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diff --git a/old/50705-8.txt b/old/50705-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5accf14..0000000 --- a/old/50705-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9841 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The de Bercy Affair, by Gordon Holmes - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The de Bercy Affair - -Author: Gordon Holmes - -Illustrator: Howard Chandler Christy - -Release Date: December 17, 2015 [EBook #50705] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DE BERCY AFFAIR *** - - - - -Produced by Suzanne Shell, Ernest Schaal, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - The de Bercy Affair - - - - - _By_ GORDON HOLMES - - A - MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE - - THE ARNCLIFFE PUZZLE - THE LATE TENANT - - - BY FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES - - THE DE BERCY AFFAIR - - THE HOUSE OF SILENCE - - [Illustration] - - - - - [Illustration: Osborne came whispering - _Frontispiece_] - - - - - The - de Bercy Affair - - BY - - GORDON HOLMES - - AUTHOR OF - - A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE, - BY FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES, ETC., ETC. - - ILLUSTRATIONS BY - HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - - GROSSET & DUNLAP - - PUBLISHERS - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1910 - - BY EDWARD J. CLODE - - _Entered at Stationers' Hall_ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I. SOME PHASES OF THE PROBLEM 1 - II. DARKNESS 16 - III. A CHANGE OF ADDRESS 31 - IV. THE NEW LIFE 51 - V. THE MISSING BLADE 66 - VI. TO TORMOUTH 88 - VII. AT TORMOUTH 107 - VIII. AT THE SUN-DIAL 126 - IX. THE LETTER 148 - X. THE DIARY, AND ROSALIND 169 - XI. ENTRAPPED! 188 - XII. THE SARACEN DAGGER 206 - XIII. OSBORNE MAKES A VOW 224 - XIV. THE ARRESTS 246 - XV. CLEARING THE AIR 265 - XVI. WHEREIN TWO WOMEN TAKE THE FIELD 285 - XVII. THE CLOSING SCENE 304 - - - - - THE DE BERCY AFFAIR - - CHAPTER I - - SOME PHASES OF THE PROBLEM - - -Chief Inspector Winter sat in his private office at New Scotland Yard, -while a constable in uniform, bare-headed, stood near the door in the -alert attitude of one who awaits the nod of a superior. Nevertheless, -Mr. Winter, half-turning from a desk littered with documents, eyed the -man as though he had just said something outrageous, something so -opposed to the tenets of the Police Manual that the Chief Commissioner -alone could deal with the offense. - -"Have you been to Mr. Furneaux's residence?" he snapped, nibbling one -end of a mustache already clipped or chewed so short that his strong -white teeth could barely seize one refractory bristle. - -"Yes, sir." - -"Have you telephoned to any of the district stations?" - -"Oh, yes, sir--to Vine Street, Marlborough Street, Cannon Row, Tottenham -Court Road, and half-a-dozen others." - -"No news of Mr. Furneaux anywhere? The earth must have opened and -swallowed him!" - -"The station-sergeant at Finchley Road thought he saw Mr. Furneaux jump -on to a 'bus at St. John's Wood about six o'clock yesterday evening, -sir; but he could not be sure." - -"No, he wouldn't. I know that station-sergeant. He is a fat-head.... -When did you telegraph to Kenterstone?" - -"At 6.30, sir." - -Mr. Winter whisked a pink telegraphic slip from off the blotting-pad, -and read: - - Inspector Furneaux not here to my knowledge. - _Police Superintendent_, KENTERSTONE. - -"Another legal quibbler--fat, too, I'll be bound," he growled. Then he -laughed a little in a vein of irritated perplexity, and said: - -"Thank you, Johnson. You, at least, seem to have done everything -possible. Try again in the morning. I _must_ see Mr. Furneaux at the -earliest moment! Kindly bring me the latest editions of the evening -papers, and, by the way, help yourself to a cigar." - -The gift of a cigar was a sign of the great man's favor, and it was -always an extraordinarily good one, of which none but himself knew the -exact brand. Left alone for a few minutes, he glanced through a written -telephone message which he had thrust under the blotting-pad when Police -Constable Johnson had entered. It was from Paris, and announced that two -notorious Anarchists were en route to England by the afternoon train, -due at Charing Cross at 9.15 p.m. - -"Anarchists!" growled the Chief Inspector--"Pooh! Antoine Descartes and -Émile Janoc--Soho for them--absinthe and French cigarettes--green and -black poison. Poor devils! they will do themselves more harm than his -Imperial Majesty. Now, where the deuce _is_ Furneaux? This Feldisham -Mansions affair is just in his line--Clarke will ruin it." - -Johnson came back with a batch of evening papers. Understanding his -duties--above all, understanding Mr. Winter--he placed them on the -table, saluted, and withdrew without a word. Soon the floor was littered -with discarded news-sheets, those quick-moving eyes ever seeking one -definite item--"The Murder in the West End--Latest"--or some such -headline, and once only was his attention held by a double-leaded -paragraph at the top of a column: - - A correspondent writes:--"I saw the deceased lady in company - with a certain popular American millionaire at the International - Horse Show in June, and was struck by her remarkable resemblance - to a girl of great beauty resident in Jersey some eight years - ago. The then village maid was elected Rose Queen at a rural - fête, I photographed her, and comparison of the photograph with - the portrait of Mademoiselle de Bercy exhibited in this year's - Academy served to confirm me in my opinion that she and the - Jersey Rose Queen were one and the same person. I may add that - my accidental discovery was made long before the commission of - the shocking crime of yesterday." - - Under present circumstances, of course, we withhold from - publication the name of the Jersey Rose Queen, but the line of - inquiry thus indicated may prove illuminative should there be - any doubt as to the earlier history of the hapless lady whose - lively wit and personal charm have brought London society to her - feet since she left the Paris stage last year. - -Winter did not hurry. Tucking the cigar comfortably into a corner of his -mouth, he read each sentence with a quiet deliberation; then he sought a -telephone number among the editorial announcements, and soon was -speaking into a transmitter. - -"Is that the _Daily Gazette_?... Put me on to the editorial department, -please.... That you, Arbuthnot? Well, I'm Winter, of Scotland Yard. Your -evening edition, referring to the Feldisham Mansions tragedy, contains -an item.... Oh, you expected to hear from me, did you? Well, what is the -lady's name, and who is your correspondent?... What? Spell it. -A-r-m-a-u-d. All right; if you feel you _must_ write to the man first, -save time by asking him to send me the photograph. I will pass it on to -you exclusively, of course. Thanks. Good-by." - -Before the receiver was on its hook, the Chief Inspector was taking a -notebook from his breast pocket, and he made the following entry: - - Mirabel Armaud, Rose Queen, village near St. Heliers, - summer of 1900. - -A knock sounded on the door. - -"Oh, if this could only be Furneaux!" groaned Winter. "Come in! Ah! Glad -to see you, Mr. Clarke. I was hoping you would turn up. Any news?" - -"Nothing much, sir--that is to say, nothing really definite. The -maid-servant is still delirious, and keeps on screaming out that Mr. -Osborne killed her mistress. I am beginning to believe there is -something in it----" - -Winter's prominent steel blue eyes dwelt on Clarke musingly. - -"But haven't we the clearest testimony as to Osborne's movements?" he -asked. "He quitted Miss de Bercy's flat at 6.25, drove in his motor to -the Ritz, attended a committee meeting of the International Polo Club at -6.30, occupied the chair, dined with the committee, and they all went to -the Empire at nine o'clock. Unless a chauffeur, a hall-porter, a -head-waiter, two under-waiters, five polo celebrities, a box-office -clerk, and several other persons, are mixed up in an amazing conspiracy -to shield Mr. Rupert Osborne, he certainly could not have murdered a -woman who was alive in Feldisham Mansions at half-past seven." - -Clarke pursed his lips sagely. As a study in opposites, no two men could -manifest more contrasts. Clarke might have had the words "Detective -Inspector" branded on his forehead: his features sharp, cadaverous, eyes -deep-set and suspicious, his nose and chin inquisitive, his lips fixed -as a rat-trap. Wide cheek-bones, low-placed ears, and narrow brows gave -him a sinister aspect. In his own special department, the hunting out of -"confidence men," card-sharpers, and similar hawklike pluckers of the -provincial pigeon fluttering through London's streets, he was unrivaled. -But Winter more resembled an intellectual prizefighter than the typical -detective of fiction. His round head, cropped hair, wide-open eyes, -joined to a powerful physique and singular alertness of glance and -movement, suggested that he varied the healthy monotony of a gentleman -farmer's life by attendance at the National Sporting Club and other -haunts of pugilism. A terror to wrongdoers, he was never disliked by -them, whereas Clarke was hated. In a word, Winter was a sharp brain, -Clarke a sharp nose, and that is why Winter groaned inwardly at being -compelled to intrust the Feldisham Mansions crime to Clarke. - -"What is your theory of this affair?" he said, rather by way of making -conversation than from any hope of being enlightened. - -"It is simple enough," said Clarke, his solemn glance resting for a -moment on the box of cigars. Winter nodded in the same direction. His -cigars were sometimes burnt offerings as well as rewards. - -"Light up," he said, "and tell me what you think." - -"Mademoiselle de Bercy was killed by either a disappointed lover or a -discarded husband. All these foreign actresses marry early, but grow -tired of matrimony within a year. If, then, there is no chance of -upsetting Mr. Osborne's alibi, we must get the Paris police to look into -Miss de Bercy's history. Her husband will probably turn out to be some -third-rate actor or broken-down manager. Let us find _him_, and see if -_he_ is as sure of his whereabouts last evening as Mr. Rupert Osborne -professes to be." - -"You seem to harp on Osborne's connection with the affair?" - -"And why not, sir? A man like him, with all his money, ought to know -better than to go gadding about with actresses." - -"But he is interested in the theater--he is quite an authority on French -comedy." - -"He can tackle French tragedy now--he is up to the neck in this one." - -"You still cling to the shrieking housemaid--to her ravings, I mean?" - -"Perhaps I should have mentioned it sooner, sir, but I have come across -a taxicab driver who picked up a gentleman uncommonly like Mr. Osborne -at 7.20 p.m. on Tuesday, and drove him from the corner of Berkeley -Street to Knightsbridge, waited there nearly fifteen minutes, and -brought him back again to Berkeley Street." - -The Chief Inspector came as near being startled as is permissible in -Scotland Yard. - -"That is a very serious statement," he said quietly, wheeling round in -his chair and scrutinizing his subordinate's lean face with eyes more -wide-open than ever, if that were possible. "It is tantamount to saying -that some person resembling Mr. Osborne hired a cab outside the Ritz -Hotel, was taken to Feldisham Mansions at the very hour Miss de Bercy -was murdered, and returned to the Ritz in the same vehicle." - -"Exactly so," and Clarke pursed his thin lips meaningly. - -"So, then, you _have_ discovered something?" - -Mr. Winter's tone had suddenly become dryly official, and the other man, -fearing a reprimand, added: - -"I admit, sir, I ought to have told you sooner, but I don't want to make -too much of the incident. The taxicab chauffeur does not know Mr. Rupert -Osborne by sight, and I took good care not to mention the name. The -unknown was dressed like Mr. Osborne, and looked like him--that is all." - -"Who is the driver?" - -"William Campbell--cab number X L 4001. I have hired him to-morrow -morning from ten o'clock, and then he will have an opportunity of seeing -Mr. Osborne----" - -"Meet me here at 9.30, and I will keep the appointment for you. -Until--until I make other arrangements, I intend to take this Feldisham -Mansions affair into my own hands. Of course, I should have been -delighted to leave it in your charge, but during the past hour something -of vastly greater importance has turned up, and I want you to tackle it -immediately." - -"Something more important than a society murder?" Clarke could not help -saying. - -"Yes. You know that the Tsar comes to London from Windsor to-morrow? -Well, read this," and Winter, with the impressive air of one who -communicates a state secret, handed the Paris message. - -"Ah!" muttered Clarke, gloating over the word "Anarchists." - -"Now you understand," murmured Winter darkly. "Unfortunately these men -are far too well acquainted with me to render it advisable that I should -shadow them. So I shall accompany you to Charing Cross, point them out, -and leave them to you. A live monarch is of more account than a dead -actress, so you see now what confidence I have in you, Mr. Clarke." - -Clarke's sallow cheeks flushed a little. Winter might be a