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diff --git a/43288-8.txt b/43288-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b901182..0000000 --- a/43288-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11780 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Third Volume, by Fergus Hume - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Third Volume - -Author: Fergus Hume - -Release Date: July 24, 2013 [EBook #43288] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THIRD VOLUME *** - - - - -Produced by Suzanne Shell, Ernest Schaal, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - THE THIRD VOLUME - - - - - THE THIRD VOLUME - - BY - FERGUS HUME - _Author of "The Lone Inn," "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," - "The Chinese Jar," Etc._ - - NEW YORK - THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO. - 31 EAST 17TH STREET (UNION SQUARE) - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1894, BY - FERGUS HUME. - - COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY - THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO. - - _All rights reserved._ - - THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, - RAHWAY, N. J. - - - - - Oh, mothers, wisely sang ye, - When oft we went astray, - "Ye weave the ropes to hang ye, - Ye forge the swords to slay." - - The ropes we wove so gladly, - Have robbed us of our breath, - The swords we forged so madly, - Have smitten us to death. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. AN OLD FRIEND, 1 - - II. A MYSTERIOUS COMMUNICATION, 10 - - III. THE REVELATION OF FRANCIS HILLISTON, 19 - - IV. WHAT OCCURRED AT HORRISTON, 27 - - V. A STRANGE COINCIDENCE, 37 - - VI. TRUTH IS STRANGER THAN FICTION, 45 - - VII. "LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE," 52 - - VIII. BOTH SIDES OF THE QUESTION, 61 - - IX. MRS. BEZEL, 67 - - X. A FEW FACTS CONNECTED WITH THE CASE, 78 - - XI. A STARTLING DISCOVERY, 86 - - XII. REVELATIONS, 94 - - XIII. ON THE TRACK, 102 - - XIV. THE UPPER BOHEMIA, 109 - - XV. A POPULAR AUTHOR, 117 - - XVI. A FALSE MOVE, 124 - - XVII. THE HUSBAND AT KENSINGTON GORE, 131 - - XVIII. A DUEL OF WORDS, 138 - - XIX. TAIT BRINGS NEWS, 147 - - XX. A PRÉCIS OF THE CASE, 154 - - XXI. THORSTON, 160 - - XXII. IN THE CHURCH, 168 - - XXIII. FACT AND FICTION, 175 - - XXIV. A NEW SUSPICION, 182 - - XXV. THE RECLUSE, 192 - - XXVI. AN OLD SERVANT, 200 - - XXVII. A GLIMPSE OF THE PAST, 210 - - XXVIII. PREPARING THE GROUND, 220 - - XXIX. KERRY, 228 - - XXX. MRS. BEZEL AGAIN, 235 - - XXXI. AN EVENING AT THE VICARAGE, 241 - - XXXII. THE DISCOVERIES OF SPENSER TAIT, 249 - - XXXIII. THE STORY OF THE MAD GARDENER, 258 - - XXXIV. A LETTER FROM HORRISTON, 268 - - XXXV. THE ORIGINAL OF THE PORTRAIT, 275 - - XXXVI. A STRANGE THING HAPPENS, 282 - - XXXVII. A VOICE FROM THE DEAD, 290 - - XXXVIII. A NEW ASPECT OF THINGS, 299 - - XXXIX. THE GARNET SCARFPIN, 306 - - XL. FACE TO FACE, 314 - - XLI. AN EXPLANATION, 321 - - XLII. THE TRAGEDY OF A WOMAN'S VANITY, 329 - - XLIII. THE LAST APPEARANCE OF FRANCIS HILLISTON, 336 - - XLIV. THE TRUTH, 343 - - XLV. A FEW WORDS BY SPENSER TAIT, 351 - - - - - THE THIRD VOLUME. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - AN OLD FRIEND. - - -WHEN Spenser Tait took his seat at the breakfast table, he cast a look -around, according to custom, to see that all was as orderly as he could -wish. The neatest and most methodical of men, he was positively old -maidish in his love of regularity and tidiness. His valet, Dormer,--with -him for over fifteen years,--had been trained by such long service into -the particular ways of his master, and was almost as exacting as Tait -himself in the matter of domestic details. No woman was permitted to -penetrate into those chambers in Earls Street, St. James'; but had one -been able to do so, she could have found no fault with them, either on -the score of taste or of cleanliness. The shell of this hermit crab was -eloquent of the idiosyncrasies of its tenant. - -The main characteristic of the breakfast room was one of severe -simplicity. The carpet of green drappled brown, the curtains to match, -and the furniture of oak, polished and dark. On the white cloth of the -table an appetizing breakfast was set out in silver and china, and a -vase of flowers showed that the little gentleman was not unmindful of -the requirements of an artistic temperament. Even the _Times_, carefully -cut and warmed, was neatly folded by the silver ringed napkin, and -Dormer, standing stiff and lean by his master's chair, was calmly -satisfied that no fault could be found with his work. For the past -fifteen years, save on occasions of foreign travel, the same etiquette -had been observed, the same actions performed, for, like the laws of the -Medes and Persians, the habits of Tait were fixed and determined. - -He was a pleasant creature of thirty-four years, small in stature, -clean-shaven and brown-locked. His plump little body was clothed in a -well-brushed smoking suit of maroon-colored cloth, his neat feet encased -in slippers of red morocco, and he scanned the room through a -gold-mounted pince nez. Neat and firm as he was, women did not care for -him in the least, and he returned the compliment by heartily disliking -the female sex. Yet with men he was a great favorite, and the members of -his club liked to hear the sententious speeches of this little man, -delivered with point and deliberation in the smoking room from eleven -till midnight. When the clock struck twelve he invariably went to bed, -and no persuasion or temptation could induce him to break this excellent -rule. - -Dormer, a tall, thin man of Kent, who adored his precise master, was -equally as misogynistic as Tait, and silent on all occasions save when -spoken to. Then he replied in dry monosyllables, and stood bolt upright -during such replies, in a military fashion, which he had picked up many -years before in the army. Tait humored his oddities on account of his -fidelity, knowing that this ugly, rough-hewn specimen of humanity was as -true as steel, and entirely devoted to his interests. Nowadays it is -unusual to meet with such equal appreciation between master and servant. - -"I think, Dormer," said Tait, while the man ministered to his wants, -"that you might call at Mudie's this morning and get me a copy of the -new novel, 'A Whim of Fate,' by John Parver. I heard last night that it -contained a description of Thorston." - -"Very good, sir," replied Dormer, noting the name in his pocketbook. - -"And take a seat for me at the Curtain Theater, in the fifth row of the -stalls, not too near the side." - -"Anything else, sir?" - -"I think not," said his master, taking a morsel of toast. "I am going -down to Richmond by the twelve o'clock train to luncheon with Mr. Freak. -Lay out the serge suit." - -Dormer saluted in a military fashion, and disappeared, leaving Tait to -skim the paper and finish his breakfast. Methodical as ever, the little -man first read the leading articles, thence passed to the city news, -perused the general information, and wound up with a glance at the -advertisements. In such order he ever proceeded, and never by any chance -thought of beginning with the advertisements and working back to the -leading article. Habit was everything with Spenser Tait. - -As usual, his day's programme was carefully sketched out, and he knew -what he was about to do with every moment of his time from noon till -midnight. But his plans on this special day were upset at the outset, -for scarcely had he lighted his morning pipe than the door was thrown -open and a visitor was announced. - -"Mr. Larcher," said Dormer stiffly, and ushered in a tall young man with -a bright face and a breezy manner. - -"Hullo, little Tait!" cried the newcomer, hastily striding across the -room; "here I am again. Come from wandering up and down the earth, sir, -like a certain person whom I need not mention." - -"Dear me," said Tait, welcoming his guest with prim kindliness, "it is -Claude Larcher. I am very glad to see you, my dear fellow, and rather -surprised; for I assure you I thought you were at the Antipodes." - -"I have just returned from that quarter of the globe. Yes! Landed at the -docks yesterday from one of the Shaw-Saville line. Had a capital passage -from New Zealand. Sea like a mill-pond from Wellington Heads to the -Lizard." - -"Have you had breakfast, Larcher?" asked Tait, touching the bell. - -"A trifle! A trifle! I could eat another. What have you? Bacon and eggs, -watercress, coffee, and the best of bread and butter. Egad, Spenser, you -had the same victuals two years ago when I last called here!" - -"I am a creature of habit, Claude," replied Tait sententiously; and when -Dormer made his appearance gave grave directions for fresh coffee and -another dish of eggs and bacon. - -Larcher drew in his chair, and with his elbows on the table eyed the -little man with friendly eyes. They were old schoolfellows and fast -friends, though a greater contrast than that which existed between them -can scarcely be imagined. Tait, a prim, chilly misogynist; Larcher, a -hot-blooded, impetuous lover of women. The one a stay-at-home, and a -slave to habit; the other a roaming engineer, careless and impulsive. -Yet by some vein of sympathy the pair, so unlike in looks and -temperament, were exceedingly friendly, and always glad to meet when -circumstance threw them together. Such friendship, based on no logical -grounds, was a standing contradiction to the rule that like draws to -like. - -It was scarcely to be expected that a well-favored mortal like Larcher -should share his friend's distaste for the female sex. Far from -disliking them, he sought them on all possible occasions, oftentimes to -his own disadvantage; and was generally involved in some scrape -connected with a petticoat. Tait, who was the older of the two by five -years, vainly exhorted and warned his friend against such follies, but -as yet his arguments had come to naught. At the age of thirty, Larcher -was still as inflammable, and answered all Tait's expostulations with a -laugh of scorn. - -It was easy to dower this hero with all the perfections, physical or -mental, which lie within the scope of imagination, but the truth must be -told at whatever cost. Claude was no Greek god, no prodigy of learning, -neither an Apollo for looks, nor an Admirable Crichton for knowledge; he -was simply a well-looking young man, clean-limbed, clear-skinned, -healthy, athletic, and dauntless, such as can be found by the dozen in -England. Thews and sinews he had, but was no Samson or Hercules, yet his -strong frame and easy grace won the heart of many a woman, while with -his own sex he passed for a true comrade, and a friend worth having. - -He was an engineer, and built bridges and railways in divers quarters of -the globe, pioneering civilization, as it were, in the most barbarous -regions. - -For the past ten years he had roamed all over the world, and his -adventures, begotten by a daring and reckless spirit, were already -sufficient to fill a volume. Master of at least half a dozen tongues, he -could find his way from the tropics to the pole, and was equally at home -on the prairie as in Piccadilly. Indeed, he preferred the former, for -civilization was little to his taste, and he was infinitely more at ease -in Pekin than London. North and South America, Africa, China, India, he -knew them all, and on this occasion had returned from a prolonged -sojourn in the Antipodes, where he had been building bridges across -rapid New Zealand rivers. - -"Well, my friend," said he, addressing himself to a second meal with a -hearty appetite, "I need not ask how you are. The same prim, finnicking -little mortal as ever, I see. Five years have made no difference in you, -Spenser. You've not married, I suppose?" - -"Not I," returned Tait, with stormy disgust. "You know my views on the -subject of matrimony. You might go away for one hundred years and would -return to find me still a bachelor. But you, Claude----" - -"Oh, I'm still in the market. I wasn't rich enough for the New Zealand -belles." - -"Eh! You have five hundred a year, independent of your earnings as an -engineer." - -"What is the use of setting up house on a thousand a year all told," -retorted Claude coolly; "but the fact is, despite my inflammability, -which you are pleased to reproach, I have not yet seen the woman I care -to make Mrs. Larcher." - -"Perhaps it is just as well for the woman," answered Tait dryly. "I -don't think you are cut out for a domestic life." - -"I have had no experience of it, so I can't say," said Larcher, a shade -passing over his face. "You must not forget that I was left an orphan at -five years of age, Tait. If it had not been for old Hilliston, the -lawyer, who looked after me and my small fortune, I don't know what -would have become of me. All things considering, I think I have turned -out fairly decent. I have worked hard at my profession, I have not spent -my substance in riotous living, and have seen much more of life than -most young men. All of which is self-praise, and that we know being no -recommendation, give me another cup of coffee." - -Tait laughed and obeyed. "What are you going to do now?" he demanded, -after a pause; "stay in town, or make another dash for the wilds?" - -"I'll be here for a few months, till something turns up," said Larcher -carelessly. "I did very well out of that Maori land business, and bought -some land there with the proceeds. I suppose I'll go and look up Mr. -Hilliston, see all the theaters, worry you, and hunt for a wife." - -"I shan't assist you in the last," retorted Tait, testily. "However, as -you are here you must stay with me for the day. What are your immediate -plans?" - -"Oh, I wish to call at the club and see if there are any letters! Then I -am at your disposal, unless you have a prior engagement." - -"I have a luncheon at Richmond, but I'll put that off. It is not very -important, and a wire will arrange matters. Finish your breakfast while -I dress." - -"Go, you effete dandy of an exhausted civilization. I saw you looking at -my rig-out, and I dare say it is very bad. It has been packed away for -the last five years. However, you can take me to your tailor and I'll -get a fresh outfit. You won't walk down Bond Street with me unless I -assume a tall hat, patent leathers, and a frock coat." - -"Oh, by the way, would you like to go to the Curtain Theater to-night?" -asked Tait, vouchsafing no reply to this speech. "They are playing a -good piece, and I sent for a seat for myself." - -"You selfish little man; just send for two while you're about it." - -"With pleasure," replied Tait, who permitted Larcher more freedom of -speech than he did any other of his friends. "I won't be more than ten -minutes dressing." - -"Very good! I'll smoke a pipe during your absence, and see with what -further fribbles you have adorned your rooms. Then we'll go to the club, -and afterward to the tailor's. I don't suppose my letters will detain me -long." - -In this Larcher was wrong, for his letters detained him longer than he -expected. This opened the way to a new course of life, of which at that -moment he knew nothing. Laughing and jesting in his friend's rooms, -heart-whole and untrammeled, he little knew what Fortune had in store -for him on that fateful morning. It is just as well that the future is -hidden from men, else they would hardly go forward with so light a step -to face juries. Hitherto Larcher's life had been all sunshine, but now -darknesses were rising above the horizon, and these letters, to which he -so lightly alluded, were the first warnings of the coming storm. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - A MYSTERIOUS COMMUNICATION. - - -THE ATHENIAN CLUB was the most up-to-date thing of its kind in London. -Although it had been established over eight years it was as new as on -the day of its creation, and not only kept abreast of the times, but in -many instances went ahead of them. The Athenians of old time were always -crying out for something new; and their prototypes of London, following -in their footsteps, formed a body of men who were ever on the look-out -for novelty. Hence the name of this club, which adopted for its motto -the classic cry, "Give us something new," and acted well up to the -saying. The Athenian Club was the pioneer of everything. - -It would take a long time to recount the vagaries for which this coterie -had been responsible. If one more daring spirit than the rest invented a -new thing or reinstated on old one, his fellows followed like a flock of -intelligent sheep and wore the subject threadbare, till some more -startling theory initiated a new movement. The opinion of the club took -its color from the prevailing "fad" of the hour, and indeed many of the -aforesaid "fads" were invented in its smoke room. It should have been -called "The Ephemeral Club," from the rapidity with which its fanciers -rose to popularity and vanished into obscurity. - -After all, such incessant novelty is rather fatiguing. London is the -most exhausting city in the world in which to live. From all quarters of -the globe news is pouring in, every street is crowded with life and -movement; the latest ideas of civilization here ripen to completion. It -is impossible to escape from the contagion of novelty; it is in the air. -Information salutes one at every turn; it pours from the mouths of men; -it thrusts itself before the eye in countless daily and weekly -newspapers; it clicks from every telegraph wire, until the brain is -wearied with the flood of ephemeral knowledge. All this plethora of -intellectual life was concentrated in the narrow confines of the -Athenian Club House. No wonder its members complained of news. - -"What is the prevailing passion with the Athenian at present?" asked -Larcher as he stepped briskly along Piccadilly beside Tait. - -"The New Literature!" - -"What is that?" - -"Upon my word, I can hardly tell you," replied Tait, after some -cogitation. "It is a kind of impressionist school, I fancy. Those who -profess to lead it insist upon works having no plot, and no action, or -no dramatic situations. Their idea of a work is for a man and -woman--both vaguely denominated 'he' and 'she'--to talk to one another -through a few hundred pages. Good Lord, how they do talk, and all about -their own feelings, their own woes, their own troubles, their own -infernal egotisms! The motto of 'The New Literature' should be 'Talk! -talk! talk!' for it consists of nothing else." - -"Why not adopt Hamlet's recitation," suggested Larcher laughingly, -"'Words! words! words!'" - -"Oh, 'The New Literature' wants nothing from the past! Not even a -quotation," said Tait tartly. "Woman--the new woman--is greatly to the -fore in this latest fancy. She writes about neurotic members of her own -sex, and calls men bad names every other page. The subjects mostly -discussed in the modern novel by the modern woman, are the regeneration -of the world by woman, the failure of the male to bridle his appetites, -and the beginning of the millennium which will come when women get their -own way." - -"Haven't they got their own way now?" - -"I should think so. I don't know what further freedom they want. We live -in a world of petticoats nowadays. Women pervade everything like -microbes. And they are such worrying creatures," pursued Tait -plaintively, "they don't take things calmly like men do, but talk and -rage and go into hysterics every other minute. If this sort of thing -goes on I shall retire with Dormer to an uninhabited island." - -"It is easily seen that you are not a friend to the new movement," said -Larcher, with a smile, "but here we are. Wait in the smoke room, like a -good fellow, while I see after my correspondence." - -"You will find me in the writing room," replied Tait. "I have lost my -morning pipe, and do not intend to smoke any more till after luncheon." - -"I don't believe you're a man, Tait, but a clockwork figure wound up to -act in the same manner at the same moment. And you are such a horribly -vulgar piece of mechanism." - -Tait laughed, gratified by this tribute to his methodical habits, so, -leaving Larcher to see after his letters, he vanished into the writing -room. Here he wrote an apologetic telegram to his friend Freak, and sent -it off so that it might reach that gentleman before he started for -Richmond. Then he scribbled a few notes on various trifling matters of -business which called for immediate attention, and having thus disposed -of his cares, ensconced himself in a comfortable armchair to wait for -Claude. - -In a few minutes Larcher made his appearance with a puzzled expression -on his face, and two open letters in his hand. Taking a seat close to -that of Tait, he at once began to explain that the news contained in the -letters was the cause of the expression aforesaid. - -"My other letters are nothing to speak of," said he, when seated, "but -these two fairly puzzle me. Number one is from Mr. Hilliston, asking me -to call; the other is from a Margaret Bezel, with a similar request. Now -I know Mr. Hilliston as guardian, lawyer, and banker, but who is -Margaret Bezel?" - -Tait shook his wise little head. Well-informed as he was in several -matters, he had never heard of Margaret Bezel. - -"She lives at Hampstead, I see," continued Claude, referring to the -letter. "Clarence Cottage, Hunt Lane. That is somewhere in the vicinity -of Jack Straw's Castle. I wonder who she is, and why she wants to see -me." - -"You have never heard of her?" asked Tait dubiously. He was never quite -satisfied with Larcher's connections with the weaker sex. - -"Certainly not," replied the other, with some heat. "If I had I would -assuredly remember so odd a name. Bezel! Bezel! Something to do with a -ring, isn't it?" - -"It might have something to do with a wedding ring," said Tait, with a -grim smile. "The lady may have matrimonial designs on you." - -"Bah! She may be a washerwoman for all you know, or a wife, or a widow, -or Heaven only knows what. But that is not the queerest part of the -affair, for Mr. Hilliston----But here, read the lady's letter first, the -gentleman's next, and tell me what you think of them. Upon my word, I -can make neither top nor tail of the business!" - - (_The First Letter._) - - "April 18, 1892. - "DEAR SIR: Will you be so kind as to call and see me at Clarence - Cottage, Hunt Lane, Hampstead, as I have an important - communication to make to you regarding your parents. - "Yours truly, - "MARGARET BEZEL." - - (_The Second Letter._) - - "LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, June 10, 1892. - "DEAR CLAUDE: Call and see me here as soon as you arrive in - town, and should you receive a communication from one Margaret - Bezel, bring it with you. On no account see the lady before you - have an interview with me. This matter is more important than - you know of, and will be duly explained by me when you call. - - "Yours sincerely, - "FRANCIS HILLISTON." - -Tait read these two letters carefully, pinched his chin reflectively, -and looked at Claude in a rather anxious manner. - -"Well, sir," said the latter impatiently, "what is your opinion?" - -Tait's opinion was given in one word, and that not of the nicest -meaning. - -"Blackmail." - -"Blackmail!" repeated Larcher, taken aback, as well he might be. "What -do you mean?" - -"I may be wrong," said Tait apologetically, "but this is the only -conclusion to which I can come. I read the matter this way: Margaret -Bezel knows something about your parents, and wishes to reveal it to -you, possibly on condition that you pay her a sum of money. Hilliston -evidently knows that such is her intention, and wishes to put you on -your guard. Hence he asks you to see him before you accept the -invitation of the lady." - -"H'm! This is feasible enough. But what possible communication can this -woman be likely to make to me which would involve blackmail. My parents -both died when I was four years of age. She can't have any evil to say -of them after twenty-five years." - -"You must question Hilliston as to that," replied Tait, shrugging his -shoulders. "I think you ought to see him this afternoon. He knows you -are in town. I suppose?" - -"I wrote from Wellington to tell him that I was returning in the -_Kailargatin_," said Claude, glancing at the letter. "He must have been -informed by the paper of her arrival yesterday, for this note is dated -the same day. To-day is the eleventh." - -"But surely Hilliston knew you would call as soon as you arrived?" - -"He might be certain that I would do so within the week, at all events," -answered Larcher reflectively. "That is what makes his letter the more -puzzling. The matter must be very urgent when he demands an immediate -interview." - -"I am certain he wishes to forestall this lady," said Tait, picking up -the letter of Margaret Bezel. "She, at all events, knows nothing of your -movements, for the note is dated the 10th of April, when you were in New -Zealand." - -"Humph! It is very odd, Tait." - -"It is extremely odd, and too important to be neglected. Call on Mr. -Hilliston this afternoon, and send him a wire now to make an -appointment." - -"I hope I am not going to have a bad quarter of an hour," observed -Claude, as he wrote out the telegram. The mystery of the matter ruffled -his usual serenity. - -"I sincerely trust you are not," replied the other, touching the bell -for the waiter; "but I must say I do not like the look of those two -epistles." - -The telegram was duly dispatched, and after a few more conjectures as to -the motive of the communications, Larcher went upstairs to luncheon with -his friend. Halfway through the meal he was struck with an idea. - -"Margaret Bezel must be old, Tait." - -"How do you know?" - -"If she knows anything of my parents she must have been their friend or -servant, and as they died twenty-five years ago she can be no chicken." - -"True enough! But don't go out and meet your troubles halfway, Claude. -It will be time enough to worry should Hilliston give you bad news. By -the way, I suppose you'll stay with him to-night?" - -"No doubt. He has bought a new house in Kensington Gore, and wishes me -to have a look at it. I shall be glad to see his wife again. Dear old -lady, she has been a second mother to me, and he like a father." - -"And I like a brother," interposed Tait, laughing. "As a lonely orphan -you have to depend upon public charity for your relatives. But talking -about new houses, you must see mine." - -"What! Are you a householder?" - -"A householder, not a landed proprietor," said Tait, with pride. "I have -purchased an old Manor House and a few acres at Thorston, about eight -miles from Eastbourne. You must come down and see it. I have just had it -furnished and put in order. A week or so there will do you good, and -give me much pleasure." - -"I shall be delighted to come," said Larcher hastily, "that is, if there -is no troublesome business to detain me in London." - -"Well, you will know shortly. After all, Hilliston may give you good -news, instead of bad." - -"Bah! You don't believe that, Tait." - -"I don't indeed! But I am trying to comfort you." - -"After the fashion of Job's friends," retorted Claude promptly. "Well, -you may be right, for I do not like the look of things myself. However, -I must take bad fortune along with good. Hitherto all has gone well with -me, and I sincerely trust this letter from Margaret Bezel is not a -forerunner of trouble." - -"Should it be so, you will always have at least one friend to stand by -you." - -"Thank you, Tait," replied Larcher, grasping the outstretched hand. -"Should the time come for testing your friendship, I shall have no -hesitation in putting it to the proof. And the time is coming," added -he, tapping the pocket which held the letter, "of that I am certain." - -"What about our theater to-night?" demanded Tait dubiously. - -"It all depends on my interview with Hilliston." - -Tait said nothing at the moment, and shortly afterward they parted, -Larcher to seek his guardian in Lincoln's Inn Fields, Tait to return to -his chambers. - -"Humph!" said the latter thoughtfully, "there will be no theater for us -to-night. I don't like the look of things at all. The deuce take -Margaret Bezel!" - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - THE REVELATION OF FRANCIS HILLISTON. - - -ONCE upon a time popular imagination pictured a lawyer as a cadaverous -creature, arrayed in rusty black, with bulging blue-bag, and dry -forensic lore on his tongue. So was the child of Themis represented in -endless Adelphia farces; and his moral nature, as conceived by the -ingenious playwright, was even less inviting than his exterior. He was a -scamp, a rogue, a compiler of interminable bills, an exactor of the last -shilling, a legal _Shylock_, hard-fisted and avaricious. To a great -extent this type is a thing of the past, for your latter-day lawyer is -an alert, well-dressed personage, social and amiable. Still he is looked -on with awe as a dispenser of justice,--very often of injustice,--and -not all the fine raiment in the world can rob him of his ancient -reputation: when he was a dread being to the dwellers of Grub Street, -who mostly had the task of limning his portrait, and so impartial -revenge pictured him as above. - -All of which preamble leads up to the fact that Francis Hilliston was a -lawyer of the new school, despite his sixty and more years. In -appearance he was not unlike a farmer, and indeed owned a few arable -acres in Kent, where he played the rôle of a modern Cincinnatus. There -he affected rough clothing and an interest in agricultural subjects, but -in town in his Lincoln's Inn Fields' office he was solemnly arrayed in a -frock coat with other garments to match, and conveyed into his twinkling -eyes an expression of dignified learning. He was a different man in -London to what he was in Kent, and was a kind of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde -for moral transformations. On this special occasion frock-coated -legality was uppermost. - -Yet he unbent for a moment or so when receiving Claude Larcher, for -childless himself, the young man was to him a very Absalom; and he loved -him with an affection truly paternal. No one can have the conduct of a -child up to the age of twenty--at which period Claude made his _début_ -in the engineering world, without feeling a tugging at the heart -strings. Had Larcher been indeed his son, and he a father in place of a -guardian, he could have scarcely received the young man more warmly, or -have welcomed him with more heartfelt affection. - -But the first outburst over, and Claude duly greeted and seated in a -convenient chair, Mr. Hilliston recurred to his legal stiffness, and, -with no smile on his lips, sat eyeing his visitor. He had an awkward -conversation before him, and was mentally wondering as to the best way -of breaking the ice. Claude spared him the trouble by at once plunging -headlong into the subject of Margaret Bezel and her mysterious letter. - -"Here you are, sir," said he, handing it to his guardian. "I have -brought the letter of this woman with me as you wished, and I have also -abstained from seeing her in accordance with your desire." - -"Humph!" muttered Hilliston, skimming the letter with a legal eye, "I -thought she would write." - -"Do you know her, sir?" - -"Oh, yes!" said the other dryly. "I know her. But," he added after a -thoughtful pause, "I have not set eyes on her for at least -five-and-twenty years." - -"Twenty-five years," repeated Claude, thoughtful in his turn. "It was -about that time I came into your house." - -Hilliston looked up sharply, as though conceiving that the remark was -made with intention, but satisfied that it was not from the absent -expression in Larcher's face, he resumed his perusal of the letter and -commented thereon. - -"What do you think of this communication, Claude?" - -"I don't know what to think," replied the young man promptly. "I confess -I am curious to know why this woman wishes to see me. Who is she?" - -"A widow lady with a small income." - -"Does she know anything of my family?" - -"Why do you ask that?" demanded Hilliston sharply, and, as it seemed to -Claude, a trifle uneasily. - -"Well, as I am a stranger to her, she cannot wish to see me on any -personal matter, sir. And as you mention that you have not seen her for -five-and-twenty years, about which time my parents died, I naturally -thought----" - -"That I had some object in asking you not to see her?" - -"Well, yes." - -"You are a man of experience now, Claude," said Hilliston, with apparent -irrelevance, "and have been all over the world. Consequently you know -that life is full of--trouble." - -"I believe so; but hitherto no trouble has come my way." - -"You might expect that it would come sooner or later, Claude. It has -come now." - -"Indeed!" said Larcher, in a joking tone. "Am I about to lose my small -income of five hundred a year?" - -"No, that is safe enough!" answered Hilliston abruptly, rising to his -feet. "The trouble of which I speak will not affect your material -welfare. Indeed, if you are a hardened man of the world, as you might -be, it need affect you very little in any case. You are not responsible -for the sins of a former generation, and as you hardly remember your -parents, cannot have any sympathy with their worries." - -"I certainly remember very little of my parents, sir," said Larcher, -moved by the significance of this speech. "Yet I have a faint memory of -two faces. One a dark, handsome face, with kind eyes, the other a -beautiful, fair countenance." - -"Your father and mother, Claude." - -"Yes. So much I remember of them. But what have they to do with Margaret -Bezel--or Mrs. Bezel, as I suppose she is called? Why does she want to -see me?" - -"To tell you a story which I prefer to relate myself." - -"About whom?" - -"About your parents." - -"But they are dead!" - -"Yes," said Hilliston, "they are dead." - -He walked about the room, opened a box, and took out a roll of papers, -yellow with age. These were neatly tied up with red tape and inscribed -"The Larcher Affair." Placing them on the table before him, Hilliston -resumed his seat, and looked steadfastly at his ward. Claude, vaguely -aware that some unpleasant communication was about to be made to him, -sat silently waiting the words of ill omen, and his naturally fresh -color faded to a dull white with apprehension. - -"I have always loved you like a son, Claude," said Hilliston solemnly, -"ever since you came to my house, a tiny boy of five. It has been my aim -to educate you well, to advance your interests, to make you happy, and -above all," added the lawyer, lowering his voice, "to keep the contents -of these papers secret from you." - -Claude said nothing, though Hilliston paused to enable him to speak, but -sat waiting further explanation. - -"I thought the past was dead and buried," resumed his guardian, in a low -voice. "So far as I can see it is foolish to rake up old scandals--old -crimes." - -"Crimes!" said Claude, rising involuntarily to his feet. - -"Crimes," repeated Hilliston sadly. "The time has come when you must -know the truth about your parents. The woman who wrote this letter has -been silent for five-and-twenty years. Now, for some reason with which I -am unacquainted, she is determined to see you and reveal all. A few -months ago she called here to tell me so. I implored her to keep silent, -pointing out that no good could come of acquainting you with bygone -evils; but she refused to listen to me, and left this office with the -full intention of finding you out, and making her revelation." - -"But I have been in New Zealand." - -"She did not know that, nor did I tell her," said Hilliston grimly; "in -fact, I refused to give her your address, but she is not the woman to be -easily beaten, as I well know. I guessed she would find out the name of -your club and write to you there, therefore I sent that letter to you so -as to counter-plot the creature. I expected that you would find a letter -from her at your club on your arrival. I was right. Here is the letter. -She has succeeded so far, but I have managed to checkmate her by -obtaining the first interview with you. Should you call on her,--and -after reading these papers I have little doubt but that you will do -so,--she will be able to tell you nothing new. I cannot crush the viper, -but at least I can draw its fangs." - -"You speak hardly of this woman, sir." - -"I have reason to," said Hilliston quietly. "But for this woman your -father would still be alive." - -"What do you mean?" - -"I mean that your father, George Larcher, was murdered!" - -"Murdered!" - -"Yes! Murdered at Horriston, in Kent, in the year 1866." - -Stunned by this information, which he was far from expecting, Claude -sank down in his chair with a look of horror on his face, while -Hilliston spoke rapidly. - -"I have kept this secret all these years because I did not want your -young life to be shadowed by the knowledge of your father's fate. But -now Mrs. Bezel intends to tell you the truth, and will give you a -garbled version of the same, making herself out a martyr. I must be -beforehand with her, and I wish you to take those papers, and read the -account of the case which ended in the acquittal of your mother." - -"My mother! Acquitted! Do you mean----" - -"I mean that Mrs. Larcher was accused of the murder of her husband, and -was tried and acquitted." - -"Great Heavens! But she is now dead?" - -"I say no more," said Hilliston, evading a direct reply. "You will know -the truth when you read these papers." - -Larcher mechanically took the packet held out to him, and placed it in -his pocket. Then he rose to go. A thousand questions were on the tip of -his tongue, but he dare not ask one. It would be better, he thought, to -learn the truth from the papers, in place of hearing it from the lips of -Francis Hilliston, who might, for all he knew, give as garbled a version -of the affair as Mrs. Bezel. Hilliston guessed his thoughts, and -approved of the unspoken decision. - -"I think you are right," he said, with deliberation; "it is best that -you should learn the truth in that way. When you have read those papers -come and see me about them." - -"One moment, sir! Who killed my father?" - -"I cannot say! Your mother was suspected and proved innocent. A friend -of your father was also suspected and----" - -"And proved innocent?" - -"No! He was never arrested--he was never tried. He vanished on the night -of the murder and has not been heard of since. Now, I can tell you no -more. Go and read the papers, Claude." - -Larcher took up his hat and hurried toward the door in a mechanical -manner. There he paused. - -"Does Mrs. Bezel know the truth?" - -Hilliston, arranging the papers on the table, looked up with a face -which had unexpectedly grown gray and old. - -"Yes!" he said quickly. "I think Mrs. Bezel knows the 'truth.'" - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - WHAT OCCURRED AT HORRISTON. - - -AFTER that fatal interview Claude went neither to the house at -Kensington Gore nor to the chambers of his friend Tait. With the papers -given to him by Hilliston in his pocket, he repaired to a quiet hotel in -Jermyn Street, where he was well-known, and there secured a bedroom for -the night. A wire speedily brought his luggage from the railway station, -and thus being settled for the moment, he proceeded to acquaint himself -with the tragedy of his parents' lives. - -It was some time before he could make up his mind to read the papers, -and, dreading the disagreeable relation, he put off the perusal till -such time as he retired to bed. A note dispatched to the Club intimated -to Tait that the second seat at the Curtain Theater would be unoccupied, -and then Claude tried to rid himself of distracting thoughts by a rapid -walk in the Park. So do men dally with the inevitable, and vainly -attempt to stay the march of Fate. - -Dinner was a mere farce with the young man, for he could neither eat nor -drink, and afterward he dawdled about the smoke room, putting off the -reading of the papers as long as he could. A superstitious feeling of -coming evil withheld him from immediately learning the truth; and it was -not until the clock struck ten that he summoned up sufficient courage to -repair to his bedroom. - -With the papers spread out on a small table, he sat down at half-past -ten, reading by the light of a single candle. A second and a third were -needed before he arose from his chair, and the gray dawn was glimmering -through the window blinds as he laid down the last sheet. Then his face -was as gray as the light spreading over street and house, for he knew -that his dead father had been foully murdered, and that his dead mother -had been morally, if not legally, guilty of the crime. The tragedy--a -strange mixture of the sordid and the romantic--took place at Horriston, -in Kent, in the year 1866, and the following are the main facts, as -exhibited by the provincial press: - -In the year 1860 George Larcher and his wife came to settle at -Horriston, attracted thereto by the romantic beauty of the scenery and -the cheerful society of that rising watering-place. Since that time -Horriston, after a feeble struggle for supremacy, has succumbed to -powerful rivals, and is once more a sleepy little provincial town, -unknown to invalid or doctor. But when Mr. and Mrs. Larcher settled -there it was a popular resort for visitors from all quarters of the -three kingdoms, and the young couple were extremely liked by the gay -society which filled the town. For five years they lived there, but -during the sixth occurred the tragedy which slew the husband, and placed -the wife in the dock. - -The antecedents of the pair were irreproachable in every respect. He was -a fairly rich man of thirty-five, who, holding a commission in the army, -had met with his wife--then Miss Barker--at Cheltenham. She was a -beautiful girl, fond of dress and gayety, the belle of her native town, -and the greatest flirt of the country side. Handsome George Larcher, in -all the bravery of martial trappings, came like the young prince of the -fairy tale, and carried off the beauty from all rivals. She, knowing him -to be rich, seeing him to be handsome, and aware that he was -well-connected, accepted his hand, and so they were married, to the -great discomfiture of many sighing swains. There was love on his side at -least, but whether Julia Barker returned that passion in any great -degree it is hard to say. The provincial reporter hinted that a prior -attachment had engaged her heart, and though she married Larcher for his -money, and looks, and position, yet she only truly loved one man--one -Mark Jeringham, who afterward figured in the tragedy at Horriston. - -To all outward appearance Captain and Mrs. Larcher were a pattern -couple, and popular with military and civil society. Then, in obedience -to the wish of his wife, George Larcher sold out, and within a few -months of their marriage they came to live at Horriston. Here they took -a house known as The Laurels, which was perched on a cliff of moderate -height, overlooking the river Sarway; and proceeded to entertain the gay -society of the neighborhood. One son was born to them a year after they -took up their abode at The Laurels, and he was five years of age when -the tragedy took place which caused the death of his parent. Claude had -no difficulty in recognizing himself as the orphan so pathetically -alluded to by the flowery provincial reporter. - -The household of George Larcher consisted of six servants, among whom -two were particularly interesting. The one was the captain's valet, -Denis Bantry, an Irish soldier in the same regiment as his master, who -had been bought out by Larcher when he took leave of military glory. -Attached to the captain by many acts of kindness, Denis was absolutely -devoted to him, and was no unimportant personage in the new home. The -other servant was Mona Bantry, the sister of Denis, a handsome, -bright-eyed lass from County Kerry, who acted as maid to Mrs. Larcher. -The remaining servants call for no special mention, but this Irish -couple must be particularly noted as having been mixed up with the -tragedy. - -For some months all went well at The Laurels, and it seemed as though -the Larchers were devoted to one another. But this was only outwardly, -for the character of Julia developed rapidly after marriage into that of -a vain, frivolous woman, eager of admiration, extravagant as regards -dress, and neglectful of the infant son. Larcher, a thoroughly -domesticated man, greatly resented the attitude taken up by his wife, -and the resentment led to frequent quarrels. He was annoyed by her -frivolity and continuous absence from home; while she began to dislike -her grave husband, who would have made her--as she expressed it--a mere -domestic drudge. But the pair managed to hoodwink the world as to their -real feelings to one another, and it was only when the trial of Mrs. -Larcher came on that the truth was revealed. In all Kent there was no -more unhappy home than that at The Laurels. - -To make matters worse, Mark Jeringham paid a visit to Horriston, and -having known Mrs. Larcher from childhood, naturally enough became a -frequent visitor. He was everywhere at the heels of the former belle of -Cheltenham, who encouraged him in his attentions. Larcher remonstrated -with his wife on her folly, but she saucily refused to alter her line of -conduct. But for the scandal of the thing Larcher would have forbidden -Jeringham the house; and, to mark his disapprobation, gave him the cold -shoulder on every occasion. Nevertheless, this inconvenient person -persisted in thrusting himself between husband and wife, to the anger of -the former and the delight of the latter. The introduction of this third -element only made matters worse. - -The house was divided into camps, for Mona supported her mistress in her -frivolity, and, indeed, seemed herself to have an admiration for -handsome Mark Jeringham, who was very generous in money matters. Denis, -in whose eyes his master was perfect, hated the interloper as much as -Larcher, and loudly protested against the attention of Mona and his -mistress. Another friend who supported Larcher was Francis Hilliston, -then a gay young lawyer of thirty-five, who often paid a visit to -Horriston. He also frequented The Laurels, but was much disliked by Mrs. -Larcher, who greatly resented his loyal friendship for her husband. -Things were in this position on the 23d of June, 1866, when events -occurred which resulted in the murder of Captain Larcher, the -disappearance of Jeringham, and the arrest of Mrs. Larcher on a charge -of murder. - -A masked ball in fancy dress was to be given at the Town Hall on that -night, and hither Mrs. Larcher was going as Mary, Queen of Scots, -accompanied by Jeringham in the character of Darnley. George Larcher -refused to be present, and went up to London on the night in question, -leaving his faithful friend Hilliston to look after his matrimonial -interests at the ball. Before he left a terrible scene took place -between himself and his wife, in which he forbade her to go to the -dance, but she defied him, and said she would go without his permission. -Whereupon Larcher left the house and went up to London, swearing that he -would never return until his wife asked his pardon and renounced the -friendship of Jeringham. - -Now, here began the mystery which no one was able to fathom. Mrs. -Larcher went to the ball with Jeringham, and having, as she said to -Hilliston, who was also at the ball, enjoyed herself greatly, returned -home at three in the morning. The next day she was ill in bed, although -she had left the Town Hall in perfect health, and Mark Jeringham had -disappeared. Larcher was not seen in the neighborhood for five days, and -presumably was still in London; so during his absence Mrs. Larcher kept -her bed. Then his body, considerably disfigured, was found at the mouth -of the river Sarway, some four miles down. Curious to state it was -clothed in a fancy dress similar to that worn by Jeringham on the night -of the ball. - -On the discovery of the body public curiosity was greatly excited, and a -thousand rumors flew from mouth to mouth. That a crime had been -committed no one doubted for a moment, as an examination proved that -George Larcher had been stabbed to the heart by some slender, sharp -instrument. The matter passed into the hands of the police, and they -paid a visit to The Laurels for the purpose of seeing what light Mrs. -Larcher could throw on the matter. At this awful period of her frivolous -life Francis Hilliston stood her friend, and it was he who interviewed -the officers of the law when they called. - -Mrs. Larcher was still in bed, and, under the doctor's orders, refused -to rise therefrom, or to receive her visitors. She protested to -Hilliston, who in his turn reported her sayings to the police, that she -knew nothing about the matter. She had not seen her husband since he -left her on the 23d of June, and no one was more astonished or -horror-struck than she at the news of his death. According to her story -she had left the ball at three o'clock, and had driven to The Laurels -with Jeringham. He had parted from her at the door of the house, and had -walked back to Horriston. His reason for not entering, and for not using -the carriage to return, was that he did not wish to give color to the -scandal as to the relations which existed between them, which Mrs. -Larcher vowed and protested were purely platonic. - -Furthermore, she asserted that her illness was caused by a discovery -which she had made on the night of the ball: that Mona Bantry was about -to become a mother, and to all appearance she believed that the father -of the coming child was none other than her husband. Far from thinking -that he had been murdered, she had been waiting for his return in order -to upbraid him for his profligacy, and to demand a divorce. Mona Bantry -had disappeared immediately after the discovery of her ruin, and Mrs. -Larcher professed that she did not know where she was. - -This story, which was feasible enough, satisfied the police authorities -for the moment, and they retired, only to return three days later with a -warrant for the arrest of Mrs. Larcher. In the interval a dagger had -been found in the grounds of The Laurels, on the banks of the river, -and, as it was stained with blood and exactly fitted the wound, it was -concluded that with this weapon the crime had been committed. Inquiry -resulted in the information being obtained that Mrs. Larcher, in her -character of Mary, Queen of Scots, had worn this dagger on the night of -the ball. Hence it was evident, so said the police, that she had killed -her husband. - -The theory of the police was that Captain Larcher had returned from -London on the night of the ball, and had witnessed the parting of his -wife and Jeringham at the door. Filled with jealous rage he had -upbraided his wife in the sitting room, the window of which looked out -on the cliff overhanging the river. In a moment of fury she had -doubtless snatched the dagger from her girdle and stabbed him to the -heart, then, terrified at what she had done, had thrown the body out of -the window, trusting that the stream would carry it away, and so conceal -her crime. This the river had done, for the body had been discovered -four miles down, where it had been carried by the current. As to the -dagger being in the grounds in place of the room, the police, never at a -loss for a theory, suggested that Mrs. Larcher had stolen out of the -house, and had thrown the dagger over the bank where it was subsequently -discovered. - -Mrs. Larcher asserted her innocence, and reiterated her statement that -she had not seen her husband since the day of the ball. He had not -returned on that night, as the servants could testify. The only -domestics who had not retired to bed when she returned at three o'clock -were Mona and Denis. Of these the first had gone away to hide her shame, -and all inquiries and advertisements failed to find her. But at the -trial Denis--much broken down at the ruin of his sister--swore that -Captain Larcher had not returned from London on that evening, and that -Mrs. Larcher had gone straight to the sitting room, where she first made -the discovery of Mona's iniquity, and then had afterward retired to bed. -Mrs. Larcher asserted that the dagger had been lost by her at the ball, -and she knew not into whose hands it had fallen. - -The trial, which took place at Canterbury, was a nine days' wonder, and -opinions were divided as to the guilt of the erring wife. One party held -that she had committed the crime in the manner stated by the police, -while the others asserted that Jeringham was the criminal, and had -disappeared in order to escape the consequences of his guilt. -"Doubtless," said they, "he had been met by Larcher after leaving the -house, and had killed him during a quarrel." The use of the dagger was -accounted for by these wiseacres by a belief that Mrs. Larcher had given -it to Jeringham as a love token when she parted from him at the door of -The Laurels. - -The evidence of Denis, that he had been with or near Mrs. Larcher till -she retired to bed, and that the captain had not set foot in the house -on that evening, turned the tide of evidence in favor of the unfortunate -woman. She was acquitted of the crime, and went to London, but there -died--as appeared from the newspapers--a few weeks afterward, killed by -anxiety and shame. - -The child Claude was taken charge of by Mr. Hilliston, who had been a -good friend to Mrs. Larcher during her troubles, and so the matter faded -from the public mind. - -What became of Jeringham no one ever knew. His victim--as some supposed -Larcher to be--was duly buried in the Horriston Cemetery, but all the -efforts of the police failed to find the man who was morally, if not -legally, guilty of the crime. Denis also was lost in the London crowd, -and all those who had been present at the tragedy at The Laurels were -scattered far and wide. New matters attracted the attention of the -fickle public, and the Larcher affair was forgotten in due course. - -The mystery was never solved. Who was guilty of the crime? That question -was never answered. Some accused Mrs. Larcher despite her acquittal and -death. Others insisted that Jeringham was the criminal; but no one could -be certain of the truth. Hilliston, seeing that Mr. and Mrs. Larcher -were dead, that Mona, Denis, and Jeringham had disappeared, wisely kept -the matter secret from Claude, deeming that it would be folly to disturb -the mind of the lad with an insoluble riddle of so terrible a nature. So -for five-and-twenty years the matter had remained in abeyance. Now it -seemed as though it were about to be reopened by Mrs. Bezel. - -"And who--" asked Claude of himself, as he finished this history in the -gray dawn of the morning, "who is Mrs. Bezel?" - -To say the least, he had a right to ask himself this question, for it -was curious that the name of Mrs. Bezel was not even mentioned in -connection with that undiscovered crime of five-and-twenty years before. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - A STRANGE COINCIDENCE. - - -IN spite of Tait's methodical habits, circumstances beyond his control -often occurred to upset them. On the previous day the unexpected arrival -of Claude had altered his plans for the day, and after his return from -the theater on the same evening, he had--contrary to his rule--passed -the night in reading. The invaluable Dormer had procured "A Whim of -Fate" from Mudie's, and Tait found it lying on the table in company with -biscuits and wine. Excited by the performance, he did not feel inclined -to retire at his usual hour of midnight, and while sipping his wine, -picked up the first volume to while away the time till he should feel -sleepy. - -Alas! this novel, about which everyone in London was talking, proved -anything but soporific, and for the whole of that night Tait sat in his -comfortable chair devouring the three volumes. The tale was one of -mystery, and until he learned the solution Tait, conventional and -incurious as he was, could not tear himself from the fascination of the -printed page. When the riddle was read, when the criminal was hunted -down, when the bad were punished, and the good rewarded, the dawn was -already breaking in the east. In his Jermyn Street hotel, Claude Larcher -was rising, stiff and tired, from the perusal of a tragedy in real life; -in his Earls Street chambers, Spenser Tait was closing the third volume -of John Parver's work. Each had passed a wakeful night, each had been -fascinated by the account of a crime, the one real, the other fictional. -So does Fate, whose designs no one can presume to explain, duplicate our -lives for the gaining of her own ends. - -Rather disgusted by his departure from the conventional, and heartily -blaming the too ingenious John Parver for having caused such departure, -Tait tumbled hastily into bed, in order to snatch a few hours' sleep. -Dormer, ignorant of his master's vigil, woke him remorselessly at his -usual hour, with the unexpected intelligence that Mr. Larcher was -waiting to see him in the sitting room. From the telegram of the -previous night, and this early visit, Tait rightly concluded that his -friend was in trouble, so without waiting to take his bath, he hurriedly -slipped on a dressing gown, and appeared sleepy and disheveled in the -sitting room. Larcher, who looked likewise dissipated, arose to his feet -as the little man entered, and they eyed one another in astonishment, -for the appearance of each was totally at variance with his usual looks. - -"Well," said Tait interrogatively, "I see you've been making a night of -it." - -"I might say the same of you," replied Larcher grimly; "a more -dissipated looking wretch I never saw. Have you fallen into bad habits -at your age?" - -"That depends on what you call bad habits, Claude. I have not been round -the town, if that is what you mean. But, seduced by the novel of a too -ingenious author, I have sat up all night devouring his three volumes. -Such a thing has not occurred with me since I unfortunately tried to -read myself to sleep with 'Jane Eyre.' Charlotte Brontë and John Parver -are both answerable for my white nights. But you," continued Tait, -surveying his friend in a quizzical manner; "am I to understand -that----" - -"You are to understand that my night has been a duplicate of your own," -interrupted Larcher curtly. - -"What! Have you been reading 'A Whim of Fate'?" - -"No, my friend, I have not. While you were devouring fiction, I have -been making myself acquainted with a tragedy in real life." - -Larcher thereupon savagely threw on the breakfast table a roll of -papers, and looked defiantly at his friend. Tone and expression failed -to elicit surprise. - -"Oh!" said Tait reflectively, "then Hilliston gave you bad news, after -all. I guessed he had from your refusal to accompany me to the theater -last night." - -"You guessed rightly. He gave me such news as I never expected to hear. -You will find it amply set forth in those papers, which I have been -reading all night." - -"Dear me. I trust it is nothing serious. Has Mrs. Bezel----" - -"I don't know anything about Mrs. Bezel," said Larcher loudly. "So far -as she is concerned I am as much in the dark as ever. But my -parents----" - -"What of them?" interrupted Tait, uttering the first thought which came -into his mind. "Are they alive, after all?" - -"No. They are dead, sure enough," muttered Claude gloomily. - -"In that case what can Mr. Hilliston or Mrs. Bezel have to say about -them," demanded the other, looking puzzled. "No scandal about Queen -Elizabeth, I hope?" - -"Confound it, man, don't be so flippant! I've had bad news, I tell you. -My father,"--here Larcher gulped down his emotion with some -difficulty--"my father was murdered!" - -"Murdered!" repeated Tait, looking aghast, as well he might. - -"Yes! And my mother was accused of having murdered him. There you have -it." - -It was some little time before Tait could face the skeleton so -unexpectedly produced from the Larcher cupboard. Hitherto his -acquaintance with crime had been mainly derived from fiction after the -style of John Parver, or from the columns of the press; but now he was -brought face to face with a tragedy indirectly connected with his -dearest friend, and naturally enough did not like the situation. -Nevertheless, like the wise little man he was, he made no comment on the -truth so suddenly blurted out, but pushed his friend into a comfortable -chair, and proposed breakfast. - -"Breakfast!" cried Claude, clutching his hair; "I could not eat a -morsel. Have you no feelings, you little monster, to propose breakfast -to me, after hearing such hideous news. Why don't you give me sympathy, -and try and help me, instead of sitting at your confounded rasher of -bacon like a graven image." - -"I'll do all in my power later on," said Tait quietly; "but you are -upset by this news, and no wonder. Try and eat a little, then you can -tell me all about it, and I'll give you the best advice in my power." - -Thus adjured, Claude drew in his chair, and managed to eat a morsel of -toast and drink a cup of coffee, after which he lighted his pipe, and -smoked furiously, while Tait, anxious that his friend should regain his -self-control, made a lengthened meal, and talked of divers matters. -Breakfast over, he also filled his favorite pipe, and, drawing a chair -close to that of Larcher's, waited for an explanation. - -"Well, Claude," said he, after a pause, during which the other showed no -disposition to speak, "tell me your trouble." - -"I have told you," grumbled Larcher angrily; "if you want to know any -more about it, read those papers." - -"It would take too long, and, as it happens, I am already tired with -reading. Tell me about the affair as shortly as possible, and then we -can go through the papers together. You say your father was murdered. -Who committed the crime?" - -"No one knows! The criminal is still at large." - -"After five-and-twenty years he is likely to remain so." - -"No!", cried Larcher vehemently, striking the table; "I'll hunt him -down, and find him out, and put a rope round his neck, so help me God!" - -"You say your mother was accused of the crime," said Tait, ignoring this -outburst. - -"Yes. But she was acquitted on the evidence of my father's valet. -Shortly afterward she died in London. I don't wonder at it," said poor -Claude distractedly; "the shame, the disgrace! If she survived she was -bitterly punished. I should like to see the man who would dare to -asperse her memory." - -"No one will do so," said Tait soothingly. "Control yourself, my dear -fellow, and we will look into this matter together. I have just been -reading about a crime, but I did not think I would be so soon concerned -in dealing with one." - -"You will help me, Tait? You will stand by me?" - -"My dear friend, can you ask? I am completely at your service, and -together we will do all in our power to discover the murderer of your -father and clear the memory of your mother." - -"It is clear. She was acquitted by the jury. Don't you dare to----" - -"I don't dare to say anything," interrupted Tait impatiently. "Do be -reasonable, my good fellow. So long as I am ignorant, I can say nothing. -Tell me the particulars and we may arrive at some conclusion. Now then, -give me a _précis_ of the case." - -Dominated by the superior calm of his friend, Claude related the Larcher -affair as succinctly as possible. The details of the case had impressed -themselves too strongly on his brain for him to hesitate in the -narration, and, keeping his emotions well in hand, he managed to give a -fairly minute account of the tragedy which had taken place at Horriston -in the year 1866. - -The effect on Tait was surprising. A look of blank astonishment -overspread his face as Larcher proceeded with his story, and when it was -finished he looked anxiously at his friend. Apart from the details of -the case, he was deeply interested in the matter from another point of -view. Larcher waited to hear what his friend thought of the case, but -instead of commenting thereon Tait both acted and spoke in an apparently -irrelevant manner. - -Without a word he heard Claude to the end, then rose from his seat, and -walking to the other end of the room returned with three volumes bound -in red cloth. - -"This book is called 'A Whim of Fate,'" said he placing the volumes at -Larcher's elbow. "Have you read it?" - -"Confound it, what do you mean?" burst out Claude, with justifiable -wrath. "I tell you of a serious matter which nearly concerns myself, and -you prattle about the last fashionable novel." - -"Wait a minute," said Tait, laying a detaining hand on his friend's coat -sleeve. "There is more method in my madness than you give me credit -for." - -"What do you mean?" - -"The story you tell me is most extraordinary. But the information I am -about to impart to you is more extraordinary still. You say this crime -at Horriston was committed five-and-twenty years ago." - -"Yes, you can see by the date of those newspapers." - -"It has very likely faded out of all memories." - -"Of course! I don't suppose anyone is now alive who gives it a thought." - -"Well," said Tait, "it is certainly curious." - -"What is curious? Explain yourself." - -"The story you tell me now was known to me last night." - -Larcher looked at his friend in unconcealed surprise, and promptly -contradicted what seemed to be a foolish assertion. - -"That is impossible, Tait. I heard it only last night myself." - -"Nevertheless, I read it last night." - -"Read it last night!" repeated Larcher skeptically. - -"In this book," said Tait, laying his hand on the novel. - -"What do you mean?" demanded the other impatiently. - -"I mean that John Parver, the author of this book, has utilized the -events which took place at Horriston in 1866 for the purpose of writing -a work of fiction. The story you tell me is told in these pages, and -your family tragedy is the talk of literary London." - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - TRUTH IS STRANGER THAN FICTION. - - -THIS astonishing statement was received by Claude with a disbelieving -smile; and so convinced was he of its untruth that he affected anger at -what he really believed to be the flippancy of Tait's conduct. - -"It is no doubt very amusing for you to ridicule my story," said he, -with cold dignity, "but it is hardly the act of a friend. Some matters -are too serious to form the subject of a jest; and this----" - -"I am not jesting," interrupted Tait eagerly. "I assure you that the -tragedy which concerned your parents forms the subject-matter of this -novel. You can read the book yourself, and so be convinced that I am -speaking the truth. The names and places are no doubt fictional, but the -whole story is narrated plainly enough." - -Larcher turned over the three volumes with a puzzled expression. That a -story with which he had only become acquainted within the last -twenty-four hours should be printed in a book, and that the book itself -should be brought so speedily under his notice, seemed to him quite -inexplicable. The strangeness of the occurrence paralyzed his will, and, -contrary to his usual self-dependence, he looked to Tait for guidance. - -"What do you think of it?" he asked irresolutely. - -"Ah! That requires some consideration, my friend. But before we go into -the matter let us understand our position toward each other. You believe -this story of your father's death?" - -"Certainly. Mr. Hilliston would not tell me an untruth, and moreover -this bundle of extracts from provincial newspapers confirms his -statement. I truly believe that my father, George Larcher, was murdered -at Horriston in 1866 by--and there you have me--I know not by whom. My -own opinion is that Jeringham is----" - -"One moment, Claude! Let us settle all preliminaries. Are you resolved -to take up this matter!" - -"I am! I must clear the memory of my mother, and avenge the death of my -father." - -"Would it not be better to let sleeping dogs lie?" suggested Tait, with -some hesitation. - -"I do not think so," replied Claude quietly. "I am not a sentimental -man, as you know; and my nature is of too practical a kind to busy -itself with weaving ropes of sand. Yet in this instance I feel that it -is my duty to hunt down and punish the coward who killed my father. When -I find him, and punish him, this ghost of '66 will be laid aside; -otherwise, it will continue to haunt and torture me all my life." - -"But your business?" - -"I shall lay aside my business till this matter is settled to my -satisfaction. As you know, I have a private income, and am not compelled -to work for my daily bread. Moreover, the last four years have brought -me in plenty of money, so that I can afford to indulge my fancy. And my -fancy," added Claude in a grim tone, "is to dedicate the rest of my life -to discovering the truth. Do you not approve of my decision?" - -"Yes, and no," said Tait evasively. "I think your hunt for an -undescribed criminal, whose crime dates back twenty-five years, is -rather a waste of time. All clews must have disappeared. It seems -hopeless for you to think of solving the mystery. And if you do," -continued the little man earnestly, "if you do, what possible pleasure -can you derive from such a solution? Your father is a mere name to you, -so filial love can have nothing to do with the matter. Moreover, the -criminal may be dead--he may be----" - -"You have a thousand and one objections," said Larcher impatiently, -"none of which have any weight with me. I am in the hands of Fate. A -factor has entered into my life which has changed my future. Knowing -what I now know, I cannot rest until I learn the truth. Do you know the -story of Mozart?" he added abruptly. - -"I know several stories of Mozart. But this special one I may not know." - -"It is told either of Mozart or Mendelssohn! I forget which," pursued -Larcher, half to himself. "When Mozart--let us say Mozart--was ill in -bed, one of his friends struck a discord on the piano, which required -what is technically known as a resolution for its completion. The -omission so tortured the sensitive ear of the musician that, when his -friend departed, he rose from his bed and completed the discord in -accordance with musical theory. Till that was done he could not rest." - -"And the point of your parable?" - -"Can you not see? This incomplete case of murder is my discord. I must -complete it by discovering the criminal, and so round off the case, or -submit to be tortured by its hinted mystery all my life. It is not -filial love, it is not sentiment, it is not even curiosity, it is simply -a desire to complete a matter hitherto left undone. Till I know the -sequel to the Horriston tragedy, I shall feel in a state of -suspense--and suspense," added Claude emphatically, "is torture to men -of my temperament." - -"Your reason is a trifle whimsical," said Tait, smiling at the -application of this musical theory to the present instance, "but I can -understand your feelings. Indeed, I feel the same way myself." - -"You!" - -"Why not? In reading 'A Whim of Fate,' I could not go to rest without -knowing the end, and I feel a like curiosity toward this tragedy of real -life. I shall not be content till I learn the truth. My feelings are -precisely the same as your own. Therefore," pursued Tait, with emphasis, -"I propose to assist you in your search. We will discuss the matter -calmly, and see what is best to be done. In spite of the lapse of -five-and-twenty years, who knows but what we may lay hands on the -murderer of your father, who is no doubt now living in fancied -security." - -"Unless he is dead." - -"Who is making the objections now?" said Tait, smiling. "Well, Claude, -will you accept me as your brother detective in this matter?" - -"Willingly, and I thank you for this proof of your friendship." - -"I am afraid there is an element of selfishness mixed up in my offer," -said Tait, shrugging his shoulders. "It is not every day that one can -find an interesting case like this to dissect. Excitement is the joy of -life, and I rather think we will be able to extract a great deal from -this investigation. Come! We now understand one another." - -Larcher grasped the hand held out to him, and gratefully accepted the -aid thus offered. From that moment the two dedicated themselves to hunt -down the criminal at whose hands George Larcher had met his death. It -was as strange a compact as had ever been made. Halting Nemesis, who had -rested all these years, once more resumed her stealthy progress, and -before her ran these two young men, as ministers of her long-delayed -revenge. This junction of unforeseen circumstances savored of the -dramatic. - -"The first thing to be done," said Tait, when the compact was thus -concluded, "is to read both cases." - -"Both cases!" repeated Claude curiously. - -"Yes! You remember how Browning gives half a dozen aspects of the same -case in his 'Ring and the Book.' In a minor degree we benefit in the -same manner. There," said Tait, pointing to the roll of newspapers, "is -the case from the real point of view, and here, in these three volumes, -we will find the same case as considered in a fictional fashion by the -novelist. By reading both we may come to some conclusion whence to start -in our talk. Last night you read the newspapers; I the novel. To-day we -will reverse the process. I will view the affair as set forth by the -provincial press, and you will devour the three volumes of John Parver -as I did last night." - -"And afterward?" - -"Eh! Who can say?" replied Tait, shrugging his shoulders. Several -sojourns in Paris had left their trace in Gallic gestures, and possibly -in Gallic flippancy. "We must know what foundation we have before we -build." - -Claude nodded. He was of the same way of thinking himself, and commented -on his friend's speech after his own fashion. - -"Yes," said he a trifle vindictively, "we must build our gallows stanch -and strong. You can proceed with your toilet, and afterward we will read -novels and newspapers, as you suggest. The result of our reading must -appear in our actions. I rather think," he added slowly, "that the -result will be a visit to Mr. Hilliston." - -"Without doubt. He was an eye-witness, and it is always preferable to -obtain evidence first hand." - -"Then," said Claude reflectively, "there is Mrs. Bezel." - -"Quite so! The enterprising lady who started the whole thing. Was she -also an eye-witness?" - -"I can't say. Her name does not appear in the newspapers." - -"Humph!" muttered Tait, scratching his chin. "Nor in those three volumes -can I find a character likely to develop into Mrs. Bezel of Hampstead." - -"I wonder who she can be," said Claude curiously, "or what she can have -to do with the case." - -"That we must find out. Depend upon it, there is more in this case than -in newspapers or novel. We must find out all about Mrs. Bezel, and," -said Tait, with emphasis, "we must learn all that is to be learned -concerning John Parver." - -"Who is John Parver?" - -"Who was the Man in the Iron Mask?" replied Tait, in a bantering tone. -"I cannot say. But whomsoever he may be, he knows all about this case." - -"There is that possibility, certainly," assented the other smoothly, -"but I think it hardly likely. A man of to-day would not readily come -across the account of a tragedy occurring in a little known town -twenty-five years ago. Do you know," he added, after a pause, "that it -occurs to me that the publication of this book, containing an account of -the case, may have been the cause which incited Mrs. Bezel to write the -letter." - -"I thought so myself. Mrs. Bezel may think that John Parver is a _nom de -plume_ assumed by Claude Larcher." - -"Or another alternative. Mrs. Bezel may be John Parver herself. It is -the fashion nowadays for women to write under the names of men." - -There was a few minutes' silence, during which each man was intent on -his own thoughts. Tait, whose brain turned quicker than that of -Larcher, was the first to break the silence. - -"Well," said he, moving briskly toward his bedroom door, "before we can -say or do anything we must learn the facts of the case." - -As he vanished into his room Claude laid his hand on the first of the -three volumes. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - "LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE." - - -ON the journey of life we sometimes come to a dead stop. Obstacles arise -which bar our further progress, and circumstances, impossible to do away -with, confront us on all sides. We cannot go back, for in life there is -no retrogression; we cannot proceed, owing to blocked paths, and so -stand hopeless and powerless, waiting for the word or action of Fate. -She, unseen but almighty deity, alone can remove the hindrance which -prevents our progress, and until she speaks or acts, we can do nothing -but wait. It is on such occasions that we feel how truly we are the -puppets of some unknown power. - -Francis Hilliston had arrived at some such stoppage. Hitherto his keen -brain, his strong will, his capability for decisive action, had carried -him onward from past to present, through present to future. When -obstacles had arisen they had been easily swept away, and with his own -life in his hands, he was perfectly satisfied of his power to mold it to -his liking. Possibly Fate, who is a somewhat jealous deity, felt angered -at the egotistic self-reliance of the man; for without warning she -brought him to a dead stop, then grimly waited to see how his boasted -cunning would outwit her. As she probably foresaw, the man did nothing -but await her decision. It was the only thing he could do. - -For five-and-twenty years the Horriston tragedy had been unmentioned, -unthought of; Hilliston deemed that it was relegated to the category of -unknown crimes, and having in mind his friendship for the parents, and -his love for the son, was not unwilling that it should be so. He did not -wish Claude to know of the matter, he was not desirous that he should -come in contact with Mrs. Bezel; and hitherto had managed so well that -neither contingency had eventuated. Congratulating himself on his -dexterity, he remained lulled in fancied security, when Fate, observant -of his complacency, sent a bolt from the blue, and brought him up short. -Now, Hilliston, forced by circumstances to tell the truth to Larcher, -did not know what to do. He could only wait for the fiat of the higher -power. - -Grimly satisfied that she had brought home his fault, and had shown him -his moral weakness, Fate made the next move, and sent Larcher and his -friend to Lincoln's Inn Fields to again set Hilliston on his former -journey. The paralysis of will which had seized the elder man did not -extend to the younger; for Claude arrived full of anxiety to begin the -search for the undiscovered criminal. The first result of his compact -with Tait was this visit to the lawyer. - -"Claude Larcher; Spenser Tait," muttered Hilliston, glancing at the -cards brought in by his clerk. "I thought as much; the matter is out of -my hands now. Show the gentlemen in," he added sharply. - -The clerk departed, and Hilliston walked quickly to the window, where he -stood biting his nails. All geniality had vanished from his face; he -looked older than his years, and an unaccustomed frown wrinkled his -expansive forehead. A crisis had come which he knew not how to meet; so, -after the fashion of men when they feel thus helpless, he left the -decision in the hands of Fate. Which was precisely what Fate wanted. - -"Good-morning, Claude! Good-morning, Mr. Tait!" said Hilliston, -welcoming the young men with artificial enthusiasm. "I expected to see -you today." - -"Surely you did not expect to see me?" said Tait, in a silky tone, as he -placed his hat on the table. - -"Indeed, I did! Where Damon is Phintias is sure to be. That Claude's -perusal of those papers would result in your accompanying him to this -office, I felt sure. I was right. Here you are!" - -Mr. Hilliston affected a cheerfulness he was far from feeling. With -increasing age a distaste had come for violent excitements, and with one -of Claude's temperament he knew that the chances were that the ensuing -quarter of an hour would be somewhat stirring. Contrary to his -expectations, however, Larcher was eager, but calm, and Hilliston, -assuring himself that the calmness was genuine, began to hope that the -interview would pass off better than he expected. Still, none of us like -to reopen a disagreeable chapter of the book of life, and this Mr. -Hilliston, against his will and inclination, was about to do. - -"Well, sir," said Claude, when they were all seated, and the hush of -expectancy was in the air, "I have read those papers." - -"Yes," said Mr. Hilliston interrogatively; "and what do you think of the -matter?" - -"I think it is a very black case." - -"You are quite right, Claude. It is a very black case indeed. I did all -in my power to bring the criminal to justice, but without success." - -"Who is the criminal?" asked Larcher, with a keen glance at his -guardian. - -Hilliston shuffled his feet uneasily, by no means relishing the -directness of the question. - -"That is a difficult question to answer," he said slowly; "in fact an -impossible one. My suspicions point to Jeringham." - -From this point Tait made a third in the conversation. - -"That is because Jeringham disappeared on the night of the murder," he -said leisurely. - -"Yes. I think that circumstance alone is very suspicious." - -"He was never found again?" - -"Never. We advertised in all the papers; we employed detectives, -inquired privately, but all to no result. The last person who saw -Jeringham was Mrs. Larcher. He parted from her at the door of The -Laurels, and vanished into the night. It still hides him." - -"What do you conclude from that, sir?" asked Claude, after a pause. - -"I can only conclude one thing," replied Hilliston, with great -deliberation, "that your father, suspicious of Jeringham, returned on -that night from London, and saw the parting. The result is not difficult -to foresee. It is my own opinion that there were words between the men, -possibly a struggle, and that the matter ended in the murder of your -father by Jeringham. Hence the discovery of the body thrown into the -river, hence the flight of the murderer." - -"Was this the generally received opinion at the time?" - -"Yes. I can safely say that it was believed Jeringham was guilty, and -had fled to escape the consequences of his crime." - -"In that case, how was it that Mrs. Larcher was arrested?" asked Tait -skeptically. - -"You cannot have read the case carefully, to ask me that," replied -Hilliston sharply. "She was arrested on the evidence of the dagger. -Without doubt the crime was committed with the dagger, and as she had -worn it, the inference was drawn that she was the guilty person. But she -was acquitted, and left the court--as the saying is--without a stain on -her character." - -"Nevertheless she died, Mr. Hilliston." - -"Shame killed her," said the lawyer sadly. "She was a foolish woman in -many ways,--your pardon, Claude, for so speaking,--but she was not the -woman to commit so foul a crime. Indeed, I believe she was fondly -attached to her husband till Jeringham came between them." - -"Ah!" interposed Tait composedly, "that is John Parver's view." - -"John Parver?" repeated Hilliston, with well-bred surprise. "I do not -know that name in connection with the case." - -"Nor do we know the name of Mrs. Bezel," said Claude quickly. - -Hilliston started, and looked at Claude as though he would read his very -soul. The inscrutability of the young man's countenance baffled him, and -he turned off the remark with a dry laugh. - -"With Mrs. Bezel we will deal hereafter," he said shortly; "but who is -this John Parver!" - -"He is the author of a book called 'A Whim of Fate.'" - -"A novel?" - -"Yes. A novel which embodies the whole of this case." - -"That is strange," said Hilliston quietly, "but no doubt the author has -come across the details in some old provincial journal, and made use of -them. The Larcher affair caused a great deal of talk at the time, but it -is certainly remarkable that a novelist should have made use of it for -fictional purposes after the lapse of so many years. I must read the -book. Just note the name of it here, Mr. Tait, if you please." - -Tait did so, and Hilliston continued: - -"Is my character in the book?" - -"I think so. Under the name of Michael Dene!" - -"I trust the author has been flattering to me. By the way, who does he -say committed the crime?" - -"Michael Dene." - -Hilliston went gray on the instant, as though a sudden blow had been -struck at his heart. Two pairs of keen eyes were fixed on his face with -some surprise, and uneasy at the scrutiny, he strove to recover his -composure. - -"Upon my word," he said, with quivering lips, "I am infinitely obliged -to John Parver for describing me as a murderer. And what motive does he -ascribe to me, or rather to Michael Dene, for the committal of the -crime?" - -"Love for the wife," said Tait, smiling. - -"Eh! That is rather the rôle of Jeringham, I should say," replied -Hilliston, the color coming back to lips and cheek. "I must read this -novel, and if possible discover the identity of the author." - -"Oh, we will do that!" - -"Claude!" cried the lawyer, in astonishment. - -"I and Tait. We intend to follow out this case to the end." - -"It is useless! Five-and-twenty years have elapsed." - -"Nevertheless, I am determined to hunt down the murderer of my father," -said Claude decisively. "Besides, we have two eye-witnesses to the -tragedy. Yourself and Mrs. Bezel." - -"Ah! Mrs. Bezel! I forgot her. Certainly, I will do all in my power to -help you, Claude. Your father was my dearest friend, and I shall only be -too glad to avenge his fate. But if I could not do it at the moment, how -can I hope to do so now--after so long a period has elapsed?" - -"Leave that to us, sir. Tait and I will attend to the active part of the -business. All we ask you to do is to give us such information as lies in -your power." - -"I will do that with pleasure," said Hilliston, who by this time was -thoroughly master of himself. "What is it you wish to know." - -"We wish to know all about Mrs. Bezel. Who is she? What has she to do -with the case? Why is not her name mentioned in these pages?" - -"For answers to these questions you had better apply to the lady -herself. You have her address. Why not call on her?" - -"I intend to do so to-morrow." - -The old man rose from his seat, and took a turn up and down the room. -Then he paused beside Claude, and laid a trembling hand on the young -man's shoulder. - -"I have been a good friend to you, Claude." - -"You have been my second father--my real father," said Larcher gently. -"I shall never forget your kindness. I would return it if I could." - -"Then do so, by letting sleeping dogs lie." - -"What do you mean by that, Mr. Hilliston?" asked the other, with a -subtle change in his tone. - -"Abandon this case. Do not call on Mrs. Bezel. You can do no good by -reopening the affair. It was a mystery years ago, it is a mystery still; -it will remain a mystery till the end of time." - -"Not if I can help it. I am sorry to disoblige you, sir, but my mind is -made up. I am determined to find out the truth." - -Hilliston sighed, passed his hand across his forehead, and returned to -his seat, hopeless and baffled. He was sufficiently acquainted with -Claude's character to know that he was not easily turned from his -purpose, and that his resolution to solve the mystery would be -resolutely carried out. Yet he made one more attempt to bend the young -man to his will. - -"If you are wise you will not call on Mrs. Bezel." - -"Why not, sir?" - -"It will give you great pain." - -"All my pain is past," replied Claude quickly. "I can suffer no more -than I did when reading these papers. I must call on Mrs. Bezel; I must -know the truth, and," added he significantly, "I have your promise to -assist me." - -"I will do all in my power," answered Hilliston wearily, "but you do not -know what are you doing. I am older and more experienced than you, and I -give you my best advice. Do not see Mrs. Bezel, and leave the Larcher -affair alone." - -The result of this well-meant advice was that Claude called the next -morning on Mrs. Bezel. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - BOTH SIDES OF THE QUESTION. - - -MAN'S life has frequently been compared to a river. In childhood it is a -trickling thread, in youth a stream, in manhood a majestic river, and -finally in old age is swallowed up in the ocean of death. A very pretty -parable, but somewhat stale. It is time that life was indicated by a new -metaphor. Let us therefore compare the life of man to the ocean itself. -Like the ocean life has its calms and storms, its sullen rages, its -caressing moments; and like the ocean--for this is the main point of the -illustration--it has its profound depths, containing a hundred secrets -unknown to the outer world. Francis Hilliston was like the ocean: all -knew the surface, few were acquainted with the depths below. - -A man who leads a double life need never feel dull. He may be nervous, -anxious, fearful lest his secret should be discovered, but the constant -vigilance required to hide it preserves him from the curse of ennui. He -ever keeps the best side of his nature uppermost; his smiles are for the -world, his brow is smoothed to lull suspicion. But to continue the -simile of the ocean: in the depths lie many terrible things which never -come to the surface; things which he scarcely dare admit even to -himself. Francis Hilliston was one of these men. - -Everyone knew Hilliston of Lincoln's Inn Fields, or thought they did, -which is quite a different thing. He was widely respected in the -profession; he was popular in society; hand and glove with prominent and -wealthy personages. His house at Kensington Gore was richly furnished; -his wife was handsome and fashionable; he gave splendid entertainments, -at which none was more jocund than the host himself; he was, outwardly, -all that was prosperous and popular. In his professional capacity he was -the repository of a thousand secrets, but of all these none was more -terrible than the one locked up in his own breast. - -Long years of training, constant necessity, had taught him how to -control his emotions, to turn his face into a mask of inscrutability; -yet he succeeded ill at times, as witness his interview with the two -young men. Not all his powers of self-repression could keep his face -from turning gray; nor prevent the perspiration beading his brow; nor -steady his voice to well-bred indifference. Usually he succeeded in -masking his emotion; this time he had failed, and, worst of all, he knew -that he had failed. - -It was not Claude that he feared, for the young man was not of a -suspicious nature; and even had he been so, would certainly have scoffed -at the idea of attributing any evil to the one who had been to him a -father. Tait, silent, observant, and cynical, was the person to be -dreaded. Accustomed by his profession to read faces, Hilliston had seen -that the quiet little man was possessed of one of those inquisitive -penetrative natures, which suspect all men, and from a look, a gesture, -a pause, can draw evidence to support any suspicion they may entertain. - -Certainly Tait had no reason to distrust Hilliston when he entered the -room, but during the interview he appeared dissatisfied with the -lawyer's manner. That Hilliston should attempt to dissuade Claude from -prosecuting a search for his father's murderer seemed strange; but that -he should betray such marked agitation at the idea of such searching -taking place was stranger still. Altogether Tait left the office in a -very dissatisfied state of mind. Hilliston had sufficient penetration to -note this, and when left alone was at his wit's end how to baffle the -unwarrantable curiosity of this intruder. - -"I don't mind Claude," he said, pacing up and down the room, "he has not -sufficient brain power to find out anything. I do not want him to know. -But this Tait is dangerous. He is one of those dogged creatures, who -puts his nose to the scent, and never leaves the trail till the prey is -captured. It is with him I have to deal, not with Claude." - -His agitation almost mastered him, and he hurriedly took a small bottle -from a drawer in his desk. Dropping the contents of this into a glass of -water, he drank off the draught, and in a short space of time regained -his composure, in some measure. Then he sat down to think, and plot, and -plan how to baffle the vigilance of Tait. - -"That infernal woman has done it all," he muttered savagely; "she has -lighted the fire. Let us see how she will put it out. But she cannot put -it out," he added, striking his forehead with his clenched fist; "it -will blaze and burn. I shall burn with it unless----" - -There was a strange smile on his lips, as an idea entered his mind, and -he glanced quickly at his watch. - -"Four o'clock. Claude can't possibly call on Margaret to-day, so I have -yet time to prepare her for his visit. I must silence her at any cost. -She must hold her tongue or ruin us both. Great Heavens! to think that -she should break out like this after five-and-twenty years. It is enough -to drive me mad." - -By this time he had put on his gloves, and stretched his hand toward his -hat, which stood on a side table. A glance in the glass showed him how -old and gray he looked, and the sight was so unexpected that he started -in dismay. - -"Bah! I look as though I were going to fail," he said to himself, "but I -must not fail. I dare not fail. At sixty, rich, honored, respected, I am -not going to fall from the pedestal I have reached. I shall reassure -Claude. I shall baffle Tait. I shall silence Margaret. The first move in -the game is mine." - -Calm, dignified, easy, he left his office, and stepped into the brougham -waiting at the door. To judge by appearance, one would have thought him -the most respectable and upright man in London. No one knew what lurked -behind that benevolent expression. His mask had fallen for the moment -when Tait was present; now it was on again, and he went forth to deceive -the world. Yet he had an uneasy consciousness that one man at least -guessed his real character. - -"Never mind," he thought, as the footman closed the door of the -brougham, "it will be strange if, with my age and experience and -reputation and money, I cannot baffle him." - -He did not go direct home, as it was yet early, and he had one or two -things to do in connection with his new task. First he drove to Tait's -chambers, and ascertained from the porter that the two young men were -within. - -"Never mind sending up my name, I won't disturb them," he said, when the -porter requested his card. "I only wished to speak to Mr. Tait about a -box at the theater." - -"If it is the Lyceum you mean, sir, I have just got two stalls for Mr. -Tait." - -"Ah! I may see them there," replied Hilliston negligently; and as he -drove away reflected: "Good! They have not yet been to Hampstead; nor do -they intend to go to-night. Mr. Tait has yet to learn the value of -time." - -Driving through Piccadilly he stopped at a bookshop, and with some -difficulty, for the demand was large, obtained a copy of "A Whim of -Fate." He began to read it in the brougham, and skimmed its pages so -rapidly that by the time he reached Kensington Gore he had nearly -finished the first volume. He did not recognize himself in the character -of Michael Dene, and became more convinced than ever that the -coincidence of the Larcher affair forming the plot of a novel, was due -to the author's reading the case in some old provincial newspaper. On -every page it betrayed that, to him, the story was hearsay. - -Fortunately Mrs. Hilliston was driving in the Park, so the lawyer shut -himself up in his library, and went on reading the story. He did not see -his wife till dinner, which took place at eight o'clock, and then -descended in his ordinary clothes, looking ill and pale. Something he -had read in the novel had startled him more than he cared to -confess--even to himself. - -"You must excuse my dress, Louise," he said, on taking his seat, "but I -have been so engrossed with a novel that I did not hear the dressing -bell." - -"It has not had a pleasant effect on you," replied his wife, smiling; -"you do not look at all well." - -"I am not well," said Hilliston, who merely trifled with his food; "you -must excuse me going with you to the Lamberts' to-night, as I think I -shall call in and see my doctor." - -"Are you so bad as all that?" questioned Mrs. Hilliston anxiously. "Why -not send for Dr. Bland?" - -"I prefer going to see him, Louise. You will probably not be back till -three in the morning, so I will go to bed immediately on my return. Have -no fear, my dear, it is only a trifling indisposition." - -After these plain statements it was rather strange that Hilliston, in -place of driving to Dr. Bland's, who lived in Hill Street, should direct -the cab, which he picked up by the Park railings, to drive to Hampstead. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - MRS. BEZEL. - - -ONE cannot always judge by appearances either as regards human beings or -houses. Mr. Hilliston was one excellent illustration of this rule; -Clarence Cottage was another. It was in a narrow and crooked lane -trending downward to the right, at the summit of Fitzjohn's Avenue; an -unpretentious two-story building, divided from the public thoroughfare -by a well-cultivated garden. Therein grew thyme and lavender, marigolds -and pansies; for the owner of the cottage loved those homely flowers, -and daily gazed at them from the bow-window wherein her couch was -placed. - -Mrs. Bezel never walked in her garden, for the all-sufficient reason -that she was a helpless paralytic, and had not used her limbs for over -ten years. Still a moderately young woman of forty-five, she possessed -the remains of great beauty, ravaged by years of anxiety and mental -trouble. Those passing along the lane usually saw her pale face at the -window, and pitied the sufferings written in every line; sufferings -which were apparent even to a casual glance. Noting the homely garden, -the mean-looking dwelling, the anxious expression of the invalid, they -deemed her to be some poor sickly creature, the scapegoat of nature and -the world, who had sought this secluded spot in order to hide her -troubles. This view was not entirely correct. - -She was in ill-health, it is true; she dwelt in a small house certainly; -and the anxious expression was seldom absent from her face. But she was -in easy circumstances, untroubled by pecuniary worries, and the interior -of the cottage was furnished with a magnificence more suggestive of Park -Lane than of Hampstead. The outward aspect of the house, like that of -Mr. Hilliston, was a lie. - -Her sitting room resembled the boudoir of some Mayfair beauty. The -curtains were of silk, the carpet velvet pile, the walls were adorned -with costly pictures, and every corner of the small apartment was filled -with sumptuous furniture. All that art could contribute, all that -affection could suggest, were confined in the tiny space, and had Mrs. -Bezel possessed the mines of Golconda she could not have been more -luxuriously lodged. The house was a gem of its kind, perfect and -splendid. - -Mrs. Bezel took little interest in these material comforts. Her life was -passed between a couch in the bow-window, a well-cushioned chair by the -fire, and a downy bed in the next room. She had little appetite and did -not enjoy her food; mental anxiety prevented her interesting herself in -the splendors around her; and the only pleasure she took was her dreary -journey in a Bath-chair when the weather permitted. Then, as she inhaled -the fresh breeze blowing across the Heath, she gazed with longing eyes -at London, almost hidden under its foggy veil, far below, and always -returned with reluctance to the familiar splendors of her narrow -dwelling. Fortune had given her much, but by way of compensation had -deprived her of the two things she most desired--of health and of love. - -Even on this warm June evening a fire burned in the grate, for Mrs. -Bezel was a chilly creature, who shrunk at the least breath of wind. -According to custom, she had left the window couch at seven o'clock, and -had taken her simple meal while seated in her large chair to the right -of the fireplace. After dinner she took up a novel which was placed on a -small table at her elbow, and tried to read; but her attention was not -fixed on the book, and gradually it fell from her hands, while she gazed -idly at the fire. - -What she saw therein Heaven only knows. We all have our moments of -retrospection, and can picture the past in the burning coals. Some even -picture the future, but there was none for this woman. She was old, -weary, diseased, worn-out, and therefore saw in the fire only the -shadows of past years. Faces looked out of the flaming valleys, scenes -arranged themselves in the red confusion; but among them all there was -always one face, one scene, which never vanished as did the others. This -special face, this particular scene, were fixed, immovable, cruel, and -insistent. - -The chime of the clock striking half-past nine roused her from her -reverie, and she again addressed herself to the novel with a sigh. -Tortured by her own thoughts, Mrs. Bezel was not accustomed to retire -before midnight, and there were nearly three hours to be got through -before that time. Her life was as dreary, and weary, and heart-breaking -as that of Mariana in the Moated Grange. - -The tread of a firm footfall in the distance roused her attention, and -she looked expectantly toward the door, which faced her chair. The -newcomer passed up the narrow garden path, entered the house, and, after -a pause in the hall, presented himself in the sitting room. Mrs. Bezel -knew who it was before the door opened; for standing on the threshold -was the man with the face she had lately pictured amid the burning -coals. Francis Hilliston and the woman who called herself Mrs. Bezel -looked steadily at one another, but no sign of welcome passed between -them. He was the first to break the awkward silence. - -"How are you this evening, Margaret?" he asked, advancing toward her; -"better, I hope. There is more color in your cheeks, more brightness in -your eyes." - -"I am the same as ever," she replied coldly, while he drew a chair close -to the fire, and stretched out his hands to the blaze. "Why have you -come here at this hour?" - -"To see you." - -"No doubt! But with what purpose?" - -Hilliston pinched his nether lip between finger and thumb, frowning the -while at the fire. Whatever had been, there was now no love between this -woman and himself. But on no occasion had he noted so hostile a tone in -her voice. He was aware that a duel of words and brains was about to -ensue, and, knowing his antagonist, he took the button off his foil. -There was no need for fine speaking or veiled hints in this -conversation. It was advisable that all should be plain and -straightforward, for they knew each other too well to wear their masks -when alone. Under these circumstances he spoke the truth. - -"I think you can guess my errand," he said suavely. "It concerns the -letter you wrote to Claude Larcher." - -"I thought as much! And what more have you to say in connection with -that affair?" - -"I have merely to inform you that the man whom you desire to see is in -London, and will no doubt answer your kind invitation in person." - -Mrs. Bezel stretched out her hand and selected a letter from the little -pile on her table. - -"If you will look at that," she said coldly, "you will see that Claude -intends to call on me at three o'clock to-morrow." - -Taking the letter in silence, Hilliston turned frightfully pale, and the -perspiration stood in large beads on his forehead. He expected some such -appointment to be made, yet the evidence in his hand startled him all -the same. The promptitude of action spoke volumes to one of his acute -perceptions. To defend his good name would require all his skill and -experience, for he had to do with men of action, who acted as quickly as -they thought. The duel would be more equal than he had thought. - -"Are you still determined to tell all," he said in a low tone, crushing -the paper up in his hand. - -"Yes." - -The monosyllable was uttered in so icy a manner that Hilliston lost his -temper completely. Before this woman there was no need for him to retain -his smiling mask, and in a frenzy of rage he hurried into rapid speech, -frantic and unconsidered. - -"Ah, you would ruin me!" he cried, springing to his feet; "you would -drag up those follies of '66, and make London too hot to hold me! Have I -not implored, threatened, beseeched, commanded--done everything in my -power to make you hold your peace? Miserable woman, would you drag the -man you love down to----" - -"The man I loved you mean," responded Mrs. Bezel, in nowise moved by -this torrent of abuse. "Pray do not be theatrical, Francis. You know me -well enough to be aware that when my mind is made up I am not easily -moved. A man of your brains," she added scornfully, "should know that -loss of temper is but the prelude to defeat." - -Recognizing the truth of this remark, Hilliston resumed his seat, and -subdued his anger. Only the look of hatred in his eyes betrayed his real -feelings; otherwise he was calm, suave, and self-controlled. - -"Have you weighed the cost of your action?" he demanded quietly. - -"Yes. It means ruin to us both. But the loss is yours, not mine. -Helpless and deserted, life has no further charms for me, but you, Mr. -Hilliston, doubtless feel differently." - -"Margaret," he said entreatingly, "why do you speak like this? What harm -have I done you that----" - -"What harm!" she interrupted fiercely. "Have you not ruined me, have you -not deserted me, have you not robbed me of all that I loved? My life has -been one long agony, and you are to blame for it all. Not a word," she -continued imperiously. "I shall speak. I insist upon your knowing the -truth!" - -"Go on," he said sullenly; "I listen." - -"I loved you once, Francis. I loved you to my own cost. For your sake I -lost everything--position, home, respect, and love. And you--what did -you do?" - -Hilliston looked round the room, and shrugged his shoulders. Look and -gesture were so eloquent that she commented on them at once. - -"Do you think I valued this splendor? I know well enough that you gave -me all material comforts. But I wanted more than this. I wanted love." - -"You had it." - -"Aye! I had the passion such as you call love. Did it endure? You know -well that it did not. So long as I was healthy and handsome and bright -your attentions continued, but when I was reduced to this state, ten -years ago, what did you do? Left me to marry another woman." - -"It was not my fault," he muttered uneasily; "my affairs were involved, -and, as my wife had money, I was forced to marry her." - -"And you did marry her, and no doubt neglect her as you do me. Is Mrs. -Hilliston any happier in her splendid house at Kensington Gore than I in -this miserable cottage? I think not. I waited and waited, hoping your -love would return. It did not; so I took my own course--revenge!" - -"And so wrote to Claude Larcher!" - -"Yes. Listen to me. I wrote the first letter on the impulse of the -moment. I had been reading a book called 'A Whim of Fate,' which -contained----" - -"I know! I know! I read it myself this evening." - -"Then you know that someone else is possessed of your secret. Who is -John Parver?" - -"I don't know. I intend to find out. Meanwhile I am waiting to hear the -conclusion of your story." - -Mrs. Bezel drew a long breath, and continued: - -"The book, which contained an account of the tragedy at Horriston, -brought the fact so visibly before me that I wrote on the impulse -telling you that I wished to see Claude, and reveal all. You came and -implored and threatened. Then my impulse became a fixed determination. I -saw how I could punish you for your neglect, and so persisted in my -scheme. I wrote to Claude, and he is coming here to-morrow." - -"What do you intend to tell him?" - -"So much of the death of his father as I know." - -"You must not--you dare not," said Hilliston, with dry lips. "It means -ruin!" - -"To you, not to me." - -"Impossible," he said curtly. "Our relations are too close for one to -fall without the other." - -"So you think," rejoined Mrs. Bezel coolly; "but I know how to protect -myself. And of one thing you may be assured, I will say nothing against -you. All I intend to do is to tell him of his father's death." - -"He knows it already." - -"What?" - -"Yes! Did you think I was not going to be beforehand with you," sneered -Hilliston triumphantly. "I guessed your intention when you wrote me that -letter, and when Claude arrived in town I saw him before he could call -here. I did not intend to tell him of the matter till your action forced -me to do so. He has read all the papers in connection with his father's -death, and intends to hunt down the murderer. Now, do you see what you -have done?" - -Apparently the brutal plainness of this speech strongly affected Mrs. -Bezel. It seemed as though she had not comprehended till that moment -what might be the result of her actions. Now an abyss opened at her -feet, and she felt a qualm of fear. - -"Nevertheless, I intend to go on now that I have begun," she said -gloomily. "I will answer any questions Claude may ask me." - -"You will put him in possession of a clew." - -"It is not improbable; but, as I said, life has no charms for me." - -"You don't think of my sufferings," said Hilliston bitterly, rising to -his feet. - -"Did you think of mine during all these lonely years?" she retorted, -with a sneer. "I shall punish you, as you punished me. There is such a -thing as justice in this world." - -"Well, I warn you that I shall protect myself." - -"That is your lookout. But I will show you this mercy, as I said before. -That nothing will be told by me of your connection with this affair. As -to myself, I will act as I think best." - -"You will tell him who you are?" - -"Yes; I will tell him my real name." - -"Then I am lost!" - -"Surely not," she rejoined scornfully. "Francis Hilliston is old enough -in villainy and experience to protect himself against a mere boy." - -"It is not Claude I fear, but his friend, Spenser Tait. He is the -dangerous person. But enough of this," added Hilliston, striking the -table imperiously. "I forbid you to indulge in these follies. You know I -have a means whereby to compel your obedience." - -"It is your possession of that means that has turned me against you," -she retorted dauntlessly. "If you give me back my----" - -"Margaret! Not a word more! Let things remain as they are." - -"I have said what I intend to do." - -Hilliston ground his teeth. He knew that nothing he could say or do -would shake the determination of this woman. He had already experienced -her resolute will, and not even the means of which he spoke would shake -her immovability. There was nothing more but to retire and protect -himself as best he could. At all events, she promised to remain neutral -so far as he was concerned. That was something gained. Before leaving -the house, however, he made one final effort to force her to his will. - -"I will not give you any more money." - -"I don't care, Francis. This cottage and its contents are settled on me. -A sale of this furniture will produce sufficient money to last my life. -I can't live long now." - -"I will deny all your statements." - -"Do so!" - -"I will have you declared insane and shut up in an asylum." - -Mrs. Bezel laughed scornfully, and pointed toward the door. - -"If that is all you have to say you had better go," she said jeeringly. -"You know well enough that you cannot harm me without jeopardizing your -own position." - -They looked at one another fiercely, each trying to outstare the other. -Hilliston's eyes were the first to fall, and he hastily turned toward -the door. - -"So be it," he said, with his hand on the knob; "you want war. You shall -have it. See Claude, tell him all. I can defend myself." - -On leaving the house a few minutes later, he paused irresolutely by the -gate and looked back. - -"If I could only find the paper," he muttered, "she could do nothing. As -it is----" - -He made a gesture of despair and plunged into the darkness. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - A FEW FACTS CONNECTED WITH THE CASE. - - -WHEN the two young men left Lincoln's Inn Fields after the momentous -interview with Hilliston, they walked on in silence for some distance, -each busied with his own thoughts. Like most solitaries, Tait had a -habit of speaking aloud, and, unmindful of the presence of Claude, he -stopped short at the gate of the New Law Courts to give vent to his -feelings. - -"It is decidedly suspicious," he said in a low tone, "and quite -inexplicable." - -"What are you talking about?" asked Claude irritably, whereupon Tait -became aware that he was not alone, but nevertheless showed no -disposition to balk the question. - -"I was thinking of Mr. Hilliston," he returned quietly. "I am not at all -satisfied with his conduct. He is hostile to us, Claude." - -"Hostile? Impossible! He is doing all in his power to help us." - -"So it appears," answered Tait dryly. "Nevertheless I think that he -intends to thwart us in our plans--if he can." - -"Now you are talking nonsense," said Claude, as they resumed their walk. -"Why, he first brought the case under my notice." - -"And why? Because he wanted to be beforehand with Mrs. Bezel. If he had -not told she would have done so, and naturally enough he wished to be -first in the field." - -"But I can't think ill of him," protested Larcher. "He has been a second -father to me." - -"No doubt! There is such a thing as remorse." - -"Remorse? You are mad!" - -"Not at all. I am suspicious. We will discuss Mr. Hilliston later on, -when I will give you my reasons for speaking thus. Meanwhile he has -decided to play a game against us!" - -"Nonsense! He has no motive." - -"Pardon me. I think he has, but what it is I am unable to say--as yet. -However, he will make two moves in the game within the next twenty-four -hours." - -"Indeed," said Claude ironically, "perhaps you can tell me what those -two moves will be." - -"Certainly," answered Tait serenely. "As to the first, he will call at -my rooms to find out if we have gone to see Mrs. Bezel to-night, -and----" - -"Why at your rooms?" - -"Because he thinks you are staying with me. And, moreover, knowing that -we are acting together, he knows your movements will coincide with -mine." - -"Ah! And the second move?" - -"He will write you a letter asking you to stay with him at Kensington -Gore." - -"I don't see what there is suspicious about that," said Claude -petulantly. - -"I know you don't. But it is my belief that he is afraid of your -investigations in this case, and wishes to keep you under his eye." - -"But good Heavens, man! he advised me to pursue the matter." - -"On the contrary, he advised you to let sleeping dogs lie." - -"So he did," cried Claude, with a sudden recollection of the interview. -"But why? What harm can my investigations do to him?" - -"Ah! That is a difficult question to answer," said Tait reflectingly. -"To my mind they will show that Hilliston was not the friend of your -father he pretended to be." - -"But according to those papers he acted like a friend throughout." - -"Yes, according to those papers." - -Larcher faced round suddenly, struck by the significance of the remark. -He was a clever young man, but could not see clearly before him, and -honest himself, was far from suspecting dishonesty in others. Instead of -agreeing with Tait in his estimate of Hilliston, he vehemently defended -the lawyer. - -"You must not speak like that, Tait," he said angrily. "Mr. Hilliston is -an honest man, and has been like a father to me. I owe all to him." - -"Perhaps you do," retorted Tait significantly. "However, we need not -quarrel over the matter. I am content to wait, and will bet you five -pounds that the inquiry is made to-night, and the letter is sent -to-morrow." - -Larcher did not accept the bet thus confidently offered, but walked on -stiffly with his head in the air. He was seriously annoyed with Tait for -daring to cast an imputation on the character of a man to whom he owed -all. Never could he bring himself to believe that Hilliston intended him -evil, and deemed that the lawyer, despite his manifest reluctance, would -help him by all the means in his power to discover the assassin. - -Nevertheless, Tait proved to be in the right. As the two young men -passed down the stairs on their way to the theater--whence Tait insisted -on taking Claude with a view of distracting his mind--they were met by -the porter. - -"Beg pardon, sir," addressing himself to Tait, "but a gentleman called -some time ago and asked for you and Mr. Larcher." - -"Who was he? Why did you not show him up?" - -"He would not give his name, sir, and did not wish to come up. He only -asked if you had a box for the theater, and when I said you had stalls, -drove off." - -"Ah! Can you describe his appearance?" - -"Not very tall, sir. Clean shaven, with white hair and a red face. -Looked like a country gentleman, sir." - -"Thank you! that will do," replied Tait quietly, and left the house with -Claude. - -For a few minutes he enjoyed his companion's astonishment at this proof -of Hilliston's double-dealing, and it was not till they were in the cab -that he spoke. - -"Well," he said, smiling, "was I not right when I said that he would -make the first move?" - -"You are right so far," muttered Claude, who looked ill at ease, "but I -cannot bring myself to suspect my guardian." - -"You want another proof, perhaps. Well, we will wait for your invitation -to Kensington Gore." - -Claude shook his head, and seemed so indisposed to talk that Tait judged -it wise to humor his silence. The young man's thoughts were anything but -pleasant. He had been accustomed to look up to Hilliston as the model of -an English gentleman, honest, honorable, upright, and noble. If, then, -this suspicion of Tait's should prove correct,--and the last act of -Hilliston certainly gave color to it,--where was he to find honest and -honorable men? If Hilliston proved false, then Claude felt he could no -longer trust the human race. Still he fought against the supposition, -and secretly hoped that the second prophecy of his friend would not be -fulfilled. - -Alas, for his hopes! At eleven the next morning, while they were -discussing the situation, a letter was delivered to Claude by special -messenger. It proved to be from Hilliston, and contained a warm -invitation for Larcher to take up his abode at the Kensington Gore -house. "As you may only be in London for a short period, my dear -Claude," wrote his guardian, "my wife and I must see as much of you as -possible." With a bitter smile Claude tossed the letter across to Tait. - -"You see I was right," said the latter, for the second time, after -skimming the note. "Mr. Hilliston is playing a double game. He wishes to -keep you under his eye, thinking that, as you trust him, you will keep -him informed as to your doings, so that being forewarned he may be -forearmed." - -"Do you really think he is my enemy, Tait?" - -"I am really not prepared to say," replied the little man, with some -hesitation. "His behavior of yesterday struck me as suspicious. He -seemed unnecessarily agitated, and moreover urged you not to see Mrs. -Bezel. Perhaps he thinks she will tell you too much. Taking all these -facts into consideration I cannot help thinking that Hilliston is asking -you to his house for some motive in connection with our search." - -"But he showed me the papers." - -"I know that, but as I told you yesterday it was Hobson's choice with -him. If he hadn't imparted the information, Mrs. Bezel would have done -so. Of two evils he chose the least, and by showing you the papers -proved to all outward appearance that he was your firm friend. Should -you bring any charge against him, he will meet it by the very argument -you have just made use of." - -"Good Heavens!" groaned Claude, in despair, "is everybody as treacherous -as you think him to be." - -"A good number of people are," replied Tait suavely. "A long residence -in London does not strengthen one's belief in human nature. It is a city -of wild beasts,--of wolves and foxes,--who rend and betray for the -gaining of their own ends. If Hilliston is what I believe him to be, we -must do our best to baffle him; and so you must continue to be his -friend." - -"How can I, if he wishes to betray me?" - -"Ah, you are so unsophisticated, Claude," said the hardened man of the -world; "you betray your feelings too plainly. In this city it is worse -than madness to wear your heart on your sleeve. If you are convinced -that Hilliston bears you ill----" - -"I am not convinced. I can't believe any man would be so base." - -"Ah, bah, that is a want of experience," retorted Tait, raising his -eyebrows; "I'll pick you out a dozen of my decent friends who are as -base or baser than I believe them to be. Respectability is all a -question of concealment nowadays, and it must be confessed that your -guardian wears his mask very prettily." - -"But do you think he is----" - -"Never mind what I think," interrupted Tait impatiently. "Hilliston may -turn out to be an angel, after all. But his conduct of yesterday and -this morning appears to be suspicious, and in dealing with the matters -we have in hand it is as well to be careful. Keep your faith in -Hilliston if it assists you to continue the friendship. He must suspect -nothing." - -"Do you then wish me to accept this invitation?" - -"No. Why go into the lion's den? Write and thank him and--decline." - -"I have no excuse." - -"Indeed! Then I will provide you with one. You are engaged to stay with -me at Thorston for a month. By the end of that time you will know -sufficient of Hilliston to decide for yourself as to the wisdom of -accepting or declining his invitation." - -"But if we go to Thorston we cannot prosecute our inquiries." - -"Yes, we can. I tell you that book, which contains the story of your -father's murder, also contains a description of Thorston. I recognize -every scene." - -"Well?" - -"Well," repeated Tait sharply, "can't you see? The author of that book -must either live at Thorston or have stayed a few months there. Else he -could not have described the village so accurately. We must make -inquiries about him there, and should we be fortunate enough to discover -him, we must extract his secret." - -"What secret?" - -"Upon my word, Claude, you are either stupid or cunning. Why, find out -where he got his material from. That may put us on the right track. Now, -write to Hilliston, and then go up to Hampstead and find out what Mrs. -Bezel has to say." - -"Won't you come, too?" said Claude, going to the writing desk. - -"No. I have my own business to attend to." - -"Is it connected with our enterprise?" - -"I should think so. It is my intention to call on the firm who published -'A Whim of Fate,' and find out all I can concerning the author. When you -return from Mrs. Bezel we will compare notes, and on what information we -obtain will depend our future movements." - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - A STARTLING DISCOVERY. - - -IN one of his novels Balzac makes the pertinent remark that "It is -impossible for man to understand the heart of woman, seeing that her -Creator himself does not understand it." These are not the precise -words, but the sentiment is the same. And who, indeed, can understand a -woman's heart; who can aver that he has a complete comprehension of her -character? Very young men lay claim to such knowledge, but as they grow -older, and the vanity of youth gives way to the modesty begotten by -experience, they no longer pretend to such omniscience, and humbly admit -their inability to solve the riddle of femininity. Had the Sphinx -proposed such an enigma to oedipus he would not have been able to guess -it, and so, meeting the fate of other victims, would have deprived -Thebes of a king and Sophicles of a tragedy. - -Yet, if we bear in mind that women work rather from impulse than from -motive, we may arrive at some knowledge of the organ in question. If a -woman is impulsive, and most women are, she acts directly on those -impulses; and so startles men by paradoxical actions. As a rule, the -male intellect has logical reasons wherefrom it deduces motives upon -which to act. Not so with women. They obey the impulse of the moment, -reckless of the consequence to themselves or to anyone else. -Consequently, it is impossible to foretell how a woman will act in a -given circumstance, but it may be asserted that she will obey the latest -thought in her mind. Even from this point of view, the feminine mind is -still a riddle; but one which is more capable of explanation. - -For example, Mrs. Bezel read "A Whim of Fate," and thus, after -five-and-twenty years, the Horriston tragedy was freshly impressed on -her brain. Seized with remorse, terrified by the memory of the crime, -she, acting on the impulse, wrote to Hilliston stating that she intended -to see Claude Larcher and reveal all. The dismay of the lawyer at this -mad proposal, and his steady opposition thereto, turned what was -originally a mere whim into a fixed idea. She saw a way of punishing the -man for the withdrawal of his love ten years before, when she lost her -beauty and became paralyzed. Delighted at learning that she had still -some power to wound him, she persisted in her project, and so wrote the -letter to Larcher, which he received the day after his arrival in -London. - -To baffle Hilliston, and prevent him from intercepting the letter, she -was obliged to use all her wits, and so hit on the idea of learning the -name of the young man's club. How she managed to obtain it is best known -to herself; but Hilliston, never dreaming of this pertinacity, was -unable to thwart her schemes, and, beyond writing to Claude, telling him -to call, could do nothing. Had he guessed that she would address her -invitation to the club, he might have called and obtained it in the -character of Larcher's guardian; but, knowing her helpless condition, -the thought that it might be there never entered his mind. So the letter -arrived, was duly answered, and Claude was coming to-day at three -o'clock to hear what Mrs. Bezel had to say. - -The visit, though due to her own action, was a source of considerable -anxiety; for she was not at all certain of what she would say. It was -impossible to tell all without inculpating Hilliston, and this, for -reasons of her own, Mrs. Bezel was unwilling to do. All her talk of the -previous night had been so much rodomontade to frighten the man she -hated, but she was too well aware of her dependent position to think of -doing him an injury. Her impulse had led her into deep water, as she -knew instinctively. - -She was a woman who had lived every moment of her life, but now, -stretched on a bed of sickness, she missed her former triumphs and -excitements. This visit promised a great deal of amusement, and the use -of much diplomacy, therefore she was unwilling to abandon her plans. At -the same time she determined to give the young man as little information -as she possibly could. It would not be through her agency that the mask -would be torn from Hilliston's face. She was resolved on that point. - -Yet the matter, starting originally from an impulse, had now gone too -far for her to draw back. Claude had seen the papers, and therefrom must -have guessed that she desired to impart certain information with regard -to the crime which had cost him a father. Mrs. Bezel therefore -compromised the matter, and settled in her own mind to tell him half the -truth, or, at all events, only sufficient to interest him without aiding -him. Had she been a man, and had taken this decision, all would have -gone well, but being a woman she reckoned without her impulse, and it -betrayed her. - -Moreover, she had a revelation to make which would effectively tie -Larcher's hands should he learn too much; but this she did not intend to -make unless driven into a corner. She was in that corner before the -interview was finished, though she little expected to get there. -Hilliston, clever as he was, could not understand her present actions; -she did not understand them herself, else she would not have ventured to -receive Claude Larcher. - -He duly arrived at three o'clock, and Mrs. Bezel glanced approvingly at -his stalwart figure and handsome face. Claude had one of those -sympathetic, yet manly, natures, to which women are instinctively drawn -by the law of sex, and Mrs. Bezel proved no exception to this rule. She -was too thoroughly a woman not to relish masculine society, and, despite -her perplexity, was glad she had sent the invitation, if only for the -sake of talking to this splendid looking young man. There was another -reason, which she revealed in a moment of impulse. But that was later -on. - -Meanwhile Claude, seated by her couch in the window, was wondering