in question was in the next coach but one to his, but -he had heard nothing. Sounds would have travelled in his direction. -Still, it was difficult, when there was a wind, and the train was going -at a high speed, to hear what was taking place in the next coach but -one; for instance, if there were two persons quarrelling. At the same -time, if any one had screamed at all loudly he could scarcely have -failed to hear that. His hearing was very good. The compartment looked -to him as if somebody had been having a fight in it. - -Again no questions from Mr. Bates. So far, Tommy could have managed -equally well without his help. - -Though it is true that that is saying little. - - - - - CHAPTER XXX. - - MR. TAUNTON'S EVIDENCE. - - -"Call Alexander Taunton!" - -He came not, though they called. - -Instead there was an interval for refreshment. A buzz of talking rose -in the court. With one hand the judge pressed his spectacles more -firmly in their place. He took a bird's-eye view of the proceedings. - -"I think," he observed, "that before taking the evidence of the next -witness, it might be convenient if we were to adjourn for luncheon." - -So we adjourned. At least, some of us did. The prisoner was taken away. -I heard them removing him behind me. Most of the counsel removed -themselves, and some of the people. The greater part of us who stayed -set to eating. Sandwiches were produced and other things. Mysterious -refreshments were brought in from without. I had my own little store. -Everybody chattered. It was quite a festive scene. - -"Call Alexander Taunton!" - -Proceedings recommenced by a repetition of the words. But again he did -not come. - -"Alexander Taunton!" - -One heard the name shouted by different voices, apparently in different -passages and at different doors. Still none answered. The delay ruffled -the judge's feelings. - -"What does this witness mean by keeping the court waiting? Where is -he?" - -Sir Haselton Jardine's colleague rose with the apparent intention of -personally assisting in the search. - -"Here he is," said some one. - -And there he was. I almost dropped from my seat. - -Who should get into the box but Reginald Townsend's Corsican brother, -Jack Haines's private detective, who had told me that his name was -Stewart Trevannion. - -I could scarcely believe my own eyes at first. But it was the man--if -one had seen him once, there was no mistaking him. To me he seemed to -be peculiarly ill at ease--an uneasiness which was not by any means -concealed by an attempt to carry things off with a flourish. He bowed -to the judge, he bowed to the jury; I believe he was going to bow to -the lawyers too, only at the last moment he changed his mind. He placed -his silk hat on the rail at his side. He took off one of his brand-new -gloves. Unbuttoning his overcoat, he opened it so as to display his -chest. There was something about him which destroyed the effect he -evidently intended to produce--it made the people smile. - -The judge was serious enough. - -"What do you mean by keeping the court waiting?" - -Alexander Taunton--or whatever his name was--pressed the finger-tips of -his left hand against his chest. - -"I beg your lordship's pardon. I had just that moment stepped outside." - -I could have wagered he had stepped outside to drink just another drop -to help him to keep his courage up. The more I looked at him the -plainer I saw that there was quite a hunted look about his eyes. - -The story he told in response to Sir Haselton Jardine's questions -filled me with something more than amazement. Of course he was the -Taunton whose evidence at the examination before the magistrates one -had read in the papers, but I had never for an instant suspected--who -would have done?--that the two men were, or could be, one and the same. -By the time he had finished he had hammered every nail in Tommy's -coffin. And the strangest part about it was that--as none knew better -than I--certainly the larger portion of what he said was true. - -He had travelled from Brighton in the next compartment to Tommy and I. -Think of it! On that fateful Sunday night I had journeyed with one -brother half the way and with the other brother the rest of the way to -town. - -He had heard us having our little discussion. He had heard some of the -things we had said to each other--especially some of the very -strongest. He had heard the banging of the door as I fell. According to -him, the sound had so agitated him that he had not known what to do. He -suspected that something had happened, but he had not known what. He -owned now that he ought to have given the alarm and stopped the train, -but at the moment he lost his presence of mind. On reaching Victoria he -found Tommy sitting in the next compartment alone. Blood was flowing -from a wound in his cheek. Prisoner's own handkerchief being soaked -with blood, witness lent him one of his own--a silk one. On which -prisoner threw his bloodstained handkerchief out of the window. - -At this point, altogether unexpectedly, Sir Haselton Jardine sat down. -Mr. Bates got up. As he did so, the witness looked over his shoulder as -if he would have liked to have turned tail and run. - -I saw that Mr. Bates was going to do something to earn his money at -last. - -The witness saw it too. - -"My learned brother, Mr. Taunton, has brought your story to a point at -which it reminds one of those sensational tales which are to be -continued in our next. With your permission we will continue it -together. You have told us of your charitable loan of a handkerchief--a -silk handkerchief. May I take it that you then communicated with the -police?" - -"No." - -"Then what did you do?" - -"I had no actual knowledge that a crime had been committed." - -"I ask you, Mr. Taunton, when you had lent the silk handkerchief, what -you did." - -"I saw the prisoner to a cab." - -"Then did you communicate with the police?" - -"I did not." - -"Then what did you do?" - -"I accompanied him a short distance in the cab." - -"Did he give you anything when you parted?" - -"He gave me his address." - -"Did he give you anything else?" - -"He gave me a deposit on my silk handkerchief." - -"He gave you a deposit on your silk handkerchief. I see. What was the -amount of the deposit?" - -The witness hesitated. - -"Ten shillings." - -"Do you swear it was not more than ten shillings?" - -"It might have been a pound." - -"Do you swear it was not more than a pound?" - -"It might have been thirty shillings. I don't exactly remember." - -"I see. For the first time your memory begins to fail you. Then did you -communicate with the police?" - -"I did not." - -"What did you do?" - -"The next day I called on the prisoner at his office at Austin Friars." - -"Yes. And then?" - -"I charged him with the murder." - -"You charged him with the murder. Of course, then, you did communicate -with the police?" - -The witness seemed to find the reiteration trying. He looked around -him, as if seeking shelter. - -"Unfortunately, I did not." - -"Unfortunately? I see. Unfortunately, what did you do?" - -"At that time I was very pressed for money. I yielded to the pressure -of my necessities." - -"By which you mean?" - -"That I accepted a small loan." - -"You accepted a small loan. Did you not levy blackmail? Did you not -extort blood-money, sir? Did you not demand a sum of money in exchange -for your silence?" - -Mr. Bates raised his voice very considerably. The witness quivered. - -"I believe I did suggest that a small loan should be made to me." - -"And you got it?" - -"I did." - -"What was the amount of this small loan?" - -"A hundred pounds." - -"A hundred pounds?" This from the judge. - -The witness, "Yes, my lord." - -"You call that a small loan? Well, go on." - -Mr. Bates went on. - -"Then what did you do?" - -"I called again at the prisoner's office. When I found he was not there -on this Friday I called at his private house." - -"On which occasion you found him ill in bed?" - -"I found him in bed." - -"In the presence of Mrs. Tennant you suggested that another small loan -should be made you?" - -"I might have done." - -"You did not get it?" - -"I did not." - -"You were shown to the door instead?" - -"I left the house, resolving to tamper no more with my conscience." - -"Having been refused another small loan?" - -"I went at once to the police, and told them everything." - -"Including the incident of the small loan?" - -"I don't know that I told them about that." - -"I think it probable that you did not. Mr. Taunton, what is your -profession?" - -The witness gripped the rail in front of him. - -"I have none." - -"May I ask, then, how you earn your living?" - -"As best I can." - -Mr. Bates turned to the judge. - -"I think it possible, my lord, that I may be able to throw a flood of -light upon what the witness means by saying that he earns his living as -best he can. Mr. Taunton, when did you last come out of gaol?" - -Obviously the witness gripped the rail in front of him still tighter. -The moisture gleamed upon his forehead. - -"That has nothing to do with it." - -The judge interposed. "Answer the question, sir." - -The witness turned his twitching countenance towards the judge. - -"I would respectfully suggest, my lord, that it has nothing to do with -the present case." - -Mr. Bates struck in. - -"With your lordship's permission, I may be able to render the witness -material assistance. Mr. Taunton, at York Assizes, five years ago this -month, under the name of Arthur Stewart, were you not sentenced to five -years' penal servitude by Mr. Justice Hunter?" - -The judge pressed his spectacles into their place. - -"I thought I had seen the man before. I remember him very well. Was it -a case of bigamous intermarriage?" - -"The man--this man--was found guilty of having married four women, one -after the other, of robbing them of all they had, and then deserting -them. Possibly, also, your lordship will remember that no less than -three previous convictions were proved against him." - -"I remember the case very well. And I remember the man. It was one of -the worst cases of the kind I had ever encountered. I believe I said so -at the time." - -"Your lordship did. Strangely enough, while your lordship was judge, I -was for the prosecution. I recognised the man directly he stepped into -the box. I have no doubt that he recognised me." - -Mr. Bates sat down. - -"When did this man come out of prison?" - -Some one spoke from the side of the court. - -"He was released on ticket-of-leave, my lord. The ticket has just run -out." - -"Was there any police supervision?" - -"I believe not, my lord." - -"Then I hope that the police will keep their eyes upon him." He turned -to the witness. "According to your own statement, you appear to have -been guilty of an offence as heinous as any of your previous ones. Your -conduct has been as bad as it could have been. I may consider it to be -my duty to recommend your prosecution. As I have said, I hope the -police will keep their eyes on you. Go down!" - -The witness went down--all the flourish gone clean out of him. He -looked more dead than alive. - -It may seem queer, but I felt quite sorry for the wretch. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - - THE CASE FOR THE CROWN CONCLUDES. - - -After that the court adjourned till to-morrow. Mr. Alexander Taunton's -performance wound up the programme of the day's entertainment, as it -appeared to me, with adequate spirit. - -At the inn or hotel, or whatever they called it, at which I was -stopping, every one was talking of the trial. The chambermaid, who -waited on me at dinner, could talk of nothing else. She went gabble, -gabble all the time that she was in the room, and it seemed to me that -she stopped in the room as much as she possibly could. Her manners, if -rustic, were familiar. - -She had witnessed Tommy's arrival at the court. - -"A more dreadful-looking wretch I never saw. It gave me quite a feeling -to look at him. He's got pig's eyes. And cruel! There was cruelty all -over him!" - -Poor Tommy! She must have had an insufficient view, or she was -prejudiced. A milder-mannered man was never charged with having cut a -throat, nor, I verily believe, a tenderer-hearted one. - -"And they tell me his wife was in court. I never! She must be a one! -I'd have drowned myself sooner than let people know I was the wife of a -man like that. She must be almost as bad as he is, or she would never -have dared to show her face." - -Alas for the rarity of Christian charity! Dear, dear, how these -Christians do love each other! To think that that sweet-faced, -true-hearted woman should have been spoken of like that! - -"They're sure to hang him, that's one comfort. I think it's a shame -they don't hang him out of hand, without making all this fuss about it. -I think such creatures ought to be hung directly they catch 'em." - -"Before ascertaining if they are guilty?" - -"He's guilty, safe enough. The wretch!" - -Well, of course, she knew best. Still, what a funny world it is. - -At dinner I ordered a bottle of wine. The landlord brought it up -himself, as an excuse for a gossip. He was a shrivelled-up little man, -about sixty, not at all like the typical Boniface. - -"I thought that I should have been on the jury. But I was on the jury -yesterday instead. But there are two cousins of mine who are--got heads -screwed on their shoulders both of 'em." - -"Indeed? Will you have a glass of wine?" - -"Thank you, ma'am, you're very kind. I don't mind if I do." He did not -mind. - -"I can recommend this port wine. I've had it in my cellars over twenty -years. Your very good health, ma'am. Yes." He shook his head. "Neither -of them holds with this chap's little games." I had not the faintest -notion to what little games he alluded. "I saw you in court, ma'am. -Might I ask if you're interested in any of the parties?" - -"Not at all. I am an American. While I was staying in England I thought -that I would not lose an opportunity of seeing one of your great -trials." - -"Ay, this is a very great trial, this is. It won't soon be forgotten. -Do you think he's guilty?" - -"Do you?" - -"Well, what I say is just this. I wouldn't be locked up alone with a -strange woman in a railway carriage all the way from Brighton to -London, not for--not for any amount of money." - -"You are flattering." - -"I don't mean nothing--not at all. Only, in this case, how are we to -say what happened? He seems to be a decent kind of chap. She might have -been nasty, there might have been a rumpus, he might have tried to get -away from her, she might have fallen out upon the line. How is any one -to tell?" - -My friend, the landlord, in spite of his somewhat unpromising -appearance, seemed to be one of the few sensible persons I had recently -encountered. I pressed him to take another glass of wine. He yielded to -the pressure. - -"Don't you think they'll find him guilty, then?" - -"Oh, they'll find him guilty, safe enough, and I daresay they'll hang -him, too. That's just the best of it. When a man gets mixed up with a -woman in a thing like this they're sure to think the worse of him. But -it doesn't follow that he did it, any the more for that. As for that -chap Taunton, I'd hang him!" - -It seemed that my friend the gentleman had good cause to congratulate -himself on the possession of such a relative. He seemed to be held in -general esteem. - -When the court reopened the next day I changed my seat. I had taken -careful stock of the scene of action the day before. The result had -been that I came to one or two conclusions. I perceived, for one thing, -that one might very easily sit upon the bench and yet preserve one's -anonymity. If I wore a cloak, kept my veil down, sat on the back row, -and kept myself in the shade, I need fear no recognition from Tommy. - -I quite hungered for a sight of the prisoner. I had not dared to turn -and look at him from where I sat the day before. The action might not -improbably have attracted his attention. - -Besides, I wanted to have a good view of what might, not improperly, be -described as the closing tableau. - -So when I entered the court this time I presented the usher with a -sovereign for a seat on the bench. I had a seat on the bench--quite in -the shade. - -The place was, if anything, more crowded than ever. It was understood -that the trial was to conclude in the course of the day. Perhaps that -proved an extra attraction. Anyhow, we were uncomfortably crowded on -the bench, and the court, everywhere, was as full as it could hold. I -wondered how much--in a theatrical sense--the house was worth to a some -one--say the usher. - -The judge came in. Then Tommy. They let him have a chair. I had a -good look at him. He badly wanted shaving; there was a month's -growth of hair upon his cheeks and chin. But he looked better than I -expected--and braver. His wife sat in front of him, as she had done the -day before. She turned as he came in, and greeted him with a smile. -Such a brave one! Without a suspicion of a tear! He smiled back at her. - -Poor dears! Their smiling days were nearly done. - -When he was seated and had recovered from the excitement of his entry, -after all, the expression began to creep into his face, which I had -expected to see there all along. The expression of stupor, of mental -paralysis, of shame, of horror at the position in which he found -himself, and at the things which were to come. - -Poor, dear Tommy! He looked to me as if there was no fight left in him. - -I need not have feared his recognition. He never looked at any one. He -just glanced now and then at his wife, and every time he did so there -came into his face a something which was a curious commingling of -pleasure with pain. But, with the exception of Mrs. Tennant, I doubt if -he clearly realised the personality of any other creature there. - -The first witness called was a man named Stephen Rodman. He said he was -a "tapper," which, I suppose, had something to do with railway work, -though I don't know what. Early on the morning of Monday, November 9th, -he was walking in the six-foot way of the arrival platform of Victoria -Station. He saw a handkerchief lying on the ground. He picked it up. It -was soaked with blood, and was still damp. In the corner was a name, -"T. Tennant." The 8.40 from Brighton had been drawn up at that platform -the night before. Sir Haselton Jardine's colleague, who was examining, -handed witness a handkerchief--still unwashed. That was the one he -found. - -Jane Parsons followed, actually the girl who had been in Mrs. Tennant's -service and who had applied for my situation. Certainly the prosecution -were fitting the rope round Tommy's neck, as if they did not mean to -leave him a loophole of escape. I wondered what she had to say. - -Not much. She began by showing an inclination to cry, which inclination -she presently gave way to. The tears trickled down her cheeks. She kept -dabbling at them with a handkerchief, which she had squeezed into the -shape and size of a penny ball. - -She was a parlourmaid. Had been, till recently, in Mrs. Tennant's -service. Remembered November 8th. Mr. Tennant went to spend the day at -Brighton. Mrs. Tennant told her he had gone. Miss Minna was not well, -so missus stayed to nurse her. Admitted Mr. Tennant on his return. It -was pretty late. After eleven. Mr. Tennant did not seem to be himself -at all. He seemed all anyhow--as if he had been fighting. There was a -great cut on his cheek. Helped him off