genial chief, -but he seldom praised so openly. - -"I quite recognize that, sir," he said. "Of course, I am sorry to drop -out of this murder case. It has points, first-rate points. I haven't -told you yet about the stone." - -"Why--what stone?" - -"The stone that did for Miss de Bercy. The flat was not thoroughly -searched last night, but this morning I examined every inch of it, and -under the piano I found--this." - -He produced from a pocket something wrapped in a handkerchief. Unfolding -the linen, he rose and placed on the blotting-pad, under the strong -light of a shaded lamp, one of those flat stones which the archeologist -calls "celts," or "flint ax-heads." Indeed, no expert eye was needed to -determine its character. The cutting edge formed a perfect curve; two -deep indentations showed how it had been bound on to a handle of bone or -wood. At the broadest part it measured fully four inches, its length the -same, thickness about three-quarters of an inch. That it was a genuine -neolithic flint could not be questioned. A modern lapidary might -contrive to chip a flint into the same shape, but could not impart that -curious bloom which apparently exudes from the heart of the stone during -its thousands of centuries of rest in prehistoric cave or village mound. -This specimen showed the gloss of antiquity on each smooth facet. - -But it showed more. When used in war or the chase by the fearsome being -who first fashioned it to serve his savage needs, it must often have -borne a grisly tint, and now _again_ each side of the strangely sharp -edge was smeared with grewsome daubs, while some black hairs clung to -the dried clots which clustered on the irregular surfaces. - -Sentiment finds little room in the retreat of a Chief Inspector, so -Winter whistled softly when he set eyes on this weird token of a crime. - -"By gad!" he cried, "in my time at the Yard I've seen many queer -instruments of butchery--ranging from a crusader's mace to the strings -of a bass fiddle--but this beats the lot." - -"It must have come out of some museum," said the other. - -"It suggests a tragedy of the British Association," mused Winter aloud. - -"It ought to supply a first-rate clew, anyhow," said Clarke. - -"Oh, it does; it must. If only----" - -Winter checked himself on the very lip of indiscretion, for Clarke -detested Furneaux. He consulted his watch. - -"We must be off now," he said briskly. "Leave the stone with me, and -while we are walking to Charing Cross I can give you a few pointers -about these Anarchist pests. Once they are comfortably boxed up in some -café in Old Compton Street you can come away safely for the night, and -pick them up again about midday to-morrow. They are absolutely harm--I -mean they cannot do any harm until the Tsar arrives. From that moment -you must stick to them like a limpet to a rock; I will arrange for a man -to relieve you in the evening, nor shall I forget to give your name to -the Embassy people when they begin to scatter diamond pins around." - -When he meant to act a part, Winter was an excellent comedian, and soon -Clarke was prowling at the heels of those redoubtables, Antoine -Descartes and Émile Janoc. - -Once Clarke was safely shelved, Winter called the first taxicab he met -and was driven to Feldisham Mansions. An unerring instinct had warned -him at once that the murder of the actress was no ordinary crime; but -Clarke had happened to be on duty when the report of it reached the Yard -a few minutes after eight o'clock the previous evening, and Winter had -bewailed the mischance which deprived him of the services of Furneaux, -the one man to whom he could have left the inquiry with confidence. - -The very simplicity of the affair was baffling. Mademoiselle Rose de -Bercy was the leading lady in a company of artistes, largely recruited -from the Comédie Française, which had played a short season in London -during September of the past year. She did not accompany the others when -they returned to Paris, but remained, to become a popular figure in -London society, and was soon in great demand for her _contes drôles_ at -private parties. She was now often to be seen in the company of Mr. -Rupert Osborne, a young American millionaire, whose tastes ordinarily -followed a less frivolous bent than he showed in seeking the society of -an undeniably chic and sprightly Frenchwoman. It had been rumored that -the two would be married before the close of the summer, and color was -lent to the statement by the lady's withdrawal from professional -engagements. - -So far as Winter's information went, this was the position of affairs -until a quarter to eight on the night of the first Tuesday in July. At -that hour, Mademoiselle de Bercy's housemaid either entered or peered -into her mistress's drawing-room, and saw her lifeless body stretched on -the floor. Shrieking, the girl fled out into the lobby and down a flight -of stairs to the hall-porter's little office, which adjoined the -elevator. By chance, the man had just collected the letters from the -boxes on each of the six floors of the block of flats, and had gone to -the post; Mademoiselle de Bercy's personal maid and her cook, having -obtained permission to visit an open-air exhibition, had, it seemed, -been absent since six o'clock; the opposite flat on the same story was -closed, the tenants being at the seaside; and the distraught housemaid, -pursued by phantoms, forthwith yielded to the strain, so that the -hall-porter, on his return, found her lying across the threshold of his -den. - -He summoned his wife from the basement, and the frenzied girl soon -regained a partial consciousness. It was difficult to understand her -broken words, but, such as they were, they sent the man in hot haste to -the flat on the first floor. The outer and inner doors were wide open, -as was the door of the drawing-room, and sufficient daylight streamed in -through two lofty windows to reveal something of the horror that had -robbed the housemaid of her wits. - -The unfortunate Frenchwoman was lying on her back in the center of the -room, and the hall-porter's hurried scrutiny found that she had been -done to death with a brutal ferocity, her face almost unrecognizable. - -Not until the return of the French maid, Pauline, from the exhibition, -could it be determined beyond doubt that robbery was not the motive of -the crime, for she was able to assure the police that her mistress's -jewels were untouched. A gold purse was found on a table close to the -body, a bracelet sparkled on a wrist cruelly bruised, and a brooch -fastened at the neck the loose wrap worn as a preliminary to dressing -for the evening. - -Owing to the breakdown of the only servant actually present in the