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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40348 ***
+
+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 facetiæ 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
+personæ_--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
+personæ_--"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 THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40348 ***
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-08-08 10:30:56 +0000