with his overcoat. It was all -torn and rumpled about the collar. The top button had been torn right -off, and a piece of cloth torn with it. It was spotted with blood. -Shown an overcoat; recognised it as the overcoat which Mr. Tennant had -worn. His collar and tie were disarranged. As a rule he was a most -particular gentleman about his clothes. - -Mr. Bates asked a question or two. - -Had been in Mrs. Tennant's employ more than two years. Mr. Tennant was -a very good master--no one could want a better. Lived a quiet, regular -life. Was very fond of his wife, and she of him. Made a perfect idol of -his little girl. - -At this point poor Tommy covered his face with his hands. - -She didn't believe he had ever done it, and she never would--she didn't -care what nobody said. This statement was volunteered, amidst a burst -of sobbing. Mr. Tennant was very nervous. They used to make a joke of -it in the kitchen. The least thing put him off. She meant that he was -easily flustered. He was a tender and a loving husband and father, a -gentle and a kind master, and she didn't believe that, willingly, he -would hurt a fly. Jane's tears burst forth afresh. - -Mr. Bates sat down. - -The detective who had arrested Tommy next appeared. His name was -Matthew Holman. He was a sinewy, greybearded, greyheaded, not -unkindly-looking man, looking more like a sailor than anything else. -His evidence was purely cut and dried, and formal. Prisoner had made no -statement on being arrested. All efforts to trace the identity of the -dead woman had been unsuccessful. Mr. Bates allowed the witness to -depart unquestioned. - -The medical evidence which followed revived the flagging interest. It -roused Tommy more than anything which had gone before. As well it -might. - -Two doctors were called. The first was a country doctor. A middle-aged -man, with a fatherly sort of manner, and something of the milk of human -kindness about his mouth, and in the twinkling of his eyes. His name -was Gresham. - -Dr. Gresham had examined the body twice. First at the Three Bridges, -afterwards in the mortuary at East Grinstead. The first occasion was -between nine and ten on the morning of Monday, November 9th. Life had -been extinct some hours, probably twelve. The body was that of a -well-nourished, healthy young woman, probably under twenty-one years of -age. - -When he heard this Tommy started. Certainly no doctor could have -mistaken me for under one-and-twenty. - -She was far advanced in pregnancy. - -Tommy started again. I fancied that Mrs. Tennant started too. - -The cause of death was strangulation. - -Tommy started more and more. Leaning over the rail of the dock, he -stared at the witness with all his eyes. - -He was sure of it. He had no doubt upon the point whatever. -Unfortunately, there was no room for doubt. She had been killed by the -pressure of a man's hands and fingers. Great violence must have been -used. In fact, extraordinary violence. The skin of the throat was -discoloured. Marks of a man's hands and fingers were most distinct. -Indeed, so distinct, that when he first saw them they amounted almost -to a model. There were slight bruises on the body, such as might have -been caused by a fall. There was a livid bruise which ran from shoulder -to shoulder across the back. It had probably been caused by pressure. -For instance, by pressure against the edge of a carriage seat. His -theory was that she had been forced back against the edge of the -carriage seat, and in that position strangled. Falling from the train -had not been the cause of death. The fall had nothing to do with it. - -When Sir Haselton Jardine sat down Tommy and Mr. Bates had quite a long -confabulation. Tommy seemed half beside himself with excitement--I very -well knew why! It struck me, however, that Mr. Bates did not seem very -much impressed. - -Still, acting no doubt on his client's strenuous instructions, he -subjected the doctor to a rigorous cross-examination. - -But it was all in vain. - -Poor Tommy! - -Mr. Bates first of all suggested, as it were, casually, that the woman -was more than one-and-twenty. The doctor did not think it possible. -Everything went to show that she was not. Then, after some fencing, he -tried to induce the doctor to admit that she might have been strangled -after she had fallen from the train. That she might have fallen from -the train by accident. Been stupefied by the fall, and, on recovering -from her stupor, that some one might have come along and strangled her. -The doctor would have none of it, He deemed the thing incredible. Mr. -Bates hammered away, but the doctor held his own. - -Tommy was done! - -He was done still more when it came to the second doctor's turn. He was -a Dr. Braithwaite, a great swell from London. He had examined the body -at East Grinstead. He corroborated all that Dr. Gresham had had to say, -putting things, if anything, a little stronger against poor Tommy. He -declined to move a hair's-breadth from his fixed conviction that the -woman had been strangled--in the train. - -When he left the box every creature in court was aware that, unless -something amounting almost to a miracle intervened, Tommy's fate was -sealed. - -Sir Haselton Jardine, half rising from his seat, announced that that -was the case for the Crown. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII. - - MRS. CARRUTH REMOVES HER VEIL. - - -After luncheon came the speeches. - -Sir Haselton Jardine's was as deadly as it very well could have been. -He was not a bit of an orator. He reminded one of an automatic figure -as much as anything, as if he had been wound up to go. He went quietly -on, in the same placid, passionless sort of whisper, but as clear as a -bell. One never lost a syllable he uttered. He never faltered or -stumbled. The words, as they flowed from him, were exactly adapted to -the meaning they were intended to convey. He fitted them together with -the dexterity of an artist in mosaic. - -One began almost to feel that one was listening to the voice of doom. - -He recounted the story. He observed that it did not appear to be -disputed that the prisoner had travelled in the same compartment with -the woman who was dead. He did not know what the defence would be. But -if it was intended to suggest that death had been the result of -accident, he asked the attention of the jury to the medical evidence. -It was shown by that that death had not been caused by falling from the -train. The woman had been strangled--strangled by a man's two hands. -The degree of violence which had been used not only inevitably -suggested premeditation, but also great resolution in carrying out what -had been premeditated. The murderer had resolved to kill, and he did -kill. - -They could not say with certainty what happened after the train left -Brighton. A feature of the case was that the efforts of the police had -failed in establishing the dead woman's identity. So far as they could -discover she was nameless. No one had come forward to claim her--to say -who she was. She seemed to have come from nowhere. No one seemed to -have missed her now that she had gone. It was a mystery. He could not -say if the prisoner had it in his power to supply them with the key to -that mystery. Men live double lives. The witness Taunton had told them -that what he had heard had caused him to conclude that the man and -woman in the next compartment were acquaintances. That might have been -the case. In that connection he would merely remark--that the prisoner -was a married man; that the woman was young and pretty; that she was -far advanced in pregnancy; that she wore no wedding-ring. - -In these facts they might, possibly, find a motive for the crime. - -A great crime had been committed. A young woman, scarcely more than a -girl, who would shortly have become a mother, had been done to death. -So far as one could perceive, there were no palliating circumstances. -It was the other way. The crime was the act of a coward, as well as of -a criminal. He did not desire to press the case unduly against the -prisoner. It was his duty to ask them, as jurymen, if the facts which -had been presented were not adequate to bring the crime home to him. If -they deemed them inadequate, then, without showing fear or favour, it -was their duty to say so. - -Sir Haselton Jardine sat down. - -And Mr. Bates got up. - -Mr. Bates began by remarking that he did not propose to call any -witnesses for the defence. - -Then, in that case, in view of the body of evidence which had been -called for the other side, Tommy's goose was cooked, and he was done -for. Mr. Bates might have as well kept still. A general movement which -took place in the court seemed to be a voiceless expression of this -consensus of opinion. - -Mr. Bates said that, in taking this course, he was almost overwhelmed -by a sense of responsibility. That was chiefly owing to the fact that -the law of England was still in such a state that the prisoner could -not go into the box and testify. He was exceedingly anxious to give his -testimony, but it could not be received as evidence. If he had spoken -out at first he might not, and probably would not, have been in the -position which he was occupying now. But he had shrunk from the course -which a wiser man would have pursued--shrunk from it for reasons which -were natural enough, but which still, he was bound to say, were -insufficient. Now it was too late. His voice could not be heard. - -It was his duty, as the prisoner's advocate, to lay before the jury the -prisoner's story. - -Then Mr. Bates told what had really happened, and told it very well -indeed. His story was literally accurate. I did not detect a single -discrepancy. I think I should have done! He was frank almost to a -fault. He nothing extenuated, nothing set down in malice. Nothing was -omitted--even the dotting of the i's. - -And yet I doubt if a soul in court, with the exception, perhaps, of -Tommy's wife, believed a word he said. - -To me, listening up there, the thing was inconceivably funny. - -The chief difficulty which Mr. Bates had to contend with, as he owned, -and as one perceived without his owning it, was the medical evidence. -He admitted that it was difficult to reconcile it with the prisoner's -story. The prisoner declared that he did not understand it; that it had -come upon him with the force of a surprise. - -His theory was that the woman had been stunned by her fall from the -train. As she was unconscious, or before she had recovered, some -straggling vagabond had found her lying on the bank. He had robbed her. -To effect his purpose he had had to add murder to robbery. The -prosecution had not laid stress upon the point, but she evidently had -been robbed. There was not the slightest tittle of evidence to connect -the prisoner with the robbery, so counsel for the Crown had been wise -not to dwell upon it. On the other hand there was complete absence of -motive, and the fact that nothing of any sort could have belonged to -the dead woman had been found in the possession of the prisoner. - -He admitted that the suggestion that murder had been committed after -the fall from the carriage was well worthy the attention of the jury. - -The prisoner made a mistake--which however, he submitted, was the -mistake which we might naturally have expected from a constitutionally -nervous man--in not giving the alarm immediately the accident took -place. He ought to have spoken when they reached Victoria. He ought not -to have allowed himself to be frightened by the blackmailing Taunton. -But, after all, these were all mistakes which a perfectly innocent man, -of his constitution, in his position, might have made. We none of us -could absolutely rely upon having our wits about us when we most wanted -them. - -The prisoner had made mistakes. He owned it. But he begged the jury to -consider that the law did not permit him to put the prisoner into the -witness-box, and that the prisoner was convinced that, if he only might -be suffered to tell his tale his innocence would be established. Above -all, he entreated them not to send a fellow-creature to an ignominious -death because he had yielded to the promptings of a timorous -constitution and had not played the man. - -When Mr. Bates sat down the judge summed up. - -And he did it very briefly. - -He pooh-poohed Mr. Bates's story altogether. He told the jury that they -were at liberty to believe it, if they could. But it was not supported -by a shred of evidence. It was disproved in several essential -particulars, and it was his duty to inform them that it was contrary to -every principle of English law that an _ex parte_ statement which was -without any sort of corroboration should be allowed to weigh, for an -instant, against a large and authenticated body of evidence which had -been sworn to by credible and impartial witnesses. At the same time, if -there was any doubt in their minds, let the prisoner have the benefit -of it; though, so far as he was concerned, he had not the least doubt -in his own mind that the man was guilty, and, if they did their duty, -they would say so. - -Of course this was not exactly what he did say, and of course he said a -good deal more than this, but this is the gist of what his saying -amounted to. Certainly the judge's summing-up was every whit as damning -as Sir Haselton's speech had been. Mr. Justice Hunter had evidently -himself no doubt upon the matter, and, by inference, he took it for -granted that no one else could have any either. - -The jury followed the judge's lead. They never left their places. They -whispered together for a few moments. Then one of them announced that -they were prepared with their verdict. - -"Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?" - -"Guilty." - -Some one told the prisoner to stand up. He stood up. - -"Have you anything to say, prisoner, why sentence should not be -pronounced against you?" - -The prisoner had something to say--just a word or two. - -He was very white. He was clinging to the rail in front of him. His -throat seemed parched. It seemed all that he could do to speak. - -I noticed that his wife was looking at him with upturned face, and that -her eyes were streaming with tears. - -"I am innocent. I did not do it. I did not kill her. I never touched -her. There is something I do not understand." - -That was all he had to say--and that was not enough. - -As the judge very soon made him comprehend. - -He took a black thing out of a tin box which was at his side and -perched it on the top of his wig, and he sentenced Tommy to be hanged; -and, in sentencing him, he gave it to him hot. - -He told him that instead of exhibiting any signs of remorse for the -dreadful thing he had done he had just uttered an infamous lie to add -to the rest of his crimes. That lie had extinguished any spark of pity -which he might have felt. Tommy had been guilty of as wicked, as cruel, -and as cowardly a murder as had ever come within the range of the -judge's experience. He might not hope for mercy. There was no -circumstance of extenuation. He had behaved more like a devil than a -man. He was a disgrace to his class and to his station, and he had -brought shame upon our common manhood; and the sentence of the court -was that he should be taken to the place from whence he came, and there -be hanged by the neck till he was dead; and might God have mercy on his -soul! - -And that was the end of it--or it might have been, if it had not been -for me. - -I don't know how it was; I don't know whether the devil prompted me or -not. But the idea came to me, all at once, with a force which was -beyond my powers of resistance. - -And I did it! - -I dropped my cloak, I removed my veil, and I stood up where I knew that -Tommy would see me. And he did see me. He looked my way, and he saw me, -and he knew me too! - -And I smiled at him. - -And with sudden, instant recognition he stretched out his arms towards -me in a kind of frenzy; and he tried to speak, or shout, or do -something, but he couldn't. And before he could get a word out edgeways -the warder bustled him down the stairs below. - - - - - - BOOK IV--THE CRIMINAL. - - (_The Author tells the Tale_.) - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII. - - MR. TENNANT SPEAKS. - - -"I saw her! I saw her!" - -"None of that now. You'd better come quietly." - -Mr Tennant looked at the warder who spoke. With the assistance of his -colleague the man was hurrying him along in a fashion which, even at -that moment of amazement and of horror, in some subtle way reminded him -of his school days. - -"I saw her!" he repeated. - -"So you might have done; nobody says you didn't. Only don't let's have -any fuss." - -The man spoke as one might speak, not ill-naturedly, but with the -superior wisdom of a senior to a fractious child. Mr. Tennant knew that -he was not understood; that it was no use to attempt to make himself -understood. His mind was in a chaos. What was he to do? - -It had come to him in a flash of revelation that he had been made the -subject of some hideous mockery, the victim of some malevolent plot; -that he had been racked and re-racked for nothing at all; that he had -stood his trial for the murder of a woman, who, all the time, was -actually alive; that the law had committed some grotesque blunder; that -he had been condemned to be hung for another person's crime. - -What was he to do? - -He did nothing till he was back again in gaol. In the condemned cell -this time. Nobody had told him, but he knew what it was. He knew that -here a long line of murderers had awaited their fate, that here he -would be kept until he was hung. - -A natural shudder shook him as he realised that they were about to -thrust him into this last abiding-place of the damned. He felt that if -he did not speak so as to make himself understood before they had him -fast in there he would never have a chance to speak at all: That if -that door clanged upon his silence, hope, for him, would have died with -its clangour. - -He turned to the warder. - -"I wish to see the governor." - -"You can't see the governor now." - -"I must. Listen to me." He tried to restrain his emotion, to hold -himself in hand. "Some extraordinary error has taken place. Just as I -was leaving the court I saw the woman whom I am charged with having -killed." - -The warder stared, as if inclined to laugh. - -"I am not mad, nor am I dreaming; nor did I see a ghost. I saw this -woman. She was as much alive as you or I. She was among a number of -other women on the bench near the judge. She stood up and she stared at -me. I saw her as plainly as I see you. There has been some astounding -mistake. Tell the governor that I must see him at once or it will be -too late. If you do not tell him my blood may be upon your head." - -"All right." - -The warder clanged the door, and went. - -Mr. Tennant was left alone in that abode of the haunted. - -Would the man tell him? Would the governor come? Would he listen if he -came? Would they stir a finger? Would they believe him? Would they pay -the slightest attention to anything that he said? - -It would have been hard enough to hang believing her dead, although he -had not killed her, but now that he had seen her standing up and -looking at him, and smiling at his agony----! - -This explained the two ghostly visitations. It was not a ghost, it was -herself he had seen. All this time he had been suffering the agonies of -the damned, and she had been