flat -at the time of the murder, it was impossible to learn anything -intelligible beyond the girl's raving cry that "Mr. Osborne did it." -Still, there was apparently little difficulty in realizing what had -happened. The housemaid had been startled while at supper, either by a -shriek or some noise of moving furniture, had gone to the drawing-room, -given one glance at the terrifying spectacle that met her eyes, and was -straightway bereft of her wits. - -The Chief Inspector was turning over in his mind the puzzling features -of the affair when his automobile swept swiftly out of the traffic and -glare of Knightsbridge into the quiet street in which stood Feldisham -Mansions. A policeman had just strolled along the pavement to disperse a -group of curious people gathered near the entrance, so Winter stopped -his cab at a little distance and alighted unobserved. - -He walked rapidly inside and found the hall-porter at his post. When the -man learnt the visitor's identity he seemed surprised. - -"Mr. Clarke has bin here all day, sir," he said, "and, as soon as he -left, another gentleman kem, though I must say he hasn't bothered _me_ -much----" this with a touch of resentment, for the hall-porter's -self-importance was enhanced by his connection with the tragedy. - -"Another gentleman!"--this was incomprehensible, since Clarke would -surely place a constable in charge of the flat. "What name did he give?" - -"He's up there at this minnit, sir, an' here's his card." - -Winter read: "Mr. Charles Furneaux, Criminal Investigation Department, -Scotland Yard." - -"Well, I'm jiggered!" he muttered, and he added fuel to the fire of the -hall-porter's annoyance by disregarding the elevator and rushing up the -stairs, three steps at a time. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - DARKNESS - - -Winter felt at once relieved and displeased. Twice during the hour had -his authority been disregarded. He was willing to ignore Clarke's method -of doling out important facts because such was the man's secretive -nature. But Furneaux! The urgent messages sent to every place where they -might reach him, each and all summoned him to Scotland Yard without the -slightest reference to the Feldisham Mansions crime. It was with a stiff -upper lip, therefore, that the Chief Inspector acknowledged the salute -of the constable who admitted him to the ill-fated Frenchwoman's abode. -Furneaux was his friend, Furneaux might be admirable, Furneaux was the -right man in the right place, but Furneaux must first receive an -official reminder of the claims of discipline. - -The subdued electric lights in the hall revealed within a vista of -Oriental color blended with Western ideals of comfort. Two exquisitely -fashioned lamps of hammered iron, rifled from a Pekin temple, softened -by their dragons and lotus leaves the glare of the high-powered globes -within them. Praying carpets, frayed by the deserts of Araby, covered -the geometric design of a parquet floor, and bright-hued draperies of -Mirzapur hid the rigid outlines of British carpentry. A perfume of -joss-sticks still clung to the air: it suggested the apartments of a -Sultana rather than the bower of a fashionable lady in the West End of -London. - -First impressions are powerful, and Winter acknowledged the spell of the -unusual here, but his impassive face showed no sign of this when he -asked the constable the whereabouts of Mr. Furneaux. - -"In there, sir," said the man, pointing to a door. - -Winter noted instantly that the floor creaked beneath his light tread. -The rugs deadened his footsteps, but the parquetry complained of his -weight. It was, he perceived, almost impossible for anyone to traverse -an old flooring of that type without revealing the fact to ordinarily -acute ears. Once when his heel fell on the bare wood, it rang with a -sharp yet hollow note. It seemed, somehow, that the place was -empty--that it missed its presiding spirit. - -Oddly enough, as he remembered afterwards, he hesitated with -outstretched hand in front of the closed door. He was doubtful whether -or not to knock. As a matter of fact, he did tap slightly on a panel -before turning the handle. Then he received his second vague impression -of a new and strange element in the history of a crime. The room was in -complete darkness. - -Though Winter never admitted the existence of nerves, he did not even -try to conceal from his own consciousness that he started distinctly -when he looked into a blackness rendered all the more striking by the -glimpse of a few feet of floor revealed by the off-shine from the -hall-light. - -"Are you here, Furneaux?" he forced himself to say quickly. - -"Ah, that you, Winter!" came a voice from the interior. "Yes, I was -dreaming in the dusk, I think. Let me give you a light." - -"Dusk, you call it? Gad, it's like a vault!" - -Winter's right hand had found the electric switches, and two clusters of -lamps on wall-brackets leaped alight. Furneaux was standing, his hands -behind his back, almost in the center, but the Chief Inspector gathered -that the room's silent occupant had been seated in a corner farthest -removed from the windows, and that his head had been propped on his -clenched hands, for the dull red marks of his knuckles were still -visible on both cheeks. - -Each was aware of a whiff of surprise. - -"Queer trick, sitting in the dark," Furneaux remarked, his eyes on the -floor. "I--find I collect my wits better that way--sometimes. Sometimes, -one cannot have light enough: for instance, the moment I saw fear in -Lady Holt's face I knew that her diamonds had been stolen by -herself----" - -Winter reflected that light was equally unkind to Furneaux as to "Lady -Holt," for the dapper little man looked pallid and ill at ease in this -flood of electric brilliancy. - -There was a silence. Then Furneaux volunteered the remark: "In this -instance, thought is needed, not observation. One might gaze at that for -twenty years, but it would not reveal the cause of Mademoiselle de -Bercy's murder." - -"_That_" was a dark stain near the center of the golden-brown carpet. -Winter bent a professional eye on it, but his mind was assimilating two -new ideas. In the first place, Furneaux was not the cheery colleague -whose perky chatterings were his most deadly weapons when lulling a -rogue into fancied security. In the second, he himself had not been -prepared for the transit from a hall of Eastern gorgeousness to a room -fastidiously correct in its reproduction of the period labeled by -connoisseurs "after Louis XV." - -The moment was not ripe for an inquiry anent Furneaux's object in -hastening to Feldisham Mansions without first reporting himself. Winter -somehow felt that the question