who -she was, and why she had sought this interview. He was certainly aware -that she had some information to impart concerning the fate of his -parents, but as he had not seen her name in the papers containing the -account of the case, he was at a loss to fix her identity. His doubts -were soon set at rest. Mrs. Bezel was a more prominent actor in the -Horriston tragedy than he had any idea of. - -"You were doubtless astonished to get my letter," said Mrs. Bezel, when -the first greetings were over, "especially as you do not remember your -parents, and my name is also unknown to you." - -"Were you a friend of my parents, madam?" asked Claude, too anxious for -information to reply directly to her remark. - -"Yes. I--I knew them. That is, I lived at Horriston," stammered Mrs. -Bezel, passing a handkerchief across her dry lips. - -"You lived at Horriston? At the time of the murder?" - -Mrs. Bezel nodded; she was not yet sufficiently self-controlled for -speech. - -"In that case," continued Claude eagerly, "you must know all the details -of the crime." - -"Only those that were reported in the papers." - -"Still you must be acquainted with those concerned in the tragedy. With -my father, with Jeringham, Denis Bantry, with Mona, his sister." - -"Yes," said Mrs. Bezel calmly; "I knew them all." - -"Have you any idea who committed the crime?" - -"Not the slightest." - -"But you must have some suspicions?" - -"Oh, yes! But they may be wrong. I believe that Mr. Jeringham had -something to do with it." - -"Oh!" said Claude, remembering Hilliston's opinion, "some believe him to -be guilty." - -"I cannot say for certain," replied Mrs. Bezel, shaking her head. "The -flight of Mr. Jeringham certainly showed that he had something to -conceal." - -"What kind of a man was Mr. Jeringham?" - -"Tall and fair. Amiable as a rule, but liable to violent passions." - -"Was he not in love with my mother before she married my father?" - -Mrs. Bezel turned away her head, and the color rose to her face. The -nervous movement of her hands plucking at her dress showed how -profoundly she was moved by this question. - -"I believe so. But she--Mrs. Larcher loved her husband." - -"Then why was my father jealous of Jeringham?" said Claude, who could -not reconcile this statement with the evidence given at the trial. - -"How should I know?" cried Mrs. Bezel, turning on him with sudden -passion. "If George Larcher had not been so blinded by jealousy he would -have seen that there was nothing between them. Your mother knew -Jeringham all his life; they were like brother and sister. It is true he -wished to marry her, but when he saw that her heart was given to your -father, he bowed to her decision. He came to Horriston as her friend, -not as her lover." - -"But he was constantly with her." - -"Do you dare to speak thus of your mother, sir?" - -"I--I cannot help doing so," stammered Claude, startled by the anger in -her voice. "God knows I wish to revere the memory of my mother, but I -cannot help seeing that she was morally responsible for the tragedy." - -"She was not! She was not!" said Mrs. Bezel vehemently. "How dare you -speak thus? Your father neglected her. He left her to the companionship -of Mark Jeringham, while he indulged in his predilection for literary -work. All day long he shut himself up in his study, and let his wife sit -alone, and miserable. Was it any wonder, then, that she should turn to -her old friend for consolation? There was nothing between them--nothing -to which any Pharisee could have taken exception." - -"But surely my father was sufficiently sensible to see all this?" - -"He saw nothing, or what he did see was distorted by his jealousy. The -police, in their endeavors to fix the crime on your mother, took the -same view of the relations between her and Jeringham. Oh, I know what -you read in those papers shown to you by Mr. Hilliston!" - -So surprised was Claude by this unexpected introduction of his -guardian's name that he could not suppress a start. - -"How do you know that Mr. Hilliston showed me the papers?" - -Mrs. Bezel saw that she had said too much, but, unable to go back on her -words, rapidly resolved to make that revelation which she had hitherto -intended to keep as a last resource. - -"Mr. Hilliston told me that he had done so." - -"Do you know him?" - -"Yes," said Mrs. Bezel, seizing her opportunity to lead up to the -revelation. "I know him as the best and kindest of men. I know him as -one who has been a good friend to you--orphan as you thought yourself." - -"Orphan as I thought myself," muttered Claude, turning pale. "Is it not -true--am I not an orphan?" - -"No!" - -"Great Heavens! What is this you tell me? My father----" - -"Your father is dead. He was murdered, as you know." - -"Then my mother?" - -Mrs. Bezel looked at the agonized face of the young man, and covered her -own, with a quick indrawn breath. - -"She lives!" - -"My mother! She lives! Are you mad? She died in London shortly after her -acquittal." - -"So it was supposed, but it was not true. Could you expect that unhappy -woman to face the scorn and contempt of the world after having been -accused of her husband's murder? She did not die, save to the world. She -fled from society and sought refuge here--here where she lies a helpless -invalid." - -"Mrs. Bezel!" - -"I am not Mrs. Bezel. I am your mother." - -"God! My mother!" - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - REVELATIONS. - - -IT was only natural that a silence should ensue between these two so -strangely brought together. Claude, seated pale and anguished in his -chair, tried to collect his thoughts, and stared wildly at his mother. -She, with her face buried in the cushions, sobbed bitterly. After the -way in which her son had spoken, it was cruel that she should have been -forced to make such a revelation at such a moment. He condemned, he -reproached, her conduct in the past, and she again tasted the full -bitterness of the cup which had been held to her lips twenty-five years -before. - -On his part Claude did not know what to say; he hardly knew what to -think. Convinced by a perusal of the papers that his mother was morally -guilty of his father's death, he was overwhelmed to find that she was -still alive, and capable, for all he knew, of offering a defense for her -share in the tragedy. After all, he had no right to judge her until he -heard what she had to say. Blood is thicker than water, and she was his -mother. - -Now he saw the reason why Hilliston objected to his calling at -Hampstead; why he advised him to let sleeping dogs lie. After so long a -period it was worse than useless to bring mother and son together. Their -thoughts, their aims, their lives, were entirely diverse, and only pain -could be caused by such a meeting. Claude silently acknowledged the -wisdom of Hilliston's judgment, but at the same time could hardly -refrain from condemning him for having kept him so long in ignorance of -the truth. - -Mrs. Bezel--as we must still continue to call her--was astonished at -this long silence, but raised her head to cast a timid glance at Claude. -His brow was gloomy, his lips were firmly set, and he looked anything -but overjoyed at the revelation which she had made. Guessing his -thoughts, the unhappy woman made a gesture of despair, and spoke in a -low voice, broken by sobs. - -"You, too, condemn me?" - -"No, mother," he replied, and Mrs. Bezel winced as she heard him -acknowledge the relationship; "I do not condemn you. I have heard one -side of the question. I must now hear the other--from you." - -"What more can I tell you than what you already know," she said, drying -her eyes. - -"I must know the reason why you let me think you dead all these years." - -"It was by my own wish, and by the advice of Mr. Hilliston." - -Claude bit his lip at the mention of this name, and cast a hasty glance -round the splendidly furnished room. A frightful suspicion had entered -his mind; but she was his mother, and he did not dare to give it -utterance. His mother guessed his thoughts, and spared him the pain of -speaking. With a womanly disregard for the truth she promptly lied -concerning the relationship which her son suspected to exist between his -guardian and herself. - -"You need not look so black, Claude, and think ill of me. I am -unfortunate, but not guilty. All that you see here is mine; purchased by -my own money." - -"Your own money?" replied Claude, heaving a sigh of relief. - -"Yes! Mr. Hilliston, who has been a good friend to me, saved sufficient -out of my marriage settlement to enable me to furnish this cottage, and -live comfortably. It is just as well," added she bitterly, "else I might -have died on the streets." - -"But why did you let Hilliston bring me up to think I was an orphan?" - -"I did not wish to shadow your life. I did not wish you to change your -name. I had to change mine, and retire from the world, but that was part -of my punishment." - -"Still if----" - -"It was impossible, I tell you, Claude," interrupted his mother -impatiently. "When you grew up you would have asked questions, and then -I would have been forced to tell you all." - -"Yet, in spite of your precautions, I do know all. If you took all this -trouble to hide the truth, why reveal it to me now?" - -Mrs. Bezel pointed to three books lying on an adjacent table. Claude -quite understood what she meant. - -"I see," he remarked, before she could speak, "you think that the author -of that book knows about my father's murder." - -"I am certain he does. But what he knows, or how he knows, I cannot say. -Still, I am certain of one thing, that he tells the story from hearsay." - -"What makes you think that?" - -"It would take too long to tell you my reasons. It is sufficient to -state that the fictitious case differs from the real case in several -important particulars. For instance," she added, with a derisive smile, -"the guilty person is said to be Michael Dene, and he is----" - -"Is drawn from Mr. Hilliston." - -"How do you know that?" she asked, with a startled air. - -Claude shrugged his shoulders. "I have eyes to read and brains to -comprehend," he said quietly; "There is no doubt in my mind that the -lawyer of the fiction is meant for the lawyer of real life. Otherwise, I -think the writer drew on his imagination. It was necessary for him to -end his story by fixing on one of the characters as a criminal; and -owing to the exigencies of the plot, as developed by himself, he chose -Michael Dene, otherwise Mr. Hilliston, as the murderer." - -"But you don't think----" - -"Oh, no! I don't think Mr. Hilliston is guilty. I read the trial very -carefully, and moreover I do not see what motive he could have to commit -the crime." - -"The motive of Michael Dene is love for the murdered man's wife." - -"In other words, the author assumes that Hilliston loved you," said -Claude coolly; "but I have your assurance that such is not the case." - -"You speak to me like that," cried Mrs. Bezel angrily; "to your mother?" - -Larcher's expression did not change. He turned a trifle paler, and -compressed his lips firmly, otherwise he gave no outward sign of his -emotion. Knowing so much of the case as he did, he could not look on -this woman in the light of a mother; she had indirectly contributed to -his father's death; she had deserted him for twenty-five years; and -now that she claimed his filial reverence, he was unwilling to yield -it to her. Perhaps he was unjust and harsh to think this, but the -natural tie between them was so weakened by time and ignorance that he -could find no affection in his heart to bestow on her. To him she was a -stranger--nothing more. - -"Let us understand each other," he said coldly. "That you are my mother -is no doubt true, but I ask you if you have performed your maternal -duties? You obliterated yourself from my life; you left me to be brought -up by strangers; in all ways you only consulted your own desires. Can -you then expect me to yield you that filial obedience which every mother -has a right to expect from her son? If you----" - -"Enough, sir," said Mrs. Bezel, white with anger, "say no more. I -understand you only too well, and now regret that I sought this -interview, which has resulted so ill. I hoped that you would be glad to -find your mother still alive; that you would cherish her in her -affliction. I see I was wrong. You are as cold and bitter as was your -father." - -"My father?" - -"Yes. Do you think that all the wrong was on my side. Had I nothing to -forgive him? Ah! I see by your face that you know to what I allude. It -was your father and my husband who betrayed me for Mona Bantry." - -"You have no proof of that," said Claude, in a low voice. - -"I have every proof. The girl told me with her own lips. I returned from -that ball at three o'clock in the morning, and Mr. Jeringham left me at -the door. I entered the house alone and proceeded to my sitting room. -There I found Mona and--my husband." - -"Ah! He did return from London on that night?" - -"Yes. He returned, thinking I was out of the way, in order to see his -mistress. In his presence she confessed her guilt. I looked to him for -denial, and he hung his head. Then hardly knowing what I did, overcome -with rage, I snatched the dagger which I wore as part of my costume, -and----" - -"And killed him," shrieked Claude, springing to his feet. "For Heaven's -sake, do not confess this to me!" - -"Why not? I did no wrong! I did not kill him. I fainted before I could -cross the room to where he stood. When I recovered I was alone. My -husband and Mona Bantry had disappeared. Then I retired to bed and was -ill for days. I know no more of the case." - -"Is this true?" asked Claude anxiously. - -"Why should it not be true? Do you think I would invent a story like -that to asperse the memory of your father? Vilely as he treated me, I -loved him. I do not know who killed him. The dagger I wore disappeared -with him. It was found in the garden; his body in the river four miles -down. But I declare to you solemnly that I am ignorant of whose hand -struck the blow. It might have been Mona, or Jeringham, or----" - -"Or Hilliston!" - -"You are wrong there," replied his mother coolly, "or else your judgment -has been perverted by that book. Mr. Hilliston was still at the ball -when the tragedy occurred. His evidence at the trial proved that. Don't -say a word against him. He has been a good friend to you--and to me." - -"I do not deny that." - -"You cannot! When I was arrested and tried for a crime which I never -committed, he stood by me. When I left the court alone and friendless, -he stood by me. I decided to feign death to escape the obloquy which -attaches to every suspected criminal. He found me this refuge and -installed me here as Mrs. Bezel. He took charge of you and brought you -up, and looked after your money and mine. Don't you dare to speak -against him!" - -Exhausted by the fury with which she had spoken, the unfortunate woman -leaned back in her chair. Claude, already regretting his harshness, -brought a glass of water, which he placed to her lips. After a few -minutes she revived, and feebly waved him away; but he was not to be so -easily dismissed. - -"I am sorry I spoke as I did, mother," he said tenderly, arranging her -pillows. "Now that I have heard your story, I see that you have suffered -greatly. It is not my right to reproach you. No doubt you acted for the -best; therefore, I do not say a word against you or Mr. Hilliston, but -ask you to forgive me." - -The tears were rolling down Mrs. Bezel's cheeks as he spoke thus, and -without uttering a word, she put her hand in his in token of -forgiveness. Claude pressed his lip to her faded cheek, and thus -reconciled--as much as was possible under the circumstances--they began -to talk of the case. - -"What do you intend to do?" asked Mrs. Bezel weakly. - -"Find out who killed my father." - -"It is impossible--after five-and-twenty years. I have told you all I -know, and you see I cannot help you. I do not know whom to suspect." - -"You surely have some suspicion, mother?" - -"No, I have no suspicions. Whomsoever killed your father took the dagger -out of my sitting room." - -"Perhaps Mona----" - -"I think not. She had no reason to kill him." - -"He had wronged her." - -"And me!" cried Mrs. Bezel vehemently. "Do not talk any more of these -things, Claude. I know nothing more; I can tell you nothing more." - -"Then I must try and find John Parver, and learn how he became -acquainted with the story." - -"That is why I sent for you; why I revealed myself; why I told you all I -have suffered. Find John Parver, and tell me who he is, what he is." - -This Claude promised to do, and, as his mother was worn out by the long -conversation, he shortly afterward took his leave. As he descended -Fitzjohn's Avenue a thought flashed into his mind as to the identity of -John Parver. - -"I wonder if John Parver is Mark Jeringham?" said Claude. - -The question was to be answered on that very evening. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - ON THE TRACK. - - -IT was nearly six o'clock when Claude returned to Earls Street, and -Tait, already dressed for the evening, was waiting his arrival with -considerable impatience. His usual imperturbability had given place to a -self-satisfied air, as though he had succeeded in accomplishing a -difficult undertaking. He uttered a joyful exclamation when he saw -Claude enter, but a look of apprehension passed over his face when he -noted the altered appearance of his friend. - -"What is wrong?" he asked, as Claude threw himself into a chair, with a -sigh of fatigue. "Do you bring bad news? My dear fellow, you are -completely worn out. Here, Dormer, a glass of sherry for Mr. Larcher." - -The servant, who was putting the finishing touches to the dinner-table, -speedily obeyed this order, and Tait made his friend drink the wine -without delay. Then he proceeded to question him regarding the reason of -his pallor, but with his usual caution first sent Dormer out of the -room. Only when they were alone did he venture to speak on the subject -about which both were thinking. - -"Well!" he demanded anxiously, "you saw Mrs. Bezel?" - -"Yes; I was with her for two hours." - -"Ah!" said Tait, with great satisfaction; "she must have told you a good -deal in that time." - -"She did. She told me more than I expected." - -"Did it concern your parents?" - -"It did." - -"Good! Then you no doubt heard her version of the crime." - -"Yes!" - -These unsatisfactory replies, which dropped so strangely from Larcher's -lips, at once puzzled and irritated the questioner. - -"You don't seem anxious to confide in me," he said, in a piqued tone. - -"I will tell you all. I am anxious to tell you all," replied Larcher, -finding his tongue, "but I do not know how to begin." - -"Oh, I shall save you that trouble by asking you questions. In the first -place, who is Mrs. Bezel?" - -"My mother!" - -Tait bounded from his chair with an expression of incredulity. This -unexpected information, so abruptly conveyed, was too much for his -self-control. - -"Your mother!" he stammered, hardly thinking he had heard aright. "Are -you in earnest? I cannot believe it. According to the notice in the -newspapers, according to Hilliston, your mother died in London in 1867." - -"She did not die. Her death was a feigned one, to escape the notoriety -gained by her trial at Canterbury." - -"Did Mr. Hilliston know she was alive?" - -"Yes. It was by his advice that she changed her name." - -"Oh! Oh!" said Tait, with marked significance; "Hilliston knew, -Hilliston advised. Humph! John Parver may be right, after all." - -"Tait, be silent! You are speaking of my mother." - -"I beg your pardon, my dear fellow, but I really do not understand." - -"You will shortly. I will tell you the story of my mother's troubles, -and Hilliston's kindness." - -"Hilliston's kindness," repeated Tait, in a skeptical tone. Nevertheless -he resumed his seat, and signified his willingness to hear the -narrative. - -The wine had done Claude good, and restored his self-possession; so, now -master of himself, he related all that had passed between himself and -Mrs. Bezel. Gifted with a retentive memory, and no mean powers as a -narrator, he succeeded in giving Tait a vivid impression of the -conversation. The little man, with his head slightly on one side, like a -bright-eyed sparrow, listened attentively, and not till the story was -finished did he make an observation thereon. To this capability of -listening without interruption Tait owed a great deal of his popularity. - -"Truth is stranger than fiction, after all," said he, when Claude ended; -"and the novel is less dramatic than the episode of real life. John -Parver did not dare to insinuate that the supposed dead widow of the -murdered man was alive. Humph! this complicates matters more than ever." - -"At least it clears the character of Hilliston." - -"Yes," assented Tait doubtfully; "I suppose it does." - -"Can you doubt it?" said Larcher, dissatisfied with this grudging -consent. "You can now see why Hilliston was agitated at our interview; -why he asked me not to see Mrs. Bezel, so-called; why he called here the -same evening to find out if I had gone; and finally why he wished to -prepare me before seeing her, by telling of the tragedy." - -"Oh, I see all that," said Tait quietly. "Nine men out of ten would -consider Hilliston a most disinterested person. But I am the tenth man, -and am therefore skeptical of his motive." - -"But what motive can he have for----" - -"That is just it," interrupted Tait vivaciously. "I can't see his -motive, but I will find it out some day." - -"Well, you can speak for yourself," said Claude, frowning. "After what -my mother has told me, I believe Hilliston to be an upright and -honorable man." - -"You are quite right to do so on the evidence. Still, if I were you I -would not keep him informed of all our movements, unless----Do you -intend to go on with the matter?" he asked abruptly. - -"Assuredly! I am determined to find out who killed my father." - -Tait walked to the fireplace and took up his position on the hearth-rug. -An idea had entered his mind, which he did not intend to put into words. -Nevertheless it was indirectly the reason for his next speech. - -"I think, after all, it would be best to take Hilliston's advice, and -let sleeping dogs lie." - -He had not calculated the effect of these words on his hearer, for -Claude also arose from his chair, and looked at him with angry surprise. - -"I don't understand you," he said coldly. "Some hours back, and you were -more eager than I to pursue this unknown criminal. Now you wish to -withdraw. May I ask the reason of this sudden change." - -"It seems to be useless to hope to find the assassin," replied Tait, -shrugging his shoulders. "One cannot discover a needle in a haystack." - -"Oh, yes you can--by patient research." - -"Well, even that would be easier than to hope to solve a mystery which -has been impenetrable for five-and-twenty years." - -"It has been impenetrable for that time because no one has tried to -solve it. This is not your real reason for wishing to end the case. What -is your reason? Speak! I insist upon knowing the truth." - -The other did not reply, but thrust his hands deeper into his pockets, -and maintained a masterly silence. Irritated by this negative attitude, -Claude placed his hands on the little man's shoulders and looked at him -indignantly. - -"I know what your reason is, Tait," he said rapidly; "it is not that you -fear we may learn too little, but that you expect we will learn too -much." - -"Yes," replied Tait simply, "that is the reason. Is it not an -all-sufficient one for you to pause?" - -"No!" shouted Claude savagely; "it is all-sufficient for me to go on. -You think that I may discover that Hilliston is the criminal, or learn -that my mother is accountable for the crime. I tell you no such thing -will happen. Hilliston was not near The Laurels on the fatal morning. My -mother--I have told you how she exonerated herself, and the exoneration -was substantiated by Denis Bantry. Both are innocent." - -"It may be so. But who is guilty?" - -"Jeringham. I believe that he discovered that my father had returned, -and perhaps knowing of this intrigue between him and Mona Bantry, -remained at The Laurels, unknown to my mother, in order to assist her as -a friend." - -"How did Jeringham obtain possession of the dagger?" - -"I cannot say. We must find out. But he did obtain possession of the -dagger, and during a quarrel with my father killed him with it. He fled -to avoid the consequences. Oh, yes! I swear that Jeringham is guilty. -But I will hunt him down, if I have to do it alone." - -"You will not do it alone," said Tait quietly. "I am with you still." - -"But you said----" - -"I know what I said! I think it is best to leave well alone. But since -you are set on learning the truth, I will help you to the best of my -ability. Only," added Tait explicitly, "should you discover the truth to -be unpalatable, do not blame me." - -"I won't blame you. I am certain that you will find that I am right, and -that Hilliston and my mother had nothing to do with the affair. Help me, -that is all I ask. I will bear the consequences." - -"Very good! Then we had better get to work," said Tait dryly. "Just go -and dress, my dear fellow, or you'll keep dinner waiting." - -"Why should I dress? I am not going out to-night." - -"Indeed you are! We are due at Mrs. Durham's 'At Home' at ten o'clock." - -"I shan't go. I am in no mood for frivolity. I would rather stay at home -and think over the case. It is only by hard work that we can hope to -learn the truth." - -"Very true. At the same time it is necessary for you to go out to-night, -if only to meet with John Parver." - -"The author of 'A Whim of Fate,'" asked Claude eagerly, "is he in town?" - -"Yes. And he will be at Mrs. Durham's to-night. We must see him, and -find out where he obtained the materials for his novel." - -"Do you think such information will lead to any result?" asked Claude -dubiously. - -"I don't think. I am sure of it," retorted Tait impatiently. "Now go and -dress." - -Larcher departed without a word. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - THE UPPER BOHEMIA. - - -THE name Bohemia is suggestive of unknown talent starving in garrets, of -obdurate landladies, of bacchanalian nights, and shabby dress. Murger -first invested the name with this flavor, and since his time the word -has become polarized, and indicates nothing but struggling humanity and -unappreciated genius. Yet your true Bohemian does not leave his country -when he becomes rich and famous. It is true that he descends from the -garret to the first floor; that he fares well and dresses decently; but -he still dwells in Bohemia. The reckless air of the hovels permeates the -palaces of this elastic kingdom of fancy. - -Mrs. Durham was a Bohemian, and every Thursday received her _confrères_ -in the drawing room of a very elegant mansion in Chelsea. She had -written a novel, "I Cling to Thee with Might and Main," and this having -met with a moderate success, she posed as a celebrity, and set up her -_salon_ on the lines of Lady Blessington. Everyone who was anyone was -received at her "At Homes," and by this process she gathered together a -queer set of people. Some were clever, others were not; some were -respectable, others decidedly disreputable; but one and all--to use an -expression usually connected with crime--had done something. Novelists, -essayists, painters, poets, and musicians were all to be found in her -rooms, and a more motley collection could be seen nowhere else in -London. Someone dubbed the Chelsea Mansions "The Zoo," and certainly -animals of all kinds were to be found there, from monkeys to peacocks. - -It was considered rather the thing to be invited to "The Zoo," so when -brothers and sisters of the pen met one another there they usually said: -"What! are you here?" as though the place were heaven, and the speaker -justifiably surprised that anyone should be saved except himself or -herself. Literary people love one another a degree less than Christians. - -Hither came Tait and Claude in search of John Parver. That young man had -made a great success with his novel, and was consequently much sought -after by lion hunters. However, Tait had learned that he was to be -present at Mrs. Durham's on this special evening, and hoped to engage -him in conversation, so as to learn where he had obtained the materials -for his story. - -When they arrived the rooms were quite full, and Mrs. Durham received -them very graciously. It was true that they were not famous, still as -Tait was a society man, and Claude very handsome, the lady of the house -good-humoredly pardoned all mental deficiencies. Tait knew her very -well, having met her at several houses, but she addressed herself rather -to Claude than to his friend, having a feminine appreciation of good -looks. - -"My rooms are always crowded," said she, with that colossal egotism -which distinguished her utterances. "You know they call me the new -George Eliot." - -"No doubt you deserve the name," replied Claude, with mimic gravity. - -"Oh, I suppose so," smirked the lady amiably. "You have read my novel, -of course. It is now in its fourth edition, and has been refused by -Smith and Mudie. I follow the French school of speaking my mind." - -"And a very nasty mind it must be," thought Larcher, who had been -informed about the book by Tait. He did not, however, give this thought -utterance, but endeavored to generalize the conversation. "You have many -celebrities here to-night, I presume?" - -"My Dear Sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Durham, in capitals, "every individual in -this company is famous! Yonder is Mr. Padsop, the great traveler, who -wrote 'Mosques and Mosquitoes.' He is talking to Miss Pexworth, the -writer of those scathing articles in _The Penny Trumpet_, entitled 'Man, -the Brute.' She is a modern woman." - -"Oh, indeed!" said Claude equably, and looked at this latest production -of the nineteenth century, "she is rather masculine in appearance." - -"It is her pride to be so, Mr. Larcher. She is more masculine than man. -That is her brother, who designs ladies' dresses and decorates dinner -tables." - -"Ah! He isn't masculine. I suppose nature wanted to preserve the balance -in the family. The law of compensation, eh?" - -"Oh, you are severe. Tommy Pexworth is a dear little creature, and so -fond of chiffons. He knows more about women's dress than his sister." - -"So I should think," replied Claude dryly. He took an instant and -violent dislike to Mr. Pexworth, who was one of those feminine little -creatures, only distinguished from the other sex by wearing trousers. "A -charming pair," he added, smiling. "I don't know which I admire the -most. The sister who is such a thorough gentlemen, or the brother who is -a perfect lady." - -"You are satirical," smiled Mrs. Durham, enjoying this hit at her -friends. "Now you must take me down to have some refreshment. Really, -you must." - -Thus inspired, Claude elbowed the hostess through the crush, and -escorted her to a bare counter in the dining room, whereon were -displayed thin bread and butter, very weak tea, and fossil buns. Mrs. -Durham evidently knew her own refreshments too well to partake of them, -for she had a mild brandy and soda, produced from its hiding place by a -confidential waiter. She asked Claude to join her, but he refused on the -plea that he never drank between meals. - -"But you are not a brain-worker," said Mrs. Durham, hurriedly finishing -her brandy and soda, lest her guests should see it and become -discontented with the weak tea; "if I did not keep myself up I should -die. Ah! Why, here is Mr. Hilliston." - -"Hilliston!" said Claude, astonished at seeing his guardian in this -house. - -"Yes. Do you know him? A dear creature--so clever. He was my solicitor -in a libel action against _The Penny Trumpet_, for saying that I was an -ungrammatical scribbler. Just fancy! And they call me the new George -Eliot. We lost our case, I'm sorry to say. Judges are such brutes! Miss -Pexworth says they are, ever since she failed to get damages for her -breach of promise case." - -"Here comes Mr. Hilliston," said Larcher, rather tired of this -long-tongued lady. "I know him very well, he is my guardian." - -"How very delightful!" said Mrs. Durham, with the accent on the "very." -"Oh, Mr. Hilliston," she continued, as the lawyer approached, "we were -just talking about you!" - -"I trust the absent were right for once," replied Hilliston, with an -artificial smile and a swift glance at Claude. "I have just come to say -good-by." - -"Oh, not yet, surely not yet! Really!" babbled Mrs. Durham with shallow -enthusiasm. Then finding Hilliston was resolved to go, and catching -sight of a newly arrived celebrity, she hastened, after the amiable -fashion of her kind, to speed the parting guest. "Well, if you must, you -must. Good-by, good-by! Excuse me, I see Mr. Rawler, a delightful -man--writes plays, you know. The new Shakspere; yes!" and thus talking -she melted away with a babble of words, leaving Hilliston and his ward -alone. - -They were mutually surprised to see one another, Claude because he knew -his guardian did not affect Bohemianism, and Hilliston because he -thought that the young man had left town. The meeting was hardly a -pleasant one, as Hilliston dreaded lest Mrs. Bezel should have said too -much, and so prejudiced Claude against him. - -"I understood from your refusal of my invitation that you had gone to -Thorston with Tait," said he, after a pause. - -"I am going to-morrow or the next day," replied Claude quickly, "but in -any event I intended to call on you before I left town." - -"Indeed!" said Hilliston nervously; "you have something to tell me?" - -"Yes. I have seen Mrs. Bezel." - -"Good. You have seen Mrs. Bezel." - -"And I have made a discovery." - -"Oh! Has the lady informed you who committed the crime?" - -"No. But she told me her name." - -"Margaret Bezel!" murmured Hilliston, wondering what was coming. - -"Not Margaret Bezel, but Julia Larcher, my mother." - -"She--she told you that?" gasped Hilliston, his self-control deserting -him for the moment. - -"Yes. I know why she feigned death; I know how you have protected her. -You have been a kind friend to me, Mr. Hilliston, and to my mother. I am -doubly in your debt." - -Hilliston took the hand held out to him by Claude, and pressed it -cordially. The speech relieved him from all apprehension. He now knew -that Mrs. Bezel had kept their secret, and immediately took advantage of -the restored confidence of Claude. His quick wit grasped the situation -at once. - -"My dear fellow," he said with much emotion, "I loved your poor father -too much not to do what I could for his widow and son. I hope you do not -blame me for suppressing the truth." - -"No. I suppose you acted for the best. Still, I would rather you had -informed me that my mother was still alive." - -"To what end? It would only have made you miserable. I did not want to -reveal anything; but your mother insisted that you should be made -acquainted with the past, and so--I gave you the papers." - -"I am glad you did so." - -"And now, what do you intend to do?" asked Hilliston slowly. "You know -as much as I do. Is there any clew to guide you in the discovery that -your mother still lives?" - -"No. She can tell me nothing. But I hope to find the clew here." - -"Ah! You intend to speak with John Parver?" - -"I do," said Claude, rather surprised at this penetration; "do you know -him?" - -"I exchanged a few words with him," replied Hilliston carelessly. "I -only came here to-night at the request of Mrs. Durham, who is a client -of mine. As I paid my respects to her, she was talking to John Parver, -and he was introduced to me as the latest lion. So you still intend to -pursue the matter?" added Hilliston, after a pause. - -"Assuredly! If only to clear my mother, and restore her to the world." - -"I am afraid it is too late, Claude. You know she is ill and cannot live -long." - -"Nevertheless, I wish her to take her own name again. She will not do so -until the assassin of her husband--of my father--is discovered, so you -see it is obligatory on me to find out the truth." - -"I trust you may be successful," said Hilliston, sighing; "but my advice -is still the same, and it would be best for you to let the matter rest. -After five-and-twenty years you can discover nothing. I cannot help you; -your mother cannot help you, so----" - -"But John Parver may," interrupted Larcher sharply. "I will see how he -learned the details of the case." - -Before Hilliston could make further objection, Tait joined them, and not -noticing the lawyer, hastily took Claude by the arm. - -"I have been looking for you everywhere," said he. "Come and be -introduced to Mr. Linton." - -"Who is Mr. Linton?" - -"John Parver. He writes under that name. Ah, Mr. Hilliston, I did not -see you. How do you do, sir?" - -"I am quite well, Mr. Tait, and am just taking my departure," replied -Hilliston easily. "I see you are both set on finding out the truth. But -you will learn nothing from John Parver." - -"Why not, Mr. Hilliston?" - -"Because he knows nothing. Good-night, Claude--good-night, Mr. Tait!" - -When Hilliston disappeared Tait looked at Claude with a singular -expression, and scratched his chin. - -"You see," said he quietly, "Mr. Hilliston has been making inquiries on -his own account." - -"You are incurably suspicious," said Claude impatiently. "Hilliston is -my friend." - -"Yes. He was your father's friend also, I believe." - -"What do you mean?" - -"Nothing! Nothing! Come and cross-examine Frank Linton, alias John -Parver." - -Clearly Tait was by no means so satisfied with Hilliston as Claude. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - A POPULAR AUTHOR. - - -BEARING in mind that the character of Hilliston had been rehabilitated -by Mrs. Bezel, it was natural that Claude should feel somewhat annoyed -at the persistent mistrust manifested toward that gentleman by Tait. -However, he had no time to explain or expostulate at the present moment; -and moreover, as he knew that the little man was assisting him in this -difficult case out of pure friendship, he did not deem it politic to -comment on what was assuredly an unfounded prejudice. Tait was singular -in his judgments, stubborn in his opinions; so Claude, unwilling to risk -the loss of his coadjutor, wisely held his peace. His astute companion -guessed these thoughts, for in place of further remarking on the -inexplicable presence of Hilliston, he turned the conversation toward -the man they were about to see. - -"Queer thing, isn't it?" he said, as they ascended the stairs. "Linton -is the son of the vicar of Thorston." - -"Ah! That no doubt accounts for his intimate knowledge of the locality. -Do you know him?" - -"Of course I do--as Frank Linton; but I had no idea that he was John -Parver." - -"Why did he assume a _nom de plume_?" - -Tait shrugged his shoulders. "Paternal prejudice, I believe," he said -carelessly. "Mr. Linton does not approve of sensational novels, and, -moreover, wishes his son to be a lawyer, not a literary man. Young Frank -is in a solicitor's office in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and he employed his -evenings in writing 'A Whim of Fate.' He published it under the name of -'John Parver,' so as to hoodwink his father, but now that he has scored -a success I have no doubt he will confess." - -"Do you think we will learn anything from him?" - -"We will learn all we wish to know as to where he obtained his material. -The young man's head is turned, and by playing on his vanity we may find -out the truth." - -"His vanity may lead him to conceal the fact that he took the plot from -real life." - -"I don't think so. I know the boy well, and he is a great babbler. No -one is more astonished than I at learning that he is the celebrated John -Parver. I didn't think he had the brains to produce so clever a book." - -"It is clever!" assented Claude absently. - -"Of course it is; much cleverer than its author," retorted Tait dryly; -"or rather, I should say, its supposed author, for I verily believed -Jenny Paynton helped him to write the book." - -"Who is Jenny Paynton?" - -"A very nice girl who lives at Thorston. She is twice as clever as this -lad, and they are both great on literary matters. But I'll tell you all -about this later on, for here is Linton." - -The celebrated author was a light-haired, light-complexioned young man -of six-and-twenty, with bowed shoulders, a self-satisfied smile, and a -pince nez, which he used at times to emphasize his remarks. He evidently -possessed conceit sufficient to stock a dozen ordinary men, and lisped -out the newest ideas of the day, as promulgated by his college, for he -was an Oxford man. Although he was still in his salad days, he had -settled, to his own satisfaction, all the questions of life, and -therefore adopted a calm superiority which was peculiarly exasperating. -Claude, liberal-minded but hot-blooded, had not been five minutes in his -company before he was seized with a wild desire to throw him out of the -window. Frank Linton inspired that uncharitable feeling in many people. - -For the moment, Mr. Linton was alone, as his latest worshiper, a -raw-boned female of the cab-horse species, had just departed with a fat -little painter in quest of refreshment. Therefore, when he turned to -greet Claude, he was quite prepared to assume that fatigued -self-conscious air, with which he thought fit to welcome new votaries. - -"Linton, this is Mr. Larcher," said Tait abruptly. "Claude, you see -before you the lion of the season." - -"It is very good of you to say so, Mr. Tait," simpered the lion, in no -wise disclaiming the compliment. "I am pleased to make your -acquaintance, Mr. Larcher." - -"And I yours, Mr. Linton, or shall I say Mr. Parver?" - -"Oh, either name will answer," said the author loftily, "though in town -I am known as Parver only." - -"And in Thorston as Linton," interpolated Tait smartly. "Then your -father does not yet know what a celebrated son he has?" - -"Not yet, Mr. Tait. I intend to tell him next week. I go down to -Thorston for that purpose." - -"Ah! My friend and I will no doubt meet you there. We also seek rural -felicity for a month. But now that you have taken London by storm, I -suppose you intend to forsake the law for the profits." - -"Of course I do," replied Linton quickly. "I never cared for the law, -and only went into it to please my father." - -"And now you go into literature to please Miss Paynton." - -Linton blushed at this home thrust, and being readier with the pen than -the tongue, did not know what answer to make. Pitying his confusion, and -anxious to arrive at the main object of the interview, Claude -interpolated a remark bearing thereon. - -"Did you find it difficult to work out the plot of your novel, Mr. -Linton?" he said, with assumed carelessness. - -"Oh, not at all! The construction of a plot is second nature with me." - -"I suppose you and Miss Paynton talked it over together," said Tait -artfully. - -"Well, yes," answered Linton, again falling into confusion; "I found her -a good listener." - -"I presume it was all new to her?" - -"I think so. Of course she gave me some hints." - -Evidently Linton was determined to admit nothing, so seeing that Tait's -attack was thus repulsed, Claude brought up his reserve forces. - -"I saw in a paper the other day that your book was an impossible -one--that nothing analogous to its story ever happened in real life." - -"Several critics have said that," replied Linton, growing angry, and -thereby losing his caution, "but they are wrong, as I could prove did I -choose to do so." - -"What!" said Claude, in feigned astonishment. "Did you take the incident -from real life?" - -"The tale is founded on an incident from real life," answered Linton, -flushing. "That is, Miss Paynton told me of a certain crime which was -actually committed, and on her hint I worked out the story." - -"Oh, Miss Paynton told you," said Tait smoothly; "and where did she see -the account of this crime?" - -"Ah, that I cannot tell you," replied Linton frankly. "She related the -history of this crime, and refused to let me know whence she obtained -it. I thought the idea a good one, and so wrote the novel." - -"Why don't you tell this to the world, and so confound the critics?" - -"I do! I have told several people. For instance, I told a gentleman -about it this very evening, just because he made the same remark as Mr. -Larcher did." - -Tait drew a long breath, and stole a look at Claude. That young man had -changed color and gave utterance to the first idea that entered his -mind. - -"Was it Mr. Hilliston who made the remark?" - -"Hilliston! Hilliston!" said Linton thoughtfully. "Yes, I believe that -was the man. A tall old gentleman, very fresh-colored. He was greatly -interested in my literary work." - -"Who could help being interested in so clever a book?" said Claude, in a -meaning tone. "But Mr. Hilliston is a lawyer, and I suppose you do not -like members of that profession." - -"Now, why should you say that?" demanded Linton, rather taken aback by -this perspicacity. - -"Well, for one thing you admit a dislike for the law, and for another -you make Michael Dene, the solicitor, commit the crime in 'A Whim of -Fate.'" - -"Oh, I only did that as he was the least likely person to be suspected," -said the author easily. "Jenny--that is, Miss Paynton--wanted me to make -Markham commit the crime." - -"Markham is Jeringham," murmured Tait, under his breath. "Who committed -the crime in the actual case?" he added aloud. - -"No one knows," answered Linton, shrugging his shoulders. "The case as -related to me was a mystery. I solved it after my own fashion." - -"In the third volume you trace the assassin by means of a breastpin -belonging to Michael Dene," said Claude, again in favor. "Is that fact -or fiction?" - -"Fiction! Miss Paynton invented the idea. She said that as the dagger -inculpated the woman the breastpin found on the banks of the river would -lead to the detection of the man. And, as I worked it out, the idea was -a good one." - -"Ah!" murmured Tait to himself, "I wonder if Mr. Hilliston had anything -to do with a breastpin." - -By this time Linton was growing rather restive under examination, as he -was by no means pleased at having to acknowledge his indebtedness to a -woman's wit. Seeing this Tait abruptly closed the conversation, so as to -avoid waking the suspicions of Linton. - -"A very interesting conversation," he said heartily. "I like to get -behind the scenes and see the working of a novelist's brain. We will say -good-by now. Linton, and I hope you will call at the Manor House next -week, when we will all three be at Thorston." - -"Delighted, I'm sure," replied the author, and thereupon melted into the -crowd, leaving Claude and Tait looking at one another. - -"Well," said the former, after a pause, "we have not learned much." - -"On the contrary, I think we have learned a great deal," said Tait, -raising his eyebrows. "We know that Linton got the whole story from -Jenny Paynton, and that Mr. Hilliston is in possession of the -knowledge." - -"What use can it be to him?" - -"He will try and frustrate us with Miss Paynton, as he did Mrs. Bezel -with you." - -"Do you still doubt him?" asked Claude angrily. - -"Yes," replied Tait coolly, "I still doubt him." - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - A FALSE MOVE. - - -THE next day the two young men repaired to the club for the purpose of -having luncheon and discussing their plans. Contrary to the wish of -Claude, his friend did not deem it advisable to at once depart for -Thorston, as he wished to remain in town for a few days on business -connected with Hilliston. - -"You see, you are quite in the dark regarding that gentleman," said -Tait, as they lighted their cigarettes after dinner, "and before we -commence operations at Thorston it will be advisable to know that he is -not counteracting our efforts." - -"In that case you had better go down to Thorston and I will remain in -town so as to keep an eye on Hilliston." - -"I don't think that will be necessary," replied Tait reflectively, "it -is more than probable that Hilliston will visit Thorston." - -"For what purpose?" - -"Can't you guess? Last night he learned from Linton that Jenny Paynton -supplied the material for that novel. Consequently he will see her, and, -if possible, find out where she heard the story." - -"Yes; I suppose he will," said Claude thoughtfully. "By the way, who is -Miss Paynton, who now seems to be mixed up in the matter?" - -"She is the daughter of an old recluse called Ferdinand Paynton." - -"A recluse! Humph! That's strange." - -"Why so? You would not say so if you saw the old man. He is an invalid -and lives in his library. A charming companion, though I must say he is -rather sad." - -"Where does he live?" - -"At Thorston, half a mile from the Manor House. Not very rich, I should -think. His cottage is small, like his income." - -"And his daughter lives with him?" - -"Yes. A pretty girl she is, who inherits his literary tastes. It is my -impression that she wrote the most part of that novel. From all I know -of Frank Linton he is given more to poetry than to prose. Jenny has the -brain, not Frank." - -"Ho, ho!" said Claude, smiling. "Is it the skeptical misogynistic Tait I -hear speaking?" - -"Himself. I admit that I do not care for women, as a rule, but there are -exceptions to every rule, and in this case Jenny Paynton is the -exception." - -"Is she in love with our author?" - -"No. But I rather think he is in love with her, as you will be when you -see her." - -"I! What are you talking about, Tait? I have more to do than to fall in -love with country wenches, however pretty." - -"Jenny is not a country wench," said Tait, with some displeasure; "she -is a highly educated young woman." - -"Worse and worse! I hate highly educated bluestockings." - -"You won't hate Jenny, at all events. Especially as it is probable you -will see a great deal of her." - -"No; I shall keep away from her," said Claude doggedly. - -"That's impossible. We must maneuver to get at the truth. By asking her -straight out she certainly will not gratify our curiosity. We must plot -and plan, and take her unawares. She is not a fool, like Linton, -remember." - -"What! Do you call a lion of the season by so opprobrious a name?" - -"I do," replied Tait serenely; "because I don't believe he wrote the -book." - -"Well! well! Never mind Linton. We have pumped him dry. The next thing -is to tackle the fair Jenny. How do you intend to set about it?" - -"I can't say, at present. We must be guided by circumstances. I will -introduce you to the rector and to Mr. Paynton. There will be musical -parties and lawn tennis _fêtes_, so in some way or another we may find -out the truth?" - -"Does anyone else live with Paynton; his wife, for instance." - -"No. His wife died before he came to Thorston, where he has been for a -long time. An old servant called Kerry lives with him." - -"Man or woman?" - -"Man. A queer old fellow, rather morose." - -"H'm! A flattering description. By the way, he bears the same name as -the ancient retainer in Boucicault's play." - -"Why shouldn't he?" - -"It may be an assumed name." - -Tait threw a surprised glance at his friend, and laughed quickly. - -"Who is suspicious now?" said he, smiling. "You blame me for suspecting -Hilliston, yet here you are doubtful of people whom you have never -seen." - -Before Larcher could answer this home thrust, a waiter entered with a -letter for him which had just arrived. - -"From Hilliston," said Claude, recognizing the writing. "I wonder what -he has to say?" - -"It's only another move in the game," murmured Tait; then as Claude, -after glancing at the letter, uttered an ejaculation of surprise, he -added: "What is the matter?" - -"Hilliston is going down to Eastbourne." - -"Impossible!" cried Tait, holding out his hand for the letter. "He is -surely not so clumsy as to show his hand so plainly." - -"He does, though. Read the letter yourself." - - "MY DEAR CLAUDE [wrote Hilliston]: Mrs. Hilliston has decided to - leave town for Eastbourne this week, so it is probable we will - see you and Mr. Tait down there. If you can spare the time come - to dinner at half-past seven to-night, and tell me how you are - getting on with your case. - "Yours very sincerely, - "FRANCIS HILLISTON." - -"Well," said Claude, as Tait silently returned the letter, "what do you -think?" - -"I think that Hilliston intends to look up Jenny Paynton." - -"I can see that," replied Claude impatiently, "but touching this -invitation to dinner." - -"Accept." - -"But I promised to see my mother to-night, and tell her about John -Parver. She will expect me, as I have written." - -"I will take your apologies to her," said Tait quietly. - -"You?" - -"Yes. Listen to me, Claude," continued the little man in a tone of -suppressed excitement. "You will keep your belief in Hilliston. I tell -you he is your enemy and wishes you to leave this case alone. To-night -he will make one last attempt to dissuade you. If he succeeds he will -not go to Eastbourne. If he fails you can depend on it he will try and -see Jenny before we do. Now, to thwart his aims we will go down to -Thorston by an early train to-morrow morning." - -"But I must see my mother before I leave town." - -"No! I will tell her all she wishes to know." - -"She might not like it." - -"This is not a case for likes or dislikes," said Tait grimly; "but a -question of getting the better of Hilliston. You must dine with him -to-night, and find out, if possible, if it was his wife or himself who -suggested this visit to Eastbourne. You need not tell him we go down -to-morrow. Say you don't know--that you await my decision. Try and learn -all you can of his attitude and plans. Then we will discuss the matter -when you return. On my part," continued Tait significantly, "I may have -some something to say about your mother." - -"You want to see her?" - -"Yes. I am extremely anxious to see her." - -"Perhaps you suspect her!" cried Claude, in a fiery tone. - -"Bless the man, what a temper he has!" said Tait jocosely. "I don't -suspect anyone except Hilliston. But I am quicker than you, and I wish -to learn precisely what your mother has to say. A chance remark on her -part may set us on the right path." - -"Well, I will be guided by you," said Claude, in a few minutes. "You can -go to Hampstead, and I will dine with Hilliston. But I don't like the -task. To sit at a man's table and scheme against him is not my idea of -honor." - -"Nor is it mine. You are doing no such thing. All I wish you to do is to -observe Hilliston's attitude and hold your tongue. There is nothing -wrong in that. I want to find out his motive for this behavior." - -"Then why not see him yourself!" - -"I will see him at Thorston. Meantime it is necessary that I become -acquainted with your mother. Now come and wire an acceptance to -Hilliston, and write a letter to your mother for me to deliver." - -Claude obeyed. He was quite content to accept the guidance of Tait in -this matter, and began to think that his friend was right in suspecting -Hilliston. Else why did the lawyer's plans so coincide with their own. - -"Mind you don't tell Hilliston too much," said Tait, when the wire was -despatched. - -"I shall tell him that we go to Thorston shortly, and that we saw John -Parver." - -"No; don't tell him about John Parver. He will be certain to mention the -subject first." - -"Well, and if he does----" - -"Oh, you must use your brains," replied Tait ironically. "Baffle his -curiosity, and above all, make no mention of the breastpin episode -related in the third volume." - -"Why not?" - -"Because Jenny Paynton told Linton of that. She could not have obtained -it from the newspapers, as it is not related therein." - -"It is pure invention." - -"No! I believe it to be a fact." - -"But who could have told it to Miss Paynton?" - -"Ah!" said Tait, in a low tone. "Find me the person who told her that -and I'll find the man who murdered your father." - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - THE HUSBAND AT KENSINGTON GORE. - - -TO a woman who rules by right of beauty it is a terrible thing to see -her empire slipping from her grasp by reason of gray hairs and wrinkles. -What desperate efforts does she make to protract her sway, how she dyes -and paints and powders and tight laces--all to no end, for Time is -stronger than Art, and finally he writes his sign-manual too deep to be -effaced by cosmetics. Mrs. Hilliston was not yet beaten in the fight -with the old enemy, but she foresaw the future when she would be shamed -and neglected close at hand. - -Perhaps it was this premonition of defeat that made her so unamiable, -sharp, and bitter on the night when Claude came to dine. She liked -Claude and had stood in the place of a mother to him; but he was a man, -and handsome, so when she saw his surprised look at her changed -appearance all the evil that was in her came to the surface. - -Yet she need not have felt so bitter a pang, had she taken the trouble -to glance at her image in the near mirror. It reflected a tall, stylish -figure, which, in the dim light of the drawing room, looked majestic and -beautiful. It was all very well to think that she appeared barely thirty -in the twilight, but she knew well that the daylight showed up her -forty-seven years in the most merciless manner. Velvet robes, diamond -necklaces, and such like aids to beauty would not make up for lack of -youth, and Claude's ill-advised start brought this home to her. - -Ten years before she had married Hilliston in utter ignorance of the -house at Hampstead. Though she did not know it she was not unlike her -rival. There was the same majesty, the same imperious beauty, the same -passionate nature, but Mrs. Bezel was worn and wasted by illness, -whereas Mrs. Hilliston, aided by art, looked a rarely beautiful woman. - -People said she had not done well to marry Hilliston. She was then a -rich widow from America, and wanted to take a position in society. With -her looks and her money, she might have married a title, but handsome -Hilliston crossed her path, and, though he was then fifty years of age, -she fell in love with him on the spot. Wearied of Mrs. Bezel, anxious to -mend his failing fortunes, Hilliston accepted the homage thus offered. -He did not love her, but kept that knowledge to himself, so Mrs. -Derrick, the wealthy widow, secured the man she idolized. She gave all, -wealth, beauty, love, and received nothing in return. - -During all their married life her love had undergone no abatement. She -loved her husband passionately, and her one object in life was to please -him. At the time of the marriage she had rather resented the presence of -Claude in Hilliston's house, but soon accepted him as an established -fact, the more so as he took up his profession shortly afterward, and -left her to reign alone over the heart of her husband. When the young -man called she was always kind to him, she constantly looked after his -welfare, and playfully styled herself his mother. Claude was greatly -attached to her, and spoke of her in the highest terms, but for the life -of him he could not suppress that start, though he knew it wounded her -to the heart. During his five years of absence she had aged greatly, and -art seemed rather to accentuate than conceal the truth. - -"You find me altered, I am afraid," said she bitterly; "age is robbing -me of my looks." - -"By no means," answered Claude, with a desire to please her; "at the -worst, you are only growing old gracefully." - -"Small comfort in that," sighed Mrs. Hilliston. "I do not want to grow -old at all. However, it is no use fighting the inevitable, but I hope -I'll die before I become a hag." - -"You will never become one." - -"I'm not so sure of that. I'm one of those large women who turn to bones -and wrinkles in old age." - -"In my eyes you will always be beautiful, Louise," said Hilliston, who -entered at this moment. "You are an angel ever bright and fair." - -"You have not lost the art of saying pretty things, Francis," replied -his wife, greatly gratified; "but there is the gong. Claude, take your -mother in to dinner." - -The young man winced as she said this, thinking of his real mother who -lay sick and feeble at Hampstead. Hilliston saw his change of -countenance, and bit his lip to prevent himself remarking thereon. He -guessed what Claude was thinking about, and thus his thoughts were -turned in the same direction. At the present moment the memories thus -evoked were most unpleasant. - -During dinner Mrs. Hilliston recovered her spirits and talked freely -enough. No one was present save Claude and her husband, so they were a -very pleasant party of three. While in the full flow of conversation, -Claude could not help thinking that Tait was unjust to suspect the -master of the house of underhand dealings; for Hilliston was full of -smiles and geniality, and did his best to entertain his guest. Could -Claude have looked below the surface he would have been considerably -astonished at the inward aspect of the man. Yet a hint was given him of -such want of concord, for Hilliston showed the cloven hoof before the -meal ended. - -"So you are going to Eastbourne," said Claude, addressing himself to -Mrs. Hilliston. "I hope you will come over to Thorston during your -stay." - -"It is not unlikely," replied the lady. "Francis intends to make -excursions all round the country." - -"Only for your amusement, my dear," said Hilliston hastily. "You know -how dreary it is to pace daily up and down that Parade." - -"I think Eastbourne is dreary, in any case. It is solely on your account -that I am going." - -Hilliston did not answer, but stole a glance at Claude to see what he -thought. The face of the young man was inscrutable, though Claude was -mentally considering that Tait was right, and Hilliston's journey to -Eastbourne was undertaken to interview Jenny Paynton. - -"I don't like your English watering-places," continued Mrs. Hilliston -idly. "They are so exasperatingly dull. In America we can have a good -time at Newport, but all your south coast is devoid of amusement. -Trouville or Dieppe are more enjoyable than Eastbourne or Folkestone." - -"The fault of the national character, my dear Louise. We English take -our pleasures sadly, you know." - -For the sole purpose of seeing what effect it would produce on the -lawyer Claude purposely introduced the name of the town where his father -had met his death. - -"I wonder you don't try an inland watering-place, Mrs. Hilliston," he -said calmly; "Bath or Tunbridge Wells or--Horriston." - -Hilliston looked up quickly, and then busied himself with his food. -Discomposed as he was, his iron will enabled him to retain a quiet -demeanor; but the effect of the name on the wife was more pronounced -than it was on the husband. Her color went, and she laid down her knife -and fork. - -"Ah, I don't know Horriston," she said faintly. "Some inland----Ah, how -hot this room is. Open the window," she added to the footman, "we want -fresh air." - -Rather astonished at the effect thus produced, Claude would have spoken -but that Hilliston forestalled him. - -"The room is hot," he said lightly, "but the fresh air will soon revive -you, Louise. I am glad we are going to Eastbourne, for you sadly need a -change." - -"The season has been rather trying," replied his wife, resuming her -dinner. "What were you saying about Horriston, Claude?" - -"Nothing. I only know it is a provincial town set in beautiful scenery. -I thought you might wish to try a change from the fashionable seaside -place." - -"I might go there if it is pretty," answered Mrs. Hilliston, who was now -perfectly composed. "Where is Horriston?" - -"In Kent," interposed Hilliston quickly, "not very far from Canterbury. -I have been there myself, but as it is a rather dull neighborhood, I -would not advise you to try it." - -Despite her denial Claude felt certain that Mrs. Hilliston was -acquainted with Horriston, for on the plea of indisposition she left the -table before the dinner was ended. As she passed through the door she -playfully tipped Claude on the shoulder with her fan. - -"Don't forget to come and see us at Eastbourne," she said vivaciously, -"and bring Mr. Tait with you. He is a great favorite of mine." - -This Claude promised to do, and, when she left the room, returned to his -seat with a rather puzzled expression on his face. Hilliston saw the -look, and endeavored to banish it by a hasty explanation. - -"You rather startled my wife by mentioning Horriston," he said, in an -annoyed tone. "I wish you had not done so. As it is connected with the -case she naturally feels an antipathy toward it." - -"What! Does Mrs. Hilliston know about my father's death?" asked Claude, -in some surprise. - -"Yes. When we married, she wanted to know why you lived in the house -with me, so I was forced to explain all the circumstances." - -"Do you think that was necessary?" - -"I do. You know how suspicious women are," replied Hilliston lightly; -"they will know the truth. But you can trust to her discretion, Claude. -No one will hear of it from her." - -At this moment a footman entered the room with a message from Mrs. -Hilliston. - -"My mistress wants to know if you have the third volume of 'A Whim of -Fate,' sir?" said the servant. - -"No," replied Hilliston sharply. "Tell your mistress that I took it to -my office by mistake. She will have it to-morrow." - -Claude thought this strange, and when the footman retired Hilliston made -another explanation equally as unsatisfactory as the first. - -"I am so interested in that book that I could not leave it at home," he -said quickly; "and now that I have met the author I am doubly interested -in it." - -Another proof of Tait's acumen. Hilliston was the first to introduce the -subject of John Parver. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - A DUEL OF WORDS. - - -A LONGISH pause ensued between the two men. Hilliston seemed to be in no -hurry to continue the conversation, and Claude, with his eyes fixed -absently on his glass, pondered over the facts that Mrs. Hilliston had -an aversion to Horriston, and that the lawyer had taken the third volume -of the novel out of the house. The two facts seemed to have some -connection with each other, but what the connection might be Claude -could not rightly conclude. - -From his frequent talks with Tait he knew that the third volume -contained the episode of the scarfpin, which was instrumental in -bringing the fictitious murderer to justice. The assassin in the novel -was meant for Hilliston, and remembering this Claude wondered whether -there might not be some reason for his removal of the book. Mrs. -Hilliston had quailed at the mention of Horriston, and the explanation -given by her husband did not satisfy Larcher. What reason could she have -for taking more than a passing interest in the tragic story? Why, after -ten years, should she pale at the mention of the neighborhood? Claude -asked himself these two questions, but could find no satisfactory answer -to either of them. - -He was toying with his wineglass while thinking, when a sudden thought -made him grip the slender stem with spasmodic force. Was it possible -that Mrs. Hilliston could have been in the neighborhood five-and-twenty -years before; that she could have heard some talk of that scarfpin which -was not mentioned at the trial, but which Tait insisted was an actual -fact, and no figment of the novelist's brain; and finally, could it be -that Hilliston had purposely removed the third volume of "A Whim of -Fate" so that his wife should not have her memory refreshed by a -relation of the incident. It was very strange. - -Thus thinking, Claude glanced stealthily at his guardian, who was -musingly smoking his cigar, and drinking his wine. He looked calm, and -content, and prosperous. Nevertheless, Claude was by no means so sure of -his innocence as he had been. Hilliston's confusion, his hesitation, his -evasion, instilled doubts into the young man's mind. He determined to -gain a knowledge of the truth by questions, and mentally arranged these -as follows: First he would try and learn somewhat of the past of Mrs. -Hilliston, for, beyond the fact that she was an American, he knew -nothing of it. Second, he would lead Hilliston to talk of the scarfpin, -and see if the reference annoyed him; and, third, he would endeavor to -discover if the lawyer was averse to his wife reading the novel. With -his plans thus cut and dried, he spoke abruptly to his guardian: - -"I am sorry Mrs. Hilliston's health is so bad." - -"It is not bad, my dear fellow," replied the lawyer, lifting his head. -"She is a very strong woman; but of course, the fatigue of a London -season tells on the healthiest constitution. That is why I wish her to -go to Eastbourne." - -"Why not take her to Horriston?" - -"Why should I? She connects the place with the story of your father, -about whom I was forced to speak ten years ago; and, speaking -personally, I have no desire to return there, and recall the horrors of -the past." - -"You were greatly affected by my father's death?" - -"Naturally; he was my dearest friend. I would have given anything to -discover the assassin." - -"Did Mrs. Hilliston give you her opinion as to who was guilty?" - -"No. I told her as little as I could of so painful a subject. She is not -in possession of all the facts." - -"At that rate why let her read 'A Whim of Fate'?" - -"I don't wish her to read it," answered Hilliston quietly; "but I left -the novel lying about, and she read the first two volumes. If I can help -it, she shall not finish the story." - -"Why object to her reading the third volume?" - -"Because it would recall the past too vividly to her mind." - -"I hardly follow you there," said Claude, with a keen look. "The fact to -which you refer cannot exist for your wife. To her the novel can only be -a second telling of the story related by you, when she wished to know -who I was." - -"That is very true. Nevertheless, it made so painful an impression on -her excitable nature that I am unwilling that her memory should be -refreshed. Take another glass of wine, my boy." - -Hilliston evidently wished to turn the conversation, but Claude was too -determined on learning the truth to deviate from his course. Slowly -filling his glass with claret he pushed the jug toward Hilliston, and -pursued his questioning: - -"The American nature is rather excitable, isn't it? By the way, is Mrs. -Hilliston a pure-blooded Yankee?" - -"Yes," said Hilliston, with suspicious promptitude; "she was a Chicago -belle, and married a millionaire in the pork line called Derrick. He -died soon after the marriage, so she came to England and married me." - -"It was her first visit to England, no doubt." - -"Her first visit," replied Hilliston gravely. "All her former life was -passed in New York, Boston, and Chicago. But what odd questions you -ask," added the lawyer, in a vexed tone. "Surely you do not think that -my wife was at Horriston twenty-five years ago, or that she knows aught -of this crime save what I have told her?" - -"Of course, I think nothing of the sort," said Larcher hastily, and what -is more he believed what he said. It was impossible that Mrs. Hilliston, -American born and bred, who had only been in England twelve years, -should know anything of an obscure crime committed in a dull provincial -town thirteen years before the date of her arrival. Hitherto his -questionings had eventuated in little, so he turned the conversation -into another groove, and tried to learn if Hilliston knew anything of -Jenny Paynton. - -"What do you think of John Parver?" - -"He seemed an intelligent young fellow. Is that his real name?" - -"No. His name is Frank Linton, the son of the vicar of Thorston." - -"What! He belongs to the place whither you go with Tait," exclaimed -Hilliston, with a startled air. "That is strange. You may learn there -whence he obtained the materials for his novel." - -"I know that. He obtained them from Miss Paynton." - -"Who is she?" - -"A literary young lady who lives at Thorston with her folks. But I fancy -Linton mentioned that he had told you about her." - -"Well he did and he didn't," said Hilliston, in some confusion; "that -is, he admitted that the story was founded on fact, but he did not tell -me whence he obtained such facts. I suppose it is your intention to -question this young lady." - -"Yes. I want to know how she heard of the matter." - -"Pooh! Read it in a provincial newspaper, no doubt." - -"I think not," replied Claude, with some point. "It is next to -impossible that she should come across a paper containing an account of -the trial. People don't keep such grewsome matters by them, unless they -have an interest in doing so." - -"Well, this young lady cannot be one of those persons. How old is she?" - -"Four-and-twenty!" - -"Ah!" said Hilliston with a sigh of relief, "she was not born when your -father was murdered. You must see she can know nothing positive of the -matter." - -"Then how did she supply Linton with the materials for this book?" - -"I can only answer that question by reverting to my theory of the -newspaper." - -"Well, even granting that it is so," said Larcher quickly, "she knows -details of the case which are not set forth in the newspaper." - -"How do you know this?" asked Hilliston, biting his lip to control his -feelings. - -"Because in the third volume----" - -"Nonsense! nonsense!" interrupted Hilliston violently, "you seem to -forget that the hard facts of the case have been twisted and turned by -the novelist's brain. We do not know who slew your father, but the -novelist had to end his story,--he had to solve the mystery,--and he has -done so after his own fashion." - -Rising from his seat, he paced hurriedly to and fro, talking the while -with an agitation strange in so hard and self-controlled a man. - -"For instance, the character of Michael Dene is obviously taken from me. -It is not a bit like me, of course, either in speech, or looks, or -dress. All the novelist knew was that I had given evidence at the trial, -and that the dead man had been my dearest friend. The circumstances -suggested a striking dramatic situation--that the dear friend had -committed the crime for the base love of the wife. Michael Dene is -guilty in the novel--but the man in real life, myself----You know all I -know of the case. I would give ten years of my life, short as the span -now is, to find the man who killed George Larcher." - -This was strong speaking, and carried conviction to the heart of Claude, -the more so when Hilliston further explained himself. - -"On the night of the murder I was at the ball three miles off. I knew -nothing of the matter till I was called upon to identify the corpse of -your father. It was hardly recognizable, and the face was much -disfigured, but I recognized him by the color of his hair and the seal -on his finger." - -"How was it that my father was dressed as Darnley?" - -"John Parver explains that," said Hilliston sharply. "Jeringham--I -forget his name in the novel--was dressed as Darnley, and I believe, as -is set forth in the book, that George Larcher assumed the dress so that -under his mask your mother might mistake him for Jeringham. Evidently -she did so, as he learned that she loved Jeringham----" - -"One moment," interposed Claude quickly, "my mother denies that -Jeringham was her lover." - -"Your mother?" - -"Mrs. Bezel." - -"True; I forgot for the moment that you knew she was alive. No doubt she -is right; and Jeringham was only her friend. But in the novel he is her -lover; Michael Dene, drawn from myself, is her lover. You see fact and -fiction are so mixed up that there is no getting at the truth." - -"I shall get at the truth," said Claude quietly. - -"Never. After such a lapse of time you can discover nothing. Better let -the dead past bury its dead. I advised you before. I advise you now. You -will only torture your life, cumber it with a useless task. George -Larcher is dead and buried, and dust by this time. No one knows who -killed him, no one ever shall know." - -"I am determined to learn the truth!" - -"I hope you may, but be advised. Leave this matter alone. You do not -know what misery you may be laying up for yourself. Why, you have not -even a clew to start from! Unless," added Hilliston, with a sneer, "you -follow the example of the novelist and elucidate the mystery by means of -the scarfpin." - -Again Tait was right. Hilliston had himself introduced the subject of -the scarfpin. Claude immediately took advantage of the opening. - -"I suppose that episode is fiction?" - -"Of course it is. No scarfpin was found in the garden. Nothing was found -but the dagger. You know that Michael Dene is supposed to drop that -scarfpin on the spot. Well, I am the living representative of Michael -Dene, and I assure you I never owned a garnet cross with a central -diamond." - -"Is that the description of the scarfpin?" - -"Yes. Do you not remember? A small Maltese cross of garnets with a -diamond in the center. The description sounds fictitious. Who ever saw -such an ornament in real life. But in detective novels the solution of -the mystery turns on such gew-gaws. A scarfpin, a stud, a link, a -brooch--all these go to hang a man--in novels." - -This assertion that the episode of the scarfpin was fiction was in -direct contradiction to that of Tait, who declared it to be true. Claude -was torn by conflicting doubts, but ultimately put the matter out of his -thoughts. Miss Paynton alone could give a correct opinion as to whether -it had emanated from her fertile brain, or was really a link in the -actual case. Judging from the speech of Hilliston, and the silence of -the newspaper reports, Claude believed that Tait was wrong. - -The lawyer and his guest did not go to the drawing room, as Mrs. -Hilliston sent word that she was going to bed with a bad headache. Under -the circumstances Claude took his leave, having, as he thought, -extracted all necessary information from Hilliston. Moreover, he was -anxious to get back to Tait's chambers and hear what the little man had -to tell him about Mrs. Bezel. Hilliston said good-by to him at the door. - -"I shall see you at Eastbourne, I suppose," he said genially. - -"Yes. I will drive over and tell you what Miss Paynton says." - -The door closed, and Hilliston, with a frown on his face, stood looking -at the floor. He was by no means satisfied with the result of the -interview. - -"I wish I could stop him," he muttered, clenching his fist; "stop him at -any price. If he goes on he will learn the truth, and if he learns the -truth--ah----" - -He drew a long breath, and went upstairs to his wife. As he ascended the -stairs it seemed to him as though he heard the halting step of Nemesis -following stealthily behind. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - TAIT BRINGS NEWS. - - -AS quick as a fast hansom could take him, Claude drove to Earls Street, -and found Tait impatiently waiting his arrival. The little man had a -look of triumph in his eyes, which showed that his interview with Mrs. -Bezel had been to some purpose. Dormer had placed wine and biscuits on -the table, and, made hungry by his long journey to Hampstead, Tait was -partaking of these modest refreshments when Claude entered the room. - -"I thought you were never coming," said he, glancing at his watch; "past -ten o'clock. You must have had an interesting conversation with -Hilliston to stay so long." - -"I have had a very interesting conversation. And you?" - -"Oh, I got back thirty minutes ago, after being more than an hour with -your mother." - -"Was she disappointed at my non-appearance?" - -"Very much so, but I explained that you had to dine with Hilliston. She -did not seem to like that either." - -"Absurd! She thinks no end of Hilliston, and advised me to see as much -of him as possible." - -"Nevertheless, the idea that you were dining with him did not please -her; I could only quiet her by telling all I know about Mrs. Hilliston." - -When Tait made this remark Claude was taking off his cloak, but he -paused in doing so to ask a question. - -"What possible interest can my mother have in Mrs. Hilliston?" - -"I don't know. But she asked me who she was, and where she came from. -Insisted on a description of her looks, and altogether pumped me dry on -the subject. I suppose she wished to know something of Hilliston's -domestic felicity, and, as he has not enlightened her on the subject, -applied to me." - -This explanation, which was accepted implicitly by Claude, was by no -means the truth. With his usual sharpness Tait had noted Mrs. Bezel was -profoundly jealous of the lawyer's wife, and from this, and sundry other -hints, had drawn conclusions by no means flattering to the lady herself. -Still, as she was Claude's mother, he had too much good breeding, and -too much liking for his friend, to state his belief--which was that the -bond between Mr. Hilliston and Mrs. Bezel was not of so harmless a -nature as they would have the world believe. - -With this idea in his head, Tait began to look at the case from the -point of view adopted by John Parver. Might it not be true that -Hilliston was the secret lover of the wife and the murderer of the -husband? Certainly the efforts he was making to stay Claude in solving -the mystery gave color to the idea. If he were innocent of crime and -illicit passion he would surely be anxious to hasten, instead of -retarding, the discovery. Tait's private opinion was that Hilliston had -the crime of murder on his soul, but for obvious reasons, not -unconnected with Mrs. Bezel, he did not care to speak openly to Larcher. -On the contrary, while admitting a disbelief in the lawyer, he feigned a -doubt of his complicity in the matter which he was far from feeling. - -Under these circumstances he had advised Claude to leave the matter -alone, for he dreaded the effect on his friend's mind when he learned -the truth. - -Whether Hilliston proved innocent or not, the unraveling of the mystery -would necessarily result in the disclosure of the relations existing -between him and Mrs. Bezel. Tait shrank from pursuing investigations -likely to lead to such a result, but the determination of Claude to -avenge his father's murder left him no option. Against his better -judgment he was urged along the path of discovery; but trusted when the -time came to soften the blow of the inevitable result. - -In silence he heard the story related by Claude of the evening at -Hilliston's, and did not comment on the information thus given so -speedily as Larcher expected. He thought it wiser to delay any remarks -till he had told the young man of his interview with Mrs. Bezel. - -"I need not go into details, Claude," he said, anxious not to say too -much, "but will tell you as shortly as I can. Mrs. Bezel--it is more -convenient to speak of her so than to call her your mother--is not -pleased that you should try and solve this mystery." - -"I know that. She thinks it is hopeless, and is unwilling that I should -waste my time to no purpose. But she should have thought of that before -inducing Hilliston to show me the paper. Now it is too late, and for my -own satisfaction, if not for hers, I must go on with the matter. Did you -relate our conversation with Linton?" - -"Yes. And she takes the same view of it as Hilliston. That Miss Paynton -got the case from a bundle of old newspapers." - -"What do you think yourself?" - -"I still hold to my opinion," said Tait quietly. "The affair was related -to Jenny by someone who lived in Horriston at the time the murder took -place. Else she would never have given Linton that fact about the -scarfpin, which, as we know, is not mentioned in the report of the -trial." - -"Hilliston says that the episode is fiction." - -"Mrs. Bezel says it is fact." - -"What! Was a scarfpin of garnets really found in the grounds of The -Laurels?" - -"It was. Mrs. Bezel described the jewel to me, and asserted that it was -discovered near the bank of the stream." - -"Does she know to whom it belonged?" - -"No! She had no recollection of having seen it before. Neither your -father nor Jeringham wore a scarfpin of that pattern." - -"It is curious that Hilliston should insist that such a pin never -existed." - -"It is very curious," assented Tait significantly, "especially as it was -shown to him by Denis Bantry. This one fact ought to convince you that -Hilliston is playing us false." - -"My doubts were confirmed by his manner to-night," replied Claude -gloomily. "I don't know what his reason may be, or how I can reconcile -his present behavior with his kindness to my mother, but he certainly -seems anxious to thwart us if he can." - -Tait guessed what the reason was very well, but was too wise to explain -himself. Granted that a bond existed between Mrs. Bezel and the lawyer, -and the whole thing became clear, but Mrs. Bezel was Claude's mother, so -Tait held his peace. - -"Why wasn't the scarfpin produced at the trial?" asked Claude, seeing -his friend made no answer. - -"Only one man can answer that question--Denis Bantry." - -"Does my mother know where he is?" - -"No. She has not set eyes on him since she left Horriston." - -"It is strange that he should have suppressed so important a piece of -evidence," said Claude meditatively, "devoted as he was to my father. I -should have thought he would have done his best to bring the murderer to -justice." - -"Perhaps he did not know who the murderer was. However, there is no -doubt that the scarfpin must have told him something about which he -judged it wise to hold his tongue. Perhaps Miss Paynton can enlighten us -on the subject." - -"Then she must know Denis Bantry." - -"So I think," said Tait thoughtfully. "The episode of the scarfpin was -only known to your mother, to Hilliston, and to Bantry. Jenny Paynton -does not know your mother, who denied all knowledge of her. She cannot -be acquainted with Hilliston, or he certainly would not have let her -make use of the affair for Linton's book, even if he had told her. There -only remains Denis Bantry. Now, I know that Jenny has lived all her life -at Thorston, so if she saw this man anywhere it must have been there." - -"Is there anyone in the neighborhood you think is he?" asked Larcher, -greatly excited. - -"None that I can call to mind. But then, I don't know the neighborhood -very well. We must make a thorough exploration of it when we are down -there." - -"Certainly. But it seems to me that the only one who can put us in the -right track is the girl." - -"True enough. I only hope she will be amenable to reason." - -Larcher poured himself out a glass of wine and drank it slowly. Then he -lighted his pipe and returned to his chair with a new idea in his head. - -"I wonder why Hilliston told that lie about the scarfpin, Tait?" - -"Ask me something easier. I cannot say. We'll learn nothing from him. My -dear fellow, it is no use asking further questions of your guardian or -of your mother. We have found out all from them that we can. Nothing now -remains but to see Jenny Paynton." - -"Quite right. And we go to Thorston to-morrow?" - -"By the ordinary train. I have written for the dogcart to meet us. By -this time next week we may know a great deal--we may know the truth." - -"That is, if Hilliston doesn't thwart us. He is going down to -Eastbourne, remember." - -"I know. But I intend to get what the Americans call the 'inside -running,' by seeing Jenny to-morrow evening. The whole case turns on her -explanation of the scarfpin episode. - -"Well," said Claude, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, "we found -Linton through his book, we found Jenny through Linton. Through her we -may find Denis Bantry." - -"And through Denis Bantry we may find the man who killed your father," -finished Tait triumphantly. - -"Well, I know what the name of the man will be." - -"What will it be?" - -"Jeringham." - -Tait shrugged his shoulders. Knowing what he did he was by no means -certain on that point. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - A PRÉCIS OF THE CASE. - - -A MONTH ago had anyone prophesied that I, Spenser Tait, would be engaged -in playing the part of an amateur detective, I should have flatly -contradicted his prognostication. Yet here I am doing my best to solve -the mystery which hangs round the death of my friend's father. I cannot -say that I object to the task, for there is something tremendously -exciting in this man hunt. My friendship for Claude is the principal -factor which induces me to meddle with the business; but a slight -flavoring of selfishness is also present. - -Hitherto we had been fairly successful, and have at least found a clew -likely to lead to some certain result. Between Mrs. Bezel, Hilliston, -and Linton's book, we have learned a good deal of the case; and all our -knowledge points to an interview with Jenny Paynton as the next step to -be taken. - -To-morrow we start for Thorston for this purpose, but before exploring -the new field I judge it wise to set down all the facts which have come -to our knowledge, and to deduce therefrom, if possible, a logical reason -for our future actions. I have my suspicions, but these are vague and -intangible. Claude has his suspicions, but these do not coincide with -mine. He believes Jeringham to be guilty of the crime. I think Hilliston -is likely to prove the assassin. Both of us may be wrong. - -To take the case of Mr. Hilliston. His attitude is decidedly aggressive -at the present moment, and he is doing his best to dissuade Claude from -investigating the case. Why should he do so? George Larcher was his -dearest friend, and met with a cruel fate. If there is any chance of his -fate being avenged, surely Hilliston should be the first to prosecute -the inquiries. Instead of doing so he hangs back, and throws cold water -on my efforts and on Claude's. He must have some reason for his actions. -Is that reason to be found at Clarence Cottage in Hampstead? - -This question brings me to a delicate point. My work is hampered by the -fact that Mrs. Bezel is Claude's mother, and I dare not express myself -as I should wish. I gather from the report of the trial that Mrs. -Larcher was a vain and silly coquette, who threw away the love of a good -man for the indulgence of her own selfish instincts. Guilty she may have -been, but not with Jeringham. If she had any lover, it was Francis -Hilliston. After a visit to Clarence Cottage I believe the view taken of -the case by the novelist to be the right one. - -During my interview with Mrs. Bezel I noted her every look and action. -When Hilliston's name occurred she flushed up and looked savage; she was -anxious to know all about the wife at Kensington Gore, and in every way -showed that she had more interest in the man than she cared to confess. -Again, she told me that her illness was of ten years' duration. -Hilliston has been married ten years. What is more likely than that he -should have wearied of the invalid, and so deserted her for Mrs. -Derrick, the rich widow. - -Mrs. Bezel is jealous of Hilliston and of his wife. Her love has changed -to hatred, and I verily believe that she would harm him if she could. -Already she has attempted to do so, for it was only her threat to reveal -all to Claude that made Hilliston produce that report of the Larcher -affair. She has told me all she knows, but I cannot help thinking that -she is keeping back certain facts connected with the case. There is a -hesitancy and doubt in her speech which points to some secret. If I -could learn that secret it might establish the guilt of Hilliston. - -And yet I cannot believe that. No woman, however vain, however -frivolous, would have lived with the man who murdered her husband, who -slew the father of her child. Mrs. Bezel's secret may not directly -inculpate Hilliston, but it may point toward him as the possible -assassin. But I cannot believe that she thinks him guilty. Their -relations with one another forbids so horrible a supposition. - -Nevertheless, Hilliston is afraid of the truth coming to light. He -denies that the garnet scarfpin ever existed, while Mrs. Bezel said she -saw it herself. If the lawyer is not afraid, why should he tell a -deliberate lie? It is his word against that of Mrs. Bezel, and as her -statement is backed up by the description in the novel, I believe she is -telling the truth. Can it be possible that the scarfpin belonged to -Hilliston and was dropped by him in the garden of The Laurels on the -night of the struggle? - -Here Hilliston proves an alibi. He stated to Claude that at the hour of -three o'clock, when the crime was presumably committed, he was at the -ball in the Horriston Town Hall. If that can be proved, he must, -perforce, be innocent. - -Another supposition: Can Mrs. Larcher be actually guilty of her -husband's death, and, knowing this, is Hilliston anxious to stop Claude -in his investigations lest he should learn so terrible a truth? I cannot -believe this, for Mrs. Larcher, or Bezel, set the ball rolling herself, -and were she guilty she certainly would not have run such risk. - -Then, again, Jeringham fled on the night of the murder. For what reason? -If Hilliston killed Larcher why should Jeringham fly? If Mrs. Bezel -killed her husband why should Jeringham fly? I see no reason in his -flight, and yet if he were guilty and Hilliston knew him to be guilty -why should he try and screen him at the present time? Altogether the -case is so confusing that I do not know what to think or whom to -suspect. - -I wonder what has become of Mona Bantry and her child? Mrs. Bezel said -she had not seen the girl or her brother for twenty-five years. Yet they -must be somewhere. Circumstances point to Jenny Paynton having heard the -story of the tragedy from Denis, for no one else could have revealed the -episode of the scarfpin, or have described the jewel. If Denis told her -he must live at Thorston, and if he lives there his sister must be with -him. If this pair, who were in the house on the night of the murder, can -be found, the truth may come to light. - -After searching Thorston and finding out all I can from the -Bantrys,--presuming them to be there,--it is my intention to go down to -Horriston and find out someone who remembers the case. In spite of the -lapse of time there must be some old people alive who danced at that -ball in their hot youth. They may be able to say if George Larcher was -there present in the character of Darnley, and at what time Hilliston -left the ball. I may also hear what they think of Jeringham, and of the -conduct of Mrs. Bezel. In making these investigations I shall not take -Claude, as I shrewdly suspect the opinions of these oldsters regarding -his mother are anything but flattering to that lady. If I go to -Horriston I must go alone. - -On reading over these notes I am hardly satisfied with them. They do not -seem to give me much basis on which to work. I suspect this person and -the other, but I have very little evidence to back me up in such -suspicions. The only thing that seems clear to me is that Hilliston has -some object in thwarting our plans. What the object is I must find out. -Perhaps I shall do so at Thorston, where I am certain to meet both -Hilliston and his wife. - -And that reminds me of what Claude related about her emotion this -evening. It is certainly curious, but the worst of dabbling in detective -business is that one is apt to get over-suspicious. In this case I think -there is no ground for suspicion. Mrs. Hilliston is an American, and -came to England twelve years ago. I know this for certain, for I -remember when she made her _début_ in society. This being the case, she -cannot possibly have any connection with Horriston, and her emotion must -have been merely the recollection of the story related by her husband -when he told her of Claude. - -Well, it is past midnight, and I had better end these unsatisfactory -notes. Detective business is harder than I thought. How am I to evolve -order out of all this chaos I hardly know, save to trust to luck and -Jenny Paynton. And so to bed, as saith worthy Samuel Pepys. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - - THORSTON. - - -IT is astonishing how closely one village resembles another in -appearance. The square-towered church, the one winding street, the -low-roofed inn, and red-tiled cottages, isolated by narrow alleys; corn -lands and comfortable farms around, and still further the mansions, more -or less stately, of the county families. Go where you will in the -southern countries, all the villages are so constituted; one description -serves for all, though on occasions the expanse of the Channel -introduces a new feature into the landscape. Thorston was of the same -class, but, in its own opinion, had more pretentions to grandeur than -its neighbors. - -Before the Conquest it had been a considerable Saxon town, and, as its -name indicates, had flourished before the introduction of Christianity -into England. There, according to tradition, a temple to Thor the -Thunderer had stood on the hill now crowned with the church; hence the -name of Thor's town. Report said that Edward the Confessor had built the -church, but of his work little remained, and the present building was -due to the piety or fears of a Norman baron, who wished to expiate his -sins after the fashion of those times, by erecting a house to some -interceding saint. In the present instance this church was dedicated to -St. Elfrida, the holy daughter of Athelstan, who renounced her father's -court to found a nunnery by the winding river Lax, famous for salmon, as -is plainly hinted by its Scandinavian appellation. Yet notwithstanding -church and tradition, Thorston had never since been of much importance, -and it was now but an ordinary rural village, quaint and sleepy. - -From Eastbourne the road, winding, dipping, rising, and curving like a -white snake, ran over hill, through dale, along plain, till it -ultimately formed the High Street of Thorston. Thence it ran again into -the country, but at this point it made its way between houses, thatched -and old; and toward the center opened into a market-place adorned by an -antique cross. The Inn of St. Elfrida, with an effigy of the saint for a -sign, stood on the right of this square, fronting the battered cross; -directly opposite a narrow road led on to the village green, at the end -of which rose the low hill whereon the Church of St. Elfrida stood amid -its trees. Lower down by the Lax could be seen the ruins of her nunnery, -and a well frequented by her was to be inspected in the near -neighborhood. Here, said the legend, she fought with the devil, who -strove to carry away the tower of the church, and being worsted, as the -demons always were by Mother Church, he dropped the tower a few yards -off the main building. As a matter of fact the square tower is detached -from the church, but, as has before been stated, it was built by the -Normans long after Elfrida was laid to rest. But the legend took no -account of dates, nor did the natives of Thorston, who would have been -highly offended had anyone denied the authenticity of their story. In -confirmation thereof they referred to the guide book--a notable -authority truly. - -The whole neighborhood was full of St. Elfrida, who must have been a -busy saint in her day, and numerous tourists came to view church, and -tower, and holy well. The village derived quite an income from her -reputation, and valued the saint accordingly. Amid ancient oaks stood -the gray church with its detached tower; around lichened tombstones -leaned over one another, and rank grass grew up to the verge of the low -stone wall which ran like a battlement round the crest of the little -hill. A flight of rugged steps led up to the lych-gate, and here stood a -pretty girl in converse with Frank Linton, alias John Parver. - -It was a hot summer's day, and the golden light, piercing through the -foliage of the trees, enveloped the girl in a glittering haze. She was -extremely pretty; dark-eyed, dark-haired, with a complexion of roses and -lilies, and as neat a figure as was ever seen. Envious people said that -Miss Paynton pinched her waist, but such was not the case, for she was -too careless of her appearance, and too careful of her health, to -sacrifice the latter to the former. As a matter of fact, she appreciated -brains more than beauty, and much preferred to exercise the first in -clever conversation than to be complimented on the second. Linton, who -had known her for many years, skillfully combined the two modes of -paying homage to his divinity. That he received hard words in return was -to be expected, for Jenny knew her power over the youth, and liked to -exercise it. She was the least vain of mortals, but could not hide from -herself that she was clever and pretty, and therefore entitled to -indulge in coquetry. - -"You grow more beautiful every day, Jenny," said Linton, who had lately -arrived from town and was making up for lost time. - -"And you more stupid," retorted Miss Paynton, climbing up on the low -wall, where she sat and smiled at him from under her straw hat. "If you -have come here to pay me compliments you can go away again. I want you -to talk sense, not nonsense." - -"What shall I talk about?" - -"As if there were any question of that," said she, in supreme disdain. -"Are you not famous now? Tell me of your success." - -"You know about it already. I sent you all the papers. 'A Whim of Fate,' -is the book of the season." - -"Oh, just think of that now! Oh, lucky, lucky Frank! So young and so -successful. You ought to be happy." - -"I am happy, because I now see a chance of making you my----" - -"Now you are talking nonsense," cried Jenny, ruthlessly interrupting -him. "I won't hear a word more, you ridiculous boy. You are my brother, -nothing more." - -"But----" - -"Don't talk about it, Frank. Be sensible. Come now, you have not yet -told me how your father received the news." - -"Oh, he is pleased, of course," said Linton, unwillingly changing the -subject; "but he reserves his opinion till he has read the book. If he -doesn't like it he'll very likely order me to stop writing." - -"I'm sure he won't," said Jenny promptly. "You'll make more as an author -than as a lawyer." - -"No doubt, if you continue to supply me with such excellent plots. I -wish I had your invention, Jenny." - -"It was not invention. You know that quite well. I found an account of -the trial in an old bundle of provincial newspapers. I couldn't have -made up such a story." - -"Jenny," asked Linton, with some apprehension, "has your father read the -book?" - -"No; I asked him to do so, but he refuses to read novels. History is -what he likes--kings and dates, and battles. Father wouldn't waste a -minute over fiction." - -"I hope he won't be angry at your giving me the plot, Jenny." - -Miss Paynton stared at him in surprise, and burst into a merry laugh. -His objection seemed supremely ridiculous to her at that moment. - -"My dear boy, why should he? The account of an old murder case can have -nothing to do with him. I found the papers in the garret among a heap of -old books. I don't suppose he knows of their existence." - -"It was a real case, wasn't it?" - -"Yes; it took place at Horriston in 1866. But of course the public need -not know that." - -"Well, I told someone about it." - -"Oh, you are an idiot, Frank; or else," added Jenny more graciously, -"you are very honest. I suppose you explained that the story was founded -on fact?" - -"Yes." - -"Who asked you about it?" - -"Three people. An old gentleman, and two young men." - -"What are their names?" asked Jenny curiously. - -"I forget. The third one was called Tait, I think, but I don't remember -the names of the other two. It doesn't matter, you know," continued the -novelist hastily; "lots of authors found their plots on episodes in real -life." - -"Oh, it's of no consequence," said Jenny idly. "I suppose they thought -the plot was too clever for you to invent. At all events the credit is -due to you for solving the mystery." - -"Ah! But did I solve it properly? Do you think Michael Dene committed -the crime?" - -"No, I don't!" rejoined Jenny promptly. "I think Jeringham did." - -"Jeringham. Who is he?" - -"I forgot," said Jenny, with some dismay, "I did not tell you the real -names of the people. Jeringham is the man you call Markham in the book. -If you remember, I wanted you to make him commit the crime." - -"If I had done so no one would have read the book," protested the -author. "His flight made it so patent that he was guilty; and I had to -put the crime on to someone like Dene, whom no reader would suspect. Do -you think that Markham--Jeringham really committed the murder?" - -"Yes, I do. If he was innocent why did he fly?" - -"Was he ever found again," asked Linton, with some curiosity. - -"Never! It is five-and-twenty years ago since the murder was committed, -and it is a mystery to this day." - -"I'd like to read that newspaper report for myself," said the author, -after a pause. "Could you not let me see it?" - -Jenny shook her head. "I'm afraid not," she replied guiltily. "You see -Kerry found me with the papers one day and took them away. He was very -angry, and said I had no business to look at them." - -"My stars!" cried Linton, in a startled tone; "what will he say when he -finds out that you and I have made use of them?" - -"He won't find out," replied Jenny, jumping down off the wall. "Kerry -never reads novels, and no one will tell him. Oh, it's quite safe, -Frank, quite safe." - -"I'm not so sure of that, Jenny. My father will talk about my book to -Mr. Paynton, and he'll tell Kerry." - -"Well, what if he does," cried Jenny, skipping down the steps. "I'm sure -I don't care if Kerry does know. Who cares for a musty, fusty old crime -of five-and-twenty years ago? Don't trouble about it, Frank. I'll take -the blame." - -Linton walked on in silence beside her, and they entered the market -place on their way to the vicarage, He was beginning to have some qualms -about the matter. Kerry had a very bad temper, and Linton was by no -means anxious to encounter him. - -"I wish we had left it alone," he said gloomily, pausing by the cross in -the square. - -"Nonsense! Don't be a moral coward," said Jenny pettishly. "I'll take -the blame on myself. Kerry can't kill me be----" - -At this point she was interrupted by a dog-cart containing two young -men, which spun past rapidly. The driver took off his hat to Miss -Paynton with a smile. - -"Oh!" said Jenny composedly, when the vehicle had vanished, "there is -our new Lord of the Manor, Mr. Tait." - -"Why, those are the two fellows who questioned me about my story!" cried -Linton. - -"Are they? Yes, you mentioned the name of Tait," said Jenny quietly; -"but what does it matter? What a fuss you make over nothing." - -"Jenny," said Linton solemnly, "there is going to be trouble over that -story." - -Miss Paynton stared at him in surprise, then pointed an accusing finger -at him. - -"Francis Linton," she said slowly, "you are a silly fool. If ever I help -you again in your writing, I give you leave to marry me." - -Then she ran away and left him dumfounded in the market place. But she -was by no means so light-hearted as she appeared to be. Kerry's anger, -the questions of the two strangers, made her feel uneasy, and she -thought it would have been better had she left the provincial newspapers -in the garret. But Fate decided otherwise, and Jenny Paynton, though she -knew it not, was an unconscious instrument to revive interest in a -forgotten case, to solve a mystery of five-and-twenty years, and to -bring an unknown criminal to justice. Life is a chess board, we are the -puppets, and Fate plays the game. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - - IN THE CHURCH. - - -THORSTON MANOR, built in broad meadow land, about a quarter of a mile -from the village, was now the property of Spencer Tait. He had purchased -it lately at a small price from old Miss Felcar, the last representative -of that ancient family. She, unable to maintain the house in its -original splendor, got quit of it altogether in this way, and shortly -afterward took up her quarters at Eastbourne, leaving the house of her -ancestors in the possession of a stranger. - -The house itself was of no great pretensions, or age, dating only from -the second George--a square, red-brick mansion, only redeemed from -actual ugliness by the mellow beauty of its hues. The grounds themselves -were better, and the trees best of all. An avenue curved nobly to the -gate, which gave on the highroad, and to the right of this, fronting the -house, was a delightful garden, laid out in the Dutch fashion. There -were yew trees cut into quaint shapes, stiff and formal hedges running -in straight lines, and beds of old-fashioned flowers. A fountain, a -summer house, and a statue or two completed the furniture of this -pleasant ground, to which Tait introduced his friend with unconcealed -pride. - -"I paid for this," he said, looking round as they paced the broad walks. -"By itself the house is a monstrosity, only rendered endurable by its -years; but you must confess that the garden is worth the money." - -"It is certainly quaint," replied Larcher, looking around with an absent -air, "but I do not care for nature in buckram. The formality of this -place offends my eye." - -"Ah, my dear fellow, you have been used to the wildness of New Zealand -woods of late. You will find these grounds grow on you. I shall leave -you alone this afternoon to make the attempt." - -"Indeed," said Larcher, in some surprise at this cavalier treatment, -"and what do you intend to do?" - -"I am going to church." - -"To church--on a week-day?" - -"Oh, I am not bent on devotion, Claude. But Miss Paynton is the organist -of the parish. To-day is Wednesday, when she is accustomed to practice -between three and five. I propose to see her there." - -"Why?" - -"Can't you guess? To forestall her with Hilliston. That gentleman is at -Eastbourne, and will probably come over to-day or to-morrow to ask Jenny -to hold her tongue. As we can't afford to run such a risk, I must get -all I can out of her to-day." - -"Can I come also?" - -"No!" replied Tait promptly. "It would be necessary for me to introduce -you." - -"What of that? Does it matter?" - -"It matters a great deal. Miss Paynton has, we believe, obtained the -plot of Linton's novel from a report of the trial. She will know the -name of Larcher, and when she hears that you are called so, she will -probably take fright and hold her tongue." - -"But why should she think I have anything to do with the case?" - -"Your own name. Your guardian's," answered Tait quietly. "Both are -mentioned in the report of the trial. Oh, I assure you, Jenny is a -clever girl, and knows that two and two make four. She will put this and -that together, with the result that nothing will be gained by the -interview." - -"Well, well, go alone," said Claude crossly; "though I envy you the -chance. She is a pretty girl, from the glimpse I caught of her." - -"And as wise as she is pretty," laughed Tait. "I will need all my wits -to deal with her. Now, is it settled?" - -"Yes. You go to your organist, and I'll potter about these green alleys -and think myself an abbe of Louis XIV.'s time." - -Having come to this amicable understanding, they went in to luncheon, -after which Tait gave Claude a sketch of the people in the neighborhood. -Later on he sent him into the Dutch garden with a cigar and a book, then -betook himself by a short cut through the park to the Church of St. -Elfrida. Shortly after four he entered by the main door, and found -himself in the aisle listening to the rolling notes of the organ. - -There was no attempt at decoration in that church, for the vicar was -broad in his views, and hating all ritualism from his soul, took a pride -in keeping the edifice bare and unadorned. The heavy arches of gray -stone, the white-washed walls, with here and there a mural tablet, the -plain communion table under the single stained-glass window; nothing -could be less attractive. Only the deep hues of roof and pews, the -golden pipes of the organ, and the noble lectern, with its brazen eagle, -preserved the church from looking absolutely irreverent. Through the -glazed windows of plain glass poured in the white light of day, so that -the interior lacked the reverent gloom, most fitted to the building, and -the marks of time were shown up in what might be termed a cruel manner. -Of old, St. Elfrida's had been rich in precious marbles, in splendid -altars, and gorgeous windows, many-hued and elaborate; but the Puritans -had destroyed all these, and reduced the place to its present bareness, -which the vicar took a pride in preserving. It seemed a shame that so -noble a monument of Norman architecture should be so neglected. - -The red curtains of the organ loft hid the player, but Tait knew that it -was Jenny by the touch, and sat down in a pew to wait till she had -finished her practising. One piece followed the other, and the stately -music vibrated among the arches in great bursts of sound, a march, an -anthem, an offertory, till Tait almost fell asleep, lulled by the drone -of the pipes. At length Jenny brought her performance to an end, and -having dismissed the boy who attended to the bellows, tripped down the -aisle with a music book under her arm. She looked as fresh and pink as a -rose, but quite out of place in that bare, bleak building. Toward her -Tait advanced with a bow. - -"Here I am, you see, Miss Paynton," he said, shaking her by the hand. "I -heard your music, and could not help coming in to listen. I hope you do -not mind my intrusion." - -"Oh, the Lord of the Manor can go anywhere," said Jenny demurely. "I am -glad to see you again, Mr. Tait. The second time to-day, is it not?" - -"Yes; I drove past you in the market place, if I remember rightly. Won't -you sit down, Miss Paynton, and give me all the news. I am terribly -ignorant of local gossip, I assure you." - -Nothing loath, the girl seated herself in a pew near the door, and -occupied herself in fixing her glove. Remembering the conversation with -Linton, she was slightly uneasy at Tait's very direct request, but -thinking that it could not possibly have anything to do with the plot of -Linton's novel, resigned herself to circumstances. Before the -conversation ended she wished that she had refused to speak to Tait at -that moment; but it was then too late. - -"News," she repeated with a laugh, "do we ever have any news in this -dreary place. I should rather ask you for news, Mr. Tait, who are fresh -from London." - -"Oh, but no doubt our young author has already told you all that is -worth hearing," said Tait, deftly leading up to his point; "he has been -quite the lion of the season." - -"Yes. He has been very fortunate," replied Jenny carefully. She did not -relish the sudden introduction of this forbidden subject. - -"And he owes it to you, I believe." - -"To me. Good gracious, Mr. Tait! what have I to do with Frank's -success?" - -"According to what he says, everything." - -"What do you mean," she said, sitting up very straight, with a deeper -color than usual on her cheek. - -"Why," said Tait, looking directly at her, and thereby adding to her -confusion, "Frank told me that you supplied the plot of 'A Whim of -Fate.'" - -"And what if I did, Mr. Tait?" - -"Oh, nothing, only I must compliment you on your--shall we say selection -or invention?" - -"The former," replied Jenny, with extraordinary quickness. "Since Frank -makes no secret of it, why should I? The plot was told him by me, and I -found it set forth as a trial in a newspaper of 1866." - -"H'm! In the _Canterbury Observer_, I believe?" - -"How do you know that is the name of the paper?" she asked in a nervous -tone. - -"I learned it from the same source that supplied me with the history of -the Larcher affair." - -"What! You also know the name of the case?" - -"As you see." - -"Frank does not know it. I did not show him the papers. I suppressed all -names when I told the story," she said incoherently; "but now -you--you----" - -"I know all. Yes, you are right," observed Tait complacently. "I am -better acquainted with the plot of 'A Whim of Fate' than John Parver -himself." - -Jenny sat looking at him in a kind of wild amazement. From the -significance of his tone, the extent of his knowledge, she vaguely felt -that something was wrong. Again, the anger of Kerry, the conversation of -Linton, came into her mind, and she saw into what difficulty the chance -telling of that ancient crime had led her. Tait noticed that she was -perplexed and frightened, so dexterously strove to set her more at ease -by making a clean breast of it, and enlisting her sympathy for Claude. - -"You saw the friend who was with me in the cart, Miss Paynton?" - -"Yes. Who is he?" - -"Claude Larcher!" - -"Claude La----What do you mean, Mr. Tait? I am in the dark. I do not -understand. Have I done anything wrong in--in----" - -"In telling the case to Linton?" finished Tait smoothly. "By no means. -As a matter of fact you have done my friend a service." - -"He is called Larcher! Who is he?" she asked again with an effort. - -"He is the son of George Larcher, who was murdered at Horriston in -1866." - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - - FACT AND FICTION. - - -A SILENCE ensued between them; Tait waiting to mark the effect of his -revelation, while Jenny tried to grasp the idea that fiction had changed -unexpectedly to fact. To her the case had been more or less of a -romance, far removed and impossible; as such she had told it to Linton; -but now, brought face to face with the fact that the murdered man's son -was in the neighborhood, she scarcely knew what to think, certainly she -was ignorant what to say. The shock would have unstrung a more nervous -woman, but Jenny Paynton was not wanting in pluck, and so braced herself -up to do what was required of her. Yet it took her a little time to -recover, and seeing this, Tait afforded her the opportunity by talking -broadly of the matter; later on he intended to enter into details. - -"I do not wonder you are startled, Miss Paynton," he said easily; "this -is a coincidence such as we rarely meet with in real life. My friend was -ignorant of his father's fate, but one evening papers were put into his -hands which recounted the tragedy; papers similar to those whence you -obtained the story. He came to tell me all, but scarcely had he begun -his relation, when I became aware that I knew everything beforehand." - -"Had you also seen the papers, Mr. Tait?" - -"No; but I had read 'A Whim of Fate.' There I found the Larcher affair -set forth in the guise of fiction. Astonished at this I sought out -Linton, who, I learned, was the author hidden under the name of John -Parver, and asked him whence he obtained his material. He mentioned your -name, and so I have come to you." - -"Why?" - -"Can you ask? To find out all you know of the matter." - -"For what reason?" - -"I think you can guess my reason," replied Tait quietly. "My friend -Claude Larcher wishes to find out who killed his father." - -"After five-and-twenty years? Impossible!" - -"So I said at first. Now I am of a different opinion. In a short space -of time we have found out a great deal. With your help we will discover -more, and so in the end the matter may be cleared up." - -"You want my help?" - -"Decidedly! It is solely for that reason that Larcher and I have come -here." - -It was a pale-faced Jenny who sat considering a reply to this remark. -She began to be aware that she had inadvertently set a ball rolling, the -progress of which she was powerless to stop. That chance discovery in -the garret had resuscitated an old scandal, and brought her into contact -with people of whose existence she had hitherto been ignorant. As a -matter of fact Jenny was responsible for the revival of the Larcher -affair. Her narration of the plot had caused the writing of the novel, -and that in its turn had freshened the memory of Mrs. Bezel, with the -result that Claude had been told the truth. Now he had come to the -source to learn more. - -"I don't see how I can help," said Jenny, fencing with the inevitable. -"If, as you say, Mr. Larcher saw the _Canterbury Observer_, he must know -as much as I do about the matter." - -"Very true," replied Tait promptly; "but there are many things in the -novel which are not mentioned in the report of the case." - -"Those things are fictitious. You must go to Frank for information about -them." - -"Was that scarfpin episode fictitious?" - -"No," replied Jenny, with some hesitation. "Kerry told me that." - -"Kerry!" - -"Our man-servant. He has been with my father ever since I can remember, -and is quite the autocrat of the household. He found me with those -papers one day after I told Frank the story, and took them away from me. -You have no idea how angry he was that I had read them." - -"Yet he told you about the scarfpin?" - -"Oh! that was because I asked him who had committed the crime," said -Jenny quickly. "At first he would not talk about it, but when I said -that no doubt Jeringham was guilty, since he had fled, Kerry denied it, -and asserted that the crime was committed by the man who owned the -garnet scarfpin." - -"Did he say who owned it?" - -"No. He went away before I could ask him, and will not let me speak of -the matter. In the book Frank makes Michael Dene the owner of the pin." - -"Ah! and Michael Dene is Francis Hilliston in real life." - -"How do you know that?" asked the girl quickly, with a nervous start. - -"My dear young lady, I have read the report of the case and the novel. -It is easy to see who your fictitious personages are. Do you know Mr. -Hilliston?" - -"A little. He has visited my father once or twice, but we have not seen -him now for many years. In fact, I had almost forgotten his name till I -saw it in the case." - -"Humph! In the novel Michael Dene, the man meant for Hilliston, commits -the crime. Was that your idea or Linton's?" - -"It was Frank's. Dene was the least likely person to be suspected, and -it was necessary to keep up the mystery to the end. But I think he ought -to have made Markham commit the crime." - -"Markham is Jeringham, is he not?" said Tait thoughtfully. "With your -permission, Miss Paynton, we will use the real names, not the -fictitious. It will help us to understand the matter more clearly." - -Jenny stood up, and tucked the music book under her arm. The -recollection of Kerry's anger made her feel that she was unwise to talk -so freely to a stranger about the matter. Hitherto, Tait had taken his -own way; now she was resolved to take hers. - -"I don't want to speak any more about it," she said resolutely. "I am -very sorry I told Frank the story, and meddled with those papers. Let me -pass, Mr. Tait, and drop the subject." - -"No, don't do that," cried Tait, rising in his turn, and barring her -way. "You must not fail me at the eleventh hour. My friend is bent on -learning the truth, and surely you will not grudge him help. Remember it -is the murderer of his father whom he desires to bring to justice." - -"I can't say any more. I know no more, Mr. Tait. Do you know what I am -about to do?" - -"No," said Tait, looking at her grave face in some wonder. - -"I am going home to tell my father and Kerry what use I made of those -papers. If I have acted wrongly, it is but right that they should know." - -"They will know shortly without your telling, Miss Jenny." - -"Ah, you intend to speak of the matter yourself?" - -"Perhaps! But in this case I allude to Hilliston." - -"Hilliston!" repeated Jenny, in surprise. "What has he to do with the -matter?" - -"A great deal, I fancy. More than you or I suspect. He is now at -Eastbourne, and I am certain he will come over here to see you -to-morrow." - -"To see me! Why?" - -"Because he wants you to hold your tongue about these matters." - -"Mr. Tait," she cried, with a sudden flush, "surely you are not biased -by Frank's book? You imply that Mr. Hilliston is afraid of the truth." - -"I think he is! In fact I am sure he is." - -"Do you believe he committed that cowardly crime of twenty-five years -ago?" asked Jenny, with scorn. - -"What is your own opinion?" was the counter question. - -"I believe that Jeringham was the murderer. Yes! Captain Larcher went in -disguise to that ball, and learned the truth from the lips of his own -wife. I believe she loved Jeringham. I believe he followed her home on -that fatal night, urging her to fly. Then Captain Larcher appeared on -the scene, and in the struggle that ensued he was killed. Jeringham -fled, and Mrs. Larcher died. That, I am certain, is the true history of -this crime." - -"You, then, think that Mrs. Larcher was privy to the murder?" - -"Oh, I don't say that!" said the girl, shrinking back; "it is impossible -to say. But I have no right to talk to you about these matters, Mr. -Tait. I have told you all I know. Let me pass, please." - -Tait bowed, and stood aside hat in hand. She flitted down the aisle, a -slim girlish figure, and had arrived at the door when his voice arrested -her. - -"One moment, Miss Paynton," he said, following her quickly. - -"What is it?" - -"Don't tell your father of this for twenty-four hours." - -"Why?" - -"Because I want to prove to you that what I say is true. Hilliston will -inform your father himself, and ask you to be silent." - -"It is too late for that now--unfortunately." - -"Why unfortunately? You should be glad to have strengthened the hands of -justice. However, we need not speak of that now. Will you promise to -withhold your confession for the time I ask?" - -"I promise nothing, Mr. Tait. Good-evening!" - -"But, Miss Paynton," he said, following her again, "you surely will not -be so rash. You can have no idea how important these matters are to my -friend. Mr. Hilliston is certain to inform your father within the next -twenty-four hours, so surely you can give us that time to do what we -can. I beg of you----" - -Jenny stopped irresolutely, and looked at Tait with a mixture of anger -and doubt. The matter had now grown so intricate that she did not know -what to do, what to say. She had not known Tait long enough to be guided -by his advice, or to rely on his judgment; and her impulse was to tell -her father and receive suggestions as to what was best to be done under -the circumstances. Yet, she also mistrusted Hilliston, as his connection -with the Horriston case seemed to her to be by no means as simple as had -appeared at first sight. She was suspicious of him, and if he came over -to Thurston especially to ask her to be silent, that would go a long way -toward confirming her doubts. And then, after all, no harm could be done -within the twenty-four hours, as afterward she could tell her father; -thus, at once satisfying her conscience and her curiosity, she made the -compromise. - -"Very well, Mr. Tait," she said gravely. "I promise to be silent for -twenty-four hours." - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - - A NEW SUSPICION. - - -SPENSER TAIT walked back to the Manor House with the pleasing conviction -that he had passed a very profitable hour. He had warned Jenny about the -probable movements of Hilliston, and thus had put her on her guard -against that astute individual. Once an idea enters a woman's head, it -is impossible to get it out again, and Tait, by half hinting a -confirmation of Jenny's suspicions regarding the lawyer, had made her -uneasily conscious that Hilliston was a man to be watched and reckoned -with. If Hilliston fulfilled Tait's prophecy, the little man believed -that Jenny would resent his interference, penetrate his motives, and -thwart him, if possible. In spite of her denial that she thought him -guilty, Tait could not but perceive that the reading of the case had not -biased her in favor of the dead man's friend. Jenny believed that -Jeringham had committed the crime, but, if Hilliston acted indiscreetly, -it would not take much to induce her to alter that opinion. Tait -chuckled as he thought of these things; for he had not only cut the -ground from under Hilliston's feet by warning Jenny of his possible -arrival, but had, as he truly thought, converted a passive spectator -into an active enemy. - -Again, he had learned that it was the old servant who had informed the -girl concerning the scarfpin episode. Kerry said that the man who owned -the scarfpin was guilty; and Kerry knew to whom the scarfpin belonged. -If he could only be induced to part with the information there might be -some chance of solving the mystery; but Kerry's--or rather Denis -Bantry's--past conduct and present attitude were so doubtful that it was -difficult to know how he would act, even though he were driven into a -corner. Tait had little doubt in his own mind that Kerry was the old -servant of Captain Larcher, for no one but he knew the truth about the -scarfpin. Nevertheless, he failed to understand why the man had changed -his name, and why he was staying at Thorston as servant to a recluse -like Paynton. Only a personal interview with him could settle these -vexed questions, but Tait was of two opinions whether Kerry would be -amenable to reason, and confess his reasons for such concealment. - -Thus thinking, and trying to come to some conclusion regarding the new -aspect placed upon affairs by the conversation with Jenny, the little -man arrived home, and learning