laughing in her sleeve. How she must have -enjoyed the play! Oh, what a fool he had been! - -What was that? Was that footsteps ringing on the stone pavement along -the vaulted corridor? He listened. It was somebody going, not coming. - -Suppose the governor would not come? - -There was a bell. Should he ring it and make a scene and in that way -emphasise the expression of his desire? If he could succeed in no other -way, he would try that. It was time that was precious. Every moment -that passed made his task the harder. If they had only given him an -opportunity to proclaim the woman's identity! If they only had! If he -could only get back into the court even now and stop her before again -she vanished into air! - -Would the governor not come? - -Then he would ring the bell and wake the echoes of the prison, and keep -on ringing until they either disconnected the bell or put him into -irons. He would not hang without a struggle now. He would ring at once. - -Ah! There was some one coming. - -Two persons. He could hear two separate tramp tramps, one falling a -little behind the other as they came along the flagstones. - -The door was opened. It was the governor. - -"You wish to see me?" - -"I do, sir." - -Again Mr. Tennant tried to master himself, to hold himself in hand. He -realised to the full, and very late in the day, how much might hinge -upon his being able to preserve his presence of mind. - -"What do you wish to say?" - -"I wish to say that the woman whom I am charged with having murdered -was actually in the court." - -"Nonsense." - -"It is not nonsense. It is the simple truth. I saw her as plainly as I -see you." - -The governor eyed him with what, for him, was a look of -ferocity--unofficially, he was one of the softest-hearted creatures -breathing. - -"Man, don't tell such tales to me." - -"I am telling you the absolute, literal truth. I have felt all along -that there was something about the medical evidence which I did not -understand. The woman they described was not the woman who fell out of -the train. Now I understand how it was. That woman is not dead. I saw -her, just now, alive, in court." - -"Why did you not interrupt the proceedings to say so?" - -"I did not see her before sentence was pronounced. When I did see her I -was so astonished that, before I had recovered sufficiently from my -astonishment to be able to speak the warders removed me from the court. -I told the warders who it was that I had seen." - -The governor observed the prisoner, as it was, reflectively. Certainly -Mr. Tennant had become on a sudden a different man. He had lost his -awkwardness. He was no longer ill at ease. He held himself erect. His -eyes were clear, his glance unwavering. His bearing was simple--the -simplicity of the man was what struck one first of all--yet assured. He -spoke with a calmness, and even with a dignity which, considering that -sentence of ignominious death had just been pronounced upon him, could -scarcely fail to be impressive. - -"Tennant, so far as it concerns your fate, whatever you may have to say -will be without effect. For you in this world there is no hope. You had -better prepare yourself for the world which is to come. Do not buoy -yourself up with any hopes that anything you may say will prevent the -sentence which has been pronounced upon you being executed. That -sentence will certainly be carried out." - -The condemned man would have spoken, but the governor went on. - -"But the warder has just told me what you told him, and in discharge of -what I hold to be my duty I have requested the detective who has been -in charge of the case to come and hear what you may have to say. Here -he is." - -And there he was--Matthew Holman, the man who looked so like a sailor. - -"Well, Tennant, what cock-and-bull story have you to tell us now?" - -"None. I have to tell you the truth." - -"It is time." - -Mr. Holman's tone was biting, his glance was keen. - -Mr. Tennant re-told the story of his famous journey. The detective -seemed not so much to be listening to the words he uttered as searching -for what might be behind them. - -"So you did know her? What was her name?" - -"I knew her as Ellen Howth. But she may have had half a dozen names -before I knew her and since." - -The detective made a note in his pocket-book. - -"Where did she live?" - -"I have no notion. As I have told you before that night I had not seen -or heard of her for years." - -"Describe her." - -Mr. Tennant described her. - -"You understand that, until I heard the medical evidence, I supposed -that she had been killed by the fall from the carriage. When I heard -what the doctors had to say I began to wonder. It became clearer and -clearer to me that they could not be talking of Ellen Howth. The two -descriptions did not tally. I did not believe that she was pregnant. I -knew that she was over thirty, and it seemed inconceivable that a -medical man could mistake a woman of considerably over thirty for a -girl under twenty-one. When I saw Ellen Howth standing up there and -smiling at me, in an instant it was all made plain." - -"What was all made plain?" - -"Many things. For one, it explained what seemed to me to be the -discrepancies between the evidence and what I knew to be the facts--the -facts, that is, so far as they concerned myself." - -"Where was the woman whom you say you saw standing--tell me exactly." - -Mr. Tennant paused to think. The detective's eyes were on him, and the -governor's and the warder's at the back. - -"She was on the bench. She was on the last row of seats. She sat either -second or third from the judge, to his right. When he had pronounced -sentence I noticed her rising and I noticed her remove her veil, and -she looked at me, I have no doubt with the deliberate design of -attracting my attention." - -"I believe I noticed the woman to whom you refer." - -This was the governor. The detective said nothing. He continued to look -at the prisoner for a moment or two in silence. Then from a pocket in -his coat he took an envelope. - -"There is a portrait of Ellen Howth." - -He handed a photograph to Mr. Tennant. - -"This is not Ellen Howth." - -"Then that is." - -He passed the prisoner a second photograph. - -"Nor is this. Neither of these photographs in the least resembles Ellen -Howth. Not in any one particular. I have never seen the woman whose -portrait this purports to be. Of that I am sure." - -"It beats me, my lad, to think how a man circumstanced as you are, can -lie so glibly. You know as well as I do, and indeed better, that you -are holding in your hands portraits of the poor young woman whose life -you took." - -"That is not so. Neither of these portraits at all resembles the woman, -Ellen Howth, with whom I travelled from Brighton. If they are -photographs of the woman who was found dead, then it is certain that I -had no hand whatever in killing her." - -"You have seen those portraits before." - -"Never!" - -"Do you mean to tell me that no one, neither your counsel nor your -solicitor, nor any one else showed you them?" - -"I do. You appear surprised." - -"It is not a question of surprise. I don't believe you." - -"You can soon ascertain for yourself that what I tell you is a fact. -You must remember that from the first I told my solicitor the actual -facts. I took it for granted that the woman who had been found dead was -Ellen Howth. Under those circumstances there was no reason why I should -be shown or why I should wish to be shown her photograph. I have not -seen that portrait before. The woman whose portrait it is is a complete -stranger to me. Were she here she would tell you that I am equally a -stranger to her. There is some mystery which, at present, I do not -profess to understand. But of one thing I am certain, that the woman, -Ellen Howth, whom I supposed was dead, is as much alive as you are or -as I am." - -"Give me those portraits. It strikes me that you are one of those men -who will go even to face their God with a lie upon their lips. I don't -believe a word that you have said." - -"Then you wrong me cruelly. I hope, for your sake, as well as for my -own, that you will learn that you do, before it is too late." - -The detective made no reply. He went out of the cell without a word. -The governor followed him. The door was clanged. The condemned man was -left alone to get himself, if he could, into a mood in which he should -be able to look the gallows squarely and without flinching in the face. - -The governor spoke to the detective as they walked side by side. - -"What do you think of it?" - -"Queer-street." - -"I certainly noticed myself the woman of whom he speaks. I wonder you -didn't. Her action was most marked. She certainly did cast at him what -seemed to me to be a glance of exultant recognition, while the sight of -her seemed to fill him with stupefied amazement. I wondered when I saw -it what the scene might mean." - -"What was she like?" - -"He describes her very fairly." - -"If she's still in Lewes I'll leave no stone unturned to find her." - -"And if she isn't?" - -"You know, sir, that if you give him a chance, a man in his position -can always pitch some sort of a tale to save his neck. And the worse -they are the more they lie like the truth." - -"That's true enough." - -The governor sighed. - -"If ever a man was found guilty on the evidence this man was. If he's -not guilty, then I'll never again put my trust in evidence; and so far -I've generally found evidence that will stand sifting quite good enough -for me. Still, as I say, I'll leave no stone unturned to find the woman -of whom he speaks." - -"And of whom I speak." - -The governor spoke with a little smile. - -"Yes, sir, and of whom you speak too." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV. - - MR. HOLMAN AT HOME. - - -But they looked for her in vain. They did not find her. And the -following night Mr. Holman was in the bosom of his family. - -Mr. Holman's home was in a street off Leicester Square. His family -consisted of his wife. Of her he was wont to make a confidant, as he -did on the present occasion. - -Mr. Holman had come up by an afternoon train from Lewes. Mrs. Holman -had prepared a meat tea for him on his arrival. He had commenced his -attack upon the viands before she began to question him. - -"So they're going to hang him?" - -"It would seem as though they were." - -Mrs. Holman detected something in her husband's tone. - -"What do you mean? Aren't they going to hang him?" - -"Did I say they weren't going to hang him? Didn't I say it seems as -though they were. Don't you understand Queen's English?" - -Mrs. Holman was silent for a second or two. - -"Surely they're not getting up a petition to let him off?" - -"I've heard nothing at all about it, if they are. But perhaps you've -heard more than me. You do sometimes, don't you?" - -"You don't mean to say that you don't believe he did it. I thought you -were sure that he was guilty." - -"I've been sure of a good many things in my time, and been sorry for it -afterwards. I'm not the only leather-headed fool there is about, as -perhaps you know." - -Mrs. Holman was skilled in the inflections of her husband's voice. She -perceived that it would be wiser, temporarily, to keep her curiosity in -her pocket, and to allow him to finish his meal in peace, which she did -and obtained her reward. - -When the lady's lord and master had eaten and drunk to his heart's -content he wiped his lips and he looked at his wife. - -"What do you think he says?" - -"I haven't the least idea." - -"He says that the woman who was found is not the woman who was with him -in the train." - -"A man like him would say anything." - -"How clever you women are. You know everything. As it happens, it seems -to me that he's just the sort of man who would not say anything, and I -ought to be a pretty good judge of that kind of thing if any one is." -Mr. Holman was regarding the two portraits which he had submitted to -Mr. Tennant for inspection. "I don't half like it. I can swear that -this is a good likeness of the woman that was found. He says that it's -not the least like the woman who was with him in the train. - -"Fiddlededee!" - -"Of course it's fiddlededee. And if he was hung, and it came out -afterwards that what he said was true, it would look like fiddlededee, -wouldn't it? I should feel as if I'd murdered him." - -"Matthew!" - -"Somehow the tale which he tells sounds true, and the queer part of it -is that he says that the woman whom he travelled with in the train from -Brighton was actually present in the court during the trial." - -"It isn't possible." - -"Oh, dear no! Of course not. If you say so, it couldn't be. It seems -funny though that the governor should be of a different opinion." - -"What governor?" - -"What governor! The governor of Lewes gaol--stupid! Considering how -clever you set yourself up to be, it's queer what a lot of explanation -you seem to want. The governor noticed this woman of whom Tennant -speaks, and something about her goings-on struck him as being queer. -I've been looking for her in Lewes all this blessed day. She's not -there. But I'll find her if she's anywhere. I'm not going to have a man -hung for a woman that's alive if I can help it. I'm going to make my -report in the morning, and if I'm not told off to hunt her up I'll be -surprised." - -A ring was heard. - -"Go and see what idiot that is ringing the bell. If it's any one to see -me let me know who it is before you show him in." - -Mrs. Holman went to see what idiot it was. She returned and reported. - -"It's that American who has lost his daughter, Mr. Haines his name is." - -"Confound Mr. Haines! What's he come humbugging about? Show him in. -I'll make short work of Mr. Haines." - -Mr. Haines was shown in, tall and thin, Yankee writ large all over him. -Uninvited, he seated himself. He crossed his legs. He balanced his hat -upon his knees. He looked at Mr. Holman without speaking a word. Mr. -Holman, without any show of deference, looked back at him, nor was his -manner when he spoke marked by a superfluity of courtesy. - -For some moments the silence remained unbroken--a fact which seemed to -arouse the detective's irascibility. - -"Is that all you have to say? If so, perhaps you will excuse me. My -time happens to be of value." - -Mr. Haines opened his lips. - -"That creature has buncoed me again." - -"What creature?" - -"Private detective Stewart Trevannion." - -"When a man calls himself a private detective, nine times out of ten -yon may safely write him down a scoundrel. The tenth time, perhaps, he -is something worse." - -"A scoundrel. That's what he is. And next time we chance to meet I'll -write the thing on him in good bold letters in my very plainest hand. -He raised another fifty out of me. He undertook to place me in -communication with my girl if I let him have it. He has placed me in -communication neither with my girl nor with himself since he raised -that fifty." - -Mr. Holman leaned against the side of the table on which he had just -been having tea. He regarded his visitor with something like a twinkle -in his eye. - -"Governor, do you mind my speaking a little plainly?" - -"I do not." - -"Take my tip, book a berth in the next boat, and go back where you came -from. You'll be more at home like over there." - -"Not till I have looked upon her grave if she is dead, or on her face -if she is living." - -"Ah, then, I shouldn't be surprised if you were to stay this side some -time. You'll settle here." - -"Aren't the resources of civilisation sufficient to enable me to find -my girl?" - -"The resources of civilisation aren't interested. You drove her away, -it's for you to fetch her back again. What it strikes me is that she -don't want to come, and she don't mean to, either." - -"She is dead." - -"How are you going to prove it?" - -"I want you to help me." - -"How am I going to help you any more than I have done? I'm a public -servant. I receive instructions from my superiors, and I have to obey -them. How am I going to devote myself to you? I don't know what good I -should do if I could. Thousands of girls are missing; they leave home -because they're sick of it, and they set up on their own hook. How do -you think you're going to find 'em if they don't mean to be found? It -may be easy in the stories, but it isn't out of them." - -Rising from his chair, Mr. Haines paced slowly across the room. Mr. -Holman watched him. He noticed his air of extreme depression. - -"You do as I say, take my tip, and go back by the next ship. You'll be -able to look for her as well there as over here--yes, and better. You -say she knows what address will find you. You'll hear from her safe -enough when she's had about enough of it. - -"Not me." - -"How can you tell that." - -"Because she's dead." - -Mr. Holman moved from the table with a gesture of impatience. Not -impossibly he would have terminated the interview then and there. He -looked as if language of even unusual strength was trembling on his -lips. He was prevented, however, from giving it utterance by the -unannounced entrance of a second visitor. - -The visitor was in the shape of a girl--a young girl. She was pretty, -with a prettiness which more than suggested the theatre. She had an -amazing array of short, fair hair. It shrined her face like a sort of -coronal. The big hat was perched on the top of her hair. There was a -hint of kohl about her pretty eyes. And though her plump cheeks were -clean enough and tempting enough just then, one could have sworn that -they had long been familiar with rouge. - -She came into the room with a complete absence of ceremony, as if she -was perfectly at home. - -"Well, uncle, so you're back again." - -Mr. Holman looked her up and down without saying a word. Planting -herself right in front of him she clasped her hands behind her -back--impudently demure. "You can look at me." - -"So you have dyed your hair." - -"I have." - -"And cut it off." - -"And cut it off." - -"And fluffed it?" - -"Fluffed it? Crimped it, I suppose you mean. My dear uncle, if anybody -offered to double your salary on condition that you dyed your hair, -you'd dye it all the colours of the rainbow." Mr. Holman turned away. -"Aren't you going to kiss me? You'd not only dye, you'd give your hair -to kiss me if you weren't my uncle. How nice it is to have relations!" - -Mrs. Holman appeared at the door. - -"Never mind him, Hetty. He's come back in a bad temper." - -"Of course he's come back in a bad temper. Did you ever know him when -he hadn't come back in a bad temper? He's the worst-tempered man I ever -knew, and that's saying something." - -Mr. Holman seated himself in an arm-chair by the fire. The young lady -sat on one of the arms. She smoothed her uncle's hair. - -"Dear uncle, how well you're looking." - -Mr. Holman shook his head, as if to remove it from the reach of her -embrace. - -"Don't touch me." - -"And what a nice, kind look you've got in your eyes." - -"Hetty, I'm ashamed of you." - -"Oh, no, you're not. You're not half such a goose as you pretend to -be." - -"I tell you that I am." - -"You're what? A goose. Dear uncle, I would never let any one call you a -goose except yourself. Won't you kiss me?" - -The fair young face stooped down. The man's weather-beaten face looked -up. The lips met. - -The kiss was interrupted by a series of exclamations which came from -the back of the room. So unexpected and so startling a series of -exclamations that Mr. Holman rose from his chair with