would jar just then and there, and though -not forgotten, it was waived; still, there was a hint of it in his next -comment. - -"I must confess I am glad to find you here," he said. "Clarke has -cleared the ground somewhat, but--er--he has a heavy hand, and I have -turned him on to a new job--Anarchists." - -He half expected an answering gleam of fun in the dark eyes lifted to -his, for these two were close friends at all seasons; but Furneaux -seemed not even to hear! His lips muttered: - -"I--wonder." - -"Wonder what?" - -"What purpose could be served by this girl's death. Who bore her such a -bitter grudge that not even her death would sate their hatred, but they -must try also to destroy her beauty?" - -Now, the Chief Inspector had learnt that everyone who had seen the dead -woman expressed this same sentiment, yet it came unexpectedly from -Furneaux's lips; because Furneaux never said the obvious thing. - -"Clarke believes,"--Winter loathed the necessity for this constant -reference to Clarke--"Clarke believes that she was killed by one of two -people, either a jealous husband or a dissatisfied lover." - -"As usual, Clarke is wrong." - -"He may be." - -"He is." - -In spite of his prior agreement with Furneaux's estimate of their -colleague's intelligence, Winter felt nettled at this omniscience. From -the outset, his clear brain had been puzzled by this crime, and -Furneaux's extraordinary pose was not the least bewildering feature -about it. - -"Oh, come now," he said, "you cannot have been here many minutes, and it -is early days to speak so positively. I have been hunting you the whole -afternoon--in fact, ever since I saw what a ticklish business this was -likely to prove--and I don't suppose you have managed to gather all the -threads of it into your fingers so rapidly." - -"There are so few," muttered Furneaux, looking down on the carpet with -the morbid eyes of one who saw a terrible vision there. - -"Well, it is a good deal to have discovered the instrument with which -the crime was committed." - -Furneaux's mobile face instantly became alive with excitement. - -"It was a long, thin dagger," he cried. "Something in the surgical line, -I imagine. Who found it, and where?" - -Some men in Winter's shoes might have smiled in a superior way. He did -not. He knew Furneaux, profoundly distrusted Clarke. - -"There is some mistake," he contented himself with saying. "Miss de -Bercy was killed by a piece of flint, shaped like an ax-head--one of -those queer objects of the stone age which is ticketed carefully after -it is found in an ancient cave, and then put away in a glass case. -Clarke searched the room this morning, and found it there--tucked away -underneath," and he turned round to point to the foot of the boudoir -grand piano, embellished with Watteaux panels on its rosewood, that -stood in the angle between the door and the nearest window. - -The animation died out of Furneaux's features as quickly as it had -appeared there. - -"Useful, of course" he murmured. "Did you bring it?" - -"No; it is in my office." - -"But Mi--Mademoiselle de Bercy was not killed in that way. She was -supple, active, lithe. She would have struggled, screamed, probably -overpowered her adversary. No; the doctor admits that after a hasty -examination he jumped to conclusions, for not one of the external cuts -and bruises could have produced unconsciousness--not all of them death. -Miss de Bercy was stabbed through the right eye by something strong and -pointed--something with a thin, blunt-edged blade. I urged a thorough -examination of the head, and the post mortem proved the correctness of -my theory." - -Winter, one of the shrewdest officials who had ever won distinction in -Scotland Yard, did not fail to notice that curious slip of a syllable -before "Mademoiselle," but it was explained a moment later when Furneaux -used the English prefix "Miss" before the name. It was more natural for -Furneaux to use the French word, however. Winter spoke French -fluently--like an educated Englishman--but Furneaux spoke it like a -native of Paris. The difference between the two was clearly shown by -their pronunciation of "de Bercy." Winter sounded three distinct -syllables--Furneaux practically two, with a slurred "r" that Winter -could not have uttered to save his life. - -Moreover, he was considerably taken aback by the discovery that Furneaux -had evidently been working on the case during several hours. - -"You have gone into the affair thoroughly, then," he blurted out. - -"Oh, yes. I read of the murder this morning, just as I was leaving -Kenterstone on my way to report at the Yard." - -"Kenterstone!" - -He was almost minded to inquire if the local superintendent was a fat -man. - -"Sir Peter and Lady Holt left town early in the day, so I went to -Kenterstone from Brighton late last night.... The pawnbroker who held -Lady Holt's diamonds was treating himself to a long weekend by the sea, -and I thought it advisable to see him in person and explain matters." - -A memory of the Finchley Road station-sergeant who thought that he had -seen Furneaux get on a 'bus at 6 p.m. in North London the previous -evening shot through Winter's mind; but he kept to the main line of -their talk. - -"Do you know who this Rose de Bercy really is?" he suddenly demanded. - -For a second Furneaux seemed to hesitate, but the reply came in an even -tone. - -"I have reason to believe that she was born in Jersey, and that her -maiden name was Mirabel Armaud," he said. - -"The Rose Queen of a village fête eight years ago?" - -Perhaps it was Furneaux's turn to be surprised, but he showed no sign. - -"May I ask how you ascertained that fact?" he asked quietly. - -"It is published in one of the evening papers. A man who happened to -photograph her in Jersey recognized the likeness when he saw the Academy -portrait of Rose de Bercy. But if you have not seen his statement -already, how did _you_ come to know that Miss de Bercy was Mirabel -Armaud?" - -"I am a Jersey man by birth, and, although I quitted the island early in -life, I often go back there. Indeed, I was present at the very fête you -mention." - -"I suppose the young lady was in a carriage and surrounded by a crowd? -It would be an odd thing if you figured in the photograph," laughed -Winter. - -"There have been more unlikely coincidences, but my early sight of the -remarkable woman who was killed in this room last night explains my -intense desire to track her murderer before Clarke had time to baffle my -efforts. It forms, too, a sort of excuse for my departure from official -routine. Of course, I would have reported myself this evening, but, up -to the present, I have been working hard to try and dispel the fog of -motive that blocks the way." - -"You have heard of Rupert Osborne, then?" - -Furneaux was certainly not the man whom Winter was accustomed to meet at -other times. Usually quick as lightning to grasp or discard a point, -to-night he appeared to experience no little difficulty in focusing his -attention on the topic of the moment. The mention of Rupert Osborne's -name did not evoke the characteristically vigorous repudiation that -Winter looked for. Instead, there was a marked pause, and, when the -reply came, it was with an effort. - -"Yes. I suppose Clarke wants to arrest him?" - -"He has thought of it!" - -"But Osborne's movements last night are so clearly defined?" - -"So one would imagine, but Clarke still doubts." - -"Why?" - -Winter told of the taxicab driver, and the significant journey taken by -his fare. Furneaux shook his head. - -"Strange, if true," he said; "why should Osborne kill the woman he meant -to marry?" - -"She may have jilted him." - -"No, oh, no. It was--it must have been--the aim of her life to secure a -rich husband. She was beautiful, but cold--she had the eye that weighs -and measures. Have you ever seen the Monna Lisa in the Louvre?" - -Winter did not answer, conscious of a subtle suspicion that Furneaux -really knew far more of the inner history of this tragedy than had -appeared hitherto. Clarke, in his own peculiar way, was absurdly -secretive, but that Furneaux should want to remain silent was certainly -baffling. - -"By the way," said Winter with seeming irrelevance, "if you were in -Brighton and Kenterstone yesterday afternoon and evening, you had not -much time to spare in London?" - -"No." - -"Then the station-sergeant at Finchley Road was mistaken in thinking -that he saw you in that locality about six o'clock--'jumping on to a -'bus' was his precise description of your movements." - -"I was there at that time." - -"How did you manage it? St. John's Wood is far away from either Victoria -or Charing Cross, and I suppose you reached Kenterstone by way of -Charing Cross?" - -"I returned from Brighton at three o'clock, and did not visit Sir Peter -Holt until half-past nine at Kenterstone. Had I disturbed him before -dinner the consequence might have been serious for her ladyship. -Besides, I wished to avoid the local police at Kenterstone." - -Both men smiled constrainedly. There was a barrier between them, and -Furneaux, apparently, was not inclined to remove it; as for Winter, he -could not conquer the impression that, thus far, their conversation was -of a nature that might be looked for between a police official and a -reluctant witness--assuredly not between colleagues who were also on the -best of terms as comrades. Furneaux was obviously on guard, controlling -his face, his words, his very gestures. That so outspoken a man should -deem it necessary to adopt such a rôle with his close friend was -annoying, but long years of forced self-repression had taught Winter the -wisdom of throttling back utterances which might be regretted -afterwards. Indeed, he tried valiantly to repair the fast-widening -breach. - -"Have a cigar," he said, proffering a well-filled case. "Suppose we just -sit down and go through the affair from A to Z. Much of our alphabet is -missing, but we may be able to guess a few additional letters." - -Furneaux smiled again. This time there was the faintest ripple of -amusement in his eyes. - -"Now, you know how you hate to see me maltreat a good Havana," he -protested. - -"This time I forgive you before the offense--anything to jolt you into -your usual rut. Why, man alive, here have I been hunting you all day, -yet no sooner are you engaged on the very job for which I wanted you, -than I find myself cross-examining you as though--as though you had -committed some flagrant error." - -The Chief Inspector did not often flounder in his speech as he had done -twice that night. He was about to say "as though I suspected you of -killing Rose de Bercy yourself"; but his brain generally worked in front -of his voice, and he realized that the hypothesis would have sounded -absurd, almost insane. - -Furneaux took the cigar. He did not light it, but deliberately crushed -the wrapper between thumb and forefinger, and then smelled it with the -air of one who dallies with a full-scented rose, passing it to and fro -under his nostrils. Winter, meantime, was darting several small rings of -smoke through one wide and slowly dissipating circle, both being now -seated, Winter's bulk, genially aggressive, well thrust forward--but -Furneaux, small, compact, a bundle of nerves under rigid control, was -sunk back into the depths of a large and deep-seated chair, and seemed -to shirk the new task imposed on his powers of endurance. Winter was so -conscious of this singularly unexpected behavior on his friend's part -that his conscience smote him. - -"I say, old man," he said, "you look thoroughly done up. I hardly -realized that you had been hard at work all day. Have you eaten -anything?" - -"Had all I wanted," said Furneaux, thawing a little under this -solicitude. - -"Perhaps you didn't want enough. Come, own up. Have you dined?" - -"No--I was not hungry." - -"Where did you lunch?" - -"I ate a good breakfast." - -Winter sprang to his feet again. - -"By Jove!" he cried, "this affair seems to have taken hold of you--I -meant to send for the hall-porter and the French maid--Pauline is her -name, I think; she ought to be able to throw some light on her -mistress's earlier life--but we can leave all that till to-morrow. Come -to my club. A cutlet and a glass of wine will make a new man of you." - -Furneaux rose at once. Anyone might have believed that he was glad to -postpone the proposed examination of the servants. - -"That will be splendid," he said with an air of relief that compared -markedly with his reticent mood of the past few minutes. "The mere -mention of food has given me an appetite. I suppose I am fagged out, or -as near it as I have ever been. Moreover, I can tell you everything that -any person in these Mansions knows of what took place here between six -and eight o'clock last night--a good deal more, by the way, than Clarke -has found out, though he scored a point over that stone. Where is -it?