that Claude was still in the garden, he -went there to report the result of his interview, and discuss the -situation. Larcher was leaning back in a comfortable garden chair, with -an open book on his knee, but, instead of reading, he was staring with -unseeing eyes into the fresh green of the tree above him. On hearing -Tait's brisk step he hastily lowered his head with a flush, as though he -had been caught doing something wrong, and grew still more confused when -he saw his friend looking at him with a queer expression of amusement. - -"She is a pretty girl," said Tait significantly; "and I don't wonder you -are thinking of her." - -"Thinking of who?" asked Claude merrily, at this reading of his -thoughts. "Are you a mind reader?" - -"So far as you are concerned, I am. Knowing how easily influenced you -are by the sight of a pretty face, I don't think I am far wrong in -guessing that your thoughts were with Jenny Paynton." - -"Well, yes," replied Claude, with a frank laugh. "I do not deny it. The -glimpse I caught of her as we drove past in the cart charmed me greatly. -I have rarely seen a more sympathetic and piquant face." - -"Bah! You say that of every woman you meet. Your geese are always -swans." - -"Jenny is, at all events!" said Larcher promptly; "and you cannot deny -that; but I admire her exceedingly--that is, as a pretty woman. You see, -I already call her Jenny in my own mind, but that is because you always -talk of her by her Christian name. Now, Jenny is----" - -"My dear Don Juan," said Tait blandly; "don't you think we had better -leave off these erotics and get to business. You must not indulge in the -ideal to the exclusion of the real." - -"Oh, not that business!" sighed Larcher wearily. "I don't believe we'll -do any good with it. The mystery of my father's death is likely to -remain one to the end of time for all I can see. Every trace is -obliterated by the snows of twenty-five years." - -"Not entirely, my friend. For instance, I have learned an important fact -to-day." - -"From Miss Paynton?" - -"Yes. We had a long conversation, and she was considerably startled when -she learned the object of your visit here." - -"Was it wise of you to tell her?" - -"Why, yes," returned Tait decidedly. "We can do nothing without her -help, and that she will refuse to give us unless she learns the reason -of our inquiries." - -"What is her opinion of the matter? The same as Linton's, I suppose?" - -"By no means. She thinks that Jeringham killed your father; but I am not -altogether sure that she does not suspect Hilliston. After all, she may -come round to Linton's opinion before long." - -"Did you tell her that we suspected Hilliston?" asked Claude anxiously. - -"Not directly. But I permitted myself to hint as much. However, I only -aided the seed of suspicion to sprout, for it was already implanted in -her mind. You look astonished, Claude, but recall to your recollection -the report of that case, and you will see that Hilliston was far too -much mixed up in the matter to be as ignorant as he pretended to be at -the trial. According to his evidence he had not left the ballroom, and -consequently could have known nothing of the tragedy which was then -being enacted at The Laurels. Yet, he knows details which, so far as I -can see, prove him to have been an eye-witness." - -Claude jumped to his feet, and began restlessly pacing up and down the -gravel walk. He yet retained some belief in Hilliston, and was reluctant -to think that one to whom he owed so much should be guilty of so foul a -crime. It was true that certain circumstances looked black against him, -but these were purely theoretical, and by no means founded on absolute -facts. After due consideration Claude inclined to the belief that Tait -was too easily satisfied of Hilliston's guilt, and was willing to accept -any stray facts likely to confirm his theory. Thus biased he could not -possibly look on the matter in a fair and equable manner. The wish was -altogether too greatly father to the thought. - -"I don't think you give Hilliston a fair show, Tait," he said, stepping -before his friend. "If he winks an eye you look on it as a sign of his -guilt. My mother assured me solemnly that Hilliston was at the ball when -the tragedy occurred." - -"Oh, in that case, I have nothing more to say," said Tait coldly. -"Still," he added rather spitefully, "I should like to know why Mr. -Hilliston is so anxious to keep the matter quiet." - -"Tait!" said Claude hoarsely, sitting down by his friend and seizing his -arm; "do you know I have often asked myself that question, and I have -found a reply thereto; the only reply of which I can think." - -He paused, and looked fearfully around; then wiped the sweat off his -white face with a nervous gesture. Tait eyed him in amazement, and could -not understand what had come over his usually self-possessed friend; but -he had no time to speak, for Claude, with an irrepressible shiver, -whispered in a low voice: - -"What if my mother should be guilty, after all? Ah, you may well look -astonished, but that is the hideous doubt which has haunted me for days. -My mother says she ran at my father with a dagger, but fainted before -she struck him. What if she did not faint; if she really killed him, and -Hilliston, knowing this, is trying to screen her, and trying to save me -from knowing the truth?" - -"But, my dear fellow, the trial----" - -"Never mind the trial. We now know that Denis swore falsely when he -asserted that my father was not in the house on that night. We know that -he was in the house, and that my mother found him with Mona Bantry. Her -jealousy might have carried her to greater lengths than she intended to -go. Denis saved her at the trial by telling a lie; but we know the -truth, and I cannot rid myself of a doubt, that she may be guilty. If -so, in place of being an enemy, Hilliston is acting the part of a friend -in placing obstacles in our way." - -Tait shook his head. "I do not believe Mrs. Bezel is guilty," he said -quietly; "if she had been, she would certainly not have written to you, -and thus forced Hilliston to show you the papers. Banish the thought -from your heart, Claude. I am as certain as I sit here that your mother -is innocent of the crime." - -"If I could only be certain!" - -"And why should you not be," exclaimed Tait vigorously. "An eye-witness -could tell you the truth." - -"Where can I find an eye-witness?" cried Claude, with an impatient -frown. "Mona Bantry and Jeringham have both fled; they are probably dead -by this time. My mother denies that she struck the blow, and Hilliston, -she says, was at the ball when the murder took place. Who can tell me -the truth?" - -"Denis Bantry," said Tait quietly. "Listen to me, Claude. The episode of -the garnet scarfpin, which to my mind is the clew to the assassin, is -only known to your mother, to Hilliston, and to Denis Bantry. Now -Hilliston denies that such a trinket exists; your mother insists that it -was found on the bank of the river after the murder. The only person who -can give the casting vote--who can arbitrate, so to speak--is Denis -Bantry." - -"And where is Denis Bantry? Lost or dead, years ago." - -"Nothing of the sort, my friend. Denis Bantry is alive and in this -neighborhood. Yes; Jenny Paynton admitted to me that the scarfpin -episode was related to her by their old servant, Kerry. Therefore, it -naturally follows that Kerry is Denis Bantry." - -"But why is he hiding here under another name?" said Larcher, after he -had digested this piece of information, with a due display of -astonishment. - -"That I cannot say. Unless," here Tait hesitated before uttering his -opinion, "unless Denis Bantry is the guilty person." - -"But that is impossible; that is out of the question," said Claude -decidedly. "He was devoted to my father, as you know. Why should he turn -and kill him without a cause?" - -"Ah!" said Tait significantly; "what if he had a cause, and a very good -one, to kill your father. Recall your mother's confession. She returned -at three o'clock in the morning and found her husband alone with Mona, -the sister of Denis. She accused Mona of being her husband's mistress, -and the girl confessed her guilt, which your father evidently could not -deny. Now what is more probable than that Denis, attracted by the high -voices, should have followed your mother to the room. There he would -hear the truth, probably while waiting at the door. What follows? With -his impulsive Irish temperament he dashes in, hot to avenge the wrong -done to his sister. The dagger dropped by your mother is at his feet; he -picks it up and kills his master on the instant. Your mother, in a faint -on the floor, knows nothing of what is going on, and brother and sister -remove the body to the river, where they drop it in. Then Mona is sent -away by Denis to hide her shame and evade awkward questions, while he -remains." - -"But why should he remain?" interrupted Claude smartly. "Would it not -have been wiser for him to fly?" - -"And so confess his guilt. No! He induces Jeringham to fly, with a -threat of denouncing him as the murderer of Larcher. Jeringham is in -such a dilemma that, seeing that all the evidence will be against him, -he takes to flight. Thereupon Denis is able to save his mistress, and -himself, by denying that Larcher came to the house on that night. Of -course, this is all pure theory; still it is as circumstantial as the -rest of the evidence we have in hand." - -But Claude was by no means inclined to agree with this last remark. -"There are flaws in your argument," he said, after a few moments' -reflection. "If Denis intended to deny that my father was in the house -on that night, why should he induce Jeringham to fly?" - -"To make assurance doubly sure. No doubt he intended first to put the -blame on Jeringham, but finding that Mrs. Larcher was likely to be -accused, he made things safe for her by denying that his master returned -on that evening. Only four people knew of the return; Mona, who fled, -Mrs. Larcher, who held her tongue to save her neck; Denis, who swore -falsely to serve his mistress; and Jeringham, who thought he might be -accused of the crime." - -"But why wouldn't he have denounced Denis?" - -"He was doubtless ignorant that Denis was the criminal. You forget that -Jeringham was in the garden, and knew nothing of what was taking place -in the sitting room. Denis rushed out, and finding Jeringham may have -told him that Mrs. Larcher had killed her husband on his account. The -man, bewildered and shocked, yet sees that he is complicated in the case -through his love for Mrs. Larcher; he guesses that owing to the gossip -of the place he may be accused of the crime, and so does the wisest -thing he could do,--the only thing he could do,--and seeks refuge in -flight." - -"Then you think Denis is guilty?" - -"I can't say. As you see, I can make a strong case out against your -mother, against Jeringham, against Denis. Yes, I could even make a case -against Mona Bantry; but it is sole theory. Yet Denis must have some -reason for hiding here under the name of 'Kerry,' and for keeping those -papers found by Jenny which contained a report of the case. The case is -strong against Hilliston, I admit, but is stronger against your father's -own servant." - -"I don't think so," said Claude quietly. "If Denis had killed my father, -he would not have told Jenny about the scarfpin." - -"Why not! The scarfpin may have belonged to Jeringham--to Hilliston. For -his own safety--now that the case is recognized after so many years by a -girl's rash action--Denis would not hesitate to blame them to save -himself. Taking it all round," added Tait, with the air of one who has -settled the question, "I think the conduct of Denis is very suspicious, -and I would not be surprised if he turned out to be the guilty person." - -"But the acts of Hilliston?" - -Tait rubbed his head and looked vexed, for he was unable to give a -direct answer. "Let us leave the matter alone for the present," he said -crossly. "I am getting bewildered with all this talk. Only one person -can tell the truth, and that is Kerry, alias Denis Bantry." - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - - THE RECLUSE. - - -MEANWHILE Jenny was proceeding homeward in a rather unhappy state of -mind. The conversation had left an unpleasant impression, and she was by -no means sure what it would lead to. A hundred times did she wish that -she had not meddled with the matter; but it was now too late for -regrets, and she recognized that she must bear the burden of her -wrong-doing. Though, indeed, she could see no reason to characterize her -action by so harsh a name. - -"A bundle of old papers in a garret," she thought, walking quickly -through the lane; "where was the harm in reading them? And, as they -contained an interesting story, I fail to see where I acted wrongly in -telling it to Frank. The Larcher affair can have nothing to do with -papa, even though Kerry was so angry. I'll speak to Kerry, and ask him -if I have done wrong." - -According to her promise she was determined to say nothing to her father -for at least twenty-four hours, for she was curious to see if Mr. -Hilliston would call to speak of the matter. If he did so, then would be -the time to exculpate herself; but, pending such visit, she saw no -reason why she should not consult with Kerry. He had expressed anger at -her possession of the papers, so he, if anyone, would be able to explain -if she had been rash. On Kerry's answer would depend the explanation due -to her father. - -Thus thinking, she speedily arrived in a deep lane, at the end of which -she turned into a white gate set in a rugged stone wall. Nut trees bent -over this wall, dropping their fruit into the ruts of the road, and on -the opposite side rose a steep green bank topped by blackberry bushes. -This byway was little frequented, and here quiet constantly reigned, -unbroken save by the voices of birds. It was a great place for -nightingales, and many a summer evening did Jenny stand under the -bending boughs listening to the warblings of those night singers. So -bird-haunted was the spot that here, if anywhere, Keats might have -composed his famous ode. Indeed, the road was known as Nightingale Lane, -for obvious reasons. - -Passing through the gate, Jenny saw before her the little garden, -odorous with homely cottage flowers--sweet-williams, delicate pea -blossom, ruddy marigolds, and somber bushes of rosemary. A hawthorn -hedge on the right divided the flowers from the kitchen garden; while to -the left grew gnarled apple and pear trees, now white with bloom. A -sprawling peach tree clung to the guarding wall of the lane, and beds of -thyme and mignonette perfumed the still air. In the center of this -sweetness was built the humble cottage of Ferdinand Paynton, a broad, -low-roofed building, with whitewashed walls and quaint windows, -diamond-paned and snowy curtained. Pots of flowers were set within, and -under the eaves of the thatched roof twittered the darting swallows. One -often sees such peaceful homesteads in the heart of England, breathing -quiet and tranquillity. Rose Cottage, as it was called, from the -prevailing flower in the garden, was worthy to be enshrined in a fairy -tale. - -Here lived Ferdinand Paynton, with his only daughter, and two servants, -male and female. The one was Kerry, a crabbed old Irishman, stanch as -steel, and devoted to his master; the other a withered crone who was -never seen without her bonnet, yet who bore the reputation of being an -excellent cook, and an economical housekeeper. As Mr. Paynton was poor, -and spent more than he could afford on books, Maria was very necessary -to him, as she scraped and screwed with miserly care, yet withal gave -him good meals, and kept the tiny house like a new pin. Kerry attended -principally to the garden and the books; looked after Jenny, whom he was -always scolding, and passed his leisure time in fishing in the Lax. - -Hot or cold, wet or fine, summer or winter, nothing varied in the -routine of Rose Cottage. Mr. Paynton rose at nine, took his breakfast, -and read his paper till ten, then walked for an hour or so in the garden -with Jenny. Till luncheon he wrote; after luncheon he slept, and then -wrote again till dinner time. The evening in summer was spent in the -garden, in winter within doors, before a roaring fire in the bookroom. -For more than twenty years life had gone on in this peaceful fashion, -and during that time Jenny could not remember the occurrence of a single -episode worth recording. Rose Cottage might have been the palace of the -Sleeping Beauty during the hundred years' spell. - -The inhabitant of this hermitage was a puzzle to the gossips of -Thorston, for, after the industrious inquiries of twenty years, they -were as wise as ever touching his antecedents. Then he had arrived with -Kerry, and his daughter, a child of five, and, staying at the Inn of St. -Elfrida, had looked about for a small place in the neighborhood. Rose -Cottage, then empty and much neglected, appeared to be the most secluded -spot procurable, so Mr. Paynton set it in order, patched the roof, -cultivated the garden, and took up his abode therein. Here he had lived -ever since, rarely leaving it, seeing few people, and accepting no -invitations. The man was a recluse, and disliked his fellow-creatures, -so when Thorston became aware of his peculiarities he was left alone to -live as he chose. It may be guessed that his peculiar habits made him -unpopular. - -The vicar was friendly to the misanthrope, for in Paynton he found a -kindred soul in the matter of books; and many a pleasant evening did -they spend in discussing literary subjects. The bookroom was the -pleasantest apartment in the house, cosy and warm, and lined throughout -with volumes. In the deep window stood the desk, and here Ferdinand -Paynton sat and wrote all day, save when he took his usual stroll in the -garden. Jenny had also grown up in the bookroom, and, as her education -had been conducted by her father, she was remarkably intelligent for a -country maiden, and could talk excellently on literature, old and new. -For the softer graces of womanhood she was indebted to the care of Mrs. -Linton, who from the first had taken a great interest in the motherless -girl. - -Into this room came Jenny, with her mind full of the recent conversation -with Tait. She threw down her music-book on the table and went to kiss -her father. He was seated in his armchair, instead of at his desk as -usual, and looked rather sternly at her as she bent over him. Tall and -white-haired, with a sad face and a slim figure, the old man looked -singularly interesting, his appearance being enhanced by his peculiar -garb, a dressing gown and a black skullcap. Indeed, he was more like a -mediæval magician than an aged gentleman of the nineteenth century. He -looked like a man with a history, which was doubtless the reason -Thorston gossips were so anxious concerning his past. In country towns -curiosity is quite a disease. - -In the hurry of her entrance Jenny had not noticed that a stranger was -present, but on greeting her father with a fond kiss, she turned to see -an elderly gentleman looking at her intently. Mr. Paynton explained the -presence of the stranger with less than his usual suavity, but from the -tone of his voice Jenny guessed that he was angry with her. As it -afterward appeared he had good reason to be. - -"Jenny, this is my friend, Mr. Hilliston." - -Hilliston! Jenny could not suppress a start of surprise, even of alarm. -The prophecy of Tait had been fulfilled sooner than she had expected. -There was something uncanny in the speedy accomplishment of a -prognostication in which, at the time, she had hardly believed. - -"Hilliston! Mr. Hilliston!" she repeated, with a gasp of surprise, -"already!" - -This time it was Hilliston's turn to be surprised, and his face darkened -with suspicion. - -"What am I to understand by 'already,' Miss Paynton?" he said quickly. - -"Why! That is--Mr. Tait----" began Jenny, in excuse, when her father cut -her short. He rose from his chair, and exclaimed in a voice of alarm: - -"Tait! Then you have seen him already?" - -"Yes, father," said the girl, in some bewilderment at his tone. - -"Where?" - -"In the church, half an hour ago." - -"Did he question you?" - -"He did." - -"And you replied?" - -"I answered his questions," said Jenny quietly, "if you refer to the -Larcher affair." - -"I do refer to it," groaned her father, sinking back into his chair. -"Unhappy girl! you know not what trouble you have caused." - -Hilliston said nothing, but stood moodily considering what was best to -be done. He saw that Tait had been too clever for him, and had -anticipated his arrival. Yet he had come as speedily as possible; not a -moment had he lost since his arrival in Eastbourne to seek out Jenny and -ask her to be silent. But it was too late; he had missed his opportunity -by a few minutes, and it only remained for him to learn how much the -girl had told his enemy. No wonder he hated Tait; the fellow was too -dangerous a foeman to be despised. - -"We may yet mend matters," he said judiciously, "if Miss Jenny will -repeat so much of the conversation as she remembers." - -"Why should I repeat it?" said Jenny, objecting to this interference, as -Tait guessed she would. "There was nothing wrong in the conversation -with Mr. Tait that I know of." - -"There was nothing wrong in your telling Linton the story you found in -_The Canterbury Observer_," replied Hilliston dryly; "yet it would have -been as well had you not done so." - -"Father," cried Jenny, turning toward the old man with an appealing -gesture, "have I done wrong?" - -"Yes, child," he answered, with a sigh, "very wrong, but you sinned in -ignorance. Kerry told me you had found the bundle and read about the -trial, but I passed that over. Now it is different. You repeated it to -young Linton, and Mr. Hilliston tells me that all London knows the story -through his book." - -"I am very sorry," said Jenny, after a pause, "but I really did not know -that it was wrong of me to act as I have done. A bundle of old -newspapers in a garret! Surely I was justified in reading them--in -telling Frank what I conceived would be a good plot for a story." - -"I don't blame you, Miss Paynton," said Hilliston kindly; "but it so -happens that your father did not want that affair again brought before -the public. After all, you have had less to do with it than Fate." - -"Than Fate," interrupted Paynton, with a groan. "Good Heavens, am I to -be----" - -"Paynton!" said Hilliston, in a warning voice. - -"I forgot," muttered the old man, with a shiver. "No more--no more. -Jenny, tell us what you said to Mr. Tait." - -Considerably astonished, the girl repeated the conversation as closely -as she could remember. Both Hilliston and her father listened with the -keenest interest, and seemed relieved when she finished. - -"It is not so bad as I expected," said the former, with a nod. "All you -have to do, Paynton, is to warn Kerry against gratifying the curiosity -of these young men. They will be certain to ask him questions." - -"Kerry will baffle them; have no fear of that," said Paynton harshly, -"and, Jenny, you are not to refer to this subject again with Mr. Tait." - -"Am I not to speak to him?" - -Her father interrogated Hilliston with a look, received a nod, and -answered accordingly. - -"You can speak to Mr. Tait, if you choose, and no doubt you will be -introduced by the vicar to Mr. Larcher. I place no prohibition on your -speaking to them, but only warn you to avoid the subject of the Larcher -affair. Promise!" - -"I promise. I am sorry I ever had anything to do with it." - -"Say no more about it, my dear," said Hilliston, patting her shoulder. -"How could you be expected to know? But now you have been warned, do not -speak more of it. We do not wish the unjustifiable curiosity of these -idle young men to be gratified." - -"If you assist them to learn that which had better be hidden, you will -ruin me," cried Paynton, with a passionate gesture. - -"Father! Ruin you?" - -"Yes! It means ruin, disgrace--perhaps death! Ah!" - -He broke down with a cry, and Hilliston, taking Jenny by the hand, led -her to the door. - -"Go away, my dear. Your father is ill," he said, in a whisper, and -pushing her outside the door, locked it forthwith. Jenny stood in the -passage, in an agony of fear and surprise. Ruin! Disgrace! Death! What -was the meaning of those terrible words? - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - - AN OLD SERVANT. - - -LEAVING the two men to talk over their dark secrets together, Jenny went -into the garden. Her brow burned as with fever, and her understanding -was confused by the thoughts which filled her mind. What was the meaning -of her father's words? Why had Mr. Hilliston come over from Eastbourne -to request her silence? And what was the connection between him and her -sole surviving parent? She paced up and down the gravel walk vainly -asking herself these questions, and racking her brain as to possible -answers. Hitherto the sky of her young life had been pure and serene; -but now, by her own act--as though she had unconsciously wrought a -malignant spell--a sudden storm had arisen, which threatened to overturn -the foundations of her small world. In the very unexpectedness of these -events lay their terror. - -As Tait shrewdly surmised, Jenny was by no means satisfied with the -evidence of Hilliston at the trial of Mrs. Larcher. So far as she could -judge from the unsatisfactory report in _The Canterbury Observer_, he -had given his version of the affair glibly enough; yet there seemed to -be something behind which he was anxious to suppress. Definitely enough -he stated that he had not been at The Laurels on the fatal night; that -he had not seen Captain Larcher since he left for London; that he had -not noted whether Mrs. Larcher wore that all-important dagger when she -left the ballroom. But, pressed by an evidently suspicious counsel, he -accounted so minutely for every moment of his time, his evidence had -about it such an air of frank falseness, that even unsophisticated Jenny -saw that the man was acting a part. She did not believe him guilty of -the crime, but she was certain in her own mind that he knew who had -struck the fatal blow; nay more, Jenny thought it not impossible that he -had been at The Laurels after three that morning, in spite of his -denial, and had seen the tragedy take place. Tait's hints, confirming -her own doubts, led her to gravely doubt the purity of Mr. Hilliston's -motives then and now. - -But what most perplexed the girl was the reason why the lawyer called to -see her father on the subject and requested her silence. She knew -nothing of the tragedy save through the papers--those old, faded papers, -dated 1866, which she had found in the garret. She was not born when the -murder took place, so Hilliston could not possibly wish to close her -mouth for her own sake. It was on her father's account that Jenny -feared. What could he know of an obscure crime perpetrated in a country -town so many years ago; she could recall no mention of his name in the -report of the trial; yet his words led her to suspect that he was more -closely connected with that tragic past than he chose to admit. Could it -be that her father was a relative of Jeringham, and, knowing that -Jeringham was still alive, wished to stop all inquiries made as to his -whereabouts, lest he should be punished for his early sin? This was the -only feasible suggestion she could make, and yet it failed to satisfy -her too exacting mind. - -Again, there was Kerry. Kerry certainly had a personal interest in the -case; else he could scarcely have related the episode of the scarfpin. -Moreover, he had been very angry when he found her with the papers in -her possession; and putting these two things together it would seem as -if he knew more than he chose to tell. Jenny thought, for the -gratification of her own curiosity, she would ask Kerry to explain these -matters; and so went to the kitchen in search of him. Maria was there, -cross and deaf as usual, and intimated that Kerry had been out some two -hours on a message. This sounded extraordinary to Jenny, who knew that -the old servant rarely left the house; but it argued that her father was -anxious to have him out of the way during the visit of Hilliston. What -did it all mean? A horrible fear seized the girl, lest she should have -set some machinery in motion which would end in crushing her unhappy -father. Unhappy he had always been, and given to seclusion. There must -be some reason for this, and Jenny felt a vague alarm, which she could -neither express nor display. Dearly enough had she paid for meddling -with that old bundle of papers. - -Again she returned to the garden, and went outside into the lane in -order to see if Kerry was in sight. In a few minutes he came shuffling -round the corner, and his withered face relaxed into a grin when he saw -her standing by the gate. She was the apple of his eye, and though he -scolded her often himself, yet he never let anyone say a word against -her. To look askance at Jenny was to lose Kerry's favor and win his -enmity forever. - -"Ah! there ye are, me darling Miss Jenny," he said, with the familiarity -of an old servant, "watching and waiting for poor old Kerry. Sure it is -a sunbeam you are in this dark lane." - -"Kerry! I want to speak to you." - -The change in her tone struck him at once, and he peered sharply into -her fresh face with his bleared eyes. A look of wonder stole into them -at the sight of her white cheeks, and he crossed himself before replying -so as to avert any evil that might befall. Kerry always lived in a state -of suspense, waiting for a bolt from the blue. Jenny's scared face -almost assured him that it had fallen. - -"What is it, _alannah_?" he asked, pausing at the gate. "Is anything -wrong?" - -"Oh, no! nothing is wrong, Kerry! What could be wrong?" said Jenny -nervously; "only papa has a visitor." - -"Augh! His riverence?" - -"No; not the vicar. A stranger--or at least almost a stranger," she -said, half to herself. "It is many years since Mr. Hilliston came here." - -"Mr. Hilliston!" cried Kerry, with an ashen face. "The black curse on -him and his! What is he doing with the master?" - -"I don't know, Kerry," replied Jenny, rather astonished at the old man's -vehemence; "he has been with father over two hours." - -"And I was sent away," muttered Kerry, under his breath. "Sorrow befall -you, black attorney that you are. Never did you cross a threshold -without bringing grief to all hearts. It was an evil day we saw you, and -an evil day when we see you again." - -He uplifted his hands as though about to invoke a curse on Hilliston, -then, unexpectedly letting them fall, he turned sharply on Jenny. - -"How did he come, miss?" - -"By train from Eastbourne--no doubt he walked from the station." - -"I'll drive him back," exclaimed Kerry, in quite an amiable voice. "Sure -he'll be weary on his legs. Why not? I'll borrow his riverence's trap -and the little mare with the white foreleg, but----" - -"Kerry, father might not like it." - -"Get along with ye," said Kerry cheerfully; "sure his riverence has -offered the trap a hundred times. I'll take it on myself to explain to -the master. Keep Mr. Hilliston here till he sees me arriving up this -road--a dirty one it is, too, bad cess to it!" - -He was hurrying off, when Jenny stopped him. She saw that his borrowing -of the vicar's honey trap was a mere excuse to get Hilliston to himself -for half an hour, and, rendered more curious than ever by Kerry's artful -way of arranging matters, she ran after him and pulled his sleeve. - -"Kerry! Kerry! Has Mr. Hilliston come over to see papa about the Larcher -affair?" - -"How should I know," retorted Kerry, relapsing into his crusty humor; -"for shame, Miss Jenny! Is it your business or mine?" - -"It is mine," said the girl, with a resolute look on her face. "Mr. -Hilliston came over to ask me to be silent about what was contained in -those papers you took from me." - -"How does he know of that, miss?" - -"Because all London now knows the story of the Larcher affair." - -"Augh! Get away with ye. Sure it's a fool you're making of old Kerry," -said the servant, in an incredulous and angry tone. - -"Indeed, I am doing no such thing. I did not know there was any harm in -reading those papers, and I did so. But I did more than that, Kerry. I -told the story of the tragedy to Frank Linton; and he has written a book -on the trial." - -"A book! With the real names?" - -"No! The names are fictitious, and the scene is laid in a different -place. But the whole story is told in the novel." - -"Does the master know?" asked Kerry, muttering something between his -teeth. - -"He does now. Mr. Hilliston saw the book in London, and came over to -tell him, and to ask me to say no more about it." - -"What's that for, anyhow," demanded Kerry, who seemed to scent new -danger. - -"Because Mr. Larcher is here!" - -Kerry flung up his hands with a cry of astonishment. "Mr. Larcher, miss! -Who are you telling about?" - -"Oh, Mr. Claude Larcher," said Jenny, rather alarmed, for he had gripped -her arm, "the son of the deceased man. He is staying at the Manor House -with Mr. Tait." - -For a few minutes Kerry stood looking at the ground in silence. Up to -the present he had succeeded in preserving his calm, but the last piece -of news upset him altogether, and he burst into violent speech. - -"Augh! it's sorrow that is coming to this house, and the black curse -will be on the threshold. Cold will the hearth be soon, and the old -master will be driven out. Ohone! and we and time will have sent him -into the cold world. Whirra! whirra!" - -Jenny was so dumfounded by the unexpected eloquence of the old man that -she could do nothing but stare at him. He caught her eye, and seeing -that he had been indiscreet in so betraying himself, he cut short his -lamentations, wiped his eyes, and relapsed once more into the crusty, -faithful Kerry whom she knew. But he gave her a word of warning before -he took his departure. "Say nothing of this, Miss Jenny," he remarked; -"sure it's an old fool I am. Keep a silent tongue as the master and -lawyer wishes you to do, and then, please the saints, things will go the -better." - -"But, Kerry, before you go, tell me. What is Mr. Hilliston to my -father?" - -"He is your father's best friend, miss," said Kerry, with emphasis; "his -best and his worst," and with that enigmatic reply he hurried off down -the lane in the direction of the vicarage, leaving Jenny in a state of -bewilderment. - -She could understand nothing, and at that moment sorely needed some -friend with whom she could consult. Kerry gave her no satisfaction, and -spoke so indefinitely that his conversation mystified in place of -enlightening her; it was no use to make a confidant of Frank Linton, as -notwithstanding his London reputation, which she had greatly contributed -to, Jenny did not consider him sufficiently steady to be told of the -commotion raised by his novel in her immediate circle. She could, -therefore, discuss the matter with no one, and so annoyed was she by the -whole affair that she by no means could bring herself to go back to the -house while Hilliston was yet there. He would be gone, she trusted, in -another half hour or so, and pending his departure she strolled along -the lane in the hope of evading him. - -But she only escaped Scylla to fall into Charybdis, for, as she turned -the corner, Tait and Claude met her almost face to face. Jenny would -have given much to escape this awkward meeting, and intimated her wish -for solitude by passing the young men with a curt bow. The sight of -Claude, the memory of his father's death, coupled with the suspicions -she entertained, wrought her up to a pitch of excitement which she had -great difficulty in concealing. She was, therefore, greatly annoyed when -Tait took off his hat, and placed himself directly in her path. The -little man thought it was too favorable an opportunity for introduction -to be overlooked. - -"Don't go away, Miss Paynton," he said, smiling. "I wish to introduce -you to my friend Mr. Larcher. Claude, this is Miss Paynton, of whom you -have heard me speak." - -"How do you do, Miss Paynton?" said Claude, with a suave bow. "I hope -you will pardon the irregularity of this introduction." - -This remark made Jenny laugh, and set her more at ease. She was not -particular as to forms and ceremonies herself, and the idea that a young -man should apologize for such a trifle struck her as ridiculous. -Moreover, a glance assured her that Mr. Larcher was by no means a -formidable person. He was decidedly good-looking, and had pleasant blue -eyes, with a kindly look, so speech and glance broke the ice at once -between them. - -"Do you stay here long, Mr. Larcher?" she asked, pointedly ignoring her -previous conversation with Tait. - -"As long as I may," he replied, smiling. "London does not invite me at -this time of the year. I prefer the fragrant country to the dusty town." - -"He is a true lover of the fields, Miss Paynton," broke in Tait, -admiring her self-possession, "and insisted that I should come out for a -walk, so that he might lose no time in steeping himself in the sweetness -of nature. Quite idyllic, isn't it?" - -"Quite!" said Jenny lightly. "Good-by at present, Mr. Larcher! I am -going to the vicarage, and have not a moment to spare. Mr. Tait, can I -speak with you a minute?" - -Tait obeyed with alacrity, and Claude was left to muse on the fresh -charm of Jenny, and the sweetness of her voice. Her trim figure, her -exquisite neatness, and springing gait made him admire her greatly, and -when she tripped away with a smiling nod, he was so taken up in watching -her that he failed to observe the grave face with which Tait joined him. - -"As I thought," said the latter, when they resumed their walk. - -"What is up now?" - -"Oh, nothing more than usual! Hilliston has called on Paynton already. -He is there now." - -"You don't say so! I did not think he would have been so smart. However, -you have stolen a march on him. Do you intend to see him now? To wait -his coming out?" - -"Why, no," said Tait, after a moment's deliberation. "Rather let us go -home again that Hilliston may not see us. I wish to wait and see what -excuse he will make for not calling on you. You'll get a letter full of -lies to-morrow, Claude." - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - - A GLIMPSE OF THE PAST. - - -HILLISTON remained a considerable time with his friend, and it was not -until sunset that he left the house. He had a satisfied look on his -face, as though the interview had answered his expectations; and so -lifted up in spirit did he appear that he stepped out into the lane as -jauntily as though he were quite a young man. It was over three miles to -the railway station, and he would be obliged to walk back; but the -prospect did not annoy him in the least; on the contrary so great a load -had been removed from his mind by the late conversation that he felt fit -to walk twice the distance. Yet such unusual light-heartedness might -have recalled to his mind the Scotch superstition regarding its probable -reason. - -As he walked smartly to the end of the lane, the sun had just dropped -behind the hills, leaving a trail of red glory behind him. Against the -crimson background rose the gables and chimney of the Manor House, and -the sight recalled to Hilliston the fact that young Larcher was staying -in the mansion. He paused doubtfully, not certain whether to go in or -pass on; for in his many schemes the least slip might prove prejudicial -to their accomplishment. - -"If I call in I can say my visit here was to do so," he thought; "but it -is too late; and though Claude might believe me, the little man would -certainly be suspicious. Besides they are sure to find out from Jenny -Paynton that I have seen her father. No! I shan't go in, but to-night I -will write a letter stating that Paynton is a client whom I called to -see about business. I have made it all right there, and it will take a -cleverer man than Tait to upset my plans this time." - -His meditations were interrupted by the rattle of wheels, and he turned -to see Kerry driving a dappled pony in a small chaise. The old man -distorted his withered face into a grotesque grin of welcome, and jumped -out with extraordinary alacrity, when he came alongside Hilliston. - -"Augh! augh, sir!" said Kerry, touching his hat in military fashion. -"It's a sight for sore eyes to see ye. Miss Jenny told me you had walked -over from the station, so I just borrowed the trap of his riverence, the -vicar, to take you back." - -"That is very kind of you, Kerry," replied Hilliston, in his most genial -manner; "I am glad to accept your offer and escape the walk. You drive -and I'll sit beside you." - -Kerry did as he was told, and in a few minutes the trap containing the -pair was rattling through the street at a good pace. Shortly they left -the village behind and emerged into the open country. The road wound to -right and left, past farmhouses, under bending trees, behind hedgerows, -and occasionally passed over a stone bridge spanning a trickling brook -matted with cresses. All this time neither of them had spoken, as each -was seemingly wrapped up in his own thoughts, but as a matter of fact -they were thinking of each other. Kerry wished to speak to Hilliston, -but did not know how to begin; while Hilliston was in the same -predicament regarding Kerry. - -It was the latter who finally began the conversation, and he did so in a -way which would have startled a less brave man than the lawyer. At the -moment they were crossing a rather broad stream with a swift current, -and Kerry pulled up the pony midway between the parapets of stone which -protected the sides of the rude bridge. Rather astonished at this -stoppage, for which he could assign no reason, Hilliston roused himself -from his musings and looked inquiringly at Kerry. The man's eyes, -significant and angry, were fixed on him in anything but a friendly -manner. - -"Do you know what I'm thinking, sir?" he said, coolly flicking the -pony's back with the whip. - -"No, Kerry," replied Hilliston, with equal coolness. "Is it of anything -important?" - -"It might be to you, sir," replied Kerry dryly. "I was just thinking -whether it wouldn't be a good thing to send horse and trap and you and I -into the water. Then there would be an end to your black heart and your -black schemes." - -"That is very possible, Kerry," said Hilliston, who knew his man, "but -before going to extremities you had better make certain that you are -acting for the best. Without me your master is ruined." - -"We'll talk it over, sir," answered Kerry, and with a smart flick of his -whip sent the pony across the bridge. When they were over and were -trotting between hedgerows he resumed the conversation. "Why have ye -come here again, sir?" he asked abruptly. "We were quit of you five -years ago, and now you come to harry the master once more." - -"I come for his own good, Kerry." - -"Ah, now don't be after calling me Kerry. There's no one here, and it is -Denis Bantry I am to you, Mr. Francis Hilliston." - -The lawyer winced at the satirical emphasis placed on the name, but -judged it wise to humor the old man. Kerry, as he called himself now, -could be very obstinate and disagreeable when he chose, so knowing his -powers in this respect Hilliston wisely conducted the conversation on as -broad lines as was possible. Nevertheless, he carried the war into the -enemy's camp by blaming Kerry for not taking better care of the bundle -of papers which, through his negligence, had fallen into the hands of -Jenny. - -"And how was I to know, sir?" retorted Kerry querulously. "The papers -were safely put away in the garret, and Miss Jenny had no call to go -there." - -"Well, Kerry, you see what it has led to. The account of the tragedy is -all over London." - -"And what of that, sir? Wasn't the account of it all over Horriston -twenty-five years ago?" - -"No doubt," said Hilliston coolly; "but that is all over and done with. -It is useless to dwell on the past and its errors. But now Captain -Larcher's son is bent on finding out the truth." - -"And why shouldn't he, sir?" - -"I don't think you need ask the question, Kerry," replied the lawyer, in -so significant a tone that the old servant turned away his head. "It is -not desirable that Claude Larcher should be enlightened. We know what -took place on that night if no one else does, and for more reasons than -one it is advisable that we should keep our knowledge to ourselves." - -"Augh," said Kerry gruffly, "you don't want it known that you were in -the garden on that night, sir?" - -"I do not," answered Hilliston, with hasty emphasis. "I spoke falsely at -the trial to save Mrs. Larcher. I rather think you did so yourself, -Kerry." - -"For the master's sake--for the master's sake! As for the mistress she -brought all the trouble on our heads. I lied, sir, and you lied, but she -wasn't worth it. But is there to be trouble over it now, Mr. Hilliston?" - -"No. Not if you baffle the inquiries of those young men at the Manor -House. They will meet you and question you, and get the truth out of you -if they can. Whether they do or not all depends upon yourself." - -"You leave it to me, sir," said Kerry confidently. "I'll manage to send -them away without being a bit the wiser. And now, Mr. Hilliston, that -this is settled, I would speak to you about my sister Mona." - -Hilliston changed color, but nevertheless retained sufficient composure -to fix his eyes on the man's face with a sad smile. "What of her, -Kerry?" he asked, in a melancholy tone; "you know she is dead and gone." - -"Augh! Augh! But her grave, sir. You must tell me where it is, for I -have it in my mind to go and see it." - -"What would be the good of you doing that," said Hilliston -disapprovingly. - -"Because I was harsh with her, sir. If she did wrong, she suffered for -it, and it was wicked of me to let her go as I did. Where is her grave, -sir?" - -"In Chiswick Cemetery," said Hilliston, as the chaise stopped at the -railway station; "if you come up to London and call at my office I will -tell you where to find it." - -Kerry was profuse in his thanks, and, touching his hat gratefully, -accepted the shilling which Hilliston put into his hand; but when the -train containing Hilliston started for Eastbourne, he threw away the -money, and shook his fist after the retreating carriages. Not a word did -he say, but the frown on his face grew deeper and deeper as he got into -the trap again, and drove slowly back to Thorston. Evidently he trusted -Hilliston no more than did Tait or Jenny. - -It was now quite dark, for the daylight and afterglow had long since -vanished from the western skies, and the moon was not yet up. Only the -stars were visible here and there in the cloudy sky, and finding their -light insufficient to drive by, Kerry got down and lighted the carriage -lamp. Heaven only knows of what he was thinking as he drove along the -dusky lanes. The past unrolled itself before his eyes, and what he saw -there made him groan and heave deep sighs. But there was no use in so -indulging his memories, and thinking of his master, Kerry braced himself -up to see what could be done toward meeting the dangers which seemed to -threaten on all sides. When he delivered the trap again to the groom of -the vicar, he hit on an idea which he proceeded to carry out. - -Instead of going back at once to Rose Cottage, he borrowed a piece of -paper and a pencil from the groom, and laboriously traced a few lines by -the light of the stable lantern. Putting this missive in his pocket, he -went off in the direction of the Manor House; but leaving the public -road he skirted the low stone wall which divided it from the adjacent -fields. Kerry knew every inch of the ground, and even in the darkness -had no difficulty in guiding himself to his destination. This was a -vantage point at the end of the wall, whence he could see into a sitting -room of the house. In a few minutes Kerry was perched on this wall, -busily engaged in tying his letter to an ordinary sized stone. - -Almost immediately below him the mansion stretched in a kind of abrupt -right angle, in which was set two wide windows overlooking a bed of -flowers. These were open to the cool night air, and the blinds had been -drawn down, so that Kerry from his lofty hiding-place could see right -into the room. A tall brass lamp stood at one end, and under this sat -Claude Larcher, smoking and thinking. The glare of the lamp fell full on -his fresh-colored face and light hair, so that Kerry felt as though he -were gazing at a phantom out of that dread past. - -"He's as like his father as two peas," muttered Kerry, devouring the -picture with his eyes; "a fine boy and an honest gentleman. Augh! augh! -To think that I have nursed him on my knee when he was a bit of lad, and -now I'm here telling him to go away. But it's better that than the -other. A curse on those who brought him here and put sorrow into his -heart." - -Thus muttering, Kerry threw the stone lightly through the window. It -fell heavily on the floor within a few feet of Claude, who sprang to his -feet with an exclamation. Not waiting to see the result, Kerry hastily -tumbled off the wall, jumped the ditch, and made off in the darkness. By -a circuitous route he regained Rose Cottage, and entered into the -kitchen worn out in body and mind. He had done his duty so far as in him -lay, and mentally prayed that the result might tend to remove the -threatened danger. - -Meanwhile Claude had picked up the stone and ran to the window. He could -see nothing, for Kerry was already halfway across the fields; he could -not even guess whence the stone had been thrown. All was silent, and -though he listened intently, he could not hear the sound of retreating -footsteps. With some wonderment he untied the paper from the stone and -smoothed it out. It was badly written and badly spelled, and ran as -follows: - - "Bewar of danger, Claude Larcher, tak a frind's advise and go - quick away." - -There was no signature, and the young man was looking at it in growing -perplexity when Tait entered the room. - -"What did you shout out about?" he asked carelessly. "I heard you in the -next room." - -"You would have shouted also," replied Larcher, holding out the paper. -"This was flung into the room tied round a stone." - -"You don't say so! Who threw it?" - -"I can't say. I rushed to the window at once, but saw no sign of anyone. -What do you think of the hint therein contained?" - -Tait read the anonymous communication, pondered over it, and finally -delivered his opinion by uttering a name. "Hilliston," he said -confidently, "Hilliston." - -"Nonsense!" said Claude sharply; "why should he deal in underhand ways -of this sort. If he wanted me to go away, he could have called and urged -me to do so. But this--I don't believe Hilliston would condescend to -such trickery." - -"When a man is in a fix he will descend to anything to get himself out -of it," replied Tait, placing the paper in his pocketbook. "I'll keep -this, and, perhaps, before many days are over I'll have an opportunity -of proving to you that I speak truly. Who else wants you to go away -besides Hilliston." - -"Kerry--Denis Bantry might!" - -"I doubt whether Kerry knows that you are here. You must give matters -time to develop themselves, as the inmates of Rose Cottage can't know -all about us within twenty-four hours." - -"What between your confessions to Jenny, and Hilliston's own knowledge, -I think they'll know a good deal in one way or another." - -"They can know as much as they like," said Tait quietly, "but we know -more, and if it comes to a tug of war I think you and I can win against -Hilliston and Co. But come outside and let us examine the top of the -wall." - -"Do you think the stone was thrown from there?" asked Claude, as they -went out into the garden. - -"I fancy so from your description. Light this candle." - -The night was so still that the flame of the candle hardly wavered. Tait -gave it to Claude to hold, and easily climbed up the wall by thrusting -the toes of his boots in among the loose stones. He examined the top -carefully, and then getting the light tied it to a piece of string and -lowered it on the other side. In a few minutes he came down again with a -satisfied look. - -"As I thought," he said, blowing out the candle. "Someone has been on -that wall and thrown the stone from there. I saw the marks of feet on -the other side. The man who delivered the letter jumped the ditch and -made off across the fields." - -"You don't think it is Hilliston?" said Claude doubtfully. - -"No; but I think it is an emissary of Hilliston. Perhaps Denis Bantry." - -"Tait!" said Larcher, after a pause, "from Hilliston's visit to Paynton, -from the way in which Paynton persistently secludes himself from the -world; and from the knowledge we possess that the information for -Linton's book came out of that cottage, I have come to a conclusion." - -"What is that?" - -"I believe that Ferdinand Paynton is none other than Mark Jeringham, who -killed my father." - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - - PREPARING THE GROUND. - - -AWARE that Claude would hear sooner or later of his visit to Paynton, -the lawyer wrote to forestall the information, skillfully alleging a -business engagement as his excuse for the visit. "I would have called on -you," he continued, "but that it was already late when I left my client, -Mr. Paynton, and I had to return to Eastbourne in time for dinner. -However, I hope to come over again shortly, and then you must tell me -how you are getting on with your case. I am afraid you will learn -nothing at Thorston." - -"He knows better than that," said Tait, to whom the letter was shown; -"he is aware that we have cut the ground from under his feet so far as -Jenny is concerned. Moreover, I am certain that he is the author of that -anonymous letter of a few days since." - -"Do you really think he came here to ask Miss Paynton to keep silence?" -asked Claude, returning the letter to his pocket. - -"My dear fellow, I am certain of it. And he also wishes to show us that -he knows Paynton, so as to warn us against asking questions in that -quarter." - -"Indeed, I think it is useless to do so," said Larcher doubtfully; "you -know we called yesterday and were refused admittance." - -"Oh, I spoke to Mr. Linton about that," replied Tait easily; "it seems -that such is invariably the case, as this hermit will see no one." - -"Why? What can be his reason for such persistent seclusion?" - -"I can't say, unless your surmise is correct, and he is Jeringham." - -"I am sure he is," said Claude emphatically. "Why was the bundle of -newspapers containing an account of the murder found in his house? What -is Denis Bantry doing there if Paynton is not Jeringham?" - -"The shoe is on the other foot," remarked Tait dryly. "What is Denis -Bantry doing there if Paynton is Jeringham? You forget, Claude, that we -suspect Jeringham as the criminal. If this were so, or if Paynton were -Jeringham, I hardly think your father's devoted servant would be at his -beck and call, unless," added Tait, as an after thought, "Denis Bantry -is also implicated, as we imagine." - -"I can't understand it," cried Claude, catching up his hat; "in place of -growing clearer, the matter seems to become more involved. How do you -intend to proceed? It seems to me that we are at a dead stop." - -"By no means, my dear fellow. There is Kerry, alias Denis Bantry, to be -examined. We must learn the truth from him." - -"He won't tell it! Particularly if our suspicions are correct." - -"Perhaps not, but I have provided against that failure. You must appeal -to him as the son of his old master, while I am absent." - -"Absent! Where are you going?" - -"Can't you guess? To Horriston, of course, in order to pick up what -information I can. There are sure to be people still alive who remember -your father and mother; who recollect the trial, and are still -acquainted with Mr. Hilliston. I expect to learn a good deal about that -gentleman there; and perhaps something about Jeringham and his -disappearance." - -"Humph! I doubt if you will be successful," replied Claude gloomily; -"however, there is no harm in trying. Where are we going now?" - -"I told you before we set out. To call on the vicar. As we can't see -Jenny at her father's house we must meet her in another person's. She is -like a daughter to Mrs. Linton, and is constantly at the vicarage." - -"And no doubt young Linton loves her." - -"I'm sure he does. Have you any objection?" demanded Tait slyly. - -"None! None!" said Claude hastily. "I have only met her for a few -minutes, you know. But she is a remarkably pretty girl, and from what -you say seems to be clever. Too good by half for that idiot." - -"Idiot! John Parver, novelist, the lion of the season, an idiot? You -forget he wrote the book of the year." - -"So he says," responded Larcher dryly. "But for my part, I believe Jenny -Paynton has more to do with it than he. I have no doubt she wrote it." - -Further conversation was put an end to for the time being by their -arrival at the vicarage. Mr. Linton, a stiff old gentleman with a severe -face, received them very kindly, and unbent so far as in him lay. He had -been acquainted with Tait for many years, and it was during a visit to -him that the little man had seen and purchased Thorston Manor. Knowing -him to be wealthy, and being well disposed toward him for his own sake, -Mr. Linton was anxious to make the Lord of the Manor at home in his -house. Vicars cannot afford to neglect opulent parishioners. - -"I hope, Mr. Tait, that you will shortly take up your abode altogether -at the Manor," said he pompously. "I am not in favor of an absentee -landlord." - -"Oh, you'll see a good deal of me, Mr. Linton, I assure you. I am too -much in love with the beauties of the place to stay long away. Moreover, -I am not a roamer like my friend Larcher here." - -"It is necessary with me," said Claude, smiling; "I assure you, sir, I -am not the wandering vagabond Tait would make me out to be." - -"It is proper to see the world," said the vicar, with heavy playfulness, -"and when you have made your fortune in far countries, Mr. Larcher, you -may settle down in this favored spot." - -"I could wish for nothing better, Mr. Linton. But the time is yet far -off for that." - -"My son is also fond of traveling," continued Mr. Linton. "Now that he -is making a good income he tells me that it is his intention to go to -Italy." - -"You are proud of your son, Mr. Linton," said Tait genially. - -"Without doubt! Without doubt! The book he wrote is clever, although I -do not care for sensational writing myself." - -"It pays. The taste of the age is in the direction of sensationalism." - -"Certainly, certainly. And I suppose it is only natural that Francis -should write some frivolity. He was never a deep scholar. What does -astonish me," added the vicar, raising his eyebrows, "is that a student -like Mr. Paynton should desire to read the book." - -Tait and Claude glanced at one another with the same thought in their -minds respecting this information. Informed by Hilliston of the use made -by Linton of the Larcher affair, Paynton was anxious to see in what -light the case had been placed. This curiosity argued that the recluse -had been one of the actors in the tragedy; if so, he could only be -Jeringham, since Captain Larcher was dead, and they knew both Denis -Bantry and Francis Hilliston. The vicar, worthy man, was quite ignorant -of the effect produced by this announcement; nor was he undeceived by -the artful reply of Tait. - -"Naturally Mr. Paynton wants to read the book," said the latter -diplomatically. "If I mistake not, he has a great liking for Frank." - -"Indeed, yes," responded Mr. Linton thankfully. "He taught Francis Latin -along with Jenny. He would have made a scholar of him. I am indeed sorry -that my son failed to profit by his association with so brilliant a -student. He might have written a better book." - -Clearly the vicar was by no means impressed with the sensationalism of -"A Whim of Fate," and would rather his son had written an honest -pamphlet or a grave tragedy than have produced so meretricious a piece -of three-volume frivolity. However, he had no time to talk further on -this matter, for as he ended his speech the subject of it entered the -room with Jenny and Mrs. Linton. The former started and flushed as she -saw Claude, and remembered his romantic history and their former -meeting. - -"My wife, Mr. Larcher. You know Mr. Tait of course, my dear. Miss -Paynton, Mr. Larcher, and my son." - -"I have already had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Frank Linton in town," -said Claude, holding out his hand. The young author took it willingly -enough, and then the company resolved itself into two groups; the vicar -and his wife conversing with Tait, while Claude, seconded by Frank, made -himself agreeable to Jenny. Neither the lady nor the author were pleased -with this arrangement, as the former felt uneasy when she remembered her -father's position, while the latter felt jealous of Claude's superior -good looks. Frank Linton was, of course, ignorant that he was in the -company of the son of the Horriston victim; he did not even know the -names of the people or that of the place, and had simply written the -story on the meager information afforded by Jenny. He could not, -therefore, understand the interest which those two displayed in one -another, and so grew jealous on seeing it. - -It would be useless to report this conversation, which in the main -consisted of frivolities. Warned by her father, Jenny was on her guard, -and carefully avoided any allusion to the Larcher affair. On his part, -not knowing the reticence Jenny had practised with regard to Linton, -Claude tried to lead the conversation into a grove likely to deal with -the novel and case. At one point he did this so clumsily that Jenny -spoke outright on the subject. - -"Let us talk no more of that, Mr. Larcher," she said quietly. "I told -Mr. Tait all I knew the other day." - -"I have to thank you----" began Claude, when she cut him short, and -turned the conversation into another channel. The young man was -disappointed in this, but nevertheless fell in with her humor, and when, -following Tait's example, he arose to go, he was quite charmed with this -country girl. - -"I hope you will come soon again," said the vicar hospitably, as he -shook hands. "We must have a party shortly. Our friends, Mr. and Mrs. -Hilliston, have promised to come and stay the night during next week." - -"Another move, and a foolish one," thought Tait, but said aloud: "We -will be charmed, Mr. Linton, the more so as Mr. Hilliston is my friend's -guardian--or rather was." - -Jenny looked startled at this, and her rich color faded when she said -good-by to Claude. The mystery of the affair was beginning to worry her, -and she could by no means understand the relation of Hilliston to -Larcher; Hilliston, who was the guardian and friend; Hilliston who, -judging from the veto put on her speaking, was inimical to Claude. -Untroubled by their conversation Claude held but one idea when he left -the house with Tait. - -"I'm afraid I am in love," said he, looking at his friend. - -"What! at first sight? Impossible!" - -"Shakspere did not think so, or he would not have written 'Romeo and -Juliet.' Yes, I believe I am in love. Jenny is as fresh and fair, and -pure and sweet as a mountain daisy." - -"You had better tell Linton so," said Tait dryly, whereat Larcher -laughed. He was too confident in his own powers to be timorous of -rivalry with the celebrated individual. - -"There is no need to tell him," he said lightly; "the poor man was eaten -up with jealousy when I spoke to Miss Paynton. By the way, did you see -that she changed color when you mentioned that Hilliston had been my -guardian?" - -"It was natural that she should. Hilliston is a suspicious person in her -eyes, and this discovery will perplex her still more regarding his -relations with you. Jenny is a very clever young woman, but I wonder if -she is clever enough to put this and that together." - -"To arrive at what conclusion?" - -"At the most logical conclusion. That her father is Jeringham, whom she -suspects of the crime." - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - - KERRY. - - -HAVING, as he considered, prepared the ground by acquainting Claude with -the notabilities of the neighborhood, Tait next proceeded to secure an -interview with Kerry. This was by no means an easy matter, as, either by -accident or