such suddenness -as almost to overturn his niece. - -"What's up now?" he asked. - -A good deal seemed to be up, at any rate with Mr. Haines. That -gentleman was standing on the other side of the table staring at -something which he was holding in his hand, giving vent to a variety of -observations which were scarcely parliamentary. - -"It's Loo! Blamed if it ain't! It's my girl! It's Loo!" - -Throwing down what he was holding, he rushed at the detective like some -wild animal. - -"Damn you!" he yelled. "It's Loo!" - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV. - - THE WOMAN OF THE PORTRAIT. - - -The detective easily avoided the man's blind rush, the result of which -was that Mr. Haines all but cannoned into Mr. Holman's niece. - -Miss Hetty Johnson, however--the young lady's name was Johnson--seemed -in no way disconcerted. - -"That's right. Knock me down and trample on me. I don't mind. I've done -nothing to nobody. But it's all the same as if I had." - -Brought back by the young lady's words to a sense of reality, Mr. -Haines spluttered out an apology. - -"I beg your pardon. It was an accident." Then he raved at Mr. Holman. -"You--you devil! You've been having me, tricking me, doing me. You -cursed slippery British hound, I feel like killing you!" - -He looked as he said he felt. His tall figure was drawn upright, his -long arms were stretched out in front of him, his fists were clenched -as in a paroxysm of rage. - -Mr. Holman stared at him with stolid imperturbability. - -"Perhaps, when you've quite finished, you'll tell us what's wrong." - -"You know. Don't you try to play it any more off on to me, or the -presence of a woman shan't save you." - -"What's the matter with the man?" asked Mrs. Holman. - -"Don't you hear me asking him?" chimed in her lord. "But it doesn't -seem as if he cared to tell us." - -As if one was not sufficient, Mr. Haines began shaking both his fists -at the detective. - -"You said you knew nothing about her; you told me you could not help -me; you advised me to go back by the next ship. I could not make it -out. Now I do catch on. You had her portrait all the time." - -"Whose portrait?" - -"Loo's!" - -"Who's Loo?" - -"My girl!" - -The words came from Mr. Haines with a roar. - -The detective looked at him as if he was beginning to suspect that, -after all, there might be some method in his madness. - -"See here, Mr. Haines, I don't know if you are or are not mad, but just -try to behave as if you weren't. I've no notion what you're talking -about. I tell you I know no more about your girl than I know about the -man in the moon." - -"You tell me that, and expect me to believe it, when you have her -portrait?" - -"I have her portrait! Where?" - -"Here!" Striding forward, he snatched up one of the two portraits which -were lying on the table. As he did so, he perceived the second. "Why, -here's another! There are two! You have two portraits of my girl, and -you tell me that you know nothing of her." - -Although the detective's face remained impassive, a speck of light -seemed all at once to come into his eyes. The pupils dilated. There was -something in them which suggested that the whole man had become, upon a -sudden, alert and eager. - -"I would ask you, Mr. Haines, to consider carefully what you are -saying. More may depend upon your words than you imagine. Do I -understand you to say that you know the original of that photograph?" - -"Know the original! Of course I do. It's my girl, my Loo!" - -"Are you prepared to swear it?" - -"I am, before God and man." - -"May I ask if there is anything in particular in which the likeness -consists?" - -"Don't you think a father knows his daughter when he sees her in a -picture? Don't talk back to me. I tell you it's my girl, my Loo! Where -is she?" - -"I will tell you everything in a moment, Mr. Haines. Look at those -photographs closely. Don't you notice anything about them which is -peculiar?" - -Mr. Haines did as he was told. He peered closely at the portraits. - -"She is looking pretty sick." - -"Well she might do. Those photographs were taken after death?" - -"After death?" - -"Have you heard of the Three Bridges Tragedy?" - -"The Three Bridges Tragedy? Yes." - -"That is the portrait of the victim." - -"The victim? So! She is dead. She was done to death. I knew it." - -"The man who has been found guilty of the crime is now lying in gaol -under sentence of death." - -"They shan't hang him?" - -"It looks uncommonly as if they would." - -"I say they shan't. Not if I have to tear down the prison walls with my -hands and nails to get at him. Do you think I've come all these -thousands of miles to let them strangers pay the man that killed my -girl? You bet I've not!" - -Mr. Haines glanced at the detective as if he defied his contradiction. - -The detective looked at him, in return, as if he doubted what to make -of him. - -While the two men were thus, as it were, taking each other's measure, -Miss Hetty Johnson advanced to the table on which Mr. Haines had, -perhaps unconsciously, replaced the photographs. She picked them up. - -"Is this the poor girl who was murdered?" She glanced at them. As she -did so she uttered a startled exclamation, "Why, it--it's Milly!" She -turned to Mr. Holman all in a tremor of excitement. "Uncle, this is -Milly!" - -Her uncle turned to her with what almost amounted to a savage start. - -"Who do you say it is? You don't mean to say that you know the -original? Hanged if I don't believe everybody does except me. And here, -all this time, we've been hunting the whole world to find out." - -Miss Johnson was not at all affected by her uncle's display of temper. -She repeated her previous assertion, and that with more emphasis than -before. - -"This is Milly Carroll who was with me at the theatre. I am sure of it. -Aunt, you've heard me talk of Milly Carroll?" - -"Often," said her aunt. "Now, Hetty, don't you let your fancy run away -with you. It may be like her, and yet it mayn't be her. Remember the -mischief you might do. You think before you speak." - -"My dear aunt, there is not the slightest necessity for you to talk to -me like that. I am sure that this is Milly Carroll. Heaps of girls at -the theatre will tell you so if you ask them. It doesn't do her -justice, and she looks as if she were dead, but it's her." She dropped -her hand to her side, as if a startling reflection had all at once -occurred to her. "I wonder if that explains it?" - -"Explains what?" - -"Her silence. I wondered why she had never replied to my last letter. -All the time, perhaps, she was dead. And I was telling every one how -unkind she was. To think of it!" - -"Do you know where she lived?" - -"When I last heard from her she was living at Brighton." - -"Brighton? Then he did do it. What an artistic liar that man must be!" - -"She left the stage for good. She was going to be married." - -"Going to be married, was she? Then it's her. What was her future -husband's name?" - -"I never heard his name. We always took him for some big swell, she -kept his name so close. She used to call him Reggie." - -"Reggie? Oh! Not Tommy?" - -"No, Reggie. I knew him very well by sight." - -"What do you mean--you knew him very well by sight?" - -"Well, I spoke to him two or three times, and, of course, he spoke to -me. And I used often to see her with him. And then he was always at the -theatre. He used to give her everything she wanted, and made no end of -a fuss of her. The girls all envied her good luck." - -"It looks as if they had cause to. What sort of party was this swell of -hers to look at?" - -"He was tall, and dark, and very handsome, and he had most beautiful -hands, and one of the nicest-speaking voices I ever heard--and such a -smile! And he dressed awfully well--he was an awful swell. Milly told -me he was awfully rich, but I could see that without her telling me." - -Mr. Holman had listened to the girl's description with some appearance -of surprise. - -"Of course you could. You girls can see anything. That's how it is so -many of you come to grief--you think you see so much. You're sure you -haven't made a mistake about this swell of hers? You're sure he wasn't -short, and plump, and rosy?" - -"He wasn't a scrap like that. He was exactly as I've told you. Short, -and plump, and rosy? Indeed! I should think he wasn't." - -"Would you recognise him if you saw him again?" - -"Rather! I should think I should. I should know him anywhere. If you -saw him once, you would never be likely to forget him, he was too -good-looking." - -"Was he indeed? You seem to have been more than half in love with him -yourself. You girls always do fall in love with the right sort of men. -Have you any of this young woman's writing?" - -"I've some of her letters which she sent me." - -Mr. Haines, advancing, laid his hand gently on Miss Johnson's arm. - -"Will you let me see her letters--my girl's, my Loo's?" - -"Of course I will. You can come round and look at them now if you like. -There's time before I'm due at the theatre." The young girl looked up -at the old man with a curious interest. "She was an American. She used -to talk to me about a place called Colorado." - -"She was raised in Colorado. And that is where she left me. So you were -her friend--my girl's friend?" - -"Well, we were pals." - -"Pals? Yes. You were pals." - -Mr. Haines looked at Miss Johnson inquiringly, searchingly, as if he -was endeavouring to ascertain, by force of visual inspection, what sort -of girl she was. - -Mr. Holman interposed. - -"When you two have done palavering, perhaps Miss Hetty Johnson will be -good enough to tell me what was this young woman's address at -Brighton--that is, if she happens to remember it." - -"I remember it perfectly." - -Miss Hetty proved that she did by unhesitatingly furnishing her uncle -with the information required. Her uncle entered the address she gave -him in his pocket-book. He looked at his watch. - -"It's twenty minutes past seven. There's a train from Victoria to -Brighton at 7.50. If I got a decent cab I ought to have time to catch -it, and to spare. If I do catch it, I ought to be able to get all the -information I want in time to catch the last train back to town. If I -don't, I'll wire." This was to his wife. He turned to his niece. "You -keep a still tongue in your head, if you can, and don't go chattering -at the theatre. And don't let anything that was that young woman's pass -out of your hands to any one--do you hear?" - -"I hear. But, uncle, I don't, and I can't, believe that Milly's -sweetheart had anything to do with killing her." - -"No one asks you for what you believe. I've been asking you for what -you know. And that's all I'm likely to ask you for. You mark what I -say, and don't you give a scrap of her writing to any one. I'm off." - -He was off, catching up the portraits from the table as he went. - -As soon as her uncle had gone Miss Johnson turned to Mr. Haines. - -"If you want to see those letters, you'll have to come now. I have to -be at the theatre soon after eight." - -The young girl and the old man went away together. Miss Johnson led the -way through Coventry Street. Suddenly stopping, she caught Mr. Haines -by the arm. - -"Oh! There he is!" - -"Who?" - -"Milly's sweetheart." - -"Where?" - -Miss Johnson pointed to a tall man who was standing on the pavement -talking to the driver of a hansom cab. Mr. Haines started. His -companion felt that he was trembling. He spoke as if he were short of -breath. - -"Are you sure?" - -"Quite sure--certain." - -Mr. Haines went forward without a word. Miss Johnson stood still and -watched, fearing she knew not what. - -But she need have feared nothing, for nothing happened. - -By the time that Mr. Haines had reached the cab the man in question had -seated himself inside. Mr. Haines had a good look at him before the cab -moved off. - -"It's he! Her aristocrat! I knew that he smelt of blood first time I -saw him, but if I'd known that the blood was hers----" - -He raised his hands above his head, as if by way of a wind-up to his -unfinished sentence. - -The passers-by stared at the old man talking to himself and -gesticulating on the pavement, wondering, perhaps, if he was drunk or -if he was merely mad. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI. - - THE VARIOUS MOODS OF A GENTLEMAN OF FASHION. - - -Mr. Townsend was shaving himself. Advancing his face an inch or two -nearer his shaving-glass, with his fingers he smoothed his chin. - -"Very awkward," he said. "Very!" - -The allusion could scarcely have been to the process in which he was -engaged. Everything had gone with smoothness. Not even a scratch had -marred the perfect peace. - -Mr. Townsend concluded that his chin was as clean shaven as it possibly -could be. He put his razor down. He took up a cigarette. He lighted it. - -"Exceedingly awkward!" - -As he murmured the iteration, seating himself in an armchair, he -selected an open letter from among a heap of others which lay on a -little table at his side. The letter he had selected was unmistakably a -feminine production. It was written in a large, bold, running hand, on -paper which was as stiff as cardboard. - - -"MY DEAREST REGGIE,--You must come and see me! At once! I shall expect -you this morning! - -"_Whatever you have done, it it quite impossible that I shall let you -go--you are mine!_ - -"You understand that I am waiting for you, and that you are to come to -me as soon as you possibly can. - -"You are to tell the bearer when I shall see you! - - "YOUR DORA." - - -That was what the letter said. The italics and the notes of exclamation -were the lady's own. As he puffed his cigarette Mr. Townsend read the -letter carefully through and smiled. Removing his cigarette, he pressed -the letter to his lips. Then, carefully folding the letter between his -fingers, he laid it down. - -"As I said I would go, I shall have to go--it's uncommonly awkward. Had -she been wise, she would have taken what I wrote as the final word, and -left it so." - -Rising, he continued his toilet, humming to himself, now and then, -snatches of a popular comic song. Going to the fireplace, he began -pushing about, with the toe of his shoes, the pieces of burning coal. - -"It's odd how I love her--very! After my experience. And this time, as -the man says in the play, it is love. Well, she has called the stakes. -It is for me to win. If I don't, I can but lose." - -He returned to the table on which the letters were. He picked up -another, also unmistakably the production of a feminine hand. It -contained but a line or two. It was without prefix or signature. And -this time the writing was small and fine and clear:-- - -"I have heard nothing from you. The eight-and-forty hours will be up -this afternoon at five. After that time I shall feel it my duty to do -my utmost at once to save the life of an innocent man. I shall be at -home to you till five." - -Mr. Townsend read this epistle also with a smile, but he did not press -it to his lips when read. Instead, he commented on it with a curious -sort of humour. - -"You pretty dear! You are the dangerous sort that always smiles. I have -heard and read a good deal about women being cleverer than men, but -till I met you I never met my match." - -Tearing the letter into pieces, he dropped the fragments among the -burning coals. As he adjusted his necktie before a looking-glass he -indulged himself with further snatches of that comic song. Having -completed his toilet, he went into the adjoining room. In response to -his ring breakfast was brought in. And, with every appearance of the -satisfaction of the man whose conscience is perfectly at ease, Mr. -Townsend sat down to the discussion of his morning meal. - -As he was finishing, a manservant opened the door. - -"Lord Archibald Beaupré, sir, wishes to see you." - -"Show him in here." - -Presently there entered a tall, thin, and rather weedy-looking young -man. His scanty hair was of that colourless fairness which is almost -peculiar to a certain type of Scotchman. He would not have been -bad-looking, in spite of his being slightly freckled, if it had not -been for three things: first, he had obviously at least his share of -the pride for which his countrymen are proverbial; second, he was -obviously more than sufficiently weak; and third, he was equally -obviously bad tempered. - -On this occasion he did not seem to be by any means in the most -agreeable frame of mind. Taking no sort of notice of Mr. Townsend's -nodded greeting, he marched straight to an easy-chair, and, sitting -down on it, he rested his hands on the handle of his stick, and his -chin on his hands. He looked straight in front of him with about as -sour a visage as he could well have worn. Mr. Townsend continued his -breakfast as if there was nothing at all peculiar in his visitor's -demeanour, and as he ate he smiled. - -After a while he leaned back on his chair. - -"Well, Archie, any news?" - -"News be damned!" - -Mr. Townsend still smiled. - -"By all means if you wish it. It is the same to me." - -"You know very well what I have come for." - -"I take it that you have come to bestow on me for a short period the -charm of your society." The visitor scowled. His host but smiled the -more. "Have anything to eat?" - -"I'll have something to drink." - -"You'll find all the ingredients on the sideboard. Help yourself, dear -boy." - -The visitor helped himself. As he stood at the sideboard pouring the -liquor out into a glass his host sat watching him with amusement which -was wholly unconcealed. The contrast between the two men was striking. -It would have forced itself on to the attention of the most casual -spectator. The one weak, irritable almost to the point of peevishness; -the other strong, unruffled, self-contained. The one with, in his whole -bearing, that suggestion of self-assertion which is often but the child -of shyness, but which none the less repels; the other with that easy, -graceful, seemingly unconscious, personal magnetism which, in spite of -oneself, attracts. One could understand how the one might be forgiven -till seventy times seven, while the other would be condemned, without -benefit of clergy, for his first offence. - -Lord Archibald Beaupré returned to the easy-chair, armed with a -tumbler of whisky and soda. He took a considerable drink. And then he -spoke--morosely. - -"It's the meeting of that cursed club to-night." - -Mr. Townsend had watched his every movement, particularly seeming to -note the quantity he had drunk--and still he smiled. - -"So it is." - -The other burst into a torrent of words. - -"I wish I had never heard of it! I wish I had never had anything to do -with it! I wish I had never had anything to do with any one of you! I -wish----" - -His emotions proved too much for him; he prematurely stopped. - -"Wish it out." Mr. Townsend was lighting a cigarette. "And when you've -wished it out, what then?" - -"Damn you. You do nothing else but jibe and jeer at me." - -"My dear Archie, your manners are not good." - -"Curse my manners!" - -"By all means, if you wish it. Only I am inclined to think there won't -be very much to curse." - -Lord Archibald ground out an oath between his teeth, and he groaned. -Mr. Townsend went on; he was enjoying his cigarette. - -"By the way, have you done anything for the Honour of the Club?" - -His visitor half rose from his seat, then sank back into it again. - -"No! You know I haven't! Don't talk of it! No!" - -"I have no desire to talk of it. It is scarcely a question of talk. It -is rather a question of do." - -His hearer covered his face with his hands and shuddered. There was -something in his host's eyes, as he smilingly regarded him, which -suggested possibilities--and also limitations--of a distinctly curious -sort. He kept his glance fixed on his companion, and, as he spoke -again, he expelled through his nostrils the smoke of his cigarette. - -"On the whole, perhaps, your policy of postponement may turn out -fortunately for both of us. You will remember that under certain -circumstances I reserved the right to nominate a candidate--a -candidate, that is, for your attention. The circumstances which I -thought might arise have arisen." - -"Townsend!" - -"Archie!" - -Lord Archibald removed his hands from his face. The two men looked at -each other--the one face ghastly, haggard, frightened; the other easy, -careless, smiling. - -"Do you mean it?" - -Lord Archibald's voice was husky. Mr. Townsend flicked the ash from his -cigarette. - -"I am in the habit, in matters of moment, of meaning what I say, -although that may not be the case with you." - -The airily-suggested insinuation stung. The other burst into a sudden -blaze of passion. - -"What do you mean by that?" - -The host met his visitor's furious gaze with a smile which seemed to -convey a fulness of meaning which was sufficient to subdue the other's -wrath. - -"What did you mean by asking me if I meant what I said? Didn't you -know?" - -Lord Archibald turned his face away. Taking up the tumbler of soda and -whisky he drained it of its contents. Getting up from his chair, he -went to the sideboard to replenish. While he was in the act of doing -so, and his back towards his host, he asked a question. - -"Who is it?" - -"A woman." - -Lord Archibald spun round like a teetotum, a decanter in one hand, a -tumbler in the other. - -"A woman? Reggie? You--you don't mean Miss Jardine?" - -Mr. Townsend's lips curled. In some subtle way his countenance was -transfigured. The ease and the carelessness vanished. He became all -bitterness and gall. - -"Beaupré, I am inclined to think that you are the most consummate ass -of my acquaintance. Why will you perpetually harp upon a single string? -You are so utterly inept that the wonder is I have borne with you so -long. Might I ask you not eternally to play the fool?" - -Lord Archibald put down the decanter and the glass. The muscles of his -face quivered as if he was about to be afflicted by an attack of St. -Vitus' Dance. - -"If anybody but you had spoken to me like that, at the very least he -should never speak to me again." - -The only effect which his visitor's fury had on Mr. Townsend was to -make him still more scornful. - -"Don't gas to me, my good fellow. Reserve that sort of thing for some -other of your acquaintance. I regret that you should have rendered it -necessary for me to remind you that you are under a considerable -obligation to me, and I regret still more that you should have -compelled me to ask if it is your intention to fulfil that obligation. -I believe that even Scotchmen do occasionally fulfil their -obligations." - -His listener's face was a sickly yellow. Rage had made him calm. - -"Mr. Townsend, be so good as to tell me who this woman is." - -Thus requested, Mr. Townsend, scribbling something on a scrap of paper, -tossed the scrap of paper across the table to his guest. - -"There is her name and her address. I took you with me once to call on -her. Probably you remember the occasion and the lady. Your business -with her must be transacted before five o'clock this afternoon. If you -are a quarter of an hour after that time you may as well postpone the -fulfilment of your obligation to a future day. For my purpose you will -be too late." - -The other scanned what was written on the scrap of paper. He folded the -paper up; he placed it in his waistcoat-pocket. - -"You shall have the literal letter of your bond. Afterwards, Mr. -Townsend, I will deal with you." - -Without another word Lord Archibald Beaupré left the room. - -Left to himself, Mr. Townsend threw the end of his cigarette into the -fire. Thrusting his hands into his trouser-pockets, stretching out his -legs in front of him, he stared at the flame and he smiled--not -pleasantly. - -"What a fool the fellow is! I have had about as much of him as I can -stand. Indeed, I have had more. I hope they'll hang him. It will be a -happy despatch. Or perhaps, after he has done the deed, he will turn, -as a relief, to suicide. It's just the sort of thing he would do." - -Something tickled him. He laughed. - -"What a game of touch and go I'm playing." - -He stood up. - -"To think that he should have supposed that I meant Dora. My Dora!" - -A panel photograph was on the mantelboard. It was the portrait of a -young girl. Mr. Townsend apostrophised it as if it had been a living -thing. - -"My darling! If you had only come into my life before, how different it -might all have been! If fortune had but let you come my way, evil -should not have been my good. There is the making of a man in me, -somewhere, that I swear. If I could but get out of it all and shake -myself free and begin again, I'd quickly prove it." - -Taking the photograph into his hand, he kissed it. It was strange how -tender his voice had suddenly become. - -"My love! What thing is this which I have been consorting with all this -time, and supposing it was love? That's not love. Bah! I have learnt my -lesson rather late in the day, but I have learnt it, sweet. You have -taught me what is love." - -He put the portrait back. He sat down again. But he still looked at the -face which was on the mantelboard. - -"The place in which I am is such a tight one. You had been wiser, dear, -had you believed me when I wrote that I was not fit for you, and so -straightway have let me go. Again I'll endeavour to persuade you. But -if you'll not be persuaded I will win you, and I will hold you, and I -will keep you if I can, though to do so I have to plunge deeper in the -mire. It may be, indeed, that that way atonement lies. Who knows?" - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVII. - - "CALL ME DORA." - - -Mr. Townsend's rooms were at Albert Gate. Miss Jardine's home was in -Sloane Gardens. From Albert Gate to Sloane Gardens is not very far. It -was a clear, brisk morning. Mr. Townsend decided to walk. - -Just as he had crossed the road some one touched his arm from behind, -and a voice said-- - -"Excuse me--might I speak to you for a moment?" - -Mr. Townsend turned. He supposed it was a beggar. The speaker looked -like one. The man--it was a man--had on a top hat which was battered -and bruised out of all semblance of its original shape. His overcoat, -which was trimmed with imitation astrachan, was torn in half a dozen -places and covered with mud, as if it had been rolled in the gutter -with its owner inside it, but it was buttoned right up to his chin in a -manner which suggested a not unnatural anxiety to conceal material -deficiencies in the rest of his attire. His countenance bore evidence -of having been recently subjected to serious ill-usage. One eye was -ornamented by a purple patch, the skin of his right cheek was bruised -and broken as by a blow from a fist, and his mouth was so badly cut as -to say, the least, to render it highly inconvenient for him to be -compelled to open his lips. - -The sorry spectacle was Stewart Trevannion, _alias_ Alexander Taunton, -_alias_ Mr. Arthur Stewart, _alias_ a dozen other names--the immaculate -Mr. Townsend's brother. A striking contrast the two brothers presented -as they stood there. - -Alexander was rubbing his hands over each other. He seemed to -experience a difficulty in holding himself straight up. He shivered as -if in pain. - -"Reginald," he muttered. - -Possibly Alexander was in a sensitive frame of mind. He seemed to -shrink from the look of mingled amusement and scorn with which his -brother regarded him. - -"You!" Mr. Townsend's voice rang with laughter. "Well, my man, what do -you want with me--charity?" - -Alexander put up his hand, as if to hide his injured mouth. - -"It isn't only that." - -"No? What else is it then?" - -"It's a word I want to say to you--a word of warning." - -"Of warning? Against what?" - -"Do you know a man named Haines--an American?" - -"Haines?" Mr. Townsend reflected. "Well, what of Mr. Haines?" - -"You've been doing something to his daughter--you best know what. He's -found it out, and he's looking for you. If he gets a chance he'll kill -you. He's almost done for me." - -Mr. Townsend made a significant gesture in the direction of his -brother. - -"Is this his handiwork?" - -"It's no laughing matter. I tell you he means murder. If you take my -advice you'll clear. He left me as good as dead last night. He wouldn't -have cared if he had left me quite. I don't believe I've a whole bone -in my body. It's as much as I can do to stand." Alexander put his hand -to his back and groaned. His tone became a whine. "You couldn't oblige -me with the loan of a shilling or two?" - -"With pleasure. I'll oblige you with the loan of a whole sovereign. If -you take my advice you'll spend part of it on plaster. I'll think of -what you've said. Good-day." - -As he walked away Mr. Townsend swung his cane. He seemed amused. -Alexander, clutching the sovereign tightly in his hand, stared after -him. He did not seem to be at all amused. - -"You may laugh now, but you won't laugh then. You've been up to some -devil's trick, and this time you've caught the devil. If he does find -you, one of you'll be missing." - -As he pursued his way down Sloane Street, Mr. Townsend did not appear -himself to regard his situation in such a serious light. The idea that -there could be anything serious about it appeared to afford him nothing -but amusement. - -"Haines? Haines? I fancy that that's the name of Mrs. Carruth's Yankee -friend. The dissenting parson sort of looking individual. I take it -that Alexander, as usual, has the wrong end of the stick--from the look -of him he appears to have felt both ends of it, and the middle too. If -Mr. Haines has done me the honour to object to my behaviour, I imagine -that it is because he supposes that I have poached on his preserve. I -assure him he need be under no apprehension. If he only knew!" - -Mr. Townsend laughed--then checked himself. He struck the ferrule of -his stick against the pavement. - -"Now, what am I to say to Dora? Its awkward--very!" - -It was awkward. Especially as he had not made up his mind what to say -to Dora, even when he found himself at Sir Haselton Jardine's. - -He was shown at once into Miss Jardine's own sitting-room, and there he -found the lady. - -Miss Jardine was short and slight. Although she was not handsome, she -certainly was not bad-looking. Her appearance, her bearing, her -movements suggested buoyancy, activity, health. Her eyes were her most -characteristic possession. They affected different people in different -ways. They were blue eyes. Their chief peculiarity was that they were -light--some people said unnaturally light. But, as also they were -beautiful eyes, that saying may be set down to malice. Somehow one felt -as one looked at Miss Jardine that she would never cry. - -She held out her hand to Mr. Townsend. - -"Reggie!" - -Mr. Townsend made no attempt to touch the outstretched hand. He merely -bowed. - -"Miss Jardine!" - -Miss Jardine was not at all disconcerted. She laughed. - -"So it's that way!" She assumed an air of mock dignity, which became -her very well. "Mr. Townsend, may I offer you a chair?" - -"With your permission I will stand." - -Mr. Townsend spoke with an air of decorous propriety which approached -the severe. The lady did not fall into his mood at all. She looked up -at him with her sunny eyes. - -"Stand! Why stand?" - -Mr. Townsend returned the young lady's smiling glance, without evincing -any inclination to smile in return. - -"You have sent for me. I have come." - -Going to the fireplace, Miss Jardine stood with one foot upon the kerb. -Her hands were behind her back. Her face was inclined a little upwards. -She reminded one somehow of a bird--a resemblance which owed something, -perhaps, to the brightness of her eyes. - -"I have one or two questions which I wish to ask you. You must answer -them. First, Do you love me?" - -"You must forgive my suggesting that that is scarcely the first -question which you should ask me. The man in the street may love you. -It does not follow that he is worthy." - -"But if I love him?" - -Mr. Townsend made a slight movement with his hands. He was standing in -what, to the average Englishman, is a rather trying position--in the -centre of the room, away from any article of furniture, with his arms -hanging loosely at his sides; and yet he looked well. - -"He may love you. You may love him. And yet any connection with him may -bring you, at the best, unhappiness." - -"You have not answered my question. Do you love me?" - -"You know that I do." - -"As you say, I know that you do. You know also that I love you. My -second question, Are you married?" - -"I am not." - -"Then why should you not marry me? Stay! Let me explain my position." - -His eyes became, if anything, brighter. Something came over her which -made one forget how physically small she was. One realised that the -girl, like the man she was addressing, had a magnetic personality of -her own. - -"I am, in a measure, Reggie--I am going to call you Reggie--what it is -the fashion to call a pessimist. It is my father's dower. I am afraid -that, in a sense, from the men of my acquaintance, I always expect the -worst. I believe most of them do, in their youth, many things which -they ought not to do--and for which, in their age, they are sorry. I -take this for granted. And I believe that, in spite of this being so, -some of them make good husbands and good fathers. I think it possible -that your temptations have been greater than is the case with the -average man, and that, therefore, your misdoings have been more. But I -am convinced that, as regards real strength, you are stronger than the -average man, and that you can, if you like, put these things behind you -for ever--and, on the stepping-stones of your dead self, rise to higher -things. And I believe that you will like, because you love me--and -because, also, I love you." - -"Unfortunately, Miss Jardine----" - -She made an imperious gesture with her hand. - -"Call me Dora. With you, now, it shall not be Miss Jardine." - -"Unfortunately"--there was an almost imperceptible pause, and then -there came very softly the Christian name--"Dora, there are things -which, when they are once done, we cannot put away. They meet us at -Philippi." - -"If in your life there are such ghosts, why did you ask me to marry -you?" - -"I ought not to have done. When I did I hoped that I should be able to -lay the ghosts, and that for me there would be no Philippi." - -"But is there no hope now?" He seemed to hesitate. She went on with, in -her voice, a sudden tremor. "Consider! Think well before you speak! -Reggie, I wonder if you know how much the spoiling of your life will -mean the spoiling of mine?" - -Her voice, or her manner, or her words--or all three combined--affected -Mr. Townsend strangely. There seemed to be something in her glance -which he found himself unable to encounter. He turned away. Going to -him, she touched him softly on the arm. A shudder went all over him. -The muscles of his face seemed to stiffen; his expression became a -little set. His voice also became, as it were, a little rigid. - -"There may be hope." - -"There may be? Reggie!" She paused--as if breathless. "Of laying the -ghosts--for ever?" - -"For ever." - -She was still again. Her articulation seemed to be actually impeded. - -"When will you know--for sure?" - -"This afternoon, at five." - -"Reggie!" His words appeared to take her by surprise. "Do you mean -it--really?" - -"I do." - -He turned and looked at her. Their glances met. She shrank away from -him. The hot blood flowed into her cheeks. Her emotion was so great, it -made her beautiful. His name came from her lips, with a catching of her -breath, and in a whisper. She was visibly trembling. - -"Reggie!" - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVIII. - - ON THE THRESHOLD. - - -It was plain that Mrs. Carruth was impatient. Nor was the thing made -less evident by her attempts to conceal it from herself. She lounged on -a couch. A pile of books and magazines was at her side. She pretended -to read--or, rather, it would be more correct to write that she tried -not to pretend to read. But it would not do. It was nothing but -pretence. And she knew that it was nothing but pretence. She took up a -book. She turned a page or two. She put it down again. She exchanged it -for a magazine--a magazine with pictures. She tried to look at the -pictures. The pictures palled. She essayed a magazine without pictures. - -That was as great a failure as the other. In her present mood the -ministrations of print and pictures alike were ineffectual. - -No wonder she had become impatient. She had been on tenterhooks all -day--waiting! waiting! All the morning she had expected to receive some -sort of communication--some acknowledgment of the expressive line or -two which she had sent. But when lunch came, and there still was -nothing, she was quite sure that, during the afternoon the gentleman -would come himself. - -She was ready for him by two. She did not think it likely that he would -come quite so early. Still, it would be well that she should not be -taken unawares. So she made herself even unwontedly charming. She put -on a brand-new dress, which suited her to perfection. It really did -make her look uncommonly nice! It fitted her so well that it displayed -her long, lithe, and yet by no means unbecomingly bony figure, to the -best advantage. She took astonishing pains with her hair. She even went -in for unusual splendour in the way of shoes and stockings. And the -effect produced by the few touches which she bestowed upon her -countenance was wonderful. - -In spite of all she was ready by two. And still--he cometh not, she -said. The silvery chimes of the exquisite little clock which stood on -the top of the overmantel announced that it was three-quarters after -three. She looked at her own watch to see if it really was so late. The -thing was true enough. Her watch was in complete agreement with the -clock--it was a quarter to four. - -She put down the last of the magazines with, in her manner, an -appearance of finality. She rose from the couch. She went to the -window. She stood there with her fingertips drumming idly and -noiselessly against the pane. The only creature in sight was a milkman, -who, by way of killing two birds with one stone, was serving a customer -across the road, and flirting with the maid. Mrs. Carruth watched the -flirtation proceed to its conclusion, and, when the milkman, springing -into his cart, had disappeared with the inevitable clatter, Mrs. -Carruth, turning away from the window, came back into the room. - -She stood at a little centre table. She laughed to herself. - -"If, after all, he shouldn't come--what fun it would be!" - -She was very far from being an ill-looking woman, as she stood there, -with smiles puckering her lips and peeping from her eyes. - -"If he should suppose that I am not in earnest! His experience may -teach him that many women never are in earnest. If he should imagine -that I am one of the many!" - -Raising her right hand, she began daintily pinching her lower lip -between her finger and her thumb. - -"It would be a pity for both of us." She made a little impatient -movement with her head. "And yet, I can't believe that a man with his -experience could suppose that I am one of the many. If he did, it would -be his fault--not mine." - -The little clock struck four. - -"An hour more, my friend--an hour more. And then--well, I do hope -you'll come before the hour's out, for your sake, as well as mine. I -wonder if, in this little matter, I've been counting my chickens before -they're hatched. I, of all women, should have known better. And, with -such a hand faced on the board, one might be excused for supposing that -it would take the pool. A straight flush cannot be beaten." - -She laughed again, this time not quite so lightly. - -"It reminds me of some of the games which I have seen played. You can't -show a hand to beat a straight, but you can fight to save the pool. I -wonder if he means fighting. If he does, it'll be against all the odds. -He has neither gun nor bow. When I start shooting, he's bound to drop. -Sure." - -The merriment passed from her face, the laughter from her eyes--an -expression of anxiety came into them instead; a look which suggested -hunger, a something which made her, all at once, seem actually old. - -"Perhaps he takes it that a victory, on these lines, may mean more -than a defeat. And he counts on that. It would, too. It would mean -farewell--a long farewell, an actual farewell--to another of my dreams. -And the brightest of them all. But I don't care. It would mean death to -him. Death! And such a death! And, after all, it would only mean a -stumble to me. From the practice I have had, I have become so used to -stumbles that surely one other wouldn't count." - -She began moving about the room restlessly, touching here a table, -there a chair, to the window, and back again, as if a spirit possessed -her which made her not know what it was she wanted to be at. She -approached a corner of the room, as if she were about to take refuge in -it, like some naughty child. As she went, clenching her fists, as if -she were pressing her finger-nails into her palms, she gave a little -cry. - -"Oh, I'd give--I'd give, what wouldn't I give?