design, Kerry eluded all the young men's attempts to -interview him. Hitherto he had been accustomed to fish daily in the Lax, -but now, doubtless by direction of his master, he forsook his customary -sport for some considerable time. His absence speedily roused Tait's -suspicions. - -"Hilliston has succeeded well," said he, after one of these futile -attempts to see the old servant. "He has put Jeringham on his guard." - -"Paynton, you mean," observed Claude, looking up from his plate. They -were at breakfast when this conversation took place. - -"I thought you had determined in your own mind that he was Jeringham." - -"No," said Claude, coloring a little; "I have come round to your opinion -in the matter. If Paynton were Jeringham, I don't think Denis Bantry -would be in his service." - -"Ah!" remarked Tait sarcastically, "is that the result of reflection or -of love?" - -"Of love? I don't understand you." - -"Yes, you do, Claude. You are in love with Jenny. The last week has only -deepened your first impressions. I believe she likes you also, and so I -foresee a marriage which will rob me of my friend." - -"I am not so certain of that as you are," said Larcher, after a pause. -"Miss Paynton has given me no hint of her feelings, and our acquaintance -is yet young. Even if I did design to make her my wife, I would have to -gain her consent, and that of her father. Judging from Paynton's present -attitude that consent would most probably be refused." - -Tait did not immediately reply, but stared out of the window with an -absent look in his eyes. The remark changed the current of his ideas. - -"I wonder who Paynton can be?" he said at length, with some hesitation. -"That he is connected with the case I am certain from the way in which -he has profited by the warning of Hilliston. Like yourself, I have my -doubts regarding his identity with Jeringham, because of Denis Bantry. -Who is he? I must go to Horriston to-morrow and find out." - -"And what am I to do in the meantime?" - -"Hunt out Kerry and learn the truth," said Tait coolly. "I think, after -all, it will be best for you to see him alone. I am a stranger, and he -won't speak before me; but to you, the son of his old master, he may -open his heart. Once he does that you may learn the truth." - -"I doubt it." - -"Well, there is a chance. Whatever tie binds Denis to Paynton, you must -not forget that he is Irish. The Irish are an impulsive and excitable -race, so it is just possible that his feelings may carry him away in -your presence, and he may tell you all we wish to know." - -"Do you think he can solve the mystery?" - -"Yes. He was in the house when Jeringham came home with your mother; he -picked up the garnet pin, and, it may be, can tell us to whom it -belongs. It may be the property of Hilliston, as is stated in the novel; -on the other hand it may belong to your father or to Jeringham. Of one -point I am sure, the person who owned the pin killed your father. Kerry, -or rather Denis Bantry, knows the owner, and consequently the murderer." - -"If so, why did he not denounce him?" - -"There you puzzle me," said Tait, rising to his feet; "that is one of -the many mysteries of this case. Only Denis can explain, and he may do -so to you. I shall stay at home this morning, and prepare for my journey -to Horriston; but you had better take your fishing rod and go to your -post." - -The post alluded to was on the banks of the Lax, where for the past week -the young men had patiently waited for the appearance of Denis. On this -morning Claude found himself alone for the first time; and sat down with -a disconsolate air, for he had little hope that Denis would make his -appearance. In this surmise he was wrong, for scarcely had he been -seated half an hour when the Irishman came slowly along on the opposite -bank of the river. - -He was a little old man, gray as a badger, with stooped shoulders, and a -cross-looking face. Without vouchsafing a look in Claude's direction, he -prepared his fishing tackle and began industriously to whip the stream. -Hardly knowing how to break the ice, Larcher silently continued his -sport, and the two, divided by the water, stood like statues on opposite -banks. - -After a time Denis, who had been cunningly taking stock of Claude, and -wondering why his letter had not produced the effect intended, moved -down to where the stream narrowed itself between large stones. -Determined to invent some excuse for speaking, Larcher followed after a -time, and stepped out on to a bowlder, apparently to throw his line into -a likely looking pool. Being within reach, he flung his line, and the -next moment it was entangled in that of Kerry's. - -"I'm sorry! Quite an accident," said Claude, noting the wrath on Kerry's -face. "Let me disentangle it." - -He jumped into the brown water and, before Kerry could make any -objection, was across on the other side, gripping the lines. Without a -word the Irishman let him separate the two lines, and then busied -himself with fixing a fly. Nettled at this determined silence Claude -spoke. - -"I wish to speak with you," he said, tapping the other on the shoulder. - -"Is it to me ye speak?" replied Kerry, with an admirable look of -surprise; "and what has the like of you, sir, to say to me?" - -"A great deal. Do you know who I am?" - -"Sure, an' I do, sir. The friend of Mr. Tait, you are no less." - -"But my name. Do you know it?" - -"Bad luck to this stream, there's never a fish in it," grumbled Kerry, -with a convenient attack of deafness. - -Claude was in nowise angered. - -"That is very clever, Kerry," he said; "but----" - -"An' how do you know my name is Kerry?" - -"Are you surprised that I should know it?" - -"I am that," replied Kerry sharply. "I never set eyes on you before." - -"Oh, yes, you did--twenty-five years ago." - -"Begorra, that's a lie, anyhow!" muttered Kerry, under his breath, with -an uneasy wriggle. - -"It is not a lie, and you know it, my man," said Larcher firmly; "it is -no use your pretending ignorance. I know who you are." - -"Devil a doubt of it! Kerry, you called me." - -"Yes! Because you are known by that name here. But at Horriston----" - -Claude stopped. He saw the hands of the old man grip the rod so tight -that the knuckles whitened. The name had produced the effect he -intended. So, almost without a pause, he continued, and aimed another -blow at Kerry's imperturbability. "At Horriston," he resumed, "you were -known as Denis Bantry." - -"Was I, now?" said Kerry, prepared for the attack. "Augh, to think of -it! And where might Horriston be, sir?" - -"You ought to know that, Denis." - -"Your honor will be after giving me the name of a friend of yours." - -"Quite right," rejoined Claude, seizing the opportunity. "You were--nay, -you are--a friend of mine. I am the little lad you carried in your -arms--to whom you told stories, and sang songs. Children forget a great -deal, but I have not forgotten you, Denis." - -In dogged silence the old man turned his head away, intently bent on his -sport, but suddenly he raised the cuff of his coat and wiped away a -betraying tear. Seeing that he had touched the man's sympathy, Claude -followed up his advantage. - -"You are not going to deny me, Denis, are you?" he said entreatingly. "I -am down here on an errand which you must guess. If Hilliston----" - -"The curse of Cromwell on him!" said Kerry, under his breath. - -"If Hilliston told you to keep silent," said Claude, affecting to take -no notice of the interjection, which confirmed his suspicions, "I, the -son of your dead master, want you to speak. I wish to find out who -killed my father. I wish to punish him, for you know his name." - -Kerry turned furiously on the young man, but it seemed to Claude that -his anger was feigned to hide a deeper emotion. - -"It is a dirty informer you'd have me be," he cried, with a stamp of his -foot, "to betray him whose bread I eat. I'll tell you nothing, for it's -that much I know." - -"Denis----" - -"I'm not Denis! It's Kerry I am. I know nothing of Horriston, or of you, -sir. Go away with ye, young gentleman, and don't be after disgracing an -old servant to play the spy and cheat." - -Then, still breathing fury, he rushed away, but paused some distance off -to raise his hands to the sky with an appealing gesture. The impulsive -Irish nature had broken through diplomatic reserve, and, fearful of -saying too much, Kerry saved himself by flight. Claude guessed this and -forebore to follow him. - -"I have broken the ice at all events," he said to himself, when -returning to the Manor to tell Tait. "The next time I may be fortunate -enough to force the truth out of him. He knows it, I am certain. He -hates Hilliston and loves me. I can easily guess with whom he -sympathizes, in spite of his master. He is Denis, sure enough, but who -is Paynton?" - -It was impossible to say. - - - - - CHAPTER XXX. - - MRS. BEZEL AGAIN. - - -ON returning home Claude found that Tait, contrary to his expressed -intention, had gone out. Dormer, who was packing a portmanteau for the -Horriston journey, could not inform Larcher when his master would be -back, but ventured an opinion that he would certainly return to -luncheon. Meanwhile, he handed to Claude some letters which had just -arrived, and with these the young man managed to pass a fairly -uncomfortable hour. Uncomfortable, because one of the letters was from -Mrs. Bezel, and proved of so puzzling a character that Larcher was in a -fever of impatience to discuss it with Tait. - -The little man returned to luncheon, as was surmised by Dormer, and was -met in the hall by Claude with the open letter of Mrs. Bezel in his -hand. - -"My dear fellow, why did you go out?" said Larcher complainingly. "I -have so much to tell you. I have seen Kerry, and now here is a letter -from Mrs. Bezel." - -"What! is she on the stage again?" said Tait eagerly. "Let me see the -letter." - -"Not yet," replied Claude, putting it promptly behind his back. "You -must first tell me why you left the house, when you ought to be packing -up for Horriston." - -Tait shrugged his shoulders, bowed to the inevitable, and went into the -dining room. Here he sat at the table and began to carve some cold beef, -thereby throwing Claude into a rage. - -"You cold-blooded little monster," he cried, tapping on the table, "will -you satisfy my curiosity?" - -"Why should I?" said Tait, grinning. "You won't satisfy mine." - -"Then read the letter," retorted Claude, throwing it across the table. -To his surprise Tait placed it on one side. - -"Not yet!" he said, resuming his carving. "We must have a talk first. -Have some beef." - -"I don't want beef, but information." - -"You shall have both," said Tait calmly. "Do you prefer beer or claret?" - -"Beer!" replied Larcher resignedly, falling in with the tricksey humor -of his friend. Tait was a man with whom it was impossible to quarrel. - -"Dormer, fill Mr. Larcher's glass; put the claret jug beside me, and -leave the room. We will wait on ourselves." - -As stolid as a wooden image Dormer obeyed these instructions, and -wheeled out of the room. Tait ate a few mouthfuls of beef, drank a glass -of claret, and prepared to talk. His first remark was a bombshell. - -"I have seen Paynton," said he slowly. - -"The deuce you have!" cried Claude, in surprise; "and how did you manage -to take his castle by storm?" - -"Easily enough, by the help of a lie and a little strategy. I went out -to see if you were at your post, and caught sight of Kerry crossing the -fields. As I knew Jenny would be at the Lintons',--for she goes there to -see the old lady every morning,--I guessed that Rose Cottage would be -undefended; so back I ran to the house, picked up a book which I had -promised to lend the young lady, and went to pay my visit." - -"How did you get inside the gate? It is generally locked." - -"It wasn't on this occasion," replied Tait complacently. "I opened it -and walked in, to find old Paynton strolling in the garden. Catching -sight of me, he turned back to re-enter the house, but, luckily, I was -between him and the door, so we met face to face." - -"What kind of a man is he to look at?" - -"Oh, a fine-looking old chap, with white hair and beard, a skullcap, and -a dressing gown. Quite the get up of a necromancer." - -"Did he speak to you," asked Claude, having considered this description. - -"He asked me politely what my business was; whereupon I presented the -book, and mentioned that it was for his daughter. He replied that she -was at the Lintons', and would be back soon, when he would give her the -book himself. Then he asked me to excuse him, and bowed me out of the -gate. But," added Tait, with emphasis, "not before I had mentioned that -Mr. Claude Larcher was staying with me." - -"Did my name produce any effect?" - -"Rather! Paynton changed color, and mumbled something unintelligible. -Then he turned his back and walked quickly into the house, leaving me to -close the gate myself. Depend upon it, he knows something, Claude." - -"But his name isn't mentioned in connection with the case." - -"Of course not. Paynton is a feigned one. And, as I have said before, -there are, no doubt, actors in the tragedy of whom we know nothing." - -"There is one of that sort mentioned here," said Larcher, picking up -Mrs. Bezel's letter. "Read that, Tait, and see what you make of it." - -It proved to be a short note, hastily written, and ran as follows: - - "MY DEAR CLAUDE: - "If you are still in doubt as to who murdered your father, ask - Mr. Hilliston to tell you about Louisa Sinclair, who lived at - Horriston twenty-five years ago. She knows. - "Your affectionate mother, - "MARGARET BEZEL." - -"Louisa Sinclair," repeated Tait slowly, having mastered the contents of -this letter. "No, I never heard of her. It is strange that Hilliston has -never mentioned her name." - -"No doubt he had good reasons for not doing so," said Claude bitterly. -"You need not look so astonished, Tait. I have long ago come round to -your opinion of my old guardian. His intimacy with Paynton and the -effect of his visit on Kerry would convince me--not to speak of that -'anonymous letter.'" - -"Ah! Kerry refused to speak." - -"He would not say a word, and, moreover, stated that he was not Denis -Bantry; that he had never heard of Horriston. In fact, he acted his part -excellently well till the last. Then he broke down, and, afraid of -letting the cat out of the bag, he ran away." - -"Exactly what his master did," said Tait thoughtfully. "Depend upon it, -Claude, we will learn the truth from one of those two." - -"If you think so, why go to Horriston?" - -"Because I want to learn the real name of Paynton, and, moreover, here -is an additional reason. I must find out Louisa Sinclair." - -"There is no mention of her in the case." - -"Quite true. And there is no mention of Paynton; but for all that he -knows about it. Oh, you may be sure there are circumstances to be -discovered at Horriston which never came to light at the trial." - -"My mother is anxious for the mystery to be cleared up." - -"So I see, and I am glad of it," said Tait, with an affectation of -carelessness. "I thought she was too ill to take an interest in the -matter." - -"Am I to ask Hilliston about this woman?" said Claude, looking up in -some doubt. - -"No," replied his friend, after a few moments' deliberation. "Our -success in this depends on keeping Hilliston in the dark concerning our -movements. If we tell him too much he may thwart us, as he has done -already in this Paynton business. Say nothing about Louisa Sinclair, or -about my visit to Horriston. Tell him I have gone to town, and let him -figure out the reason for himself. By the way, when do you see him?" - -"On Friday evening. Both he and his wife are coming to dine, and stop -all night at the vicarage. You may be sure Hilliston will put me through -a thorough cross-examination regarding your absence." - -"Refer him to Mr. Linton," said Tait coolly. "I am writing to that -gentleman, telling him I am unexpectedly called to town on particular -business. What that business is Hilliston will be anxious to know. I -don't think he'll enjoy his evening at all. A guilty conscience mars all -pleasure." - -"When do you leave?" - -"By the 4.20 train this afternoon. I'll write you about my discoveries -as soon as I find out anything worth scribbling about." - -"You'll find nothing," said Claude dolefully; "after five-and-twenty -years." - -"I'll find out who Louisa Sinclair is, and then astonish Hilliston with -the extent of my information. Regarding Paynton, I am not so certain. -That discovery rests between you and Denis Bantry." - -"I'll do my best, but I am doubtful," replied Claude, and so the -conversation terminated for the time being. It left a lasting impression -on the two who took part in it. - -Tait duly took his departure with Dormer, leaving Claude in possession -of the house. As he leaned out of the window of the smoking carriage, he -said a last word to his friend: - -"Don't tell Hilliston about my going to Horriston," he said -significantly; "but if you get a chance inform his wife of the fact." - -"Why?" - -"I'll tell you that when I come back," said Tait, as the train moved -slowly off. "Give her the information, and observe the effect; it will -astonish you." - -But Tait counted without his host; he was ignorant of Mrs. Hilliston's -powers of self-control. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - - AN EVENING AT THE VICARAGE. - - -THE Vicar of Thorston was a severe man, a trifle narrow in his views, -and imperious of temper; but he was also fond of good cheer and -hospitality--virtues which cover a multitude of sins. Those who sat at -his table were sure of a capital dinner and an excellent glass of wine; -for his cook and cellar were both undeniable. Report said that Mr. -Linton was afraid of his cook, for that good lady had a hot temper, and -feared no man. Many were the battles between her and the vicar, but -being a perfect mistress of the culinary art, she invariably came off -victor. She had her faults, but she was a jewel of a cook, and was -valued accordingly. - -On this special evening the vicar had assembled ten people, including -himself, round his hospitable board. Mr. and Mrs. Hilliston were the -principal guests, and Claude was also honored with special attention. An -old couple named Densham, garrulous and pleasant, had likewise been -invited; and they, with their daughter and Jenny Paynton, completed the -party. To Claude was assigned Miss Paynton, while to Frank Linton was -given the Densham damsel, an arrangement which was anything but pleasing -to that jealous young man, or indeed to Miss Densham, who thought the -famous author a grumpy creature. He was too preoccupied to please her -taste. - -Claude thought he had never seen Mrs. Hilliston to such disadvantage. -She appeared ill at ease, and was haggard and pale of face, looking -every year of her age. Even the rich dress and splendid jewels she wore -failed to conceal the ravages of time; and in the neighborhood of the -fresh beauty of the two girls she seemed an old woman. She felt this -herself, for Claude noted that she threw an envious glance at the -blooming faces of her rivals, and surveyed her wan looks in the nearest -glass with a sigh. To her the party was purgatory. - -Nor did the lawyer appear to enjoy himself. He was moody and fretful, -though every now and then he forced himself to be merry, but his laugh -was hollow, and the careworn expression of his face belied his untimely -mirth. Sometimes he stole a furtive look at Claude, and seemed to brood -over the young man's changed manner; for, do what he could, Larcher, -deeming his old friend an enemy, could not behave with his former -cordiality. He was ill-suited for a diplomat. - -The dinner passed off with moderate success. Frank was complimented on -his book, and the prosy couple had to be told the main points of the -story. This brief recital made at least three people uncomfortable; for -Claude raised his eyes to encounter an angry glance from Hilliston, and -a deprecating one from Jenny. They were relieved when the vicar, who by -no means approved of such attention being bestowed on a trashy novel, -even though his son was the author, turned the conversation into another -channel. Mr. Linton liked to lead the conversation at his own table. - -"I wish to speak to you particularly, Claude," whispered Mrs. Hilliston, -as he held the door open for the ladies to retire; "do not be long over -your wine." - -"I will come as soon as I can," he replied, and returned to his seat, -wondering what she could have to say to him. He was not left long in -doubt, for Mr. Hilliston entered into conversation as soon as the -glasses were filled and the cigars lighted. This was the moment for -which he had longed for the whole evening. - -"Why isn't your friend Tait here to-night?" he asked, in a casual tone, -feigning a lightness he did not feel. - -"Did not Mr. Linton tell you?" replied Claude, prepared for this query. -"He had to go to town on business." - -"On business," murmured Hilliston uneasily; "anything to do with this -case you have taken up?" - -"I can't say. Tait did not particularly state his errand." - -The lawyer sipped his wine, looked thoughtfully at the end of the cigar, -and pondered for a few minutes. He wished to speak of Claude's changed -behavior toward himself, yet did not know how to begin. At length he -bluntly blurted out a question, straightforward and to the point. This -was undiplomatic, but at times human nature is too strong for training. - -"We are not such good friends as of yore, Claude. How is that?" - -"I think you can guess the reason," replied Larcher, not ill pleased to -fight out the point, for he hated being forced into doubtful civility. -"It is this case which has come between us. I do not think you are -giving me what help you ought to, Mr. Hilliston." - -"I can give you no help," said the lawyer, drawing his heavy brows -together. "You know as much as I do. No doubt your meddlesome friend -knows more." - -"It is not improbable. But you can prove your honesty in the matter by -doing me a favor." - -"My honesty, sir, has never been called into question yet," said -Hilliston, injudiciously losing his temper, always a prelude to defeat. -"And I have no call to defend myself to one to whom I have been a -father. Still I am willing to grant you what you wish, in reason." - -"Very good! Then introduce me to Mr. Paynton." - -"I'm afraid that is out of my power," replied Hilliston, shaking his -head. "You know the man's ways, I think. He is a hermit, a misanthrope, -and does not care for company. Why do you wish to know him?" - -"For various reasons," answered Larcher, coloring with some -embarrassment. He was by no means willing to take Mr. Hilliston into his -confidence. - -His old guardian looked at him shrewdly, and, remembering certain small -circumstances connected with Jenny, guessed, with the skill of an -experienced character reader, how the land lay. At once he formed a -resolution to further Claude's interests in the matter, hoping, and not -unjustly, that should the lad be taken in the toils of love, he might -stop further investigation of the case, an end which Hilliston much -desired to gain. - -"Oh!" said he not unkindly, "sits the wind in that quarter? Well, I will -aid you. In a few days I will try and induce Mr. Paynton to see you, and -then perhaps you may succeed." - -"Succeed in what?" demanded Claude sharply, hardly relishing this -perspicuity. - -"Why, in this love-suit of yours. Aye, aye, Claude, I can see what you -aim at, old as I am. Well, she is a pretty girl, clever and worthy. I -know of no woman who would make you a better wife. You have my best -wishes for your success." - -"And you will introduce me to her father?" - -"I'll try to, but I won't promise confidently. Paynton is a strange -creature and may refuse to see you. By the way," added Hilliston, as -though struck with a sudden thought, "what was my wife saying to you at -the door?" - -"She was requesting me to speak to her in the drawing room. There is -nothing wrong, I hope? She does not look well." - -"Oh, nothing wrong, nothing wrong!" replied Hilliston easily, rising to -his feet as the vicar moved toward the door. "She is fond of you, my -dear boy, and is anxious about the case." - -"Anxious about the case," thought Larcher, as he followed his host into -the drawing room; "that is strange. She can have no interest in it. H'm! -I'll try the effect of Tait's destination on her. He said I would be -astonished at the result. I am beginning to be so already." - -Perhaps Jenny had overheard the whisper in the dining room, and was -sufficiently taken with Larcher to be jealous of his attentions to Mrs. -Hilliston, old though she deemed her, for, before he could cross over to -where the lawyer's wife was seated, Jenny beckoned to him with her -imperious finger. He could do nothing but obey, despite the frown which -darkened Mrs. Hilliston's face, as she saw, and, with womanly instinct, -guessed the maneuver. - -"Come and sit down here," whispered Jenny, under cover of the music, for -Miss Densham was at the piano. "I have not seen you for several days." - -"That is not my fault," said Claude, delighted at the interest thus -displayed; "you stay so much indoors. I have been looking for you -everywhere." - -"Have you, indeed, Mr. Larcher?" said Jenny, with feigned surprise. "And -why, may I ask?" - -"Oh, for no particular purpose, unless, indeed, it was to ask you for -further information concerning the novel." - -"Hush. Not a word of that. I can't speak of it to you. I know who you -are, Mr. Larcher, but I am ignorant of the tragedy save what I told to -Frank, and later on to Mr. Tait." - -"But you can guess----" - -"I can guess nothing," interrupted the girl imperiously. "If you and I -are to remain friends you must cease talking on that subject." - -"I'll do anything to remain friends with you, Miss Paynton," was the -significant reply. - -"Then talk of anything save that terrible case. Oh, how I wish I had -left it alone!" - -"I'm glad you did not," said Claude bluntly. "If it had not been for -that book----" - -Before he could finish the sentence Jenny shot an indignant look at him, -and deliberately rising from her seat crossed the room to where Frank -Linton was frowning and tugging at his mustache. Claude was vexed at his -folly in thus drawing down her anger on him, but accepted his beating -like a man, and passed over to where Mrs. Hilliston waited with an -expectant face. She remarked on his tardy coming with some bitterness. - -"I see you prefer a younger face to mine," she said, drawing herself up. -"Time was when I had no rival to fear." - -"Dear Mrs. Hilliston, I could not disobey a lady. Besides--besides----" - -"Besides you are in love with her. Oh, I can see that! Well, she is a -pretty girl. So you intend to marry her?" - -"It is early yet to talk of marriage. I don't even know if she likes -me." - -Mrs. Hilliston laughed, and looked at him smilingly. "Then you must be -very ignorant of the way of women, my dear," she said meaningly. "A word -in your ear, Claude. That girl loves you." - -"In two weeks! Impossible!" - -"I've known love to grow in two days," replied Mrs. Hilliston dryly. -"Oh, yes, she loves you, and you love her, so you can marry as soon as -you choose." - -"First I must get Mr. Paynton's consent." - -"I should not think that would be difficult," said the lady, looking at -his eager face. "You are young, not ill-looking, not badly off, and so I -should not think Mr. Paynton would desire anything better for his -daughter. So much for the first obstacle, and the second?" - -"I must solve the mystery of my father's death." - -Mrs. Hilliston's manner changed on the instant, and from being gay she -became severe and anxious-looking. Indeed, Claude thought that she paled -under her rouge; but this might have been fancy. - -"It is about that I wish to speak to you," she said hurriedly. "I want -you to stop investigating this case. You will learn nothing; it would be -of no use to anyone if you did solve the mystery. Stop troubling -yourself with slander, Claude." - -"Why?" he asked, astonished at her earnest tone. - -"Because your conduct vexes my husband. He has been a father to you in -the place of the one you lost, so you ought to consider him a little. -Pray leave that mystery unsolved." - -"If I would, Tait would not. He is now even more eager than I to find -out the truth." - -"Horrid little man!" said the lady viciously. "Where is he now?" - -The time had now come to try the effect of Tait's destination, and -fixing his eyes on Mrs. Hilliston as she slowly fanned herself, Claude -uttered the fatal words. - -"He is at Horriston." - -The fan stopped, Mrs. Hilliston paled, but, preserving her self-control -with a strong effort, replied quietly: - -"At Horriston. And why?" - -"To find out a person not mentioned in the case." - -"Man or woman?" asked Mrs. Hilliston in a low voice. - -"Woman." - -She said no more, but turned away her head to reply to her husband, who -came up opportunely. He also had heard the last few words of the -conversation, and, ignoring the presence of Claude, husband and wife -looked at one another with pale faces. - -The shot had struck home, and Larcher saw that it had. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII. - - THE DISCOVERIES OF SPENSER TAIT. - - -HORRISTON might fitly be compared to Jonah's gourd; it sprang up in a -night, so to speak, and withered in the space of a day. In the earlier -part of the Victorian era a celebrated doctor recommended its mineral -springs, and invalids flocked to be cured at this new pool of Bethesda. -Whether the cures were not genuine, or insufficiently rapid to please -the sick folk, it is hard to say, but after fifteen or twenty years of -prosperity the crowd of fashionable valetudinarians ceased to occupy the -commodious lodging houses and hotels in Horriston. Other places sprang -up with greater attractions and more certain cures, so the erstwhile -fashionable town relapsed into its provincial dullness. No one lived -there but a few retired army men, and no one came save a stray neurotic -person in search of absolute quiet. Few failed to get that at Horriston, -which was now as sleepy a place as could be found in all England. Even -Thorston was more in touch with the nineteenth century than this -deserted town. - -As Tait drove through the streets on his way to the principal hotel, he -could not help noticing the dreary look of the chief thoroughfare. Many -of the shops were closed, some were unoccupied, and those still open -displayed wares grimy and flyblown. The shopkeepers came to their doors -in a dazed fashion to look at the new visitor in the single fly which -plied between station and hotel, thereby showing that the event was one -of rare occurrence. There were no vehicles in the street itself save a -lumbering cart containing market produce, and the doctor's trap which -stood at the doctor's door. A few people sauntered along the pavement in -a listless fashion, and the whole aspect of the place was one of decay -and desertion. But for the presence of shopkeepers and pedestrians, few -though they were, Tait could almost have imagined himself in some -deserted mining township on the Californian coast. - -The principal hotel faced one side of a melancholy square, and was -called "The Royal Victoria," out of compliment to the reigning monarch. -It was a large barrack, with staring windows, and a flight of white -steps leading up to a deserted hall. No busy waiters, no genial landlord -or buxom barmaid, not even the sound of cheerful voices. Cats slept on -the steps and fowls clucked in the square, while a melancholy waiter, -peering out of the window, put the finishing touch to the lamentable -dreariness of the scene. The sign "Royal Victoria" should have been -removed out of very shame, and the word "Ichabod" written up in its -place. The landlord was lacking in humor to let things remain as they -were. - -However, Tait, being hungry and dusty and tired, consoled himself with -the reflection that it was at all events an hotel, and speedily found -himself the sole occupant of the dining room, attended to by the -melancholy waiter. The viands provided were by no means bad, and the -wine was undeniably good; and small wonder, seeing it had been in the -cellars for a quarter of a century for want of someone to drink it. This -fact was confided to Tait by his sad Ganymede. - -"We used to see a sight of company here," said this elderly person when -he appeared with the claret, "but, bless you, it's like Babylon the -fallen now, sir. You're the first gentleman as I have seen here for a -week." - -"Shouldn't think it would pay to keep the hotel open." - -"It don't, sir," replied the waiter with conviction, "but master is well -off--made his money in the days when Horriston was Horriston, and keeps -this place as a sort of hobby. We have a club here in the evenings, sir, -and that makes things a bit lively." - -"Have you been here long?" asked Tait, noticing how gray and wrinkled -was this despondent servitor. - -"Over thirty years, sir," responded Ganymede, with a sigh as though the -memory was too much for him; "man and boy I've been here thirty years." - -"I'm glad of that. You're the man I want. Got a good memory?" - -"Pretty good, sir. Not that there's much to remember," and he sighed -again. - -"H'm. Have you any recollection of a murder which took place at The -Laurels twenty-five years ago?" - -"That I have, sir," said the waiter, with faint animation, "it was the -talk of the country. Captain Larcher, wasn't it, sir, and his wife, a -sweetly pretty woman? She was accused of the murder, I think; but she -didn't do it. No, nor Mr. Jeringham either, though some people think he -did, 'cause he cleared out. And small blame to him when they were after -him like roaring lions." - -"Do you remember Jeringham?" - -"I should think so, sir. Why he stopped in this very hotel, he did. As -kind and affable a gentleman as I ever met, sir. He kill Captain -Larcher? Not he! no more than did the wife, poor thing! Now I have my -own opinion," said this wise person significantly, "but I didn't take to -it for five years after the murder. As you might say twenty years ago, -sir." - -"Who do you think committed the crime, then?" asked Tait, rather -impressed by the man's manner. - -The waiter looked around, with the enjoyable air of a man about to -impart a piece of startling information, and bent across the table to -communicate it to Tait. "Denis Bantry was the man, sir," he said -solemnly; "Captain Larcher's valet." - -"Nonsense! What makes you think that?" - -"I don't think it, sir. I know it. If you don't believe me, go to The -Laurels and ask the old gardener, Dick Pental. He saw it," finished the -waiter, in a tragic whisper. - -"Saw what? The murder?" said Tait, with a startled look. - -"Yes, sir. He saw the murder. I heard it all from him, I did; I forget -the exact story he told me. But Denis Bantry should have been hanged, -sir. Oh, there isn't the least doubt about it, sir." - -"But if this Dick Pental saw the crime committed, why didn't he come -forward and tell about it?" - -"Well, sir, it was this way," said Ganymede, dusting the table with his -napkin, "Dick aint all there. Not to be too delicate, sir, Dick's mad. -He was always a softy from a boy, not that he's old now, sir. -Forty-five, I believe, and he was twenty years of age when he was in -Captain Larcher's service." - -"And is he at The Laurels still?" - -"Why, yes, sir. You see, after the murder, no one would take the house. -They thought it haunted maybe, so Dick was put in as caretaker. He -looked after it for twenty years, and then it was taken by a gentleman -who didn't care for murders or ghosts. He's there now, sir, and so is -Dick, who still looks after the garden." - -"But why didn't Dick relate what he saw?" - -"Because of his softness, sir," said the waiter deliberately. "You see -Dick had been put into a lunatic asylum, he had, just before he came of -age. Captain Larcher--a kind gentleman, sir--took him out, and made him -gardener at The Laurels, so when Dick saw the murder done, he was afraid -to speak, in case he should be locked up again. No head, you see, sir. -So he held his tongue, he did, and only told me five years after the -murder. Then it was too late, for all those who were at The Laurels on -that night had disappeared. You don't happen to know where Denis Bantry -is, sir, do you? For he ought to hang, sir; indeed he ought." - -Tait did not think it wise to take this bloodthirsty waiter into his -confidence, but rewarded him with half a sovereign for his information, -and retired to bed to think the matter over. He was startled by this new -discovery, which seemed to indicate Denis Bantry, alias Kerry, as the -assassin, and wondered if he had been wrong all through in suspecting -Hilliston. Yet if Kerry had committed the crime, Tait saw no reason why -Hilliston should protect him, as he was evidently doing. Assuming that -the waiter had spoken correctly, the only ground on which Tait could -explain Hilliston's conduct was that Mrs. Larcher was implicated with -the old servant in the murder. If Kerry were arrested he might confess -sufficient to entangle Mrs. Larcher; and as Hilliston loved the woman, a -fact of which Tait was certain, he would not like to run so great a risk -to her liberty. But this reasoning was upset by the remembrance that -Mrs. Larcher had already been tried and acquitted of the crime; and as -according to law she could not be tried twice on the same charge, she -was safe in any case. Tait was bewildered by his own thoughts. The -kaleidoscope had shifted again; the combinations were different, but the -component parts were the same; and argue as he might there seemed no -solution of the mystery. Mrs. Larcher, Denis Bantry, his sister, -Hilliston, and Mark Jeringham; who had killed the unfortunate husband? -Tait could find no answer to this perplexing question. - -In the morning he walked to The Laurels, which he had no difficulty in -finding, owing to the explicit directions of his friend the waiter. It -was a pretty, low-roofed house on a slight rise near the river, and -built somewhat after the fashion of a bungalow. The gardens sloped to -the river bank on one side, and on the other were sheltered from inland -winds by a belt of sycamore trees; in front a light iron railing divided -them from the road, which ran past the house on its way to the ferry. -The gardens were some three acres in extent, very pretty and -picturesque, showing at every turn that whatever might be the mental -state of Dick Pental, he was thorough master of his business. Tait came -into contact with him in a short space of time through the medium of the -housekeeper. - -This individual was a sour old maid, who informed him with some acerbity -that Mr. Deemer, the present occupant of The Laurels, was away from -home, and without his permission she could not show him the house. -Perhaps she suspected Tait's errand, for she looked suspiciously at him, -and resolutely refused to let him cross the threshold. However, as a -concession she said he could inspect the grounds, which were well worth -seeing; and called Dick Pental to show him round. As Tait had really no -great desire to see the interior of the house, where he would learn -nothing likely to be of service, and a great desire to speak alone with -the mad gardener, he thankfully accepted the offer, and was then thrown -into the company of the very man whom he most desired to see. - -Dick Pental was a slender, bright-eyed man, with a dreamy-looking face; -alert in his movements, and restless with his hands and feet. He did not -seem unintelligent; but the germs of madness were plainly discernible, -and Tait guessed that only his constant life in the open air kept him -from returning to the asylum whence he had been taken by Captain -Larcher. With justifiable pride this queer creature showed Tait over the -grounds, but never by word or deed did he hint at the story which he had -told the waiter. Still hopeful, Tait led the conversation on that -direction, and finally succeeded in touching the spring in the man's -brain which made him relate the whole matter. The opportunity occurred -when the two men were standing on a slight rise overlooking the river. -Here Tait made a remark concerning the view. - -"What a peaceful scene," he said, waving his stick toward the prospect. -"Corn lands, farmhouses, the square-towered church, and the ferry -crossing the placid river. I can imagine nothing more homely, or so -charged with pleasant memories. Here all is peace and quiet, no trouble, -no danger, no crimes." - -Dick thoughtfully rubbed the half crown given him by Tait, and looked -dreamily at river and sky and opposite shore. To his abnormally active -brain the scene looked different to what it did to this stranger; and he -could not forbear alluding to the fact. Moreover, the gentleman had -given him money, and Dick was greedy, so in the expectation of -extracting another coin, he hinted that he could tell a startling story -about this very place. - -"Aint you fond of murders, sir?" he asked abruptly, turning his bright -eyes on Tait. - -"No, I don't think I am," replied the other, delighted to think he had -succeeded in rousing the man's dormant intelligence. "Why do you ask? -Murder is an ugly word, and can have nothing to do with so peaceful a -scene as this." - -"That's all you know, sir," said Dick eagerly. "Why, I could tell you of -a murder as I seed myself in this very spot where we are now--or only a -few yards from it, sir." - -Tait glanced at his watch with an affectation of hurry, and shook his -head. "I am afraid I can't wait," he said artfully. "I must return to -Horriston in a few minutes." - -"It won't take longer nor that to tell. Why, I've told it in ten -minutes, I have. It's freezer to the blood. A murder at night, too," -added Dick, in an agony lest Tait should go away, "with a lantern and a -corpse--just like you read in novels." - -"Hm!" observed Tait skeptically, not yet being sure of the man. "Is it -true?" - -"True as gospel, sir. I wouldn't tell a lie, I wouldn't. I've been -brought up Methody, you know, sir, and scorn a falsehood as a snare of -the Old 'Un. You make it worth Dicky's while, sir, and he'll give you -goose flesh. Oh, that he will." - -"Very good," said Tait, throwing himself on the sward. "I don't mind -hearing the legend of this place. If it is as good as you say I'll give -you half a sovereign." - -"In gold?" asked Dick, with a grasping eagerness. - -"In bright gold. See! here is the half sovereign. You tell the story and -it is yours. Now, then, what is it all about?" - -Dick Pental sat down beside Tait, but at some distance away, and -chuckled as he rubbed his hands. He had a chance of making -twelve-and-sixpence that morning, and was overjoyed at his good fortune. -Resolved to begin with a startling remark, he glanced down to see that -they were alone, and then brought it out. - -"I could hang a man, I could," he said cheerfully. "I could hang him -till he was a deader." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII. - - THE STORY OF THE MAD GARDENER. - - -HAVING made this startling announcement, Dick Pental drew back to -observe the effect on his hearer. Humoring the man's vanity, Tait -expressed due surprise, and requested him to narrate the circumstance to -which he referred. - -"It is about twenty-five years ago, it is," said Dick, commencing his -tale in a great hurry; "and I was the gardener here to Captain Larcher. -You don't know him, sir; it aint to be expected as you should. He was a -grown gentleman before you were, and a kind 'un he was; took me out of -the asylum, he did. They said I was mad, you know, and put me into a -strait waistcoat; but I wasn't a bit wrong in my head, sir, not I. -Captain Larcher he saw that, so he took me out and made me his gardener. -And aint I done a lot for the place? just you look round and see." - -"Your work is admirable, Dick." - -"It is that," replied the man with _naïve_ vanity, "and you aint the -first as has said that, sir. Oh, I'm fond of the garden, I am; flowers -are much nicer company than human beings, I think. Not so cross with -Dicky, you know, sir." - -"No doubt," said Tait, seeing that the creature was following the -wanderings of his poor wits. "But about this murder you----" - -"I didn't know anything was wrong," interrupted the gardener earnestly; -"I'd have kept out of the way if I'd known that; but I came here one -night when I shouldn't have been here." - -"How was that?" - -"Hot rum and water," confessed Dick, with great simplicity. "I drank -it--too much of it, and it went to my head. It isn't a strong head, so I -came here to sleep it clear again. That was about twelve o'clock as near -as I can tell, but, Lord bless you, my head made no account of time, -when the hot rum and water was in it. I woke up and I was frightened -finding myself in the dark,--I hate the dark, don't you, sir?--so I -finished some rum that I had with me and went to sleep again. Then I -woke up sudden, I did, and I saw it." - -"The murder being committed?" - -"No, not quite that! But I saw a man lying on the ground just over -there, and he didn't move a bit. Another man was holding him in his -arms, and Denis Bantry was standing by with a lantern." - -"Who was the other man?" - -"It was a gentleman called Mr. Jeringham. Oh, yes! My head was queer, -but I knew him by his clothes, I did. I was at the grand ball of the -gentry, you know; it was there I got drunk--and I saw Mr. Jeringham -there in black clothes with gold trimmings. He had them on when he bent -over Captain Larcher." - -"How did you know the man on the ground was Captain Larcher?" - -"I didn't, then," confessed Dick ingenuously; "but when I heard as they -found him in the river, I knew it was him, I did. I saw them drop him -in!" - -"Denis Bantry and Mr. Jeringham?" exclaimed Tait, astonished at the -minuteness of these details. - -"Yes. They talked together for a bit, but my head was so queer that I -couldn't make out what they said. But they picked up Captain Larcher, -one at the head and the other at the heels, and they dropped him -in--Splash! he went, he did. I was behind a tree and they couldn't see -me. Ugh!" said the man, with a shiver, "how I did feel afraid when he -went splash into the cold water. Then I went away and held my tongue." - -"Why did you do that? It was your duty to have come forward and told the -truth." - -Dick Pental put on a cunning look, and shook his head. "Not me, sir," he -said artfully. "They'd have said my head was queer and put me in an -asylum again. No, no, Dicky was too clever for them, he was." - -"But you say it was Denis Bantry who killed Captain Larcher," said Tait, -after a moment's reflection. "How do you know that, when you did not see -the blow struck? It might have been Mr. Jeringham." - -Looking lovingly at the piece of gold which was now in his possession, -Dick shook his head with great vigor. - -"It wasn't Mr. Jeringham," he protested. "He was a good, kind gentleman. -He gave Dicky half a crown the day before. He was fond of Captain -Larcher's wife, so he couldn't have killed Captain Larcher." - -Against this insane reasoning Tait had nothing to urge, as Dicky was -evidently convinced that Denis Bantry was guilty, to the exclusion of -Jeringham. Had the former given him money instead of the latter he would -doubtless have accused Jeringham and sworn to the innocence of Denis. -The man's brain was too weak to be depended upon; but Tait recognized -that the report he gave of the occurrence of that fatal night was true -and faithful in all respects. Dicky was not sufficiently imaginative to -invent such a story. - -Satisfied from the importance of the knowledge he had gained that his -time had not been wasted, Tait wished to be alone to think out the -matter. There was some difficulty in getting rid of Dicky, who was still -greedily expectant of further tips, but in the end he induced the man to -return to his work, and set out for Horriston at a brisk walk. He always -thought better when exercising his limbs, and before he reached the town -he had arrived at several conclusions respecting the case as seen under -the new light thrown on it by the gardener. - -For one thing, he concluded that Paynton was Jeringham. The reason for -Denis being in his service had been explained by Dick Pental, as the two -men were bound together by a common bond of guilt. Tait was inclined to -think that Jeringham was innocent, for if he had killed Larcher there -would have been no need for Denis to have screened him. On the other -hand, circumstantial evidence was so strong against Jeringham that, if -Denis had struck the blow, he would be forced to acquiesce in the -silence of the real criminal--to become, as it were, an accessory to the -crime. Denis could have sworn that Jeringham was guilty, and so placed -him in danger of his life. Thus the two men had a hold on one another; -Jeringham because circumstances were against him, Denis because he had -killed Larcher. The motive for the crime was not difficult to discover -after the story told by Mrs. Bezel. Bantry had killed his master as the -destroyer of his sister's honor. Under the names of Paynton and Kerry -the two men were dwelling together at Thorston in loathed companionship, -each afraid to let the other out of his sight. Tait could imagine no -more terrible punishment than that enforced comradeship. It reminded him -of a similar situation in a novel of Zola's, where husband and wife were -equally culpable, equally afraid, and filled with equal hatred the one -toward the other. - -Still this conclusion, supported as it was by facts, did not explain the -attitude of Hilliston. Assuming the guilt of Denis Bantry, the -complicity of Jeringham, there appeared to be no reason why Hilliston -should protect them at Thorston, and throw obstacles in the way of the -truth's discovery. Tait was completely nonplussed and could think of no -explanation. And then he remembered Mrs. Bezel's letter, and the mention -of Louisa Sinclair. Hilliston, according to Mrs. Bezel, knew this woman, -and she knew who had committed the crime. But how could she know unless -she had been concealed, like Dick Pental, in the garden on that night? -Tait was quite certain that Denis Bantry was guilty, but the hint of -Mrs. Bezel threatened to disturb this view; and yet what better evidence -was obtainable than that of an eye-witness. Still Tait remembered that -Dicky confessed he had not seen the blow struck. What if Louisa Sinclair -had? That was the question he asked himself. - -Under the circumstances it was necessary to find out who this woman was. -Tait did not judge it wise to ask Hilliston, for the simple reason that -the lawyer would not admit the truth. There was no obvious reason why he -should not, but Tait had sufficient experience of Hilliston's trickery -and evasion in the past to know that his admissions were untrustworthy. -There only remained for him to search for Louisa Sinclair in Horriston, -question her if she were alive, or learn all that he could if she were -dead. - -And now occurred a coincidence which unwittingly put Tait on the right -track. When within half a mile of Horriston he met a clergyman swinging -along at a good pace, and in him recognized a former college companion. -The recognition and the delight were mutual. - -"My dear Brandon, this is indeed a surprise!" exclaimed Tait, holding -out his hand. "I had no idea that you were in these parts." - -"I have only been vicar here for a year," answered Brandon cordially; -"but what are you doing at Horriston, my friend?" - -"Oh, I have come down partly on business and partly on pleasure." - -"Then dismiss business for the moment, and come to luncheon with me. I -am just going to my house. Where are you staying?" - -"At the Royal Victoria." - -"A dismal place. You must come frequently to see us while you stay here, -and we will do what we can to cheer you up. Mrs. Brandon will be -delighted to see you." - -"Oh! So you are married?" - -"For the last five years. Two children. Well, I am glad to see you -again. Do you stay here long?" - -"A few days only," replied Tait carelessly; "but it entirely depends on -my business." - -"Anything important?" - -"Yes and no. By the way, you may be able to help me, Brandon. Do you -know anyone in this parish called Miss Louisa Sinclair?" - -The vicar reflected for a few moments, and shook his head. "No, I never -heard the name. She must have been here before my time. Have you any -reason for wanting to see her?" - -"Naturally, or I should not have asked," said Tait, with faint sarcasm. -"However, I must make a confidant of you, as I wish for your advice and -assistance." - -"I shall be delighted to give both," said his friend briskly. "But here -we are at my house, and there is my wife in the porch. My dear, this is -an old college friend of mine, Spenser Tait. We must make him welcome, -for the days that have been." - -Mrs. Brandon, a comfortable, rosy-cheeked matron, with two tiny Brandons -clinging to her skirts, heartily welcomed Tait, and led the way to the -dining room. Here an extra knife and fork were hastily produced for the -guest, and they all sat down to luncheon in the best of spirits. For the -moment Tait banished all thought of the case from his mind, and laid -himself out to be agreeable to the vicar's wife. In this he succeeded, -as she subsequently pronounced him to be a singularly charming man; -while he pronounced her to be one of the most intelligent women it had -been his fortune to meet. - -After luncheon Brandon conducted Tait to his study, and there, over an -excellent cigar, the little man related the story of the Larcher affair -from the time that Claude became possessed of the papers. Needless to -say the clergyman was much astonished by the recital, and agreed with -Tait that it was difficult to know which way to turn in the present -dilemma. He thought that Denis was guilty and Jeringham an accomplice by -force of circumstances; but doubted whether the existence of Louisa -Sinclair might not altogether alter the complexion of the case. - -"Of course, the difficulty will be to find Louisa Sinclair," he said -thoughtfully; "five-and-twenty years is a long time to go back to. She -may be dead." - -"So she may," rejoined Tait a trifle tartly; "on the other hand she may -be alive. I found that waiter and that gardener who were at Horriston -then. Both remember the case, so it is probable that I shall find this -woman, or at least gain sufficient information to trace her -whereabouts." - -"I cannot recall her name, Tait. She has not been here in my time. -Fortunately I can help you in this much; that an old parishioner of mine -is calling to-day, and, as she has lived here for the last forty years -and more, it is likely she will remember if such a person dwelt here." - -"Who is this old lady?" - -"My dear fellow, you must not call her an old lady. It is true she is -over forty, but--well she is always young and charming in her own eyes. -Miss Belinda Pike is her name, and I shouldn't like to come under the -lash of her tongue." - -"Is she such a Tartar?" - -"She is----My dear fellow, you must not ask me to talk scandal about my -parishioners; moreover, I see the lady in question is coming up the -garden path. Once set her tongue going, and you will learn all the -history of Horriston for the last hundred years." - -"I only want to go back twenty-five," rejoined Tait, smiling; and at -that moment Miss Belinda Pike was announced. - -She was a tall, bony female with a hook nose, a false front, and an -artificial smile. Dressed in voluminous raiment, she bore down on -Brandon like a frigate in full sail; and proceeded to talk. All the -time she remained in the study she talked, of herself, of parish work, -of Dorcas meetings, of scandals new and old; and so astonished Tait by -the extent of her petty information and the volubility of her tongue -that he could only stare and wonder. Introduced to him she was -graciously pleased to observe that she had heard of him and his -inquiries. - -"The waiter, you know, Mr. Tait," she said, smiling at his astonishment. - "Sugden is his name; he told me all about you. Now, why do you wish to -learn all about that Larcher crime?" - -"For amusement merely," replied Tait, rather scandalizing the vicar by -this answer. "The waiter began to speak of it, and I encouraged him; -later on I heard the story from a gardener." - -"From Dicky Pental," interrupted Miss Pike vivaciously. "Oh, he can -tell you nothing--he is mad!" - -"Mad or not, he told me a great deal." - -"All false, no doubt. My dear Mr. Tait," continued the lady -impressively, "only one person can tell you the truth of that case. -Myself!" - -"Or Louisa Sinclair." - -"Louisa Sinclair! What do you know about her?" - -"Nothing, save her name," replied Tait; "but I want to know more. Can -you give me the required information?" - -"Yes. Come and have afternoon tea with me to-day, and I'll tell you all. - Oh, yes," said Miss Pike, with a self-satisfied nod, "I know who killed -Captain Larcher." - -"Jeringham--Denis, the valet--Hilliston?" - -"No. Those three people are innocent. I can swear to it. I know it." - -"Then who is guilty?" - -"Why," said Miss Pike quietly, "Mrs. Larcher's maid--Mona Bantry." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV. - - A LETTER FROM HORRISTON. - - -"MY DEAR CLAUDE: - -"In my last letter I informed you of my various discoveries with regard -to the case. I deem myself singularly fortunate in finding those who -could afford me the necessary information. Five-and-twenty years is a -wide gap of time, and, to tell the honest truth, I scarcely expected to -be successful in my mission. Death, absence, old age, might have put an -end to all who knew about the case, but, as you are already advised, I -unexpectedly met with three people who gave me three different versions -of the murder from their various points of view. First, the waiter -Sugden, who merely reflected the opinion of Dick Pental; second, the -gardener himself, with his first-hand story; and third, Miss Belinda -Pike, whose ideas are quite at variance with the other two. - -"I mentioned to you that I had met Miss Pike at my friend Brandon's, and -that she had invited me to visit her the next day to hear her story of -the case. Of course, I went, and found the lady an excellent character -for my purpose. She has a truly wonderful memory for the small beer of -life. She is a born gossip, and is one of the most spiteful women it has -ever been my fortune to meet. Her invitation was more to satisfy her own -vanity and curiosity than because she wished to do me a service; but if -she is gratified in the one she is balked in the other. With some -difficulty--for she is a most persistent creature--I managed to evade -her inquiries as to my reason for wishing to know about 'The Larcher -Affair'; and extracted from her all information likely to be of service -to us in discovering the truth. What she told me leaves me more in the -dark than ever; and I shall doubtless return to Thorston no whit nearer -the truth than I was when I set out. - -"But before narrating her story, as imparted to me in strict secrecy, -you must not be offended if certain reflections are cast by this -busybody on your mother. To get at the truth of this complication you -must view it from a disinterested standpoint and throw aside all -prejudice. I do not for a moment believe that Mrs. Larcher intended to -willfully deceive her husband, as is implied by Miss Pike, but I must -confess I think her conduct was highly reprehensible. Still I pass no -judgment, as it is not my place to do so; and you must clearly -understand that the remarks herein contained about her are those of Miss -Pike. You can guess from their tenor what a very spiteful old lady she -is. I promised to report my doings and hearings faithfully to you, and I -hereby keep my promise, and at the cost of your losing your temper. - -"The cause of Miss Pike's malignity is jealousy--a passion which is as -active now with her as it was twenty-five years ago. Then the fair -Belinda, according to her own account, was the belle of Horriston, and -shared that enviable position with two rivals--the one being your -mother, the other Miss Louisa Sinclair. I fancy I hear you exclaim at -the mention of this name. But Mrs. Bezel is right; such a person does -exist. She was a passably pretty girl,--according to Miss Pike,--and -rather popular,--again Miss Pike,--but cared for no one so much as Mr. -Francis Hilliston, then a handsome young lawyer of great promise and -good family. This is evidently the romance of Hilliston's life, and -accounts for his silence about Louisa Sinclair. He did not wish to speak -of one who had disappeared under somewhat discreditable circumstances; -yet who truly loved him. Whether he returned her love I cannot say. -Suspend your judgment till you hear the story of this maiden lady. Of -course, it is quite different to that of Dick Pental, and, I think, less -easy to believe. The gardener spoke of what he saw; Miss Pike speaks of -what she thinks. Judge for yourself which is right. - -"As I have said, Miss Pike was a belle in her younger days. She was also -well off, and could have made a good match. Unfortunately, she was in -love with Hilliston; I say unfortunately, because he happened to be in -love with Mrs. Larcher. I again apologize for putting the matter so -plainly, but Miss Pike insisted that it was so. In those days Hilliston -must have been a handsome and fascinating man, for Louisa Sinclair also -loved him--with a like result. He had no eyes for these two damsels, but -quietly devoted himself to Mrs. Larcher. I do not mean to say that he -roused the suspicions of your father, for his devotion was perfectly -respectful. The desire of the moth for the star, I may say--for -Hilliston knew well enough that he had no chances in that quarter for -two reasons. First, Mrs. Larcher was a married woman; second, she was in -love with Jeringham. - -"At the time of that notable dress ball matters stood thus: - -"Miss Belinda Pike in love with Hilliston. - -"Miss Louisa Sinclair in love with Hilliston. - -"Hilliston in love with Mrs. Larcher. - -"Mrs. Larcher in love with Jeringham. - -"Can you imagine anything more complicated; and to make confusion still -worse, Miss Pike solemnly asserted that Jeringham was not in love with -Mrs. Larcher, but with her maid, Mona Bantry. Therefore, all round, each -of these five people was in love with the wrong person. It was a modern -'Comedy of Errors,' with a tragic ending. - -"Miss Pike went to the ball in the character of a flower girl, and there -was astonished to find two Mary, Queen of Scots, and two Darnleys. -During the night she learned that out of jealousy Louisa Sinclair had -adopted the same fancy dress as your mother. She was the second Queen of -Scots, and was attired precisely the same in all respects, save that -Mrs. Larcher wore a small dagger, and Miss Sinclair did not. On making -this discovery Miss Pike naturally thought--as a jealous woman -would--that the second Darnley was Hilliston. She knew that the first -was Jeringham, and did not trouble herself about him, but maneuvered to -get speech with the second. To her astonishment she found out--how I -cannot say--that it was Captain Larcher, who was supposed to be in -London. He confessed that he was jealous of his wife, and had returned -in disguise to learn the truth. Miss Pike was not clear whether he was -suspicious of Jeringham or of Hilliston, and she had no opportunity of -learning the truth as Larcher, seeing his wife leave the ballroom, -followed her at once. The next day Miss Pike was informed of the -disappearance of Jeringham, and later on she learned of the death of -Captain Larcher. - -"Now, you will ask whom she suspected. A woman with so unhappy a temper -would not be long in forming an opinion about a matter connected with a -lady of whom she was jealous. I allude to your mother. Miss Pike had a -theory, and ever since, declining to accept the evidence given at the -trial, has held firmly to it. She suspected Mona Bantry to be guilty. I -give her reason in her own words. - -"'Of course it is only theory,' she said, when I asked her pointblank -who she thought was guilty, 'but my suspicions point to Mrs. Larcher's -maid.' - -"'To Mona Bantry?' I asked, rather astonished. - -"'Yes! She was in love with Mr. Jeringham, and he was at the ball -dressed as Darnley; Captain Larcher wore the same dress. As I told you -he left the ballroom when he saw his wife go out with Mr. Jeringham. I -fancy he followed them home, and caught them as they parted in the -garden of The Laurels. Very likely he ordered Mr. Jeringham off the -premises, and insisted on his wife going into the house. Mona, who was -sitting up for her mistress, would open the door, and seeing by the -dress, as she thought, Mr. Jeringham with Mrs. Larcher, I believe she -lost her head and killed him.' - -"'Killed him; but how?' - -"'With the dagger worn by Mrs. Larcher,' responded Miss Pike -triumphantly. 