--if he'd come into the -room, now--without keeping me waiting any longer, now!--and speak to me -as I would have him speak! Why doesn't he come? He has everything to -gain, he has nothing to lose!" - -She swept right round, with a swish of her skirts, in a sort of frenzy, -echoing her own question as she swung out her arms in front of her. - -"Why doesn't he come?" - -Even as the words were on her lips, at the hall door there came a -knocking. She went red and white, despite the aids of beauty! She -caught at a chair, as if desirous of having something to lean against. - -"Thank God!" - -Then, as if conscious of the incongruity of such words upon her lips, -she put her hands up to her face. - -"Oh, I'm so glad he's come!" - -Some one outside had hold of the handle of the door. She uncovered her -face. She touched her hair. She touched the bosom of her dress. She -dropped into the chair by which she was standing. In an instant she was -the picture of composure. - -The door opened to admit Mr. Haines. - -His appearance was a shock to Mrs. Carruth. She looked negligently -round, as if indifferent who the new-comer might be, and then--she -stared. - -"You!" - -There was something in the lady's intonation which was very far from -being complimentary. She stood up, quivering with disappointment and -with rage. - -"I thought I gave instructions that this afternoon I was not at home to -visitors." - -Mr. Haines did not seem to be at all nonplussed. - -"That's what the young lady who opened the door told me. I said I would -wait until you were. I will." - -Mr. Haines sat down--with every appearance of having come to stay. Mrs. -Carruth looked at the clock, then at her watch, then at the gentleman -upon the chair. The gentleman in question, with his head thrown back, -was staring at the ceiling, as if quite unconscious of her -neighbourhood. It seemed to be as much as the lady could do to retain -her self-control. - -"I am sure, Mr. Haines, that you cannot wish to be rude. I have an -appointment this afternoon which I regret will prevent my having the -pleasure of receiving you." - -"I'm going to have my say. I'll say it afterwards, or I'll say it now. -It's all the same to me." - -"What do you mean by you're going to have your say?" - -"If you're ready, I'll let it out. But don't mind me. Don't let me -spoil your appointment. Keep anything you've got to keep." - -Mrs. Carruth seemed to be at a loss to know what to do. Her looks were -eloquent witnesses as to what she would have done if she could. But, -apparently, she did not see her way to do it. She temporised. - -"If there is anything of importance, Mr. Haines, which you wished to -say to me, perhaps you will be so good as to say it as briefly as you -can, now. Possibly it will not detain you, at the utmost, more than a -quarter of an hour." - -"Possibly it will not. I rather reckon you'll have a word to say in -that. It won't all be for me." Mr. Haines brought his eyes down to -the level of the lady's face. He spread out his hands upon his knees. -He looked at her very straight. "What I have to say may be said in -about two words. It's just this--I've found my girl." - -Mrs. Carruth did not display any great amount of interest, but she did -seem to be surprised. - -"Indeed! I am glad to hear it. I hope that she is well." - -"She is well. She's better than many of us ever will be. She's at -rest." - -"At rest? How?" - -"As it was told to me. She is dead." - -"Dead! Mr. Haines?" - -"Yes, murdered. As I saw it in the vision, so it is." - -Mrs. Carruth looked at Mr. Haines as if she felt that he had a somewhat -singular method of imparting information--especially of such a peculiar -kind. - -"If what you say is correct, you have such a queer way of putting -things. I never can quite make you out. I need not tell you how sorry I -am." - -"You have cause for sorrow. The grief is about half yours." - -"Half mine? What do you mean?" - -"I have loved you, true and faithful, since the first time I set eyes -on you. Before ever Daniel did." - -The sudden change of subject seemed, not unnaturally, to take the lady -aback. - -"What nonsense are you talking? What did you mean by saying the grief's -half mine?" - -"I'm coming to it, in time. I want to put to you this question. Will -you have me, now, just as I am?" - -"I will not; neither now or ever. How many more times am I to tell you -that? Jack Haines, I do believe you're more than half insane." - -"I may be. So'll you be before I'm through." Raising the big forefinger -of his right hand, he wagged it at her solemnly. "There's some one come -between us. Yes. That aristocrat." - -"Aristocrat? What do you mean?" - -"You know what I mean. Yes. The blood-stained Townsend. I knew he was -stained with blood when first I saw him inside this room. But I did not -know with whose blood he was stained, or I would have called him to his -account right there and then. I did not know he was stained with the -blood of my girl." - -"Jack!" - -The name came from her with an unconscious recurrence to the days which -were gone. - -"Yes. This is the man who has stolen what ought by rights to have been -mine--the slayer of my girl." - -"It's not true! You coward! You know you lie!" - -"I do not lie." - -"You do lie! What proof have you?" - -"Enough and to spare--for him, for me, and for you." - -"Out with it, then. Let's hear what some of it's like." - -Mrs. Carruth was standing by the little centre table. Rising from his -chair, Mr. Haines went and stood at the other side of it. Resting his -hands on the edges, he leaned over it towards her. - -"Have you heard of the Three Bridges tragedy?" - -She looked at him just once. In that one look she saw something, on his -face or in his eyes, which, to use an expressive idiom, seemed to take -the stiffening all out of her. She dropped into a chair as if he had -knocked her into it. She caught at the arms. Her complexion assumed a -curious tinge of yellow. There was a moment's pause. Then, from between -her rigid lips, there came one word. - -"Yes." - -"The woman who was killed was Loo--my Loo." - -She shuddered, as if attacked by sudden ague. - -"It's a lie!" - -"It's not a lie. It's gospel truth. And Townsend killed her." - -Her rejoinder, under ordinary circumstances, might have struck him as -an odd one. - -"You can't prove it." - -"I can prove it. And the police can prove it, too." - -Half rising from her chair, she turned to him, every muscle in her body -seemed to be quivering with excitement. - -"The police? Do they know it?" - -"They do. To-morrow the whole world will know it. They've laid hold of -the wrong man. They've found it out just before it's a bit too late. -They hope to have hold of your friend Townsend soon. They're hoping -wrong. His first reckoning will be with me. When that is through, -neither he nor I will care who has what's left. Since I have loved you, -true and faithful, all these years, I calculated I would come and ask -you if, when all is done, you'd give me my reward. We might make a -happy ending of it, you and me together, over on the other side. -But if you won't, you won't. So I'm through. I've only one word -left--good-bye." - -He held out his hand to her. So far as she was concerned, it went -unheeded. Indeed, it would seem, from the eager question which she -asked, that most of what he had been saying had gone unheeded too. - -"Are you sure the police are after him? Are you sure?" - -He looked at her from under the shadow of his bushy, overhanging -eyebrows, in silence, for a moment. Then he said, more in sorrow than -in anger-- - -"So your last thought is of him? Well, I'm sorry!" - -Without anymore elaborate leave-taking than was comprised in these few -words. Mr. Haines went from the room and from the house. - -Mrs. Carruth seemed scarcely conscious of the fact of his departure. -All her faculties and all her thoughts seemed far away. Indeed, it was -only after a lapse of some seconds that, looking about her, with a -start, she appeared to recognise that she was alone. Getting up, she -began to pace feverishly about the room, as if only rapid movement -could enable her to control the fires which were mounting in her blood. - -"I wonder if it's true! I wonder if it is! Perhaps that explains why it -is he hasn't come. I may have been misjudging him. Perhaps he can't -come. Suppose he is arrested. Perhaps he doesn't know what it is the -police have discovered. He's nearly certain not to know. Who's to tell -him? I will go and tell him! This instant! Now! I will warn him against -the police and against Jack Haines. I will save him yet, yet. He shall -owe it all to me." - -With her hands she brushed her hair from her brow--the hair which she -had so carefully arranged. - -"After all I have longed for, after all I have lived through, I do -believe that for him I should esteem the world well lost." - -She ran upstairs--literally ran. She put on a coat and hat in a space -of time which, for shortness, considering that a pretty woman was -concerned, was simply marvellous. And having put them on, she ran down -the stairs. She hurried through the hall. She opened the hall door. - -And as she did so something or some one bounded up the steps--rather -than mounted them in an ordinary fashion. There was a flash of -something in the air. Mrs. Carruth was borne backwards. - -A second afterwards she was lying half on her face, with the lifeblood -streaming from her on to the floor. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIX. - - THE LAST MEETING OF THE CLUB. - - -Horseferry Road. A hazy though a cloudless night. A house, the windows -of which showed no lights. Up two flights of stairs. - -The rendezvous of that agreeable social institution, the Murder Club. - -The Club was to hold a session. The gentleman who, if he was not the -actual source of inspiration, was, at any rate, the founder, the -promoter, the organiser, the backbone of the Club, was making ready for -the members coming. A man about the middle height, somewhat slightly -built, in evening dress, with an orchid in his buttonhole--Mr. Cecil -Pendarvon. Mr. Pendarvon was not bad-looking. He had a long, fair -beard, which he had a trick of pulling with both his hands. His eyes -were certainly not ugly, but to the close observer they conveyed an odd -impression. As one watched them, one began to wonder if they were the -man's real eyes which one saw, or if the real eyes were behind them. -Perhaps one had this feeling of wonder, because, although there always -was the light of laughter in Mr. Pendarvon's eyes, their real -expression was one of such cold, passionless, unrelenting cruelty. - -For some reason Mr. Pendarvon seemed ill at ease. One hand was resting -on the large oval table which occupied the greater portion of the room, -with the other he tugged at his beard, while he stared at a manuscript -volume, bound in a beautiful scarlet binding, which lay open in front -of him. A cackling sound was emitted from his throat, which was, -possibly, intended for a chuckle. - -"His signature! His sign manual! An elegant example, too! With his own -hand--tied tight. If I remember rightly, he did say something about his -practically committing suicide by affixing his signature to such a -declaration. How often is truth spoken in a jest. What fools men are!" - -His statement--which was very far from being an original statement--of -the folly of humanity, seemed to afford him a large amount of -satisfaction. He combed his beard with the fingers of both his hands. -He kept on chuckling to himself as if he had given utterance to one of -the best jokes that ever was heard. - -"What's that?" - -It was queer to notice how, in an instant, all signs of amusement fled. -He gripped the rim of the massive table, as if seeking its support. He -cast a stealthy glance about him. He stood and listened, seeming to -hold his breath to enable him to do it better. The man's real self -peeped from his eyes. His whole bearing suggested fear. - -There was a perfect silence for some moments. Then he drew a long -breath. - -"It's nothing." He began again to tug at his beard, as if mechanically. -"What a little upsets a man if he is in the mood." He glanced at his -watch, seeming, as he did so, to make a mental calculation. "It's time -that some of them were here." He paused, the remainder of his speech -apparently referring to some other theme. "I hope that one can rely -upon them sometimes--that one may take it that the guardians of law and -order do not always blunder. I suppose that we are shadowed. I suppose, -too, that they will make no movement until they have received ocular -demonstration of the fact that all of them are here. What's that?" - -Again there was a sudden, startling change in Mr. Pendarvon's outward -bearing. Obviously his every faculty was strained in the act of -listening. So far as an ordinary observer would have been able to judge -there did not appear to be a sound. Yet it is not improbable that -something had made itself audible to Mr. Pendarvon's unusually keen -sense of hearing, because presently a slight click was heard, as it -seemed, within the wall itself upon his right. - -"Number one!" - -Mr. Pendarvon's state of tension seemed to slightly decrease. The wall -upon his right was panelled from floor to ceiling. One of the panels -Mr. Pendarvon slipped aside, and, in doing so, revealed a dial-plate of -peculiar construction, which apparently had some connection with -electricity. On it was a prominent figure 2. Beneath it a needle made -three separate strokes. A large 1 appeared. Then three more separate -strokes. Then another prominent 2. On the appearance of the second 2, -on Mr. Pendarvon's touching an ivory button, the whole thing performed -a complete revolution, and a sound as of a gong was heard. - -While the gong still continued to vibrate, a voice was heard outside -the door exclaiming "Reginald!" - -The announcement of the name seemed to precipitate Mr. Pendarvon back -into his former condition of uneasiness. - -"The man himself," he muttered. Then, by way of an afterthought, with a -smile which by no means suggested mirth, "I wonder if they saw him -come." - -He seemed to hesitate, then, with an effort, to pull himself together. - -"The honourable member should not be kept waiting." - -As he made this observation to himself, with another mirthless grin, he -pressed a second button, which was on the other side of the dial. -Immediately the door without swung open. - -In another moment Mr. Reginald Townsend appeared upon the threshold of -the door. - -"A trifle slow to-night, Pendarvon--eh?" - -Mr. Pendarvon admitted the soft impeachment. - -"I'm afraid that this time, perhaps, I am. You've caught me napping. I -was just putting the things in order when you came." - -"Putting the things in order! I see. The things want putting in order, -Pendarvon--eh?" - -"There is a certain amount of work which has to be done, which, of -course, by virtue of my office"--this with a sneer which, perhaps, the -speaker found it impossible to suppress--"I have to do." - -"By virtue of your office; yes." Mr. Pendarvon looked up at Mr. -Townsend, only, as it were, by accident and for a moment; then his -glance went back again. "It would be a fine night if it were not for -the mist which is in the air. One now and then can get peeps at the -stars beyond. But this mist gives me a chill." - -"It's warm enough in here." - -"Oh, yes, it's sufficiently warm in here." - -In each man's manner there was something which was distinctly out of -the ordinary, and the strangest part of it was that, though each was, -as a rule, as keen an observer as one might easily meet, neither seemed -to realise that there was anything unusual in the bearing of the other. -Mr. Pendarvon was restless, fidgety, fussy, continually on the watch -for something to happen, not in the room, but out of it. He was like a -person who has an appointment of the first importance, and who is -devoured with anxiety lest the individual with whom he has the -appointment should fail to keep it. Mr. Townsend's mood, on the other -hand, seemed almost transcendental. His physical beauty, uncommon both -in type and in degree, seemed to-night to have positively increased. It -was almost startling. He seemed, too, to have increased in height. He -bore himself with an unconscious grace which displayed his splendid -figure to singular advantage. His head was thrown a little back from -his shoulders, and in his eyes and in the whole expression of his face -there was something which suggested rapturous calm. One felt that, -whatever happened, this man's mind would be at ease. He recalled the -soldier who, having volunteered for a forlorn hope, advances to meet -death, and worse than death, with a smile. - -It is probably when our soldiers have been in just that mood that they -have done the deeds which have seemed to the world to be miracles of -valour. It is when one cares for nothing that, sometimes, one can do -anything. - -Each of these men, however, seemed to be so preoccupied in his affairs -that he noticed nothing uncommon in the other. Mr. Pendarvon fidgeted -about the room. He set the chairs straight, the decanters on the table. -He occupied himself with a dozen trifling things which scarcely seemed -to stand in need of his attention. Mr. Townsend stood in front of the -huge, old-fashioned fireplace paying no sort of heed to the other's -fussiness, seeming indeed to be in a condition of mind which, -psychologically, approximated to a waking dream. - -Although he took no notice of the fit of fidgets with which Mr. -Pendarvon seemed to be afflicted, his very calmness caused that -gentleman to seem still more ill at ease. More than once he seemed to -be on the point of saying something and then to stop short as if for -want of being able to find something appropriate to say. - -At last he did hit upon a sufficiently apposite remark. - -"They're late to-night." - -The sound of his voice seemed to rouse Mr. Townsend to the fact of Mr. -Pendarvon's presence. - -"They are a little late to-night, Pendarvon." He looked at his watch. -"Indeed! Is it possible that they may have neglected to make a note of -the occasion?" - -Mr. Pendarvon laughed--again not merrily. - -"I don't think there is much fear of that. They're sure to come, if -only for their own safety's sake." Again the cheerless grin. "Possibly -they're trying to get their spirits up by putting the spirits down upon -the way. Hark! there's some one coming now." - -There was a silence as the two men listened, with their eyes upon the -dial-plate which Mr. Pendarvon had left exposed. It repeated the -performance with which it had announced Mr. Townsend's arrival. - -"You have good ears, Pendarvon. I heard nothing." - -Mr. Pendarvon admitted that it was so. - -"I have good ears." - -He spoke with a dryness which seemed to be unnecessarily significant. -He sounded the gong. There was a voice without. - -"Henry!" - -"Dear Mr. Shepherd. You may let him in." - -The door swung open. There entered a tall man, with long grey hair, -clad in the attire of a superior mechanic. He had a silent face--the -face of a man who can be silent in very many tongues--and the eyes of a -man who sees visions. He vouchsafed no sort of greeting, but at once -sat down on one of the chairs which stood around the table. - -Mr. Townsend looked at him as one looks at an object which one finds an -interesting study. - -"I trust, Mr. Shepherd, that you may have fortune in drawing the lot -to-night." - -Mr. Shepherd opened his lips, which hitherto he had kept hermetically -closed. He spoke with a nasal twang which suggested a certain type of -prayer-meeting. - -"Not to-night: my hour is not yet." - -"Indeed! May I ask when your hour is likely to be?" - -"I seek not to inquire." - -The hint which Mr. Shepherd intended to convey was unmistakable. Mr. -Pendarvon laughed. Mr. Townsend stared. Before the latter could speak -again the dial-plate repeated its previous performances. This time two -voices answered to the summons of the gong. - -The door opened to admit Mr. Teddy Hibbard and his inseparable friend, -Mr. Eugene Silvester. - -They were both of them boys, rather than men, and were obviously -members of that class which, in a more advanced stage of social -organisation, will probably, during its salad days, be detained in some -kindly institution, the inmates of which will be gently, yet firmly, -persuaded to do themselves as little injury as they conveniently can. -They grow out of it, some of these young men, in time. But one had only -to look at this particular two to see that, with them, that time was -scarcely yet. - -The bell, being started, was kept rolling. One after the other the -members of the Club came in. A heterogeneous gathering they were. One -wondered what some of them did in such a galley. They seemed to be so -oddly out of place. - -At last, with two exceptions, all the members were assembled. One of -the exceptions was Lord Archibald Beaupré. His absence was the cause, -not only of comment, but, as time went on, and still he did not come, -of obvious uneasiness to some of those who had arrived. Tell-tale looks -came on their faces. They eyed each other, as it were, askance. They -not only inquired of one another why it was he did not come, but they -made the same inquiry of themselves with still more emphasis. The -appearance of indifference with which, at first, they had treated the -absent member's tardiness became less and less convincing. It was he -who last had drawn the lot. It was he who had to do something for the -Honour of the Club. - -What was it which had detained him? - -Mr. Pendarvon, who, plainly, was not the least uneasy of those who were -present in the room, addressed an inquiry to Mr. Townsend. - -"You are Beaupré's _fidus achates_, Townsend. When did you see him -last?" - -Mr. Townsend had evidently shown an indifference to the fact of Lord -Archibald Beaupré's non-arrival which evidently in his case was not -assumed. He looked at Mr. Pendarvon a moment before he answered, and -when he did answer his manner, although completely courteous, was -hardly genial. - -"For information of Lord Archibald Beaupré I must refer you--to Lord -Archibald Beaupré." - -Mr. Pendarvon seemed to relish neither the look with which he had been -favoured nor the answer. Indeed, Mr. Townsend's manner, even more than -his answer, seemed to increase the general feeling of uneasiness which -was beginning to dominate the room. - -Suddenly there was the sound of a click. With a rapidity which, in its -way, was comic, all eyes were fixed upon the dial-plate. Its mechanism -had been set in motion. The familiar movements followed. - -"There he is!" exclaimed a voice. - -Mr. Silvester added, with a show of hilarity which was slightly forced, -"Better late than never!" - -Mr. Pendarvon sounded the gong, seemingly in a state of fevered -agitation. - -"Stephen!" exclaimed a voice. - -A blank look came on some of the faces. - -"It isn't Beaupré; it's Kendrick!" - -Colonel Kendrick was the other member who had not yet put in an -appearance. His absence had gone almost unnoticed. He had to do nothing -for the Honour of the Club--as yet. - -Colonel Kendrick came into the room. He was a thickset, -soldierly-looking man, with a slight grey moustache and a pair of bold, -unflinching eyes. He bowed as he came in, speaking in that short, -crisp, staccato tone of voice which is apt to mark the man who has been -accustomed to command. - -"Gentlemen, I have to apologise to you for my delay." He turned to Mr. -Townsend. "I have to inform you, Mr. Townsend, that Mr. Pendarvon has -set the police upon your track." - - - - - CHAPTER XL. - - MR. TOWNSEND REACHES HOME. - - -The members, for the most part, stared at the Colonel. Then they stared -at one another. They did not seem to understand. Mr. Townsend looked at -the Colonel, then at Mr. Pendarvon. Mr. Pendarvon, with twitching lips -and dilated eyes, was leaning, as if for support, against the -dial-plate. - -"Pendarvon, I am waiting for you to contradict what Kendrick has said." - -Mr. Pendarvon was making an effort to control his faculty of speech. - -"It's false." - -Mr. Townsend turned to the Colonel. - -"You hear what he says?" - -The Colonel pointed at Mr. Pendarvon. - -"And you see how he says it." They did see. The disclosure of his -treachery, being premature, had taken Mr. Pendarvon unawares. It had, -unfortunately, caused him to lose his nerve. He stood crouching against -the wall, trembling, like a cur, in terror of what might be to come. - -The man's guilt was self-confessed. They perceived that it was so with -a stupefaction which made them dumb. - -Colonel Kendrick went on. - -"I have a cousin at Scotland Yard. He has just now told me that, this -morning, they received information of the existence of an organisation -called the Murder Club. They had been told that the individual who was -actually responsible for the Three Bridges Tragedy was a member of the -Club. His name was Reginald Townsend. I asked who was their informant. -I was told that it was a man named Cecil Pendarvon. So, gentlemen, the -person who is responsible for the position in which we find ourselves -is the one who has given us away." - -One or two of the members made a half-unconscious movement forward. -Mr. Pendarvon seemed to endeavour to huddle himself closer to the -dial-plate. - -"My cousin informed me that the club was to meet tonight, and that a -coup was to be made while the members were in actual assembly. I have -hurried straight from my cousin here. I have some acquaintance with the -personnel of Scotland Yard. As I approached these premises I recognised -one or two individuals whom I knew by sight. Mr. Townsend, the police -are at the door waiting to receive the signal to effect your capture." - -Of all those present Mr. Townsend seemed the least affected by the -Colonel's communication. It was the humorous side of the situation -which seemed to strike him first. - -"It is the unexpected happens, my dear Kendrick. I do believe that all -the wisdom of the world is contained in that one phrase. The blow has -come from the quarter from which I least expected it. Mr. Pendarvon, I -presume that you are acquainted with the rule which you yourself -framed, and which lays down the measure which is to be meted out to -traitors." - -Mr. Townsend moved towards Mr. Pendarvon. Snatching a revolver from his -pocket, Mr. Pendarvon pointed it in the face of the man he had -betrayed. In an instant Colonel Kendrick had struck it from his hand. -One barrel was discharged harmlessly as it fell. Immediately a dozen -weapons were in a dozen hands. Mr. Townsend retained his appearance of -perfect ease. Standing in front of Mr. Pendarvon, he regarded that -gentleman with courteous contempt which caused him, literally, to seem -to wither. - -"Well done!" - -The tranquil scorn of Mr. Townsend's tone seemed to affect Mr. -Pendarvon as if it had been vitriol. He writhed. - -"You--you hound!" he spluttered. - -Mr. Townsend merely repeated his former commendation, which the other -received as if it had been a scorpion's lash. - -"Well done!" - -There was a click. Mr. Pendarvon's body was obscuring the dial-plate. -With scant ceremony, the Colonel thrust him aside. The dial had made a -new departure. It displayed the figure 3. - -The Colonel spoke. - -"I fancy we may take it that that is the signal which Mr. Pendarvon has -arranged with his policemen friends. It is they who have given it, -being now outside the door. I imagine, gentlemen, that, so far as we -are concerned, we have but little to fear. Be so good, some one, as to -tear that book and to burn it." - -The Colonel pointed to the manuscript book in the beautiful crimson -cover. Some one snatched it up. In a moment it was in pieces and the -pieces were in flames. Mr. Pendarvon made a movement as if he would -have done something to check the destruction of so important a witness. -The Colonel checked him with a word. - -"Stand still!" And Mr. Pendarvon was still. The Colonel turned to Mr. -Townsend. "It is you who have most to fear. Can you suggest how you may -be able to effect your escape?" - -"Unless Mr. Pendarvon has romanced, he has not only provided the trap, -but also the means of escape from the trap which he has baited--unless, -I say, he has romanced. We shall see. Good-bye, Pendarvon." - -With a gesture of careless insolence, with his open palm, Mr. Townsend -struck Mr. Pendarvon lightly across the face. That was too much even -for Mr. Pendarvon. He sprang at Mr. Townsend. Mr. Townsend knocked him -down. Being down, he seemed to deem it wiser, on the whole, to stay -there. - -A voice was heard without--a peremptory voice, an official voice. - -"Open this door immediately, or we shall break it down!" - -Mr. Townsend gave a mocking rejoinder. - -"Break it down; by all means, break it down!" He went to the fireplace; -he stood within it. He turned to the assembled company. "We shall meet -again--at Philippi!" - -He grasped the first two stanchions and was immediately out of sight. - -"Count twelve," he told himself as he climbed. "This is the twelfth. -Put out your hand to the right, and you will feel a bolt. This does -feel like a bolt, and a door. After all, Pendarvon, you're not such a -liar as you might have been." - -Scrambling through the door which he had thrust open, Mr. Townsend -found himself standing on what was evidently thereof. It was flat just -there. In front of him was a high brick wall, which served as a base -for a stack of chimneys. - -He stood for some seconds listening. He could distinctly hear voices -ascending from the room below. - -"I wonder what they will do to our friend Pendarvon, and how long they -will keep those dear policemen out--if I shall have time to do what I -have to do. Keep moving, sir! The moments are all that you can call -your own." - -He went forward, keeping the stack of chimneys on his left. - -"Hallo! There's the edge of the roof! Yes, and here's a rail and a -bridge--all spoken of by our friend Pendarvon. To essay the great act -of crossing the bridge!" - -He stepped on to the plank. It quivered beneath his weight. - -"This bridge is of somewhat rickety construction and the rail -unsteady." - -When about half-way across he paused. The plank seemed to be bending -double. He peered into the depths below. - -"It occurs to me that it would not be a difficult business to smash -this bridge into two clean halves as I stand here. That might be an -easy way to end it all. But it will not serve. There is that which I -must do." - -He moved on more rapidly. The frail planking shuddered and shook; -it swung in the air. More than once it seemed as if the tall, -quickly-moving figure was supported upon nothing. But the bridge became -firmer as he approached the opposite side. He put out his hand to the -left, feeling for what Mr. Pendarvon told him he would find there. - -"The ladder! As he said, straight against the wall. Bravo! Now, if the -house is only empty, the thing is done!" - -The house was empty, and the thing was done. It all happened as Mr. -Pendarvon had said it would. He ascended the ladder, raised the -unlatched window frame, struck a light, passed through the empty house, -and into the street beyond. He found a cab, and, ere long, he was at -Albert Gate. - -As he stepped out of the cab some one touched him on the shoulder from -behind. He turned sharply round, thinking, perhaps, that he had but -escaped from one pitfall to fall at once into another. - -But it was not so. The person whom he found himself confronting was -that recalcitrant member of the Murder Club, Lord Archibald Beaupré. - -"You! Well?" - -This was Mr. Townsend's greeting. Lord Archibald's response was a -little delayed. When it did come it came in a hoarse whisper from -between tremulous lips. - -"Why did you do it?" - -"Do what?" - -Lord Archibald, leaning forward, whispered something into Mr. -Townsend's ear. - -"I was afraid, my dear Archie, that you might be a quarter of an hour -too late." Mr. Townsend paused, looking at, without seeming to notice, -the other's ashen countenance. "Is she dead?" - -"No." - -"Will she die?" - -"No." - -There was silence. Then Lord Archibald went on, rendered almost -voiceless by contending emotions, "I was there in time; you should have -waited." - -"As I tell you, my dear Archie, it was a question of a quarter of an -hour." - -"When I got there the house was in commotion. They had found her lying -in the hall, as you had left her. She was regaining consciousness as I -arrived. When she saw me she made me stoop down and she whispered to -me. She told me that it was you who had done it, and that you did it -just as she was starting to save you." - -"She has, perhaps, her own notions of salvation." - -"I think she meant it. She said she was coming to warn you against a -man named Haines." - -"Haines? Indeed! That is the second time I have been warned against a -man named Haines. By the way, I have just come from Horseferry Road. -Pendarvon has given the show away." - -"Pendarvon?" - -"Yes, Pendarvon. He has, what I believe old-fashioned thieves used to -call, blown the gaff. The place is in the hands of the police. I -escaped up the chimney. I expect that the gentlemen in blue will soon -be here. I have no doubt that already they have missed me and are hot -upon my trail." - -"Reggie!" - -In Lord Archibald's voice there was something which sounded very like a -sob. - -"Don't worry about me, dear boy. For me, anyhow, all things are over. -You'll be all right. After all, it was lucky for you that I was first -upon the scene." Having paused, he added, "Tell her, when she is all -right again, as you seem to think she will be, that I am sorry I did -it. She should have left me a wider option." - -"I don't believe she means to give you away. When the policemen asked -her who had done it she said that the man was a stranger to her. She -had never seen him in her life before." - -"Did she, indeed? How very odd! They tell you not to trust a woman. My -experience teaches me not to trust a man. One thing I do regret. I -should have liked to have killed Pendarvon. Archie, I want you to do me -a favour--to take a message." - -"To whom?" - -"To Miss Jardine. Will you do it?" - -"Yes." - -The speaker's voice was even more husky than before. - -Mr. Townsend scribbled a few words on a page of his pocket-book. -Tearing out the leaf, he handed it to Lord Archibald Beaupré. - -"Give her that. Not necessarily at once, but some time when the thing's -all over. And tell her----" He stopped; then, with a smile, went on, -"Yes, tell her that I loved her, but that already, when my love for her -was born, it was too late." - -"I'll tell her. What are you going to do yourself?" - -"Do? Wait; they'll soon be here. I have one or two matters which will -occupy me till they come. Good-bye." - -He held out his hand. The other grasped it in his own. - -"By ----, Reggie, I had almost sooner that it had been I." - -"Don't be an ass, dear boy. Slip across the water till the wind has -blown a little of the dust away." - -He nodded, moved quickly across the pavement, and disappeared into the -house. Lord Archibald Beaupré was left standing in the street, -clutching the sheet of paper tightly in his hand. - -As Mr. Townsend entered a woman came forward to greet him. She wore an -air of considerable concern. - -"Oh, Mr. Townsend, sir, I'm so glad it's you. Burton's out, and -something has happened which has quite upset me. - -"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Lane, that you should have been upset. What has -upset you?" - -"There's been a man who wanted to see you--leastways, he didn't look as -if he was a gentleman, and he didn't behave like one. I told him you -weren't in, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. He pushed right past -me and marched straight into your room, and said he'd wait until you -came. He's been there an hour or more; and I just went in to say that I -really didn't think it was any use his waiting when I was taken quite -aback to find that the room was empty and that he wasn't there." - -"That, probably, was because he had gone. Let us trust that the spoons -have not gone too!" - -"Oh, sir, I do trust they haven't. But what makes it seem so queer to -me is that I have been watching all the time, and haven't seen a -creature leave the room." - -"Possibly, Mrs. Lane, he has vanished into air." - -Laughing at her as he passed, Mr. Townsend went into his room. - - - - - CHAPTER XLI. - - TAKING LEAVE. - - -It was a handsome room, that in which Mr. Townsend, when at home, -passed the larger portion of his waking hours--large, lofty, -well-proportioned. The walls were wainscoted. Here and there was a -piece of tapestry. Curtains suggested, rather than screened, an -occasional recess. Veiled, too, were entrances to rooms beyond. A -window, running from floor to ceiling, extended on one side of the -room, almost from wall to wall. Had it been daytime, one would have -seen that it overlooked Hyde Park. - -On his entrance Mr. Townsend went immediately to the portrait of the -girl which stood up on his mantelboard. He looked at it long and -earnestly. He took it out of its frame. He kissed it, not once or -twice, but a dozen times at least. He regarded it with something of the -veneration which the religious Russian peasant regards his Icon. - -"Dora!" he murmured. "Dora!" Then, with a smile, "What might have -been!" - -Gripping the portrait with both his hands, he began to tear it into -two; then stopped. - -"It seems almost like sacrilege." He kissed the face again. "It would -be a sacrilege to let it fall into their hands as evidence that she had -endured the contamination of my acquaintance." - -He tore the portrait, not only into halves, but into fragments, and the -fragments he cast upon the fire. As the flames consumed them he made a -little gesture towards them with his hands. - -"Good-bye!" - -He picked up several knick-knacks which were about the room and -examined them, as if he were considering what ought to be their fate. -Some of them, which bore unmistakable traces of feminine handiwork and -taste, he threw, after the portrait, into the fire. He opened a large -despatch-box which stood upon a table at one side. From among its varied -contents he took all sorts of things--a glove, a knot of ribbon, a menu -card, some programmes of dances, a chocolate bonbon, a variety of -trivial impedimenta with which one would hardly have thought such a man -would have cared to be troubled. Last of all he took out four or five -envelopes addressed to himself in what was evidently a woman's hand. - -"My love letters!