'She snatched it from the sheath as it hung at the girdle -of Mrs. Larcher, and killed the poor man--thinking he was her lover. -Then, finding out her mistake, she fled. - -"'But so did Jeringham,' I said. - -"'Yes. He also saw the murder, and naturally enough thought he might be -suspected. I think he took Mona away with him on the very night, and -they fled together. As to the body, Denis, the brother, to save his -sister and possibly his mistress from being suspected, threw it into the -river. That is my theory, Mr. Tait, and I believe it to be the true -one.' - -"I need not repeat more of our conversation, as it was merely argument -on both sides, but you now know sufficient to see in what direction Miss -Pike's suspicions are directed. Her story is quite at variance with that -of your mother, who plainly stated that she found Mona in the sitting -room with your father. It is not strange that the two narrations should -be contradictory, for we must remember that Mrs. Larcher spoke from -facts while Miss Pike only speaks from hearsay. - -"Again, from the statement of Dick Pental, it would appear that the -murder took place in the garden; your mother says it was committed in -the sitting room, so here is another contradiction. But you must not -forget that only one person has sworn to the identity of those he saw -with the body. Miss Pike can prove nothing from facts, and only evolves -accusations out of her own malignant nature. Your mother accuses no one, -alleging that she fainted in the sitting room. Therefore, taking all -facts into consideration, I believe the gardener's story to be true, and -that Denis Bantry killed your father; Jeringham, through force of -circumstances, being an accessory to the deed. This view accounts for -the identity of Paynton with Jeringham, of Kerry with Denis--and fully -accounts for their living in seclusion at Thorston. This is my opinion. -Do you think you can give a better? - -"Regarding your mother's hint about Louisa Sinclair, I confess I cannot -understand it. Miss Pike was perfectly frank about that person; and -stated that shortly after the murder she went to America and had not -been heard of for years. Hilliston may know of her whereabouts, but -under the circumstances I do not think he is likely to speak. At all -events we are certain of two things: that Louisa Sinclair did not marry -Hilliston; that she had nothing to do with the tragedy at The Laurels. -Miss Pike intends to show me a portrait of the lady on the occasion of -my next visit. A knowledge of her looks may lead to something; but -honestly speaking I do not see how she can possibly be implicated in the -matter. - -"But I must bring this long letter to a close. I have found out -sufficient at Horriston to justify our suspicions of the _ménage_ at -Rose Cottage, and when I return we must set our wits to work to see -Paynton and Kerry. They must be forced into plain speaking, then we may -solve the mystery of your father's death--not before. Expect me in two -days, and think over what I have written so that we may discuss the -matter thoroughly when we come together. And so no more at present from -your friend, - - "SPENSER TAIT." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV. - - THE ORIGINAL OF THE PORTRAIT. - - -CLAUDE LARCHER was blessed with the best of tempers, and strongly gifted -with self-control. He found these virtues very necessary in his -profession, especially when in command of a body of men in the wilds. -There no trouble ruffled him, no disappointment depressed his spirits; -he was always serene and amiable, so that among his comrades his good -temper had become proverbial. Had they seen him at this moment they -would have found reason to alter their opinion. - -The case wore out his patience; he saw no end to the complications -arising therefrom. No sooner was one obstacle surmounted than another -blocked up the path. But for Tait he would have taken Hilliston's advice -long ago, and let the matter lie; but the little man was bent on solving -this particularly tantalizing mystery, and so urged his friend to -persevere in what seemed to be futile attempts. So far Claude had held -to his resolve, but this last letter of Tait's with its budget of new -complications threw him into a rage. He vowed that he would throw up the -matter as soon as Tait returned. His father was dead, and there was an -end of it; after five-and-twenty years nothing whatever could be -discovered; and above all there was Jenny. - -Claude was too clear-sighted to disguise from himself the fact that he -was in love; and now enlightened by Mrs. Hilliston regarding the -feelings of the young lady, he was doubly anxious to make her his wife. -Before he could do so he had to remove an obstacle in the shape of her -father, and that was no easy matter. Who Mr. Paynton was he did not -know; whether he was implicated in the Larcher affair he could not -guess; but of one thing he was certain: that Mr. Paynton resented his -prosecution of the case. While he continued to investigate the mystery -the recluse would continue inimical, and would therefore refuse to -permit him to pay attentions to his daughter. - -Regarding Linton and his love, Claude had no fears. He had been assured -by Mrs. Hilliston that Jenny liked him best, and taking advantage of the -hint he had thrown himself as frequently as possible into the society of -his beloved. Did Jenny go to the vicarage, Claude was there under the -pretense of questioning the clergyman concerning the architecture of the -church; did she practice on the organ, Claude was always waiting at the -door to carry her music-book to Rose Cottage. A walk in the morning, he -was in the vicinity; a stroll in the evening, and he appeared -unexpectedly round the nearest corner. In driving, riding, walking, -visiting, this persistent young man was constantly to be found near Miss -Jenny Paynton. All this meant infatuation. - -Availing himself of the opportunities thus afforded, he learned her -secret, and betrayed his own. Without a word being said on either -side--with the shadow of the case between them--these two young people -fell in love with one another. When Tait returned two days after his -last letter, he was confronted by Claude with the intimation that he -wished to stop further investigations. Tait, who was devoured by an -unappeasable curiosity to find out the truth, resented this backsliding, -and told Claude his opinion very plainly. But for their long friendship -they would have quarreled over the matter; as it was Tait argued out the -question, and induced Claude to come round to his way of thinking. But -it was a hard task. - -"You are not going to turn back after putting your hand to the plow?" he -said, when Claude first broached the subject of abandoning the case. - -"Why not, if the plow won't move?" returned the young man flippantly. - -"The plow will move," returned Tait vehemently. "You got my last -letter?" - -"I did. But I don't see that it contains anything likely to elucidate -the mystery. Your Dick Pental is a madman; your Miss Pike an -untrustworthy gossip." - -"That is your opinion, not mine. I have made a discovery since writing -my last letter, of which I have not yet had time to inform you." - -"What is it?" - -"I'll tell you later on. Meanwhile is it on account of this girl that -you have decided to abandon the case?" - -"Partly, and partly because I think we are wasting time. Our -investigation can lead to no result." - -"We may find out who killed your father." - -"I doubt that," replied Larcher coolly. "You suspect Hilliston; you -suspect Jeringham; you suspect Mona Bantry. Why, in your last letter you -hinted at the guilt of Denis, simply because a drunken lunatic told you -a wild story; yet, so far as I can see, you have not a morsel of -evidence against any one of the four." - -"You are wrong," said Tait, in an argumentative manner. "The misfortune -is that there is too much evidence against them all. I could furnish you -with a case against each which--so far as circumstantial evidence is -concerned--would convince you of their individual guilt." - -"Theory, Tait, theory!" - -"We'll prove that soon, my boy," said Tait, with exasperating coolness, -"if you back out of the case, I at least am determined to see it -through. I suppose you are bent on marrying the young lady." - -"If she'll have me--yes." - -"Humph! There's another obstacle which you have overlooked. The consent -of her father--our mysterious friend, Paynton." - -"I have not overlooked the obstacle. I will obtain his consent from his -own lips." - -"And how do you intend to see him?" - -"Through the agency of Mr. Hilliston," replied Larcher calmly. "He has -agreed to introduce me to Paynton to-morrow. Here is his letter." - -The little man fairly bounded from his chair, and he took the letter -from his friend's hand with an air of bewilderment. After mastering the -contents he returned it with a satisfied nod. - -"I congratulate you, Claude," he said, with a good-humored air. "Though -you failed with the man, you may succeed with the matter. But how in the -name of Olympian Jove did you induce Hilliston to do this?" - -"Why, he saw that I was in love with Jenny, and for some inexplicable -reason has agreed to forward my suit, by introducing me to plead my -cause with the father." - -"Not so inexplicable as you think," said Tait sagaciously. "I see his -idea. He thinks you will be so occupied with love-making as to abandon -the case." - -"I don't know that he isn't right." - -"Oh, I see you are bent on getting quit of the matter, Claude. But," and -Tait shook a reproving forefinger, "you will change your mind after this -interview with our hermit friend." - -"Why so?" - -"You will learn something which will astonish you. I only wish I could -be present with you to see what occurs." - -"But if I make no reference to the case," said Larcher seriously. - -Tait waxed indignant on the instant, and spoke his mind freely. "Claude, -my friend, I went into this matter solely on your account, and you owe -it to me to see it through. If you find further investigation a bar to -your marriage I will agree to let the matter drop. But first," added -Tait, with emphasis, "you must make an effort to get the truth out of -this man. Swear to him that you are resolved to push the matter to the -end. Tell him that I have learned something new at Horriston. Mention -the name of Louisa Sinclair. Then see the result. After hearing the -story of Dicky Pental I am convinced that this man is Jeringham." - -"I will do all you say," replied Claude, after some hesitation, "but I -am afraid that my pertinacity in this matter will prejudice my wooing." - -"If, at the end of the interview, you see that, withdraw your intention -to go on with the case. Then out of gratitude he may give you his -daughter. Bluff him first--yield afterward. In that way we may discover -who Paynton is--what he has to do with the case, and why he is connected -with Hilliston. Do you agree? Good! Give me your hand on that." - -The two men shook hands, though it was not without a secret qualm that -Claude thus sealed the compact. After a pause he said: - -"And who is this Louisa Sinclair you make such a point of my mentioning -to Paynton?" - -"Ah! That is my discovery," said Tait, rubbing his hands. "When I -interviewed Mrs. Bezel I showed her a portrait of Mrs. Hilliston, whom -curiously enough she had never seen--no doubt Hilliston has his reasons -therefor. She seemed startled, but said nothing. Then she wrote to you -about Louisa Sinclair." - -"But what has Louisa Sinclair to do with Mrs. Hilliston?" - -"Can't you guess? Miss Pike showed me a portrait of Louisa Sinclair -taken twenty-five years ago. I did not then wonder at Mrs. Bezel's -start, or that Hilliston had refrained from letting her see the picture -of his wife. In a word, Louisa Sinclair and Mrs. Hilliston are one and -the same woman." - -"Ah!" cried Claude, with a sudden recollection, "it was for that she was -so afraid of your going to Horriston." - -"Yes. She thought I might learn too much. This is the beginning of the -end, Claude." - -"What! Do you think Mrs. Hilliston knows anything of the case?" - -"According to your mother she knows a good deal. According to Miss Pike -she is in possession of certain facts. Yes, I think Mrs. Hilliston can -help us if she will." - -"But, my dear Tait," said Claude quietly, "Mrs. Hilliston is an -American." - -"Ah! Louisa Sinclair went to America, and probably became a naturalized -subject of the Stars and Stripes." - -"But," objected Larcher, "she was a widow when she married Hilliston." - -"So I believe. A Mrs. Derrick. No doubt she came by all her money -through that first marriage. Oh, I can put the puzzle easily together. -No wonder Hilliston wanted the case dropped, both on his own account and -on that of his wife." - -"What do you mean, Tait? Do you suspect that----" - -"Say no more," said Tait, rising, "I will tell you what I mean after you -have seen Paynton. But then," added he significantly, "I don't think you -will need any explanation." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI. - - A STRANGE THING HAPPENS. - - -THE next morning Claude received a second letter from Hilliston, stating -that as his wife was ill he would be unable to come over to Thorston, -but directing the young man to go to Rose Cottage at noon, when Mr. -Paynton would be ready to receive him. Tait regretted that he had not -been included in the invitation, and carefully instructed Claude how to -act during the interview. - -"I believe Paynton can settle the matter," were his parting words, "so -put love out of your head for the time being, and do your best to -extract the truth." - -Anxious to oblige one who took so much interest in his private affairs, -Larcher promised to do what he could, and shortly after eleven started -for Rose Cottage. As a matter of fact, he need not have gone so soon, -but he did so in the hope of meeting with Jenny. Well acquainted as he -was with her movements, his surmise proved correct, for he met the young -lady at the end of Nightingale Lane. She blushed, and expressed surprise -at the meeting. But such feigning is part of love's comedy. - -"I did not expect to see you here, Mr. Larcher," she said, after the -first greetings had passed between them. "Where are you going?" - -"I am about to call on your father." - -"Really!" said Jenny, with some perplexity and more doubt. "I am afraid -you go on a useless errand. My father sees no one." - -"He will see me," replied Claude quietly. "I come by appointment. Mr. -Hilliston spoke to your father, with the result that he has agreed to -see me." - -"Has your visit anything to do with--with that novel?" - -"It has everything to do with it. I wish to ask Mr. Paynton some -questions in connection with my father's death." - -"But he knows nothing--nothing!" cried Jenny vehemently; "he can tell -you nothing! It is worse than useless for you to speak to him on the -subject. You will only make him ill." - -"But I have to speak to him on another subject," said Claude artfully. - -Jenny looked up inquiringly, remarked the passion in his gaze, and -turned away her face with a blush. Much as she would have liked to, she -found it impossible to appear ignorant of his meaning. - -"It seems to me that I am the person to be first consulted," she said, -with a pout. - -"Jenny, I----" - -"Hush! Here is Kerry. See my father first, and then see me. Till then -good-by." - -She flitted rapidly away, and turned the corner of the lane as Kerry, -more crabbed-looking than ever, came up to where Claude was standing. It -was then that Larcher saw that the old servant was suffering under some -strong emotion. His eyes were brighter than usual, his lips quivered, -and he was so nervous that he could keep neither limbs nor body at rest. -Rightly connecting this agitation with his visit, Claude wisely held his -peace, and waited to hear what Kerry had to say. - -"You'll be after seeing the master, sir," said Kerry, in breathless -anxiety. "He is waiting for you, sir, in the garden." - -"I was just on my way there, Kerry, and stopped to speak for a few -minutes to Miss Jenny. I am very glad that Mr. Paynton has consented to -see me." - -"And you may well be glad, Master Claude." - -"Master Claude!" echoed the young man, stopping short. - -"Oh, blazes! 'twas a slip of the tongue, sir," cried Kerry anxiously. -"Don't notice it, sir. Sure, it's old I am, and my mind wanders." - -"Then you deny that you are Denis Bantry?" - -"Say nothing of that, sir. Let the master speak his own mind to you. -You'll know soon enough who I am, and that's a fact, anyhow." - -"I am convinced in my own mind that you are my father's old servant," -said Larcher, as he resumed his walk, "but who your master is I am not -so clear." - -Kerry shook his head, and pursed up his lips, as though determined to -let no information escape him. They walked along in silence, and it was -only when he unlocked the gate in the red brick wall that Kerry again -opened his mouth. - -"Keep silent, sir, if you love me," he said, in a low tone. "Don't -agitate the master. He'll do the speaking, and tell ye all ye wish to -know. Begad, and more too." - -Larcher nodded, and passed into the garden. The morning was warm and -sunny, and the colors of the flowers were dazzling in the warm glow, -against the white walls of the cottage. With his hands clasped behind -his back, Paynton paced meditatively up and down the path before the -house, but stopped as he caught sight of his visitor. Taking off his hat -in tribute to the venerable looks of the old gentleman, Claude bowed, -and waited to be addressed. For some moments Paynton looked at him in -silence, with much emotion, then controlling himself with some -difficulty held out his hand. - -"I am glad to see you, Mr.--Mr.----" - -"Larcher," suggested Claude, seeing his host at a loss for the name. - -"Larcher!" gasped Paynton, with an effort, "yes--yes! My friend, Mr. -Hilliston, advised me of your coming. Let us enter the house. We will -have more privacy there." - -As Claude knew no one was about in that walled place but Kerry and the -deaf old housekeeper, he wondered what further privacy was necessary; -but considering that Paynton had doubtless good reason for his action, -he bowed silently and followed him within, as requested. - -In a few minutes they were in the bookroom. Paynton seated himself in -such a position as to place his back to the strong light shining through -the window, and asked Claude to be seated in a chair which lacked this -advantage. In this way Paynton could observe every change in the face of -his visitor, while his own, being in the shadow, was more difficult to -read. Larcher saw the maneuver, but did not think it necessary to make -any objection. In his place Tait would have acted differently. - -"I am greatly obliged that you have consented to see me," said Claude, -breaking the silence, "for I am informed that you live a very secluded -life." - -"That is true. I accord you this interview at the request of my friend, -Mr. Hilliston, but at the same time I may tell you that I have my own -reasons for granting it." - -"I think I can guess your reasons, Mr. Paynton." - -"No doubt," replied Paynton, touching a book on the table; "they are not -unconnected with this novel. You know, of course, that my daughter--that -Jenny supplied young Linton with the material for his plot." - -"I do. She found the report of my father's murder in some old newspapers -in this house." - -"Did you not think it strange that I should be in possession of such a -report?" - -"Naturally I did," answered Claude, replying to this direct question -with marked embarrassment, "and it is on that account that I ask you to -help me." - -"Do you think I can do so?" - -"I am sure of it." - -"Why?" asked Paynton, in an unsteady voice. - -"Because you know about the matter. You retained the report of the -trial. Denis Bantry is in your service under the name of Kerry, and----" - -"How do you know that?" - -"Why, in the third volume of that book there is an episode of a scarfpin -which is not mentioned in the report of the trial, but which was told to -Miss Paynton by the man you call Kerry. Now, only two persons knew that -a scarfpin was picked up in the grounds of The Laurels after the murder. -One was Hilliston, the other Denis Bantry. You must see, Mr. Paynton, -that I can only come to one conclusion." - -"I presume you got this information from Hilliston," said Paynton, in an -altered voice. - -"Mr. Hilliston spoke of it," replied Claude cautiously. - -He did not intend to reveal that he had heard it from his mother, or -indeed to reveal the existence of Mrs. Larcher until he was sure of his -ground, and positive of Paynton's identity. Accepting his diplomatic -answer in the affirmative, Paynton nodded, and went on with his -questioning. - -"You spoke to Kerry on the subject?" - -"I did. But, as you may guess, I failed." - -"Naturally. Kerry is a faithful servant. I owe more to him than I can -ever repay. But here we are talking about the murder," added Paynton -irrelevantly, "when you wish to speak about Jenny, at least so Hilliston -informed me." - -"I do wish to speak of your daughter later on," said Claude, with a -flushed cheek; "but in the meantime I am anxious to come to an -understanding about this crime." - -"Why?" said Paynton, rather disconcerted at his failure to turn the -conversation. - -"Because I have sworn to avenge the death of my father." - -"That is what a good son should do," said Paynton thoughtfully. "But -after twenty-five years the chances are small. You wish to find the -murderer--so do I." - -"You!" - -"Yes. I am more deeply interested in this matter than you suppose. Who -do you think I am?" he asked. - -"I cannot say, unless you are Jeringham." - -"Jeringham?" said Paynton in a faltering tone. "No, I am not Jeringham, -poor soul! Do you think him guilty of the crime?" - -"I do and I don't. Sometimes it seems so, at others I fancy Hilliston to -be guilty." - -"Hilliston guilty!" said Paynton, rising. "What do you mean?" - -"Oh, it is only a theory," said Claude hastily. "But my friend Tait, who -was at Horriston a few days ago, found out all kinds of things which -implicated one person and another. He found----" - -"Don't tell me--don't tell me," said Paynton hastily. "I cannot talk to -you longer or else I shall be ill. This interview has already tried me -too much. Here," he added, unlocking a drawer in his desk, "take these -papers. You will find in them a full account of all I know of the -matter." - -"You were, then, an eye-witness?" said Claude, joyfully slipping the -roll of manuscript into his pocket. He had been more successful than he -had hoped to be. - -Paynton pressed his hands together, and looked eagerly at Claude. "I can -bear it no longer," he said impatiently, laying his hands on the -shoulders of the astonished young man. "Boy--boy, can you not guess who -I am?" - -"No," replied Larcher, rising to his feet in some wonder, "I do not know -who you can be, unless you are Jeringham." - -"I am not Jeringham. He is dead." - -"Dead!" - -"Aye, murdered. Can you not see--can you not guess? Claude, the man who -was killed at Horriston was not George Larcher, it was Mark Jeringham!" - -"But you--you----" - -"I am your father!" - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVII. - - A VOICE FROM THE GRAVE. - - -IT was close on two o'clock, and, weary of waiting for Claude, the -master of the Manor House had seated himself at the luncheon table. He -was curious to know what had taken place between his friend and Mr. -Paynton, as he judged from the length of time the interview had lasted -that some important communication must have been made. Had Claude -discovered the identity of Paynton with Jeringham? If so, had Jeringham -confessed to the crime? These questions so annoyed and perplexed Tait -that he could not swallow a mouthful of food. Throwing aside his napkin -he rose from the table to see if Larcher had returned. - -As he pushed back his chair the door opened and Claude, with a roll of -papers in his hand, made his appearance. Tait turned to greet him with a -smile, but it disappeared from his face and the words died on his lips -when he saw the white and haggard countenance of his friend. - -"Good Heavens, man!" he cried, hastening toward him; "what is the -matter? Here, sit down! Drink this glass of wine!" - -Claude did as he was bidden; then waved his hand in the direction of -Dormer, who, stolid as ever, stood waiting orders. - -"You can go, Dormer," said Tait hastily. Then, when the man leaving the -room closed the door after him, and they found themselves alone, he -continued: "Is anything wrong, Claude? Did Paynton tell----" - -"Not Paynton," said Larcher, finishing his wine and setting down the -glass; "there is not such a person!" - -"Aha!" remarked Tait, rubbing his hands. "I thought the name was a -feigned one. And who is our friend, Mr. Paynton?" - -"My father!" - -Tait opened his mouth to utter an ejaculation, shut it without doing so, -and looked dumfounded at his friend. - -"What--what--what do you mean? Are you mad?" he stammered, sitting down -limply. - -"No, I am not mad," groaned Claude, "though I have suffered enough to -make me so. I mean what I say. It was Jeringham who was murdered. -Jeringham, who was dressed as Darnley on that night, as was my father. -Jeringham, whose corpse was so unrecognizable by decomposition that it -was thought to be that of George Larcher. My father is alive! My father -is hiding here as Ferdinand Paynton. This is his story of the tragedy." - -He placed the roll of paper in Tait's hands, and poured himself out -another glass of wine. Overcome with amazement the little man looked -first at the paper, then at his friend. It was some minutes before he -could collect his wits together and speak coherently. - -"What an extraordinary thing," he said at length. "You thought both your -parents dead, but now it seems they are alive. Your mother at Clarence -Cottage, Hampstead; your father at Rose Cottage, Thorston. Did you tell -your father that Mrs. Larcher was still in existence?" he asked sharply. - -"I had no time to do so," said Claude, with an effort. "My father placed -those papers in my hand, and then confessed who he was. I wished to -speak further to him, but he pushed me out of the room, saying, 'Read -that confession, and form your judgment before you accept me as your -father.' I hardly knew what I was doing till I found myself in the lane -outside. Then I came on here. I still feel quite bewildered." - -"I don't wonder at it! Take another glass of wine. Did your----" - -"Don't ask any questions, Tait," said Claude, rising impatiently. "Read -me the confession at once. I can't do it myself." - -"Won't you have some luncheon?" - -"No! Every mouthful would choke me. I'll lie down on the sofa, and you -bring your chair close to me to read." - -Tait nodded, and unrolled the papers, while Claude, filling himself -another glass of claret, crossed over to the sofa and lay down thereon. -With the glass of wine on the carpet beside him; with the untasted -luncheon on the table, he closed his eyes with a weary sigh, and -compelled himself to listen. Tait glanced sympathetically at him, then -without remark, though he was burning to speak, smoothed out the paper -and began to read slowly. The writing was clear and legible, the matter -interesting, so there was no difficulty in deciphering the story of the -tragedy, as narrated by the man, who, for twenty-two years, had been -supposed to be the victim. The confession (so-called) was in the form of -a letter from father to son: - - "DEAR CLAUDE: - - "At length I have made up my mind to reveal myself to you, and - to set out at length the circumstances which placed me in this - position. I am led to do so by three things. Firstly, your - presence in this neighborhood with the avowed intention of - avenging my death. Secondly, the publication of the novel - entitled 'A Whim of Fate,' which sets out the particulars of - what happened at Horriston in 1866, more or less perverted for - fictional purposes. Thirdly, the advice of Francis Hilliston, an - old and valued friend, who points out that the only way to stop - you in the investigation is to admit my identity, and so do away - with your motive, viz., the avenging of my death. On reading - this I leave it to yourself whether you will still consider me - your father, and visit me accordingly, or whether you will look - on me as a guilty man. Till you are acquainted with the truth, - so far as I am aware of it, I swear that I will not approach you - or open my mouth in your presence. On this understanding I set - forth the following facts as shortly as is consistent with - clearness. Judge me as you please, but I declare before God that - I am innocent of Jeringham's death, and that I know not who - killed him. This for the prologue; and now for the story. - - "You will understand that I wish to cast no aspersions on the - memory of your mother; but in the present case, it is necessary - that I should speak plainly. Your mother and I were ill suited - to one another, and lived unhappily together. Even when in the - army I was addicted to literary pursuits, and, when I sent in my - papers, I devoted myself almost entirely to study. Your mother - was gay and social. Being a beautiful woman she liked - admiration, and was never so happy as when out at balls, at the - theater, or at garden parties. She lived in a whirl of - excitement, and she quarreled bitterly with me because I - preferred a quieter life. I accompanied her sometimes, but not - often enough to please her, and when we came to reside at The - Laurels after my leaving the army, she frequently declared that - she regretted having given up Mark Jeringham for me. Naturally - enough I resented this plain speaking, and we were estranged. - Not even your birth could bridge over the abyss between us, and, - while we lived at The Laurels at Horriston, I believe we were as - unhappy and ill-matched a couple as existed in England. It was - the quick coupled with the dead, and we both suffered - accordingly. - - "The first cause of our unhappiness was, as you see, - incompatibility of temper; the second was the presence of - Jeringham, who came to Horriston ostensibly on a visit, in - reality to stay near my wife. - - "You can easily understand that I resented the presence of this - young man. He was remarkably like me in height, figure, and - looks, and my wife had a fancy for him before her marriage with - me. That she became my wife, she laughingly avowed, was because - of my uniform. So far as looks were concerned there was nothing - to choose between Jeringham and myself, but the glitter of the - military trappings (so she declared) turned the balance in my - favor. You may be sure I liked Jeringham none the more after - such a declaration of lukewarm affection from your mother; and - when he came to reside at Horriston, four years after our - marriage, I resented his continued presence about the house. - Your mother was angry at my expostulations, and the introduction - of this second element of discord into the house estranged us - more widely than ever. It was a miserable and most unhappy time. - - "It was my friend Hilliston who pointed out the real reason for - Jeringham's visits. This latter was not in love with my wife, - but with her maid, Mona Bantry. As Denis, the brother of Mona, - was an old servant of mine, I did not care to speak to my wife - on the matter, but to keep the affair quiet, and to save the - girl from the anger of her brother, I discouraged the visits of - Jeringham on all possible occasions. We had a quarrel in public, - and, as all the gossips of Horriston knew that he had been fond - of my wife before her marriage to me, the quarrel was set down - to jealousy on my part. All the neighborhood knew there was bad - blood between Jeringham and myself, and (foolishly enough, I - admit) I made use of several expressions calculated to show my - hatred. These heated speeches were afterward remembered and - commented upon. - - "Things were in this position when the fancy dress ball took - place at Horriston. Hearing that it was to be a masked ball, I - resolved to assume a similar dress to that of Jeringham, and - learn from my wife's own lips if she still cared for me. You may - think I acted in an unworthy manner, but as a matter of fact I - was nearly out of my mind with anger and jealousy, and hardly - knew what I was doing. My wife was going to the ball as Mary, - Queen of Scots, accompanied by Jeringham as Darnley. This was - sufficiently pointed to show in what direction her affections - leaned, and I took advantage of the opportunity. Feigning an - excuse, I ostensibly went to London, but in reality remained at - Horriston, where I obtained from the costumer a similar dress to - that worn by Jeringham. - - "Thus masked and disguised I repaired to the ball. There I was - recognized by a Miss Belinda Pike, but she kindly consented to - keep my secret. You can guess what happened. Deceived by the - dress my wife took me for Jeringham, and I learned sufficient to - know that she loved him and hated me. I did not reveal myself, - but went away mad with wrath. My sole idea was to unmask - Jeringham, and show my wife how unworthy he was of her love. To - this end I sought out Hilliston, and, learning that my wife was - shortly returning home, Hilliston and I went to The Laurels - together, as I intended to make Mona confess that Jeringham was - her lover. I left Hilliston outside in the garden to watch for - the coming of my wife, and entered the house to see Mona. She - was waiting in the sitting room for her mistress, and I then and - there forced her to admit the truth. She declared that Jeringham - was the father of her unborn child, and implored me not to tell - her brother. Fortunately, I had directed Denis to stay in the - entrance hall, so he did not hear his sister's confession, and - she was safe for the time being. - - "While I was talking with Mona, my wife entered. She immediately - accused me of having feigned a visit to London in order to stay - at home with Mona. The girl slipped out of the room, and my wife - continued her ravings. She said that Jeringham had come home - with her and was at that moment in the garden; there she swore - to join him. I prevented her leaving the room, and ultimately - she fainted. I ran out to call Mona, and found that she had left - the house, no doubt to join Jeringham in the garden, to tell him - that the secret was known. I also went into the garden to seek - for Jeringham. To my horror I stumbled over a dead body, and - hastily ran back for a light to see whose it was. Denis came - with the lantern, and we found it was the corpse of Jeringham. - He had been stabbed to the heart. - - "I would have given the alarm, but that Denis, quicker-witted - than I at the moment, prevented me. He pointed out that it was - well-known that I was on bad terms with Jeringham; that the - unhappy man had been murdered in my garden; that my hands were - red with the blood, and my clothes stained owing to handling the - corpse; and said that I would be accused of the murder. I saw in - a flash the peril in which I stood. I don't know if Denis - suspected me of the crime, as he was not present when I first - found the body, but he acted the part of a friend. We threw the - body into the river and I made my preparations for flight. No - one but Hilliston and Miss Pike knew that I had returned from - London on that night, for my wife would keep silence, as I - thought, for her own sake, and Mona had disappeared. I left the - house in charge of Denis, and without a word to my wife, who had - brought about this catastrophe, I sought safety in flight. It - was cowardly, if you like, but I had no other resource. I would - have been accused of the murder had I stayed, for the evidence - was strong against me. I fled and trusted to chance to hide the - crime. - - "The rest you know. My wife was accused and tried for my murder, - as Jeringham's corpse was so disfigured that it was thought to - be mine. I have mentioned the strong resemblance between us, and - this helped the deception. I was compelled to keep in hiding as - Jeringham, but I declare, had the case gone against my wife, I - should have come forward and told all. As it was I went abroad, - aided by Hilliston, who acted as my friend all through. He - looked after my unhappy wife till she died in London; he took - charge of you and brought you up like a son. He also secured me - sufficient of my own property to live quietly, so I came to - Thorston under the name of Paynton, and here I have lived ever - since. I thought to die in peace, but you, Claude, have reopened - the case. I tell you this to show you the futility of trying to - find the real murderer. I do not know who killed Jeringham, nor - do I think you will ever find out. If, after reading this, you - still consider me your father, come at once to a most unhappy - man. Be just, be lenient, my son, and forgive your unhappy - father, - - "GEORGE LARCHER." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVIII. - - A NEW ASPECT OF THINGS. - - -TAIT folded over the last sheet of this long letter with a sigh. -Although he was pleased for Claude's sake that George Larcher was still -in the land of the living, yet he was distinctly disappointed that no -communication had been made likely to elucidate the mystery. Yet the -result of this confession was an entire displacement of the point whence -it was necessary to survey the case. The motives which had caused the -supposed death of Larcher would not suffice to explain the death of -Jeringham. The case had assumed a new aspect, but nevertheless it was as -complex and inexplicable as ever. Tait thought of all this with -inconceivable rapidity, but did not give utterance to his opinion in the -presence of his friend. - -"The letter is wonderful, so far," was his sole remark, "but it is a -great pity that it ends so abruptly. I suppose your father will -personally relate all other details, Claude, when you see him again." - -The young man assumed a sitting position, and deliberately finished his -wine before replying to this remark. He looked anxious and disturbed, -and, now that he had recovered from the overwhelming surprise at finding -his father alive, seemed less delighted than he should have been. A -miracle had been wrought in his behalf; the dead had been restored to -life; but he was by no means gratified by the occurrence. - -"I don't know whether I shall see my father again," he said shortly. - -"But, my dear friend----" - -"Oh, I know all you would say," interrupted Claude hastily, with a -frown; "but I am not prepared to admit your arguments. My mother is -alive, my father is in existence, yet for twenty-five years I have -looked on them as dead. Can you, then, wonder that I feel awkward toward -them both; that I am by no means disposed to render them that filial -affection which, you must admit, they but ill deserve?" - -"The question is so delicate that I can only hold my peace," said Tait, -after a pause. "I admit what you say. Still they are your own flesh and -blood." - -"I might answer you as _Hamlet_ did on a like occasion," replied Claude, -with a bitter smile; "but a quotation will not mend matters. What I have -to consider is the advisability of seeing my father again." - -"You must certainly see him again," said the other promptly. - -"Why?" - -"In the first place he is your father, whatever you may say, and in the -second you had better tell him personally that you abandon further -investigation of the case. After all, your object is gone; for though -you might want to avenge the death of a parent, the murder of a scamp -like Jeringham can matter nothing to you." - -"Oh, that I abandon the case goes without speaking," said Claude -quickly, "and you----" - -"I act in the same way. The further we go into the case the more -perplexing does it become. It is beyond me. Only at the Last Day will -the mystery be solved. Still," added Tait meditatively, "I must admit a -curiosity yet exists on my part to know who struck the blow. Of course -your father's story corroborates Dicky Pental's, but the gardener -mistook him for Jeringham by reason of the fancy dress." - -"Does this letter suggest anything to you?" - -"It narrows the field of inquiry, that is all. Your mother, your father, -and Denis Bantry must necessarily be innocent, as they were in the house -when the murder took place in the garden." - -"If they are innocent, who is guilty?" - -"We have a choice of two who were outside at the time. You can choose -between Hilliston and Mona Bantry." - -"Mona Bantry kill her lover! How do you make that out?" - -"You forget your father's account of the scene in the sitting room," -said Tait significantly; "then Mrs. Larcher asserted in the presence of -Mona that she had come with Jeringham, furthermore, that he was in the -garden. Mona, also jealous, acts as any other woman would have done in -such a position. She goes into the garden to demand an explanation; -there is a quarrel between her and Jeringham, and she kills him, then -flies, not to hide her disgrace, but to evade the consequences of her -act. That is a feasible theory, I think." - -Claude shook his head. "I don't agree with you," he said emphatically. -"You forget that we have my mother's account of the matter to place -against that of my father's. If you recollect she also admitted finding -my father and Mona in the sitting room; she also admits fainting, but -there all resemblance between the accounts ceases. My mother distinctly -says that she threatened her husband with the dagger, that it fell on -the floor when she lost her senses. When she recovered them the dagger -was gone. Now," continued Claude slowly, "if you remember, the crime was -committed by means of the dagger, for it was found red with blood in the -grounds, and then was taken possession of by the police. If my mother's -account is the true one, Mona Bantry may certainly have picked up the -dagger and have murdered Jeringham, as you suggest. But if my father's -story is to be believed, Mona left the room before my mother fainted, -and consequently could not have gained possession of the dagger. It -follows as a natural consequence that she could not have committed the -murder." - -Tait nodded several times during this explanation, to show that he -agreed with the points raised; but when Claude concluded he rubbed his -chin in some perplexity. - -"Here we come to a dead stop," said he impatiently. "It was asserted by -the police that the murder was committed with the dagger worn by your -mother as part of the fancy dress." - -"Yes! If you remember, it was on that evidence she was arrested." - -"Well, if she wore that dagger in the sitting room, Jeringham could not -have been killed with it, because the murder must have taken place while -your father was trying to pacify your mother." - -Claude glanced at the letter again. "My father makes no mention of the -dagger in this," he said, with a puzzled look. - -"No. I should like to hear what he has to say on the subject, the more -so as I incline to his story rather than to your mother's." - -"For what reason?" - -"In her conversation with you, Mrs. Bezel--or rather your mother--said -that she had threatened your father with the dagger in the sitting room -of The Laurels." - -"Yes. Well?" - -"If you remember the evidence given by her to the police at the time of -the arrest was that she had lost the dagger at the ball, and knew not -into whose hands it had fallen." - -Claude looked nonplussed, and knew not what answer to make. That his -mother had made two different statements he was compelled to admit. He -further remembered that his father had made no statement whatsoever -about the dagger. Yet on the possession of that dagger turned the whole -of the case. Whoever picked it up, whether at the ball or in the sitting -room, must have killed Jeringham. Assuming his father's account to be -true, and Claude saw no reason to doubt its accuracy, Mona could not -have committed the murder, nor could Mr. or Mrs. Larcher be guilty. It -therefore followed that his mother had spoken truly to the police, and -for some inexplicable reason falsely to him. The dagger must have been -lost at the ball, and picked up by--whom? - -"I can make nothing of it," he said, after due consideration. "The only -way to get at the truth is to tell my father that his wife still lives, -and bring them together. Out of their meeting good may come." - -"You will then call and see your father," said Tait encouragingly. - -"Yes. I must. I see no way out of it. He must be informed that my mother -lives, and I am the proper person to tell him so. Though it is strange," -added Claude suddenly, "that Hilliston never told him." - -"Humph! That gentleman seems to serve both sides," said Tait gruffly. -"Your mother speaks well of him, your father thinks no end of him, and -both trust him, yet for what I can see he has deceived both." - -"How?" - -"Why, by keeping back the truth from each. He has let your father think -your mother dead, and _vice versa_. What do you make of that?" - -"I tell you I can make nothing of the whole confusion," said Claude -crossly. "I will see my father and abandon the case, for I am sick of -the affair. It is maddening. What a pity your lunatic did not wake up a -few minutes earlier so as to see who struck the blow and thus have -settled the matter? But it is not that which troubles me." - -"No? What else disturbs your mind?" - -"Jenny." - -"Jenny?" echoed Tait, with feigned simplicity. "I am afraid I am dull. I -don't see." - -"You must be blind, then," retorted Claude, in an exasperated tone. "You -know I love Jenny." - -"Well?" - -"Well, I can't love her. She is my half sister." - -"Indeed!" said Tait, in nowise astonished at this announcement. "How do -you make that out?" - -"Why, isn't Jenny the daughter of Paynton, and isn't he my father?" - -"He is your father, certainly, but I assure you Jenny is not his -daughter. She is no relation to him." - -"Tait! what do you mean?" - -"Can't you guess?" - -"No. Out with it, man! Don't keep me in suspense." - -"Why," drawled Tait, enjoying the situation. "Jenny is the niece of -Denis--in other words, she is the child of Mona Bantry and Jeringham." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIX. - - THE GARNET SCARFPIN. - - -THAT same evening Claude called to see his father. He decided to go -alone, but asked Tait to repair to Rose Cottage within the hour, so -that, the meeting with his newly found parent having taken place, a -consultation could be held by the three regarding the proceeding with, -or withdrawing, of the case. Tait especially stipulated that this -arrangement should be come to, as he was desirous of seeing Mr. Larcher, -senior, in order to disabuse his mind of the straight-forwardness of -Hilliston. Privately, Tait believed that the lawyer would yet be found -guilty of the crime. On no other grounds could he explain the attitude -taken up by Hilliston since the papers had been placed in Claude's -hands. The evidence of Miss Pike and Dick Pental failed to alter his -idea on this point. - -Tait himself was beginning to feel weary of the investigation. At every -turn it took he was baffled by some fresh obstacle, and he was not -ill-pleased to find that the matter was at an end so far as Claude was -concerned. That young man had sworn to avenge the death of his father; -but now that his father proved to be still in existence, the oath was -null and void. So that, Claude married to Jenny, he would be quite -willing to leave the solution of the mystery surrounding the death of -Jeringham to Tait; but Tait himself determined to have nothing further -to do with so wearisome a problem. - -He waited considerably beyond the hour before leaving for the cottage, -as he rightly considered the father and son would have much to say to -one another. Moreover it was necessary to give Larcher time to overcome -his emotion on learning that his wife was still in existence. Tait was -by no means sure that the old gentleman would be pleased with this -revelation. According to his own showing his relations with his wife had -been none of the best; and to renew those relations after twenty-five -years could hardly fail to be most unpleasant. - -During this time Tait gave no thought to Jenny or Denis. As to the -former, he was so satisfied that she was the daughter of Jeringham by -Mona Bantry that he did not think it worth while to give the matter the -benefit of the doubt. What he was curious to know was how Paynton, or -rather Captain Larcher, came to stand in the position of an adopted -father. Information on this point was conveyed to him before he reached -the cottage by Denis himself. - -The old servant walked briskly along the road, looking quite -rejuvenated. He had heard the good news, and it had transformed his -life. In place of a crabbed expression, his face appeared wonderfully -cheerful, and he saluted Tait with a grin of pleasure. The other could -not forbear commenting on his changed appearance, so clearly apparent -even in the waning light of evening. - -"Why, Kerry, you look ten years younger," he said, stopping short in his -amazement, with an afterthought of Dick Pental's accusation. - -"Ah, and I do that same, sir," said Denis, saluting in military fashion, -"and you know why, sir." - -"Are they reconciled?" asked Tait, guessing what was in the mind of the -old servant. - -"Begad, they are! Chattering together like two love birds, and my old -master looking on with pride." - -"Why, Kerry, I spoke of Captain Larcher." - -"Augh, did you now, sir? I spoke of Master Claude, God bless him, and -Miss Jenny, God bless her! God bless them both!" cried Kerry, taking off -his hat, with a burst of affection, "and his honor along with them. Oh, -glory be to the saints for this blessed day. But sure, I am forgetting -my service, sir. The master is waiting to see you this very minute." - -"I was just on my way," said Tait, signing to Kerry to go on. "We will -walk there together. By the way, does Miss Jenny know she is not the -daughter of your master?" - -"She knew it all along, sir. Ah, and why should you look surprised at -that, Mr. Tait? Is it because she is the niece of an old soldier like -me?" - -"No, no, Kerry! But, as you are aware, Miss Jenny knows the case from -those newspapers she found; and in that report Jeringham----" - -"I see what you mean, sir," said Kerry, touching his hat in a -deprecating manner; "but sure she doesn't know all. She believes herself -to be the child of my sister, Mona--who is dead, rest her soul, and of a -Mr. Kennedy. We've invented a father for her, sir. 'Twould never do for -her to know she was the daughter of the poor man who was killed." - -"It is just as well, Kerry. Do you know who killed him?" Tait asked this -question with a keen glance at the man. - -"No, sir. How should I know. I ran out with the light when the captain -called, but I don't know who struck him the cruel blow. He was a bad -man, sir, deceiving my sister, and disgracing the Bantry family, but he -is dead, and she is dead, so we'll let them rest, and the heavens be -their bed!" - -By this time they were at the garden door, and striking his hand over -these sad memories Kerry led the visitor into the house, and showed him -into the bookroom. Here were assembled Claude, his father, and Jenny, -all looking supremely happy, though the old gentleman appeared to be -rather shaken. He rose when Tait entered and held out his hand. - -"I am glad to see you, Mr. Tait," said he, in an unsteady voice, "and I -thank you for the way in which you have aided my son. I feel that an -apology is due to you for my behavior on your last visit." - -"Don't mention it," replied Tait cordially, shaking the extended hand. -"Under the circumstances you could not act otherwise. Well, Miss -Paynton, am I to----" - -"Don't call me Miss Paynton now, Mr. Tait," she said, smiling; "there -can be no need for further concealment. I can take my own name, that -of----" - -"Miss Kennedy," said Tait quickly. "Do not look so surprised. Kerry told -me all about it as I came along. I am at once astonished and delighted." - -"I don't wonder at it," said Captain Larcher, patting Claude's hand. -"You see I have found a son." - -"And soon, sir, you will lose a daughter," observed Tait significantly. - -"Oh, no," observed Claude, with a laugh; "when I marry Jenny we will all -live together as a happy family." - -"Marriage! Has it come to that?" - -"You are astonished, I see, Mr. Tait," said the old gentleman, shaking -his head. "I am myself. It is too soon--too sudden. They have only known -each other a few weeks, and it is impossible that a union on so short an -acquaintance can prove happy." - -"We will have a long engagement," said Claude, "in order to prove if we -truly love one another. But I am not afraid of the result." - -"Neither am I," remarked Jenny, slipping her arm within that of her -lover. "I am sure nothing will come between us. But come, Claude, and we -will see my uncle, for I notice that Mr. Tait is anxious to speak to -your father about that horrid case." - -Captain Larcher nodded his approval of this, so Claude and Jenny left -the room to seek Kerry, and be wept over by the old servant. Left alone -with his host, Tait took a chair by the table, and they looked at one -another in silence. The captain was the first to break it. - -"There is no need for me to recapitulate the events of the day," he -said, with a weary sigh, "as Claude told me you read my letter, and are -in possession of all the facts. You may believe, Mr. Tait, that I feel -considerably shaken. My interview with Claude has been rather trying. He -has behaved in the most affectionate manner." - -"Well, now your troubles are all at an end, Captain Larcher, and----" - -"At an end, sir!" he interrupted sharply. "No, they will continue. My -innocence is not yet proved, and I must still remain here under a -feigned name, unless you agree to help me." - -"Certainly I agree. Is it your intention and Claude's to go on with the -case?" - -"We have come to that decision, but I wanted to consult you before -finally making up my mind. Do you think we ought to proceed?" - -"I certainly do," said Tait promptly. "It is true that the police think -that you are the victim. But if you want to assume your own name, -inquiries would certainly be made. One is never safe in these criminal -matters, even after the lapse of years. If you did declare yourself to -be Captain Larcher, then it would come out that Jeringham is dead, and -you would have to clear yourself. Besides, the evidence of Dicky Pental -would implicate you, seeing that he mistook you in that fancy dress for -Jeringham." - -"True enough," replied Larcher, nodding. "And there is another reason. I -have just learned that my wife is still alive, and is protected by -Hilliston at Hampstead. I sent Claude out of the room so that I could -ask you a plain question. Give me a plain answer, and tell me what are -the relations between them." - -"I don't care to answer that plainly," said Tait, with some hesitation; -"but I think you can guess." - -"Does Hilliston love my wife?" - -"On the authority of Miss Belinda Pike, whom I saw at Horriston, I -believe he does." - -"And for her sake he had deceived me all these years?" - -"It seems so. In fact, Captain Larcher, Hilliston has been playing a -double game. He kept you and your wife apart by assuring each that the -other was dead. That conduct alone stamps him as a villain. Then, again, -he threw all kinds of obstacles in the way while we were investigating -this case." - -"What for?" - -"My own opinion is that Hilliston committed the murder." - -Captain Larcher clenched his hand, and thought for a few moments. - -"It might be so," he muttered, more to himself than to Tait. "Hilliston -was in the garden. If he loved my wife--a fact which I never -suspected--he might have killed Jeringham out of jealousy." - -"But the dagger! How did he obtain that?" - -"No doubt at the ball. I assure you, Mr. Tait, that my wife had not the -dagger when in the sitting room." - -"She declares that she threatened you with it." - -"Then she either forgets or speaks falsely. She wore it at the ball when -I spoke to her there, but when she returned it was missing. Hilliston -came with me, knowing Jeringham was with my wife. He might have picked -up the dagger with the fullest intention of committing the crime. Now -that I know he loved my wife I am not prepared to say how he acted in -the garden while I was in the house." - -"And the garnet scarfpin mentioned in the novel?" - -"That belonged to Hilliston," said Larcher quickly. "I gave it to him -myself. Denis picked it up in the garden, but I thought nothing of that, -as I was aware Hilliston was in the grounds on that night. But now I -believe----Oh, I am afraid to say what I believe. I may be wrong." - -"There is one way of finding out the truth, Captain Larcher. Come up to -town this week and see your wife. Then we may learn all." - -The old gentleman leaned his head on his hand in deep thought for a few -minutes. - -"I will come," he said at length. "At whatever cost, I will force the -guilty woman to own the truth." - - - - - CHAPTER XL. - - FACE TO FACE. - - -THE conversation between Tait and Captain Larcher was not finished that -evening, as the old gentleman, worn out by the excitement of the day, -early retired to bed. However, he declared that he would be shortly -ready to journey to London; and Claude left the Cottage with Tait on the -understanding that his father was to be called for next day. Before they -parted for the night Claude made a remark about Hilliston. - -"I hope he won't get wind of this," he said dubiously; "or he may get -Mrs. Bezel--I can't call her mother--out of the way." - -"Have no fear," replied Tait calmly. "Hilliston's hands are too full at -present." - -"What do you mean?" - -"Why," said Tait, lighting his candle; "your father showed me a letter -from Hilliston, apologizing for not coming over, as his wife was lying -dangerously ill at the Connaught Hotel, at Eastbourne." - -"He said something of that in his note to me. What is the matter with -Mrs. Hilliston?" - -"She has the smallpox." - -"The smallpox!" echoed Claude, in a tone of horror. "Poor creature, she -is a dead woman!" - -"I don't know so much about that. She may recover." - -"She may recover from the disease," said the young man gloomily; "but -not from the blow to her vanity. Many a time has she told me that if she -lost her looks she would kill herself. You mark my words, Tait, within -the week we will hear of her death." - -And with these prophetic words Claude retired to his room. - -Tait had no time to think of this conversation, being occupied with -anticipation regarding the meeting of Captain Larcher and his wife; but -it so happened that Claude's prognostications occurred to him when the -truth of the Horriston tragedy was discovered, and that was not long -afterward. Perhaps, like the young men, Fate herself grew weary of an -affair which had dragged on for twenty-five years. At all events she -brought matters to a conclusion with almost inconceivable rapidity. - -The first step toward the end was the meeting of husband and wife, which -took place at Clarence Cottage, Hampstead, during the afternoon of the -next day. In company with his son and Tait, the old gentleman drove to -the railway station, some three miles distant, and took the up express. -When established comfortably in a first-class smoking carriage--for -Captain Larcher was fond of a pipe--he resumed the conversation with -Tait which had been broken off on the previous night. This time the -subject was Hilliston and his doings. - -"I have been thinking over your suspicions regarding Hilliston," he -said, addressing himself more directly to Tait, "and I confess that it -is difficult to reconcile some of his actions with your view that he is -guilty. Claude, as you know, was ignorant of the Horriston tragedy until -enlightened by Hilliston." - -"I know that, my dear sir," said Tait quietly, "Hilliston certainly -placed the papers containing the account of the matter in Claude's -hands, but he was forced to do so by the action of Mrs. Bezel--I beg -pardon, Mrs. Larcher." - -"Continue to call her Mrs. Bezel, if you please. I prefer it so. How did -she force Hilliston to confide in Claude." - -"Because she read the book 'A Whim of Fate,' and seeing the tragedy -therein described, she wrote asking Claude to see her with the intention -of telling him all. As you may guess, her story differs materially from -that of Hilliston's, so of two evils, choosing the least, he determined -to forestall her and inform Claude of the matter." - -"And he did so by means of the press," said Claude eagerly. "In place of -telling me the story himself he allowed me to gather what information I -could from the scanty report of the _Canterbury Observer_. My dear -father, the Genesis of the whole matter springs from the finding of -those papers by Jenny. Had she not read them and told Linton the story -he would not have written the book; had he not done so Mrs. Bezel would -not have determined to tell me her version; and but for her threat to do -so Hilliston would not have produced the papers." - -"Humph! The action was compulsory on the part of Hilliston?" - -"I think so, sir," said Tait complacently; "therefore it is quite in -keeping with his usual character. The rat did not fight till it was -driven into a corner." - -"It is not in the corner," remarked Captain Larcher significantly, "but -we'll drive it there and see if it will face our accusation. But what -about Hilliston's introduction of Claude to me? Would it not have been -to his interest to keep us apart?" - -"Oh!" said Tait, with some contempt for Hilliston's diplomacy, "that was -another case of necessity. He knew that Claude and I were bent on -discovering the truth, so, fearing that we should do so by further -investigation, he thought to stop the whole matter by bringing you face -to face with your son." - -"I don't see how that would accomplish his aim." - -"Hilliston hoped it would do so in two ways," explained Tait glibly. -"First, he hoped that you would give your consent to Claude marrying -Jenny, and so lead his mind away from the case, and second, he trusted -that when Claude found you alive he would no longer desire to pursue the -investigation." - -"He was right so far," said Claude seriously. - -"If that was Hilliston's calculation, he made one great mistake," said -Captain Larcher scornfully. "He did not think that I should wish to see -my wife." - -"He must have been satisfied that Claude would tell you she was alive." - -"That, of course. But he thought I would stay at Thorston as Ferdinand -Paynton, and be afraid to admit my identity even to my wife. I might -have done so but for Claude. But I owe it to him to clear myself, and -this meeting with my wife will be the first step toward doing so. -Between us we must solve the mystery." - -"It is none, so far as I am concerned," said Tait grimly. "I am sure as -I am sitting here that Hilliston murdered Jeringham. The gardener was -just too late to see him do the deed." - -"But his motive?" asked Claude curiously. - -His father and Tait stole a glance at one another. They neither of them -wished to make any remarks about Mrs. Larcher and Hilliston's passion, -preferring that Claude should be ignorant of that episode. Still when he -asked so direct a question it was difficult to avoid a direct answer, -but Larcher gave him one which was sufficiently evasive to stop further -inquiries. - -"We must try and find out his motive," he said quietly. "Depend upon it, -Claude, there is a good deal of underhand work in this of which we know -nothing." - -"Do you think Mona committed the crime?" - -"No, I do not. In no way could she have gained possession of the dagger -with which it was committed." - -"My mother says she had a dagger in the sitting room." - -"That is a mistake," said Captain Larcher, using as delicate a word as -he could think of. "She threatened me with the sheath of the dagger, and -no doubt, being agitated at the time, she thought it was the weapon -itself. But I noticed when she entered the room