--love letters! I doubt if there was a word of love in -one of them, except that which came to me this morning. In our -courtship hitherto love letters have scarcely entered. There has been -no opportunity. It is another case of what might have been--and yet -these are my love letters, for they were written by her hand, and these -are my love tokens, because they are tokens of certain passages which -she has had with me. Nor must they become their spoil. These sort of -tales find their way into so many sorts of papers that, for her sake, -it is well that I have had time enough to destroy what might tend to -show that I ever was engaged--save the mark!--to marry Miss Jardine." - -He threw the letters and the various trivialities together into the -fire, breaking up the coals to enable them to burn the faster. He stood -watching their destruction. When they were entirely consumed he turned -away, the finger of his right hand in his waistcoat pocket, apparently -feeling for something which was there. - -"I think that that is all; now I'm ready." - -"That, young man, is just as well, because so am I." - -The voice came from behind his back. Mr. Townsend showed no sign of -being startled, nor did he evince any anxiety to turn and inquire into -the speaker's personality. He stood, for a moment, as if he was -endeavouring to recall to his memory the tones of the speaker's voice. -He turned at last, at his leisure, and with a smile-- - -"Mr. Haines?" - -It was Mr. Haines. His sudden appearance was explained by the fact that -he had obviously just stepped from behind a pair of curtains which -concealed the entrance to an inner room. He still held one of the -curtains in his hand. He eyed Mr. Townsend in silence, one hand being -in suggestive proximity to the hip pocket in his trousers in which the -Westerner is apt to keep his gun. - -"Yes, I am Mr. Haines." - -"I am glad to have the pleasure of seeing you, Mr. Haines. Might I ask -you to be good enough to select your own chair?" - -Mr. Haines took no notice of Mr. Townsend's gesture of almost -exaggerated courtesy. Manner and tone alike were dogged. - -"I've been watching you." - -"I am gratified to think that any action of mine should have been -esteemed worthy your attention." - -"The woman said that you weren't in. I said I'd wait. I knew you'd -come. She fidgeted. So I stepped behind the curtains. I thought trouble -might be saved." - -"It was very thoughtful, Mr. Haines, of you, indeed." - -Mr. Haines moved away from the curtains. He came farther into the room, -his hand still in the neighbourhood of his pistol pocket, his eyes -never wandering from Mr. Townsend's face. - -"Last night I reckoned with your brother." - -"My brother?" - -"He says he is your brother. He let it out as I was laying into him. -And he's about your style all over. He calls himself Stewart -Trevannion, and he's a thief, but not near such a thief as you." - -"Is that so? May I inquire, Mr. Haines, what I have done that you -should say I am a thief?" - -"You've stole my girl." - -"Your girl?" Mr. Townsend raised his eyebrows slightly, but still -sufficiently for the movement to be perceptible. "Are you alluding to -Mrs. Carruth?" - -"Mrs. Carruth? No, young man, I am not alluding, as you call it, to -Mrs. Carruth." - -"I thought that Mrs. Carruth could hardly be adequately described as a -girl." - -"Is it sneering at Mrs. Carruth you are?" - -Mr. Haines's idiom, on the sudden, became flavoured with, as it were, a -reminiscence of Ireland. - -"I trust that I never, Mr. Haines, shall be guilty of so heinous a -crime as sneering at a lady. I believe that I am merely asserting a -fact in venturing to express an opinion that Mrs. Carruth can hardly be -adequately described as a girl." - -Mr. Townsend's exaggeration of courtesy, suggesting more than it -expressed, seemed to be something for which Mr. Haines was unprepared. -He hesitated, as if in doubt; then repeated his previous assertion. - -"You've stole my girl, and I've come to call you to account." - -"I am unconscious of having conveyed from you any property of the kind. -Of whom are you speaking as your girl?" - -"My Loo." - -"Your----" Mr. Townsend obviously started, regaining his -self-possession only after a momentary pause. "I am still, Mr. Haines, -so unfortunate as to be unable to follow you." - -"Whether she was known to you as Louisa Haines, or Louise O'Donnel, or -Milly Carroll, she was my girl. You stole her. You killed her. I am -here to kill you for it." - -There was silence. The two men eyed each other. Mr. Haines with that -sullen, dogged look upon his face which it was used to wear; Mr. -Townsend with the natural expression of the man who has just been told -a sudden startling, wholly unexpected piece of news. He seemed to find -it so startling a piece of news as to be almost incredible. - -"Is it possible, Mr. Haines, that the lady whom I knew as Louise -O'Donnel was your child?" - - -[Illustration: "'Remove your hand, Sir!'" _Page_ 339] - - -"She was: my only child--my one ewe lamb. You took her life. What have -you to say why I shouldn't have your life for hers?" - -"Only that it is the unexpected happens. I may tell you, twice I have -been advised to beware of you. I had no notion what was your cause of -quarrel. Now that I do know, I admit its perfect justice." - -"Put up your hands." - -Mr. Haines flashed a revolver in the air. Mr. Townsend remained -unmoved; he simply looked at Mr. Haines and smiled. - -"I am afraid that I must decline to obey you, literally, Mr. Haines. We -do not do it quite that way this side. To an English taste the method -seems a little bizarre. But I will undertake to offer no resistance. -Nor to move. So far as I am concerned, you may shoot. I'm ready." - -Mr. Haines moved a step or two forward. He pointed his revolver at Mr. -Townsend's head, pointed it with a hand which did not tremble. There -was an interval of silence. They steadfastly regarded each other, -neither moving so much as an eyelash. - -"You've grit. Which is what your brother'd like to swallow." - -"It pleases you to say so. I would not wish to put you to -inconvenience, but if you will permit me to advise you you will shoot -and waste no time. Time is precious. I happen to know that, if you -waste it, others may cheat you of your prey." - -Mr. Haines lowered his revolver. - -"I reckoned to shoot you on sight. It's not because you've grit I -don't. Don't you think it. I've seen men like you before. A few. Some -of them with grit enough to dare the devil to do his level worst when -he gets them down to hell. Grit's just an accident. It don't count with -me neither one way nor the other. Young man, I'm going to make you an -offer." - -"Make it." - -"There are two things I've had to live for. Just two. No more. You've -robbed me of them both. My girl, and the heart which I reckoned to have -one day for mine." - -"If, as I presume, this time it is Mrs. Carruth to whom you are -referring, I do protest with all my heart that you are welcome to her -heart, Mr. Haines." - -"It's not your consent I should be asking. No. It's hers. I've asked -for it. In vain. I reckon that with nothing to live for living isn't -worth it. I've another gun in here." Mr. Haines produced a second -revolver from one of his tail pockets. Mr. Townsend smiled. "What are -you laughing at, young man?" - -"You must forgive me. You reminded me for a moment of a pirate king of -whom I used to read in my boyish days, whose habit it was to carry an -arsenal about with him wherever he might go." - -"Laugh on. One of these guns is for you, the other gun's for me. We are -going to shoot each other." - -"Excuse me, we are not." - -"I say we are." Mr. Townsend slightly shrugged his shoulders. The -gesture seemed to anger Mr. Haines. He went still closer to him. "You -are going to put the muzzle of one gun to my forehead, and I'm going to -put the muzzle of the other gun to yours, and we're going to fire -together on the word." - -"I beg ten thousand pardons for being constrained to contradict you, -but--we are not." - -"I say we are." Again the only response was a movement of Mr. -Townsend's shoulders. "Take hold of the gun." - -Mr. Haines endeavoured to thrust one of the revolvers into Mr. -Townsend's hand. - -"Not I." - -"Take hold of the gun!" - -Mr. Haines, on Mr. Townsend's betraying an inclination to remove -himself from too near neighbourhood, caught him by the shoulder. - -"Remove your hand, sir. I have no objection to your shooting me. But to -your touching me while I am still alive I have." - -"You hearken to what I say, young man. Take hold of this gun!" - -Mr. Haines endeavoured to subject Mr. Townsend to what, in the nursery, -is called a shaking. - -"If you attempt to do that again, Mr. Haines, I shall be under the -disagreeable necessity of knocking you down--before the shooting." - -Mr. Haines attempted to do it again. Mr. Townsend tried to knock Mr. -Haines down. Mr. Haines was not to be easily felled. Bursting into -sudden passion, he seized Mr. Townsend by both shoulders. His two -"guns" fell, unnoticed, to the ground. With commendable promptness Mr. -Townsend returned the compliment which had been accorded him by -clutching Mr. Haines. They clenched, struggled, and together fell to -the floor. - -On the floor they continued to discuss to the best of their ability the -side issue which Mr. Haines had raised. - -So engrossed were they with their own proceedings that they failed to -notice the sudden opening of the door, followed by the unannounced -entrance into the room of four or five men. One of them moved quickly -to where the two combatants were contending on the floor. He placed his -hand on Mr. Townsend's shoulder. - -"You are my prisoner, Mr. Townsend. I arrest you on the charge of -murder." - -The sound of Mr. Holman's voice--for Matthew Holman was the -speaker--did produce a diversion of the interest. The two men ceased to -struggle. Then, being suffered to do so by Mr. Haines, Mr. Townsend -rose to his feet. As he did so, some one who had come into the room -with the police broke into laughter as he pointed at him with his -finger. It was Mr. Pendarvon. - -"Yes, officer, that's your man. That's Townsend, the Three Bridges -murderer." - -Mr. Pendarvon's merriment seemed out of place. He had cause to exchange -it for something else a moment afterwards. - -Mr. Townsend turned to Mr. Holman. - -"As this person says, I am the man you want. And----" He paused; before -they had a notion of what it was he intended to do, rushing forward, he -had caught Mr. Pendarvon in his arms and borne him completely from his -feet. "You are just the man I want." - -Mr. Townsend's movements were so rapid that, before they could do -anything to stop him, he had carried his victim right across the room, -and, brushing aside the curtains, with a tremendous splintering of -glass, had crashed with him through the closed windows into the night -beyond. - -"All right," cried Mr. Holman, as, too late to check his progress, the -constables rushed after him. "There are some of the other chaps out -there. They'll have him." - -From Mr. Holman's point of view it proved to be all right. The drop -from the window was only six or seven feet. By the time Mr. Holman had -reached it Mr. Townsend was already again in the hands of the police. -The detective shouted his instructions through the shattered pane. - -"Put the handcuffs on him." - -A voice replied from below-- - -"They are on him. He has almost killed this other man." - -Mr. Townsend was heard speaking with a most pronounced drawl. - -"Almost! Not quite! That's a pity. Still, 'twill serve. Officer, will -you allow me to use my handkerchief; my mouth is bleeding?" - -He succeeded, in spite of his handcuffed wrists, in withdrawing a -handkerchief from an inner pocket of his coat. He pressed it, for a -moment, to his lips. When he removed it, he tossed something into the -air. - -"Done you!" he cried. "Hurrah!" - -There was an exclamation from the officer who was in charge of him. - -"He has taken something. I can smell it." - -"Yes," said Mr. Townsend, "I have taken leave." There was a small -commotion. Mr. Townsend, reeling, would have fallen to the ground had -he not been supported by the sergeant's arms. The man leaned over him -to smell his breath. He, probably, was something of a chemist. -"Hydrocyanic acid!" he exclaimed. "He is dead." - - - - - CHAPTER XLII. - - HAND IN HAND. - - -Mrs. Tennant had obtained permission to see her husband in prison once -before he was hung to say good-bye. She was starting upon the errand -now--alone. - -She had resolved to go alone. She had battled out the question with -herself, upon her knees, in prayer, and it seemed to her that, of many -alternatives, she had not chosen the worst. She would have with her -neither his mother, nor hers, nor any of their kith and kin. The horror -of the memory of that parting should be hers alone. - -Nor would she take their little child, their Minna. That was for the -child's sake. The father might, perhaps, be glad to see, once more, his -darling, even though it was through iron bars. But the child must be -considered. The picture of that last parting might, and probably would, -be impinged upon the retina of the child's brain, never to be -obliterated. It might haunt her through the years, colour the whole of -her life. - -When Mrs. Tennant was ready to start, while she was still in the -privacy of her own room, she knelt upon the floor and drew the little -child into her arms. - -"Minna, I am going to see papa. Shall I tell him that you send your -love?" - -A small, pleading face looked into hers. - -"Can't I come with you? I want to see him too." - -"I cannot take you with me, Minna, but I will take your love. I think -it would please papa to know you sent it." - -"Of course you are to tell papa I love him. He knows I do. And, mamma, -you're to give him that." The child kissed her mother. "And you're to -tell him that he is to come back soon." - -Mrs. Tennant went with the little one downstairs, not daring to trust -herself in further speech. Her mother came to receive the child, and to -put to her a last inquiry. - -"Are you quite sure, Lucy, that you would not like to have me with -you--nor any one--even as far as Lewes? Consider, dear, all you are -undertaking, and think before you speak." Mrs. Tennant's answer was -quietly conclusive. "I would rather go quite alone, mother, thanking -you." There was a knocking at the hall door. Since bad news had come -crowding so fast upon the household, every fresh knock had seemed to be -the precursor of more ill-tidings. The two women looked at each other -with frightened faces, a question in their very silence. While they -still were looking there came, bursting into the room, no less a -personage than that eminent counsel, Bates, Q.C., who had defended Mr. -Tennant at his trial. - -Mr. Bates seemed to be in a condition of very unlawyerlike excitement. - -"Mrs. Tennant, I bring you good news!" - -Mrs. Tennant shrunk back. - -"Good news! For me!" - -"The best of all possible news. I have only just heard it. I have come -rushing off at once to tell you. Your husband is pardoned!" - -"Pardoned! Do you mean that his sentence is commuted?" - -"Nothing of the sort! He is a free man--as free as air! He has told us -all along the absolute truth. He had nothing to do with the woman -falling out of the carriage--she isn't even dead! It's an extraordinary -story, and you shall hear all the details another time; but he had no -more to do with the death of the poor girl who actually was murdered -than you or I. Mrs. Tennant, your husband is a hardly used and a deeply -injured man." - -Mrs. Tennant had sunk into a chair. She was crying. Mr. Bates blew his -nose; he wiped his eyes. - -"Don't cry madam, don't cry! This isn't a case for tears! I am told -that a Queen's messenger is taking the official pardon to Lewes by the -next train. If you make haste, you'll be able to travel with him. And -I'll come with you if you like!" - -"Thank you, Mr. Bates, I will go alone." - -And, practically, she went alone. In the same compartment of the train -was the official messenger, but they did not exchange half a dozen -words. Sitting in a corner of the railway carriage, with her veil down, -she cried all the way to Lewes, smiling through her tears. They had a -carriage from the station up to the prison on the hill. And Mrs. -Tennant was suffered to be the bearer of the glad tidings to her -husband. - -In the condemned cell, locked in each other's arms, the man and woman -cried as if their hearts would break. - -And very shortly the prison gates closed after them, as, out of the -valley of the shadow of death, they passed to face the world again, the -husband and the wife, together, hand in hand. - - - - THE END. - - - - - - UNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON. - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Crime and the Criminal, by Richard Marsh - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRIME AND THE CRIMINAL *** - -***** This file should be named 40348-8.txt or 40348-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/3/4/40348/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books - -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. 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