that the sheath was -empty. Her story to the police at the time of the trial is more likely. -She lost it in the ballroom. The question is, who picked it up? Judging -from the knowledge I now have of his character I believe it was -Hilliston who did so." - -"Or Jeringham," said Tait suddenly. - -"Impossible! How could Jeringham have found it?" - -"He was with Mrs. Larcher all the evening, and may have seen the dagger -fall. Or again, he may have taken it out of the sheath to examine it and -have forgotten to return it. It is not improbable that in such a case he -might have recollected it when he was in the garden, and offered it to -Mona to return to her mistress." - -"Oh!" said Claude with contempt. "And on that slight ground you suppose -that Mona killed him?" - -"It is not beyond the bounds of probability." - -"Nonsense!" said Captain Larcher angrily. "I don't believe it. Mona was -a good girl, foully deceived by Jeringham. She fled from the house to -hide her disgrace, thinking my wife would tell her brother. Hilliston -afterward met her in London, where she died in giving birth to Jenny." - -"Then it was Hilliston who brought Jenny to you?" - -"Yes. Because her Uncle Denis was in my service. I adopted Jenny, but -told her that she was the child of a Mr. Kennedy and Mona Bantry. She -believed her father and mother were married, so do not disturb that view -of the case." - -"Certainly not," said Tait emphatically. "It would be cruel to do so. -But here we are at Victoria. After seeing Mrs. Bezel at Hampstead we can -resume our conversation." - -"If we do it will be from a different standpoint, I fancy," said Larcher -significantly, as the train stopped. - -Tait's brougham was waiting for them at the station, and in this they -drove up to Hampstead. Leaving it in Fitzjohn's Avenue they walked down -Hunt Lane to Clarence Cottage. Mrs. Bezel occupied her usual seat in the -window, and caught sight of Claude as he preceded his father and Tait up -the path. A terrified expression crossed her face, but she made no -motion to forbid their entrance. Yet a sense of coming evil struck at -her heart, and it needed all her self-control to prevent herself from -fainting when they were shown into the room. - -"My dear mother," said Claude, kissing her, "you must be prepared for -unexpected news. I beg of you to control yourself for----" - -He stopped short in astonishment. Mrs. Bezel was looking at Captain -Larcher with a bewildered air, and he gazed at her face with an -expression of amazement. She shrank back as he crossed the room with -rapidity, and bent over her. - -"Mona Bantry!" he cried, "is it possible that you still live?" - - - - - CHAPTER XLI. - - AN EXPLANATION. - - -ON hearing his father's exclamation Claude turned round with a look of -supreme astonishment. He could not understand the meaning of that sudden -exclamation. - -"Father, you do not understand. This is your wife--my mother." - -"Is it, indeed?" sneered Captain Larcher, who had recovered from his -momentary emotion. "Nothing of the sort, sir. This woman is Mona Bantry, -who was my wife's maid." - -"Are you sure?" cried Tait, who was beginning to be bewildered by these -successive revelations. - -"Sure, sir! as sure as I am of my own innocence. As sure as I am George -Larcher, this is the sister of Denis Bantry, who----" - -"Denis!" - -The interruption came from Mrs. Bezel. She had sat dumfounded at the -unexpected appearance of the man whom she had thought dead, and she had -said nothing while assertion and denial were going on, but the mention -of her brother's name stirred her dormant faculties, and she sat up -looking wildly around. - -"Denis!" she cried, in a terrified tone. "Is Denis here?" - -"Denis is down at Thorston," said Captain Larcher gruffly, "as you no -doubt knew well enough." - -"I swear I did not. Francis told me Denis was in America." - -"Francis?" exclaimed Claude, forgetting to whom the name belonged. - -"Francis Hilliston." - -"Ah!" said Captain Larcher, with a disdainful look round. "I might have -guessed as much. Off with the dead love, on with the living. You have -amended the proverb." - -"I did not know Mark was dead, sir," exclaimed Mrs. Bezel passionately. -"Francis said that he had gone to America with Denis. I thought he had -done so to escape the consequences of his crime, but----" - -"Of his crime!" cried Claude. "He was the victim, poor soul, not the -murderer. It was Jeringham who was killed, not my father." - -"Your father?" said Mrs. Bezel, looking steadily at Captain Larcher. -"Yes; it is my old master. So you are alive and he is dead. Why did you -kill him, sir?" - -"I did not kill him," replied the captain quietly, "and as a counter -question, may I ask why you passed yourself off to Claude as my wife?" - -Mrs. Bezel burst into a wild laugh, and clapped her hands together. Then -she covered her face and commenced to weep, but in a few moments the fit -of hysteria passed away, and she became cool and composed. Thrown off -her balance for the time being, she had now gathered her wits together, -and was ready to fight. Her folly and impulse had brought about this -catastrophe, and it was her duty to set it right again--if she could. -But the upshot of the matter was extremely doubtful. - -On his part, Captain Larcher was relieved to find that Mrs. Bezel proved -to be Mona Bantry instead of his wife. Ever since the communication made -by Claude, he had suffered agonies at the thought that his wife had been -living all these years under the protection of his false friend. Now -that fear was set at rest once and forever. Julia Larcher had really -died, as Hilliston had asserted, and the woman in Clarence Cottage, who -had taken her name, was the maid in place of the mistress. Out of all -the trouble Larcher extracted this morsel of comfort, his honor was -unstained. - -Meanwhile the three visitors sat waiting to hear what Mrs. Bezel had to -say. She saw that they expected a confession, and resolved to disappoint -them. Leaning backward among her cushions, she closed her eyes, and -played a waiting game. It proved successful, for in two minutes or -thereabouts Captain Larcher broke out. His temper was none of the best, -and recent events had not tended to improve it." - -"Well, madam," he said sharply, rapping his stick on the ground, "I am -waiting to hear what you have to say." - -"I have nothing to say," said Mrs. Bezel quietly. - -"Oh, yes, you have," began Tait. "As you set the ball----" - -But at this moment he was interrupted by Larcher. - -"I beg your pardon, Mr. Tait, but I will question this woman myself. -Pray do not speak, nor you, Claude, till I have done." - -Both young men bowed their heads and acquiesced in silence. After all, -the captain was the proper person to examine Mona Bantry. He knew more -of the case than anyone else, and conversant as he was with the events -of that fatal night, he would know whether she spoke truly or falsely. -Mrs. Bezel looked uneasy on hearing his resolution, but only compressed -her lips tighter as though resolved to let nothing escape her. But he -was a match for her in obstinacy. - -"Now then," said Larcher, turning to her, "relate your history from the -moment you left me alone with my wife twenty-five years ago at The -Laurels." - -"It would not help you if I did." - -"I'm not so sure of that. But I understand. You are afraid of -incriminating yourself." - -"I!" exclaimed Mrs. Bezel indignantly. "What have I to do with the -matter. I know nothing of it. I left the house then and there, and only -heard of the tragedy while I was concealed at Horriston, more than a -week afterward." - -"Why did you state to my son that Mrs. Larcher threatened me with the -dagger." - -"So she did," said Mrs. Bezel coolly. "I saw her hand raised, I saw the -dagger in it." - -"You saw the sheath of the dagger, you mean," retorted Larcher; "it fell -on the floor and was found there next day. But the weapon with which the -crime was committed was lost by my wife at the ball." - -"It may have been," said the woman indifferently. "I don't know anything -about it." - -"Did not Jeringham show it to you when you joined him in the garden?" - -"I tell you I did not see him on that night. When you found out my -secret, I was afraid that you and the mistress would betray it to my -brother Denis, so I left the room and fled. I thought Jeringham would -join me at Horriston next day, but then I heard of your supposed death, -and that he had fled. Until this hour I did not know that it was the -other way round." - -"Did not Hilliston tell you? He knew." - -"No, Captain Larcher, he did not," said Mrs. Bezel emphatically. "He -said that Jeringham had gone to America with my brother." - -"Where did you go after leaving Horriston?" - -"I came to London, and remained there till my baby was born." - -"And then?" - -"I found that my money had come to an end, and called at Mr. Hilliston's -office to ask him to help me." - -"What right had you to expect help from him." - -"I had no right, but that I knew he would assist me because of his -love." - -"His love!" exclaimed Larcher sharply. "Did Hilliston love you?" - -"Yes; I refused to have anything to do with him on account of Jeringham. -But he did love me. Oh, yes, I know you thought he was in love with your -wife, but such was not the case. He loved me, and me only." - -Larcher drew a long breath, and looked puzzled. He was relieved to find -that he had not been mistaken in Hilliston, after all, yet the assertion -of Mrs. Bezel only seemed to further complicate the case. If Hilliston -did not love Mrs. Larcher, what possible motive could he have to kill -Jeringham? The looks of Claude and Tait reflected his perplexity; but -dismissing this special point for the moment, he pursued his -examination. - -"How did Hilliston receive you?" - -Mrs. Bezel looked around with a bitter smile. Her meaning was clear from -the contemptuous expression on her face. - -"Can you not guess from what you see here?" she said quietly. "Francis -Hilliston bought me. He loved me well enough, but not sufficiently to -marry me. He did not ruin me, for I was already ruined. I accepted his -offer to come here and be his mistress. What else could I do? I was -alone in London. I was friendless. I believed that my lover and my -brother had fled to America. I could not return to Horriston lest I -might be involved in the tragedy at The Laurels. I did what any other -woman would have done, and made the best of a bad business. I accepted -the love and protection of Francis Hilliston. The protection still -continues, as you see--the love, that is dead and done with." - -"I see you are thinking of Louisa Sinclair," interposed Tait quietly. - -"What do you know of Louisa Sinclair?" asked Mrs. Bezel, with a violent -start. - -"Everything, thanks to you," answered Tait. "Your letter put the clew -into my head. I went to Horriston; I saw a portrait of Miss Sinclair. I -know that she went to America after the tragedy, and returned as Mrs. -Derrick, rich and beautiful, to marry Hilliston." - -"Ah, you know that much. Yes! Louisa Sinclair is my rival! Ten years ago -she came back to England and wanted Francis to marry her. I fell ill--I -became paralyzed. He forgot me, he forgot my love, and she became his -wife. Oh, how I hate her! I hate him. It was on that account that I -wrote to you, Claude, to reveal all." - -"You then acted out of revenge!" - -"Yes, I did!" said Mrs. Bezel sullenly. "Look at me, a wreck; look at -her, his wife, rich and handsome and healthy." - -"Not healthy, poor soul," said Claude. "She is ill with the smallpox." - -"With the smallpox," echoed Mrs. Bezel joyfully. "I'm glad of it! I'm -glad of it! Her beauty will depart, as mine has done. Then Francis may -come back to me." - -"You love him still?" asked Captain Larcher, in wonderment. - -"Too well to ruin him. You want me to accuse him of the crime, but I -tell you he is innocent; he knows nothing." - -"He was in the garden alone on that night. None other but he----" - -"He was not alone," cried Mrs. Bezel sharply. "Louisa Sinclair was with -him. Yes, she followed him from the ball because she was jealous of me. -In my flight I passed her at the gate. She had a cloak over her dress, -but I saw that it was the costume of Mary, Queen of Scots." - -"And you knew her by that?" - -"Partly. My mistress told me that Miss Sinclair had a similar costume to -her own, for she was very angry about it. But I saw her face as I fled. -She may know who killed Jeringham. I do not. Hilliston does not. Now, I -have told you all. Go away and leave me. I speak no more." - -"First tell us why you declared yourself to be my mother?" said Claude -sharply. - -"For safety. I regretted that I had told you; that I had forced -Hilliston into defending himself. I was afraid lest you should learn too -much and denounce me as the criminal. So long as you thought I was your -mother you would not dare to do so, and therefore I told you I was Mrs. -Larcher." - -"One last word," said Captain Larcher, rising to his feet. "Your child. -What became of it?" - -"Hilliston took it away," said Mrs. Bezel, in a melancholy tone. "I was -ill at the time and he overcame my scruples. I don't know where my child -is. Often and often have I wanted to see her again, but Francis has -always refused. Oh, where can she be?" - -"I can tell you." - -"You?" cried Mrs. Bezel, starting up in amazement. - -"Yes. Your daughter Jenny was brought by Hilliston to me. I adopted her -as my child, and she is now at Thorston with her Uncle Denis--your -brother." - -Mrs. Bezel tried to speak, but could not. With a wild glance around she -heaved a long sigh and fainted. The joy of hearing that her child was -alive proved too much for her enfeebled frame. - - - - - CHAPTER XLII. - - THE TRAGEDY OF A WOMAN'S VANITY. - - -MEANTIME Hilliston, unaware of that fatal meeting with Mona Bantry, -which threatened to demoralize his plans, was devoting himself to his -unfortunate wife. She was very ill, and not expected to recover, so -feeling that he would soon lose her, the lawyer stayed constantly by her -side, and strove, though unsuccessfully, to ameliorate her cruel -sufferings. It was all the more credit to him that he did so, as he had -married her mainly for her money, and was still in love with Mrs. Bezel. -No doubt, remorse had something to do with his present attitude. - -The landlord of the Connaught Hotel had insisted upon Mrs. Hilliston -being removed when the first symptoms of disease showed themselves. He -declared that were it known that he had a smallpox patient in his house, -he would be ruined for the season, so Hilliston, recognizing the truth -of this assertion, took steps to isolate his wife, as was necessary from -the nature of her illness. Assisted by the doctor, who attended to all -details relative to the municipal authorities, he hired a small house on -the outskirts of Eastbourne, and thither the wreck of what had once been -a beautiful woman was removed one evening. Nurses were hired from -London, Hilliston sent word to his partner that he would not return to -business for some weeks; and then began the slow martyrdom of the -sickroom. - -It was a fortnight since Mrs. Hilliston had been seized with the -disease, and now it had taken so favorable a turn that the doctor held -out great hopes that she would recover. But the beauty of which she had -been so proud was gone, and with it went the hopes that she could still -retain her husband by her side. Mrs. Hilliston knew well enough that it -was only her persistence which had made Hilliston marry her, and now -that she had lost her good looks--the one hold she had on his lukewarm -affection--she foresaw only too clearly that he would neglect her in the -future. Moreover, the woman's vanity was so powerful that she could not -accept calmly the possibility of surviving, a scarred and maimed object, -to face looks of pity and of horror. She felt that she would rather die, -and in fact resolved to do so. Meanwhile she tossed and turned, and -moaned and wept on her sick bed; crying out against the stern Fate which -had dealt her such hard measure. Yet in her secret soul she admitted -that the punishment was just. - -Hilliston was scarcely less unhappy than his wife. While her illness was -serious, he had thought of nothing but how to save her, but now that a -chance of recovery offered a respite from his arduous attendance by the -sick bed, he had time to turn his thoughts toward the Horriston tragedy. -He wondered that he had not heard from Paynton relative to the interview -with Claude, and, fearful lest some untoward event had occurred to upset -his plans, he wrote to Rose Cottage asking for information. To-day he -had received a reply, and on reading it saw his worst fears realized. - -"I know you now [wrote Captain Larcher briefly]. I have seen Claude; I -have seen Mona. Henceforth I look upon you as an enemy, and I intend to -take immediate steps to clear my name at your expense." - - * * * * * - -There was no signature, but Hilliston was too well acquainted with his -friend's writing to have any doubt as to the genuineness of the letter. -The blow had fallen; Mona had betrayed him, and he sat there helpless, -with the letter in his hand, a spectacle of baffled scheming, of -unmasked villany. - -"To clear his name at my expense," muttered Hilliston to himself. "What -does he mean by that? He cannot have discovered--but no, that is -impossible. When they find out who picked up that dagger at the ball, -they may learn the truth, but not till then. I defy them all. Larcher -will remain Paynton till the end of his life. Mona! Ah, I shall punish -her when I return to town for her cruel treachery." - -While he was thus thinking, a nurse entered the room to intimate that -Mrs. Hilliston would like to see him. The lawyer obeyed the summons at -once, placed Larcher's letter in his pocket, smoothed his brow, and -entered the sickroom. Signing to the nurse to go away, Mrs. Hilliston -waited till she was alone with her husband. - -"Francis," she said in a low voice, stretching out her hand, "I wish to -speak to you--on that subject." - -"I think it would be wise if you refrained from doing so," replied -Hilliston, knowing to what she alluded. "We understand one another on -that point; you can do no good by bringing it up again. Why should you?" - -"For Claude's sake," said Mrs. Hilliston feverishly. "You owe him some -reparation." - -"I owe him none, Louisa. I have acted like a father to him, and he has -turned on me. I helped Larcher to hide himself when it was dangerous for -him to become known, and he tells me that I am his enemy." - -"Have you heard from him?" - -"I received a curt note of three lines intimating that he was about to -assert his innocence, and clear his name at my expense." - -"Francis," cried Mrs. Hilliston, in a tone of terror, "you are lost! If -all is known----" - -"All will not be known," replied Hilliston, patting her hand; "only two -people know the truth--you and I. We can keep our own counsel." - -"But that little man, Tait, is at Horriston." - -"What of that?" - -"He will see Belinda Pike there. You know how she hated me because I -loved you. She wanted to marry you herself. If he meets Miss Pike she -will speak against me." - -"What of that?" said Hilliston soothingly. "You forget, my dear, that -your life is different now. No one can find Louisa Sinclair in Louisa -Hilliston. When you went to America you vanished and returned as Mrs. -Derrick, the rich widow. Belinda Pike can never learn that. My dear, you -distress yourself suddenly. We are perfectly safe." - -"But the garnet scarfpin," questioned Mrs. Hilliston feverishly. - -"I am secure on that point. Larcher knew that I was in the garden on -that night, and may have thought I dropped it. He will not dare to -accuse me of the crime. If he did," continued Hilliston, his brow -growing black, "I could turn the tables on him in a manner he little -expects. There is more evidence against him than against me." - -"But if they learn that I was with you on that night?" - -"They will never learn. No one saw you there. If they did, what does it -matter? Louisa Sinclair is dead. You need have no fear of being -recognized. I'll answer for that." - -"It does not matter to me if I am known or not," said Mrs. Hilliston -gloomily; "I have done with life." - -"My dear, the doctor says you will recover." - -"I shall not recover," said the sick woman, with emphasis. "Oh, do not -deceive yourself, Francis! I shall never rise from this sick bed to be -an object of horror and pity to you." - -"My dear----" - -"You never loved me. You only married me out of pity. At Horriston you -refused to make me your wife, and it was only when I returned from -America a rich woman that you did so. Pity," she said, with a scornful -laugh, "no, not pity, but necessity. You would have been ruined but for -my money." - -"I admit it, Louisa, and I am deeply grateful to you for the way in -which you have helped me. I can never repay you for saving my name and -credit." - -"You can, Francis. Get me my dressing case." - -"Louisa, you cannot----" - -"I insist upon being obeyed," she said imperiously. "Get me my dressing -case." - -With great reluctance he brought it from a distant table and placed it -on a chair by the bedside. In obedience to her directions he opened it, -and took therefrom a sealed envelope. - -"In there," she said, as he held it in his hand, "is an account of all I -saw on that fatal night. You must send that letter to Captain Larcher -when I am dead." - -"Louisa, do you wish to ruin me?" - -"I wish to save you, Francis. Do not deceive yourself into a belief that -the investigation is at an end. Claude may cease to meddle with the -matter, for he is in love with Jenny, and will probably marry her, for -by this time, according to you, he knows who she is. But I am afraid of -Spenser Tait. He will hunt you down; he will urge Larcher to find out -the truth. If it comes to that, send them my account of the matter." - -"It will ruin me," he said again. - -"It will save you," she repeated. "Do not be foolish, Francis. You can -read it before sending it away." - -"But you?" - -"I shall be dead. I feel sure I shall not live. Promise me that if the -worst comes you will send that letter." - -"I promise," he said, sorely against his will, "but it will not be sent: -you will live." - -"I don't think so, Francis. I know better than the doctor. Now kiss me, -my husband, and leave me to myself." - -He did so in silence, and took up the dressing-case, whereupon she -stopped him. "Let it be," she said quietly: "some of your letters are in -it, and I wish to read them. Kiss me again." - -Again he kissed her, and reluctantly left the room. So quiet and self -contained was she that he had no inkling of her intention. Had he -guessed her fatal resolve, little as was the love he bore her, he would -surely have striven to turn her from her purpose. But he guessed -nothing, and left her alone, with the devil tempting her. - -Good-by, my husband!" she murmured, as the door closed, and then burst -into tears. He had gone, she would never see him again, and she moaned -over her lost beauty which failed to retain him by her side. He was -coldly polite; he was affectionate out of pity, but he had no love for -her, and she hungered for the want of it. Her life passed before her, -episode after episode, till it stopped short at the spectacle of a -closed door, and herself lying alone and deserted in that sickroom. - -She wept and prayed, and then, with a firm hand, took out of her -dressing case a small vial filled with a dark brown liquid. Twice she -put it to her lips, and twice she hesitated; the third time she -accomplished her purpose. The thought of her lost beauty, of her -husband's neglect, of her childless home and wretched future, all these -nerved her, and she drank off the contents, then quickly replaced the -bottle in the dressing case. - -When the nurse came in to see her patient, Mrs. Hilliston was lying back -with a quiet smile on her pale lips. She had found peace at last. - - - - - CHAPTER XLIII. - - THE LAST APPEARANCE OF FRANCIS HILLISTON. - - -UNAWARE of the tragedy which had taken place at Eastbourne, Captain -Larcher was in London brooding over his wrongs, and weaving schemes how -to avenge himself on Hilliston. His eyes had been opened by Tait with -regard to the conduct of that gentleman, and he now saw plainly that he -had been Hilliston's dupe for all these years. Indeed, he began to share -Tait's opinion that the lawyer was guilty, and was casting about in his -own mind how to prove this, when an announcement in the papers informed -him of the death of Mrs. Hilliston. - -"The smallpox killed her, no doubt," said Tait, when he had expressed -his regrets. - -"No!" remarked Claude, who had been looking over the general news. "It -was a case of suicide." - -"Suicide!" exclaimed the hearers, in one breath. - -"Yes, according to this paragraph. It appears that in some way or -another she became possessed of a bottle of laudanum while the nurse was -absent. The woman returned to find her patient dead. Poor Mrs. -Hilliston!" added Claude, folding up the paper with a sigh. "How sorry I -am to hear this." - -"I wonder why she committed suicide?" said Tait meditatively. "She -looked too determined a woman to yield to such a weakness." - -"No doubt she found out that her husband was guilty of the crime," said -Larcher grimly, "and so did not care to live longer with a murderer." - -"You are wrong, father," observed Claude, looking up; "it was the -knowledge that she had lost her looks which killed her. Depend upon it, -she took the poison so as to avoid dragging out her days a scarred and -miserable object." - -"How do you know that, Claude?" asked his father, with a curious look on -his face. - -"Because not once, but twice, or thrice, Mrs. Hilliston told me she -would kill herself rather than grow old and ugly. The loss of beauty -came with the smallpox; and so she has carried out her resolve." - -"It will be a blow to Hilliston." - -"I don't think so," said Captain Larcher rather cynically. "From what I -remember of Louisa Sinclair, the love was all on her side. No doubt he -married her when she was Mrs. Derrick purely for her money. No! No! I -quite believe the story of Mona Bantry. She was and is the woman of his -love. Now the wife is dead he can console himself with the mistress." - -"That reminds me," observed Claude suddenly. "What are we to do about -Jenny? Is she to be informed that her mother is yet alive?" - -Captain Larcher shook his head. "Set your mind at rest on that point," -he said with a nod. "I told Mrs. Bezel that Jenny was about to become -your wife; that she thinks her parents are dead; and I pointed out that -it would be unwise to mar the happiness of the girl by letting her know -the truth. Mrs. Bezel agrees with me, and she has consented that things -shall remain as they are." - -"Does she not want to see Jenny, father?" - -"Of course she does. It is only natural, poor soul, but she loves her -child sufficiently to avoid casting a shadow on her life. Jenny will -never know that Jeringham was her father or that her mother is still -alive. She will marry you, Claude, as Miss Kennedy, and know no more of -her connection with the matter than she does at present." - -"And Denis?" - -"Denis has been told. I wrote him two days ago, and I have no doubt he -will come up to town to see the last of his wretched sister." - -"The last of her?" - -"Can you doubt it? Mrs. Bezel has death written on her face." - -"Another blow for Hilliston," said Tait, in a rather regretful tone. -Villain as he knew the lawyer to be, he could not help feeling sorry for -his troubles. Fate had held her hand a long time, but now she was -dealing a full measure, and pouring the vials of her wrath on the head -of the sinner. - -"It will be a heavier blow than the last," said Larcher, in a severe -tone, "for there is no doubt Hilliston truly loves Mona." - -"I suppose Denis will object to his going near her again." - -"It is impossible to say. We must leave that to the man himself." - -This conversation took place in Tait's rooms one morning some three -weeks after the momentous interview with Mrs. Bezel. It had been Captain -Larcher's intention to return at once to Thorston, but he had been -dissuaded from this by his son, who thought a few weeks in town would do -his father good. There was no doubt on this point, for Captain Larcher -brisked up wonderfully in the exhilarating atmosphere of the West End. -But for the unexplained mystery of Jeringham's death, he would have been -quite happy in the recovered society of his son, and even while the -future was still black enjoyed himself in no small degree. It did Claude -good to see that his father was at length getting some pleasure out of -life, after his years of incessant trouble and wearing anxiety. - -The next day Denis, looking older and grayer than ever, came up to see -his sister. He saw his master for a few minutes, and then went on to -Hampstead. - -"I have told Denis how ill she is," explained Captain Larcher, as the -man took his departure, "and he has promised to be as lenient as -possible toward her wrong-doing. By the way, Hilliston is in town." - -"Hilliston!" - -"Yes. He came up in the same train as Denis, and had the impudence to -speak to him. Asked him where I was, as he wanted to see me." - -"To see you, father?" cried Claude, in astonishment. "What for?" - -"I think I can guess," interposed Tait quietly, "Hilliston has been -stricken by his wife's death, and wants to atone for his sins by -confessing the truth. I would not be surprised if he called here this -afternoon." - -Captain Larcher looked skeptical, but said nothing, and the matter -dropped for the time being. As it happened Denis was still ignorant that -his sister had been the mistress of the lawyer, else there might have -been trouble. He had but a confused idea of Hilliston's connection with -the case, and, beyond knowing that he was the owner of the garnet -scarfpin, could not conceive that he had been actually present in the -garden when the murder was committed. True it was that the scarfpin had -been found on the spot where the corpse of Jeringham had lain, but -assured by his master that Hilliston was innocent, as Captain Larcher -had truly believed these many years, Denis never gave the matter a -second thought. Now he would learn the truth from Mrs. Bezel. - -Denis only came back in the afternoon, looking much put out. The ruin of -his much loved sister by Jeringham had been a great blow to him, but the -discovery that she was alive and had been living in sin with Hilliston -startled him considerably. He could hardly reply to the questions of his -master, but ultimately related that they had parted friends. Mrs. Bezel -had told him that the doctor assured her she could not live much longer; -and in the shadow of death Denis had freely forgiven her all her sins -and follies. - -"And, indeed, sir, what else could I do," said Denis, wiping the tears -from his eyes, "when I saw the poor thing lying there like a corpse? -It's a bitter time she's had of it, these last ten years, in that -death-in-life state. Oh yes, captain, I forgave her freely, poor soul!" - -"And Hilliston?" asked Larcher inquiringly. - -"May his black soul burn," cried Denis, with a scowl. "Were I or he -younger I'd leave my mark on him. Mona had a letter from him saying he -was calling to see her this evening, but that he had an appointment with -you, sir." - -"With me, Denis! It is the first I have heard of it. Where is he?" - -At this moment, as if in response to his question, the door opened and -Tait appeared, looking very disturbed. - -"Mr. Hilliston is here, Captain Larcher, and wishes to speak with you." - -Claude had entered the room by another door, and, on hearing this, -stepped forward looking slightly pale. He slipped his arm within that of -his father, as though to protect the elder man. Then they all waited to -hear what Captain Larcher had to say. The permission for the interview -must come from the man who had been most deeply wronged. He thought for -a moment or so with a frown on his face, then sank into a chair with a -deep sigh. - -"Denis, stand behind me," he said, in a peremptory tone. "Claude, sit -down yonder. Now, Mr. Tait, we are ready to see our friend." - -Tait anticipated this permission, and was already prepared for it. -Without a word he threw open the door, and Hilliston, dressed in deep -mourning, entered the room with a paper in his hand. He looked pale and -worn, his fresh color was gone, and as he spoke he kept his eyes -persistently on the ground. It could be easily seen that the man had -received a shock from which he would not easily recover. - -"I have called to see you and deliver this," he said, in a low tone, -placing the paper he carried on the table. "I do not ask your -forgiveness, Larcher, for I do not consider I have done anything to -justify your anger against me." - -"You could have saved me all these years of anguish by telling me the -truth," said Larcher indignantly. - -"Perhaps! But it was not to my interest to tell you the truth." - -"I don't wonder at that," said Claude bitterly. "You were afraid of the -law." - -"Perhaps," said Hilliston again. "On the other hand I may not be so -guilty as you think me. You will find the truth in that paper." - -He pointed toward the table, and the eyes of all immediately turned in -that direction, while Hilliston moved toward the door. - -"Having fulfilled the promise I made to my dead wife, I now take my -leave," he said quietly. "I will never see any of you again, and some -day you may learn that you have misjudged me. Good-by." - -He opened the door, but before he could pass through Denis sprang -forward. - -"My sister?" he said, with an indignant look in his eyes. - -"I am about to repair the wrong I did her," replied the lawyer gravely. -"By to-morrow she will be my wife." - - - - - CHAPTER XLIV. - - THE TRUTH. - - -HILLISTON came and went in the space of a few minutes. None of those -present made any attempt to stay his exit, but as the door closed after -him they looked at one another in silence. Thinking of Hilliston's last -speech, Denis was the first to speak. - -"What does that mean, sir?" he asked his master, with an air of helpless -bewilderment. - -"I think it can only mean one thing, Denis," replied Larcher, rousing -himself. "Mr. Hilliston has at length awakened to the fact of his -dastardly treatment of your sister, and is about to make reparation for -the past. He intends to marry her." - -"But his wife only died a few days ago, master." - -"I know that. But Mrs. Bezel will also die shortly, and if Hilliston -desires to atone for the past he has no time to lose. He can marry her -at once, but he will again be a widower within the month." - -Denis lifted a pair of shaking hands, and slowly left the room, followed -by the sympathetic looks of the others. He did not even pause to learn -the contents of the sealed envelope left by Mr. Hilliston. Great as was -his curiosity to learn all that had taken place on that fatal night, his -love and grief for his sister were greater still. Bowed and gray and -older-looking than ever, he departed; but in his heart there was one -comfortable thought--Mona would die an honest woman, if Mr. Hilliston -was to be believed. - -When the three found themselves alone, Captain Larcher picked up the -sealed letter with some reluctance. - -"Strange," he said, balancing it in his hand. "For years I have been -eager to know the truth. Now that I have only to open this envelope to -learn it, I feel half afraid." - -"Nevertheless, it will be as well to lose no time in making ourselves -acquainted with the contents," said Tait eagerly, for he was in a fever -of impatience to know all. "It may be a confession by Hilliston." - -"I think not. It is directed to me in the handwriting of Mrs. -Hilliston." - -"To Ferdinand Paynton?" - -"No. To Captain Larcher." - -"H'm!" said Tait, with a start. "How did Mrs. Hilliston know you were -Captain Larcher? Did she see you at Thorston?" - -"No. But her husband doubtless informed her of my real name. However, we -will learn all from this," said Larcher, breaking the seal. "I believe -this is a confession by Mrs. Hilliston." - -"But what can she have to confess?" cried Claude, as his father smoothed -out a closely written letter. "She can know nothing of the tragedy." - -"You forget," said Tait, with a sudden recollection, "Louisa Sinclair; -she was at Horriston, and, according to Mona Bantry, was in the garden -of The Laurels on that night. I would not be surprised if she saw the -committal of the crime." - -"What! Do you think she is about to betray her husband?" - -"Oh," said Tait significantly, "we are by no means sure of Hilliston's -guilt!" - -Larcher found that the writing was too small for him to read -comfortably, so handed the letter to Claude, with a request that he -should read it out aloud. Excusing himself on the plea of the -illegibility of the writing, Claude passed it to Tait, who accepted the -office with avidity. The letter was without date or direction, and began -in an abrupt manner, highly suggestive of the agitation under which it -had been written. Tait mentally noted these points, and began. - - * * * * * - -"This confession is to be read after my death by Captain George Larcher, -and, if he sees fit, he has my free permission to make it public. Still -I trust out of regret for the memory of an unhappy woman that he will -not do so save in the arising of two contingencies. First, should he be -still alive, and accused of murdering Mr. Jeringham. Second, should my -dear husband be accused of the crime. In the event of the occurrence of -either of these contingencies, I authorize him to make these pages -public. - -"To explain myself I must go back twenty-six years, when I was residing -at Horriston. You, Captain Larcher, will remember me well as Louisa -Sinclair, for at that time I saw a great deal of yourself and your wife. -I saw too much of her, for my eyes were sharp, and, but for a natural -reluctance to disturb your domestic peace, I could have enlightened you -as to her conduct. She was never worthy of a good man like you. She was -as bad as I afterward became, and that is saying a great deal, as you -will see by reading on. - -"I loved Francis Hilliston, your intimate friend. Belinda Pike loved him -also, but there was no need for either of us to be jealous of the other, -for Mr. Hilliston loved a third person; none other than your wife. No -doubt you will be angry when you read this, but your anger cannot alter -facts. Yes, your dearest friend loved your wife. Let him deny that if he -can." - -At this point there was a marginal note by Hilliston: "I do deny it, and -but that I am not in a position to do so I would not let George -Larcher's eyes rest on this confession. My poor wife was insanely -jealous of Mrs. Larcher, but I swear that she had no grounds to be so. I -admired Mrs. Larcher as a friend, nothing more, and I loved Mona Bantry. -She is the only woman who has ever attracted me, and, notwithstanding my -marriage, now dissolved by death, she attracts me still." - -This note was hastily scribbled in pencil, and after Tait had read it, -without interruption from Captain Larcher, he continued the confession: - -"I admit that I was jealous of his attentions to your wife," continued -Mrs. Hilliston, "for though I did all in my power I could not win him to -my side. Regarding the efforts of Belinda Pike, I say nothing. She tried -to gain his love, and she failed. I was more successful in the end, but -not till the lapse of many years. Here I may say that I have gypsy blood -in my veins, which at times renders me insanely jealous, and in such a -state I am capable of all things. A recollection of this may enlighten -you as to my acting as I did in the garden of The Laurels. - -"I knew that your wife loved Jeringham, and could have told you of it. I -am sorry I did not now, as she would have been disgraced, and then -Francis might have turned to me for consolation. But I held my peace, -and paid the cost of doing so. I am doing so now; you also; for if you -had been forewarned you would never have had to conceal yourself under a -feigned name on account of Jeringham's death. - -"At the fancy dress ball held at the Town Hall, matters came to a -climax. My gypsy blood made me mad on that night, owing to the way in -which I was neglected by Francis Hilliston. With some difficulty I -learned that your wife was to be dressed as Mary, Queen of Scots, and, -with a view to making myself attractive in Hilliston's eyes, I chose the -same dress. With the assistance of the dressmaker who worked for us -both, I obtained a dress similar in all respects to that of Mrs. -Larcher, hoping that by doing so he would speak to me under the -impression that I was your wife. My stratagem was successful. I was -masked and dressed as she was; he spoke to me, thinking I was she, and I -learned then how he loved her. At that moment I could have killed her. I -could have killed him." - -Here there was another note in Hilliston's handwriting: "Again I say -that the poor creature was mistaken. I did speak to her under the -impression that she was Mrs. Larcher, but I said nothing that she could -construe into a declaration of love. Her jealousy rendered her mad, and -she distorted the idle words I spoke. She took them up in the wrong -sense." - -"My suspicions were confirmed later on," continued the confession, "for -I overheard them talking together; yes, Francis Hilliston and your wife -were in a corner together, talking of love. I listened. It was mean to -do so; but then, I was in love and would have stooped to any degradation -to have rescued him from her clutches. They talked about a dagger which -he had given her to complete her dress. Aha! he did not think to -complete my costume with such a gift. Mrs. Larcher took the dagger out -of its sheath and together they examined it. She blamed him for putting -an inscription on it, saying it would make her husband jealous. Francis -laughed, and said that you would never suspect him. Then Mrs. Larcher -slipped the dagger back in the sheath, as she thought; but in reality it -slipped down among the folds of her dress, and when she arose to go it -fell on the ground. They departed, and I picked up the dagger. - -"At once I looked at the inscription, and there it was on the gold -handle--'To J. L., from F. H.' I was so enraged that I could have broken -the dagger. I tried to, but it was too strong for me. Therefore I thrust -it into my waistband and went in search of Hilliston to return it to -him, and reproach him for giving it to Mrs. Larcher. I saw him, wrapped -in his cloak, go out with Mrs. Larcher. He was seeing her home, and in a -frenzy of jealous rage I resolved to follow." - -Margin note by Hilliston: "It was not I who went home with Mrs. Larcher, -but Jeringham. I was dressed that evening as a Venetian senator, and -wore a long black cloak. This Jeringham borrowed from me to conceal his -fancy dress when he left the Town Hall. My wife thought it was me, but -she was mistaken. I went home with George Larcher, as he knows." - -The confession continues: "They left in Mrs. Larcher's carriage, and I, -hastily wrapping a cloak round me, followed in a fly. When I got to The -Laurels they were talking together at the door, and the carriage had -driven round to the stables. I sat back in my fly, for the driver did -not know who I was, and watched. I saw Mrs. Larcher kiss Hilliston and -run inside. Then I went out of my mind--I was possessed by a devil. He -came down the path and turned midway to look back at the house. I had my -hand on the dagger--it tempted me, and I sprang out on him. He turned -sharply round, and had I not been blinded with rage I would have then -recognized him. But I hardly knew what I was doing, and, before he could -utter a word, I buried the dagger in his heart, when he fell with a -choking cry. I knelt down beside him, and withdrew the dagger. Then I -heard a sound, dropped the weapon, and fled. - -"Some little distance off I ran into the arms of Francis Hilliston. I -shrieked as though I had seen a ghost, and told him I had killed a -man--that I had intended to kill him. He explained the mistake of the -cloak, and said I must have murdered Jeringham. Then he saved my life. -No one had seen me come to The Laurels, no one had seen me in the -garden; so Francis took me back to Horriston, and I returned to the ball -without anyone having suspected my absence. - -"The next day the news of the disappearance of Jeringham was all over -the town; afterward the body was discovered down the river, and mistaken -for that of Mr. Larcher. Francis advised me for my own sake to hold my -tongue. I did so, and shortly afterward I went on a visit to a sister of -mine in America. Francis refused to marry me on account of my crime. In -America I married Derrick, the millionaire; he died, and I returned to -London. I found Francis greatly in want of money, and as I still loved -him, I married him. No one but us two knew who really killed Jeringham, -but for your sake, Captain Larcher, I acknowledge my guilt lest you -should be found out and accused of the crime. I could say much more, but -this is enough. When you read this I will be dead, and my last words I -swear are true. I and none other killed Mark Jeringham in mistake for -Francis Hilliston." - -Note by Hilliston: "It will be seen that my wife was actuated all -through by jealousy, but I swear she had no reason. I loved Mona, not -Mrs. Larcher, nor her. I saved her life because she committed the crime -for my sake; I married her because I was on the verge of pecuniary ruin. -I have nothing more to add. You can blame me if you like, but I consider -I have acted all through as I was forced by circumstances." - - - - - CHAPTER XLV. - - A FEW WORDS BY SPENSER TAIT. - - -WHEN the case has been stated, when the witnesses for and against have -given their evidence, when the counsel on both sides have delivered -their speeches, it is then customary for the judge to sum up the entire -matter for the direction of the jury. In this instance I am the judge, -and here is the Larcher affair summed up for the understanding of the -public. It has fallen to my share to wind up the story, so here I set -down such results as happened from the confession of Mrs. Hilliston. - -The immediate result of her death was the marriage of the widower to -Mrs. Bezel, which took place, so to speak, when the latter was on her -deathbed. She lingered out another two months, and died in the arms of -her husband, at peace with all the world. Denis heartily forgave her, -and the only bitter drop in her cup was the absence of her child. Yet -when Captain Larcher suggested that Jenny should be told the truth, and -brought to say good-by to her mother, Mrs. Bezel, with a self-denial for -which I hardly gave her credit, refused to permit such a thing. She -thought that Jenny would be happier if she was ignorant of the truth, -and moreover, Mrs. Bezel shrank from letting her child know how she had -lived during these many years. At all events Jenny never learned the -truth, and Mrs. Bezel died without seeing her daughter. That she forgave -Hilliston for having deprived her of the child is, I think, a proof of -her goodness of heart, for there is no doubt that he acted selfishly and -cruelly in doing so. But enough of Mrs. Bezel, her faults and virtues. -She lies in Hampstead Cemetery under a plain stone of rose-colored -granite, inscribed "To the memory of Mona Hilliston." So she had her -wish at last, and died an honest woman. - -Captain Larcher returned with Kerry to the cottage in Nightingale Lane, -as he could not make up his mind to resume his own name, or tear himself -away from the bookworm life of twenty-five years. No one knew the truth -save Claude, Jenny, and myself, for Hilliston being absent from England -does not count. The vicar was also enlightened on the subject, and -expressed much astonishment at the strange series of events which had -culminated in the death and confession of Mrs. Hilliston. Unwilling to -lose his old crony he heartily approved of Larcher's determination to -resume his usual life, and so the matter was settled. Captain Larcher -will remain Mr. Ferdinand Paynton to the end of his days, and will still -be a mystery to the gossips of Thorston; how great a one they can never -guess. - -But a notable change has taken place in his habits. He is no longer a -recluse, a misanthrope. When I am at the Manor House he visits me there; -he is a constant guest at the vicarage, and may be seen frequently -fishing beside Kerry on the banks of the Lax. Following the example of -his master, Denis Bantry also renounced his name, which he -superstitiously regarded as one of ill-omen, and called himself Kerry -for the rest of his life. If he was grieved for his unhappy sister, her -life and her death, he finds consolation in the society of Mrs. Claude -Larcher, who conducts herself toward him as a niece should do. But the -relationship is not known beyond the walls of Rose Cottage, lest it -might lead to inquiries, and Jenny is still known as the daughter of Mr. -Paynton. - -That Claude should call Mr. Paynton "father" is of course only regarded -as natural by the village. Has he not married Jenny, and does he not -stand in the relation of a son to the old man? Thorston gossips think he -is a most perfect son-in-law, and never guess that any nearer -relationship exists between them. - -Of course Jenny and Claude were married as speedily as possible, and I -do not know a happier couple. Mrs. Larcher has quite converted me with -regard to the fair sex, and plumes herself on her victory. She has the -audacity to say that she will yet succeed in getting me married, but I -think that is beyond her powers. Mr. Linton married them, and they spent -their honeymoon at the Manor House, which I lent them for the occasion. -Indeed, while at Thorston they invariably live with me, and I should be -offended did they take up their quarters anywhere else. Not that they -have any desire to do so, for Rose Cottage is rather small, and, -besides, the Manor is within easy distance of it, so that Jenny can see -her father--or, rather, her father-in-law--as often as she chooses. - -Claude still goes to different parts of the world to build bridges and -construct railways. Sometimes his wife goes with him, but she does not -like to be so long away from Thorston. Paynton is now an old man, and -cannot live long, so Mrs. Larcher wishes to be near him as much as -possible. Besides, the cares of the nursery take up her attention, so I -think that in a few months Claude will settle down to business in -London, and make his home at Thorston, as he always intended to do. -There is a pleasant little place not far from the Manor which I have -been commissioned to buy for him, so I really think that next year -Claude and Jenny will take up their residence among us. - -The only person who disapproved of the marriage was Frank Linton, who -accused Jenny of jilting him. This was utter nonsense, as she never had -any intention of becoming his wife. However, the author considers -himself badly treated, and has taken up his quarters in London, where he -writes books, and poses in Chelsea circles. But I do not think he will -ever write so excellent a book as "A Whim of Fate," perhaps because Mrs. -Claude Larcher refuses to tell him any more plots. She has a good reason -for so doing, as the troubles which arose out of her finding the murder -papers in the garret of Rose Cottage have startled her in no small -degree. Still, as I tell her, she must look on such troubles as a -blessing in disguise, for, after all, they led to her marriage and -present happiness. But Mrs. Claude does not see the matter in so amiable -a light. - -Finally, Hilliston! It is hard to say what has become of that gentleman. -After the death of his second wife, he withdrew from business and went -abroad. There I believe he is still, and from what I hear of him at odd -times he seems to have developed into a kind of Wandering Jew. France, -Italy, Austria, Germany, Russia, he has seen all these places, and is -constantly traveling about, no doubt trying to live down the past. -Whether he will succeed in doing so it is hard to say. - -After some consideration I have come to the conclusion that we have been -rather hard on Hilliston. He did not love Mrs. Larcher, in spite of his -wife's insane jealousy on the point, and I believe he was sincerely -attached to Mona Bantry. The blot on his character is that he did not -marry her when she first came to London, and seeing that he was in love -with her, I profess my inability to explain why he did not do so. -Perhaps it was on account of her low birth, or the circumstances which -connected her with Jeringham, but at all events he did not marry her -till it was too late for the poor creature's happiness. Otherwise I do -not see how he could have acted differently. Louisa Sinclair was guilty -of the murder, but as she did it on his account, and was wildly in love -with him, it was to his honor that he protected her as he did. Whether -he would have told the truth had Mrs. Larcher been convicted I do not -know, but as Louisa Sinclair did not leave for America till Mrs. Larcher -was released, I think Hilliston would have persuaded her to confess -openly in the event of a conviction. - -It is true that he married her for her money, but I think he was touched -by her devotion, and gave her some love. No doubt it was Mrs. -Hilliston's remorse for condemning his father to lifelong seclusion that -made her so kind to Claude when he was a lad. Now it is easy to see why -Hilliston was reluctant that Claude and I should investigate the case. -He was afraid lest the truth should be found out, and his wife arrested. -I was wrong in my surmise. Hilliston was not afraid for himself, but for -the unhappy woman who had killed Jeringham in mistake for him. The whole -mystery would have been solved years ago had Dicky Pental spoken out as -he should have done. But the fear of being shut up in an asylum closed -his mouth, and so the case was at a standstill for five-and-twenty long -years. - -It was strange that Jenny, who set the ball rolling, should have been -the indirect means of avenging her father's murder--or rather of solving -the mystery which concealed it. Had she not discovered those papers in -the garret, she would not have been able to give Frank Linton the plot -of "A Whim of Fate." Had that novel not been written and published, Mrs. -Bezel would not have read it, and thereby have been induced to write to -Claude. Had she not done so, Hilliston would not have told Claude the -truth, thence we would not have taken up the investigation and solved -the mystery. It was Jenny who was responsible for the whole. After -five-and-twenty years the child of the murdered man unconsciously -enlightened us as to the person who had slain him. Fate works in strange -ways. - -But I do not wish to figure further as a detective. This one experience -has been quite enough for me. The thought, the anguish, the trouble is -too worrying. The next criminal case in the Larcher family can look -after itself. I abandon the rôle of detective, and thus put the last -word to my only criminal case. - - - THE END. - - - - - A SELECTED LIST OF - NOVELS AND TALES - PUBLISHED BY - THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO., - _31 E. 17th St._ (_Union Square_), _New York_. - Alphabetically arranged by Authors. - - - Cloth Paper - -ABOUT, EDMOND. Mother of a Marquise $0 75 $0 50 -ADEE, DAVID G. No. 19 State Street 75 50 -ALARÇON, P. A. DE. Moors and Christians 75 50 - " " The Child of the Ball 75 50 - " " The Three-Cornered Hat 75 50 -ALLEN, GRANT. Blood Royal 75 50 - " The Scallywag 1 00 .. -ALEXANDER, MRS. Broken Links. A Love Story 1 00 .. - " The Snare of the Fowler 1 00 50 -BAIN, R. N. Pretty Michal 75 50 -BARR, ROBT. In a Steamer Chair 75 50 -BARRETT, FRANK. Out of the Jaws of Death 1 00 50 - " The Admirable Lady Biddy Fane 75 50 -BARRIE, J. M. Auld Licht Idylls 1 00 .. - " A Window in Thrums 1 00 25 - " My Lady Nicotine 1 00 25 -BAZÁN, EMILIA PARDO. A Christian Woman 75 50 - " " A Wedding Trip 75 50 - " " Morriña 1 00 .. - " " Swan of Vilamorta 75 50 - " " The Angular Stone 75 50 -BAZIN, RENÉ. A Blot of Ink 75 50 -BECKETT, C. H. Who is John Noman? 75 50 -BETHUNE, J. G. The Third Man 75 50 -BIERCE, AMBROSE. Can Such Things Be? 75 50 -BRADDON, M. E. All Along the River 1 00 .. -BREHET, ALFRED. Bras d'Acier 75 50 -BRYCE, LLOYD. Friends in Exile 1 00 .. -BUCHANAN, ROBERT. The Wedding Ring 75 50 -CLIFFORD, MRS. W. K. A Wild Proxy 1 00 .. -COBB, JR., SYLVANUS. Bion, the Wanderer 75 50 - " " Gunmaker of Moscow 75 50 - " " Karmel, the Scout 75 50 - " " Orion, the Goldbeater 75 50 - " " Painter of Parma 75 50 - " " Smuggler of King's Cove 75 50 -DAUDET, ALPHONSE. Rose and Ninette 75 50 -DALE, DARLEY. Lottie's Wooing 1 00 .. -DANE, DANIEL. Vengeance is Mine 1 00 50 -DEBANS, CAMILLE. Gabriel's Vocation 75 50 -ELIOT, ANNIE. An Hour's Promise 75 50 -FARJEON, B. L. A Fair Jewess 1 00 .. - " The Last Tenant 1 00 .. -FAWCETT, EDGAR. A New York Family 1 00 50 -FENN, G. MANVILLE. Commodore Junk 75 50 - " Nurse Elisia 1 00 .. - " Witness to the Deed 1 00 .. -FEUILLET, OCTAVE. An Artist's Honor 75 50 -FLAMMARION, CAMILLE. Lumen 75 50 - " " Uranie 75 50 -FLOYD, ISOBEL HENDERSON. Stolen America 75 50 -FRANCKE, PAUL M. A Blot of Ink 75 50 -GAUTIER, THÉOPHILE. Juancho the Bull-Fighter 75 50 -GORDON, JULIEN. His Letters 1 00 .. - " Marionettes 1 00 50 -GRAND, SARAH. The Heavenly Twins 1 00 .. -GRÉVILLE, MME. HENRI. A Mystery 75 50 -GRIGOROVITCH, DIMITRY. The Cruel City 75 50 -HAKE, THOS. ST. E. Within Sound of the Weir 75 50 -HALE, EDWARD EVERETT. A New England Boyhood 1 00 .. - " " East and West 1 00 .. - " " Sybil Knox 1 00 .. -HANNAN, CHARLES. A Swallow's Wing 75 50 -HARBEN, W. N. White Marie 75 50 -HARLAND, HENRY. As it was Written 1 00 50 - " Grandison Mather 1 25 50 - " Latin-Quarter Courtship 75 50 - " Mrs. Peixada 1 00 50 - " The Two Voices 50 .. - " Two Women or One? 75 .. - " Yoke of the Thorah 1 00 50 -HARLAND, MARION. Mr. Wayt's Wife's Sister 1 00 .. -HARRIS, A. L. The Fatal Request 75 50 -HARRISON, MRS. BURTON. A Daughter of the South 1 00 .. - " Flower de Hundred 1 00 50 - " The Anglomaniacs 1 00 50 -HATTON, JOSEPH. Under the Great Seal 1 00 .. -HAWTHORNE, JULIAN. John Parmelee's Curse 75 50 -HOPE, ANTHONY. Father Stafford 75 50 -HORNUNG, E. Tiny Luttrell 1 00 .. -HUDSON, W. C. Jack Gordon, Knight-Errant 75 50 - " On the Rack 75 50 - " The Diamond Button 75 50 - " The Dugdale Millions 75 50 - " The Man with a Thumb 75 50 - " Vivier 75 50 -INCA-PANCHA-OZOLLO. The Lost Inca 75 50 -JOKAI, MAURUS. Dr. Dumány's Wife 75 50 - " Pretty Michal 75 50 -KEELING, ELSA D'ESTERRE. Orchardscroft 1 00 .. -KEENAN, HENRY F. Trajan 1 50 50 -KEITH, LESLIE. 'Lisbeth 1 00 .. -LA FOREST, DEBUT. Renée and Colette 75 50 -LANDON, MELVILLE D. Thirty Years of Wit, etc 1 50 50 -LATHROP, GEO. PARSONS. Two Sides of a Story 75 50 -LEMAÎTRE, JULES. Prince Hermann, Regent 75 50 -LE QUEUX, WM. Strange Tales of a Nihilist 75 50 -LOTI, PIERRE. The Book of Pity and of Death 75 50 - " Jean Berny, Sailor 1 00 .. -MAIRET, MME. JEANNE. An Artist 75 50 -MALLOCK, W. H. A Human Document 75 50 -MARRYAT, FLORENCE. Parson Jones 1 00 .. -MARY, JULES. The Shadow of Roger Laroque 75 50 -MCCLELLAND, M. G. Burkett's Lock 75 50 -MCCLELLAND, M. G. Madame Silva 75 50 -MCDOUGALL, W. H. The Hidden City 75 50 -MEADE, L. T. Out of the Fashion 1 00 .. - " The Medicine Lady 1 00 .. -MEREDITH, WM. T. Not of Her Father's Race 75 50 -MITFORD, BERTRAND. 'Tween Snow and Fire 75 50 -MOLESWORTH, MRS. Leona 1 00 .. -MONTAGUE, C. H., and C. W. DYAR. Written in Red 75 50 -MOORE, FRANK F. I Forbid the Banns 1 00 .. -MOURIOT, MLLE. V. Madame Rosély 1 00 .. -OHNET, GEORGES. A Debt of Hatred 75 50 - " Nimrod & Co 75 50 - " The Soul of Pierre 75 50 -PAGE, ANNA DYER. An Artist 75 50 - " " A Mystery 75 50 -PARR, MRS. The Squire 1 00 50 -POTAPEEKO, N. E. A Russian Priest 75 50 - " The General's Daughter 75 50 -QUILLER-COUCH, A. T. ("Q"). A Blot of Ink 75 50 - " " Blue Pavilions 75 50 -QUILLER-COUCH, A. T. ("Q"). Dead Man's Rock 75 50 - " " I Saw Three Ships 75 50 - " " Noughts and Crosses 75 50 - " " The Splendid Spur 75 50 - " " The Astonishing History - of Troy Town 75 50 -QUIGG, L. E. Tin Types 1 50 50 -RICKETT, J. COMPTON. The Quickening of Caliban 1 00 .. -RICHEBOURG, ÉMILE. Old Raclot's Million 75 50 -ROBERTS, MORLEY. Mate of the Vancouver 75 50 -RUSSELL, W. CLARK. List, Ye Landsmen 1 00 .. - " Romance of a Transport 1 00 .. - " The Emigrant Ship 1 00 .. -SACHER-MASOCH, L. VON. The New Job 75 50 -SALE, PIERRE. The Price of a Coronet 75 50 -SHAPCOTT, REUBEN. Auto. of Mark Rutherford 1 00 .. - " Mark Rutherford's Deliverance 1 00 .. - " Revolution in Tanner's Lane 1 00 .. -SHERARD, R. H. By Right, Not Law 75 50 -SOUVESTRE, ÉMILE. Man and Money 75 50 -SPENCER, MRS. G. E. A Plucky One 75 50 -STERNE, STUART. The Story of Two Lives 75 50 -STODDARD, ELIZABETH. Two Men 75 50 - " Temple House 75 50 - " The Morgesons 75 50 -STRETTON, HESBA. Half-Brothers 1 00 .. -SYLVA, CARMEN. Edleen Vaughan 75 .. -THOMAS, ANNIE. Utterly Mistaken 1 00 .. -THOMPSON, MAURICE. At Love's Extremes 75 50 - " A Banker of Bankersville 75 50 -TOMPKINS, E. S. DE G. An Honest Hypocrite 75 50 -VALDES, A. P. Faith 75 50 -VALENTINE, JANE. Time's Scythe 75 50 -VAN ZILE, EDWARD S. Last of the Van Slacks 75 50 - " " Don Miguel, etc. 75 50 -VERNE, JULES. Cæsar Cascabel 1 00 50 - " Mistress Branican 1 00 50 -WALWORTH, MRS. J. H. Baldy's Point 75 50 - " " Bar Sinister 75 50 - " " New Man at Rossmere 75 50 - " " Without Blemish 75 50 -WEYMAN, S. J. Story of Francis Cludde 1 00 50 - " The Man in Black 1 00 .. -WOOLF, PHILIP, M. D. Who is Guilty? 75 50 -WOOD, J. S. An Old Beau 1 00 .. -ZOLA, ÉMILE. Doctor Pascal 1 00 50 - " The Downfall 1 50 50 - - - - - Transcriber Notes: - -Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. - -Passages in bold were indicated by =equal signs=. - -Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS. - -Throughout the document, the oe ligature was replaced with "oe". - -Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the -speakers. Those words were retained as-is. - -Errors in punctuation and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected -unless otherwise noted. - -On page 31, "Nevertheles" was replaced with "Nevertheless". - -On page 51, the comma after "John Parver herself" was replaced with a -period. - -On page 53, "Hillison" was replaced with "Hilliston". - -On page 73, the period after "valued this spendor" was replaced with a -question mark. - -On page 82, "fufilled" was replaced with "fulfilled/". - -On page 102, "CHAPER" was replaced with "CHAPTER". - -On page 107, "the the" was replaced with "the". - -On page 116, "was" was added before "by no means". - -On page 122, "Jerringham" was replaced with "Jeringham". - -On page 125, a quotation mark as added after "That's strange.". - -On page 127, "Hillston" was replaced with "Hilliston". - -On page 136, "was" was added before "now perfectly composed". - -On page 145, the period after "description of the scarfpin" was replaced -with a question mark. - -On page 150, "bundle old newspapers" was replaced with "bundle of old -newspapers". - -On page 162, "clever conversation that" was replaced with "clever -conversation than". - -On page 162, "and like to" was replaced with "and liked to". - -On page 208, "idylic" was replaced with "idyllic". - -On page 210, the quotation mark was removed after "to their -accomplishment.". - -On page 212, a comma was added after "he said". - -On page 224, the period after "only be Jeringham" was replaced with a -comma. - -On page 267, "Jerringham" was replaced with "Jeringham". - -On page 280, the period after "with the case" was replaced with a comma. - -On page 284, a comma was added after "into the garden". - -On page 311, the period after "we ought to proceed" was replaced with a -question mark. - -On page 323, the quotation mark after "not tended to improve it." was -removed. - -On the first page of Selected List of Novels and Tales, a period was -added after "Edmond". - -On the second page of Selected List of Novels and Tales, ".." was added -in the line for "Farjeon, B. L." - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Third Volume, by Fergus Hume - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THIRD VOLUME *** - -***** This file should be named 43288-8.txt or 43288-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/2/8/43288/ - -Produced by Suzanne Shell, Ernest Schaal, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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