--in the office, you said. I should like to see it--in the morning." - -"You will see more than that. Clarke has arranged to meet the taxicab -driver at ten o'clock. He meant to confront him with Rupert Osborne, but -we must manage things differently. Of course the man's testimony may be -important. Alibi or no alibi, it will be awkward for Osborne if a -credible witness swears that he was in this locality for nearly a -quarter of an hour about the very time that this poor young lady was -killed." - -Furneaux, holding the broken cigar under his nose, offered no comment, -but, as they entered the hall, he said, glancing at its quaint -decoration: - -"If opportunity makes the thief, so, I imagine, does it sometimes -inspire the murderer. Given the clear moment, the wish, the fury, can't -you picture the effect these bizarre surroundings would exercise on a -mind already strung to the madness of crime? For every willful slayer of -a fellow human being is mad--mad.... Ah, there was the genius of a -maniac in the choice of that flint ax to rend Mirabel Armaud's smooth -skin--yet she had the right to live--perhaps----" - -He stopped; and Winter anew felt that this musing Furneaux of to-day was -a different personality from the Furneaux of his intimate knowledge. - -And how compellingly strange it was that he should choose to describe -Rose de Bercy by the name which she had ceased to bear during many -years! Winter dispelled the scent of the joss-sticks by a mighty puff of -honest tobacco smoke. - -"Oh, come along," he growled, "let us eat--we are both in need of it. -The flat is untenanted, of course. Very well, lock the door," he added, -addressing the policeman. "Leave the key with the hall-porter, and tell -him not to admit anybody, on any pretext whatsoever, until Mr. Furneaux -and I come here in the morning." - - - - - CHAPTER III - - A CHANGE OF ADDRESS - - -On the morning after the inquest on Rose de Bercy, the most miserable -young man in London, in his own estimation, was Mr. Rupert Glendinning -Osborne. Though utterly downcast and disconsolate, he was in excellent -health, and might have eaten well of the good things on his breakfast -table had he not thoughtlessly opened a newspaper while stirring his -coffee. - -Under other circumstances, he might have laughed at the atrocious -photograph which depicted "Mr. Rupert Osborne arriving at the coroner's -court." The camera had foreshortened an arm, deprived him of his right -leg below the knee, discredited his tailor, and given him the hang-dog -aspect of a convicted pickpocket, for he had been "snapped" at the -moment of descent from his automobile, when a strong wind was blowing, -and he had been annoyed by the presence of a gaping crowd. - -The camera had lied, of course. In reality, he was a good-looking man of -thirty, not tall or muscular, but of well-knit figure, elegant though by -no means effeminate. For a millionaire, and a young one, he was by way -of being a phenomenon. He cared little for society; drove his own -horses, but was hardly ever seen in the Park; rode boldly to hounds, yet -refused to patronize a racing stable. He seldom visited a theater, -though he wrote well-informed articles on the modern French stage for -the _New Review_; he preferred a pleasant dinner with a couple of -friends to a banquet with hundreds of acquaintances; in a word, he -conducted himself as a staid citizen whether in New York, or London, or -Paris. Never had a breath of scandal or notoriety attached itself to his -name until he was dragged into lurid prominence by the stupefying event -of that fatal Tuesday evening. - -Those who knew him best had expressed sheer incredulity when they first -heard of his contemplated marriage with the French actress. But a man's -friends, as a rule, are the worst judges of his probable choice of a -partner for life: and Rupert Osborne was drawn to Rose de Bercy because -she possessed in superabundance those lively qualities and volatile -charms in which he was himself deficient. - -There could be no manner of doubt, however, that some part of his -quivering nervous system had been seared by statements made about her -during the inquest. It was not soothing for a distraught lover to learn -that Mademoiselle de Bercy's reminiscences of her youth were singularly -inaccurate. She could not well have been born in a patrician château on -the Loire, and yet be the daughter of a Jersey potato-grower. Her -father, Jean Armaud, was stated to be still living on a small farm near -St. Heliers, whereas her own version of the family history was that -Monsieur le Comte de Bercy did not survive the crash of the family -fortunes in the Panama swindle. Other discrepancies were not lacking -between official fact and romantic narrative. They gave Osborne the -first glimpse of the abyss into which he had almost plunged. A -loyal-hearted fellow, he shrank from the hateful consciousness that the -hapless girl's tragic end had rescued him in all likelihood from another -tragedy, bitter and long drawn out. But because he had been so foolish -as to fall in love with a beautiful adventuress there was no reason why -he should be blind and deaf when tardy common sense began to assert -itself. - -To a man who habitually shrank from the public eye, it was bad enough to -be dragged into the fierce light that beats on the witness-box in an -inquiry such as this, but it was far worse to feel in his inmost heart -that he was now looked upon with suspicion by millions of people in -England and America. - -He could not shirk the meaning of the recorded evidence. The newspapers, -it is true, had carefully avoided the ugly word alibi; but ninety per -cent. of their readers could not fail to see that Rupert Osborne had -escaped arrest solely by reason of the solid phalanx of testimony as to -his movements on the Tuesday evening before and after the hour of the -murder; the remaining ten per cent. reviled the police, and protested, -with more or less forceful adjectives, that "there was one law for the -rich and another for the poor." - -At the inquest itself, Osborne was too sorrow-laden and stunned to -realize the significance of certain questions which now seemed to leap -at him viciously from out the printed page. - -"How were you dressed when you visited Miss de Bercy that afternoon?" -the coroner had asked him. - -"I wore a dark gray morning suit and black silk hat," he had answered. - -"You did not change your clothing before going to the Ritz Hotel?" - -"No. I drove straight there from Feldisham Mansions." - -"Did you dress for dinner?" - -"No. My friends and I discussed certain new regulations as to the -proposed international polo tournament, and it was nearly eight o'clock -before we concluded the business of the meeting, so we arranged to dine -in the grill-room and go to a Vaudeville entertainment afterwards." - -That statement had puzzled the coroner. He referred to his notes. - -"To the Vaudeville?" he queried. "I thought you went to the Empire -Theater?" and Osborne explained that Americans spoke of "vaudeville" in -the same sense as Englishmen use the word "music-hall" or "variety." - -"You were with your friends during the whole time between 6.30 p.m. and -midnight?" - -"Practically. I left them for a few minutes before dinner, but only to -go to the writing-room, where I wrote two short letters." - -"At what hour, as nearly as you can recollect?" - -"About ten minutes to eight. I glanced at the clock when the letters -were posted, as I wished to be sure of catching the American mail." - -"Were both letters addressed to correspondents in America?" - -"No, one only. The other was to a man about a dog." - -A slight titter relieved the gray monotony of the court at this -explanation, but the coroner frowned it down, and Rupert added that he -was buying a retriever in readiness for the shooting season. - -But the coroner's questions suddenly assumed a sinister import when -William Campbell, driver of taxicab number X L 4001, stated that on the -Tuesday evening, at 7.20, he had taken a gentleman dressed in a dark -gray suit and a tall hat from the corner of Berkeley Street (opposite -the Ritz Hotel) to the end of the street in Knightsbridge in which -Feldisham Mansions were situated, had waited there for him for about -fifteen minutes, and had brought him back to Berkeley Street. - -"I thought I might know him again, sir, an', as I said yesterday----" -the man continued, glancing at Rupert, but he was stopped peremptorily. - -"Never mind what you said yesterday," broke in the coroner. "You will -have another opportunity of telling the jury what happened subsequently. -At present I want you to answer my questions only." - -An ominous hush in the court betrayed the public appreciation of the -issues that might lurk behind this deferred evidence. Rupert remembered -looking at the driver with a certain vague astonishment, and feeling -that countless eyes were piercing him without cause. - -The hall-porter, too, Simmonds by name, introduced a further element of -mystery by saying that at least two gentlemen had gone up the stairs -after Mr. Osborne's departure in his automobile, and that one of them -bore some resemblance to the young millionaire. - -"Are you sure it was not Mr. Osborne?" said the coroner. - -"Yes, sir--leastways, I'm nearly positive." - -"Why do you say that?" - -"Because Mr. Osborne, like all American gentlemen, uses the lift, sir." - -"Can any stranger enter the Mansions without telling you their -business?" - -"Not as a rule, sir. But it does so happen that between seven an' eight -o'clock I have a lot of things to attend to, and I often have to run -round the corner to get a taxi for ladies and gentlemen goin' out to -dinner or the theater." - -So, there was a doubt, and Rupert Osborne had not realized its deadly -application to himself until he read question and answer in cold type -while he toyed with his breakfast on the day after the inquest, which, -by request of Mr. Winter, had been adjourned for a fortnight. - -It was well for such shreds of stoicism as remained in his tortured -brain that the housemaid was still unable to give evidence, and that no -mention was made of the stone ax-head found in Rose de Bercy's -drawing-room. The only official witnesses called were the constable -first summoned by the hall-porter, and the doctor who made the autopsy. -The latter--who was positive that Mademoiselle de Bercy had not been -dead many minutes when he was brought to her flat at ten minutes to -eight--ascribed the cause of death to "injuries inflicted with a sharp -instrument," and the coroner, who knew the trend of the inquiry, would -not sate public curiosity by putting, or permitting the jury to put, any -additional questions until the adjourned inquest. Neither Clarke nor -Furneaux was present in court. To all seeming, Chief Inspector Winter -was in charge of the proceedings on behalf of the police. - -Rupert ultimately abandoned the effort to eat, shoved his chair away -from the table, and determined to reperuse with some show of calmness -and criticism, the practically verbatim report of the coroner's inquiry. - -Then he saw clearly two things--Rose de Bercy had willfully misled him -as to her past life, and he was now regarded by the public as her -probable betrayer and certain murderer. There was no blinking the facts. -He had almost committed the imprudence of marrying a woman unworthy of -an honorable man's love, and, as if such folly called for condign -punishment, he must rest under the gravest suspicion until her slayer -was discovered and brought to justice. - -Rupert Osborne's lot had hitherto been cast in pleasant places, but now -he was face to face with a crisis, and it remained to be seen if the -force that had kept three generations of ancestors in the forefront of -the strenuous commercial warfare of Wall Street had weakened or wholly -vanished in the person of their dilettante descendant. - -At any rate, he did not flinch from the drab reality of fact. He read -on, striving to be candid as to meanings and impartial in weighing them. - -At the end of the evidence were two paragraphs setting forth the -newspaper's own researches. The first of these ran: - - Our correspondent at St. Heliers has ascertained that the father - and sister of the deceased will leave the island by to-day's - mail steamer for the double purpose of identifying their - relative and attending the funeral. There can be no question - that their first sad task will be in the nature of a formality. - They both admit that Rose de Bercy was none other than Mirabel - Armaud. Mademoiselle Marguerite Armaud, indeed, bears a striking - resemblance to her wayward sister, while Monsieur Armaud, though - crippled with toil and rheumatism, shows the same facial - characteristics that are so marked in his two daughters. The - family never revealed to their neighbors in the village any - knowledge of Mirabel's whereabouts. After her disappearance - eight years ago her name was seldom, if ever, mentioned to any - of their friends, and their obvious wishes in the matter soon - came to be respected by would-be sympathizers. It is certain, - however, that Marguerite, on one occasion, dared her father's - anger and went to Paris to plead with her sister and endeavor to - bring her home. She failed, as might be expected, since Rose de - Bercy was then attaining the summit of her ambition by playing a - small part in a play at the Gymnase, though at that period no - one in Paris was able to foresee the remarkable success she was - destined to achieve on the stage. - -Each word cut like a knife. The printed statements were cruel, but the -inferences were far worse. Rupert felt sick at heart; nevertheless he -compelled himself to gather the sense of the next item: - - It was a favorite pose of Mademoiselle de Bercy--using the name - by which the dead actress was best known--to describe herself as - an Anarchist. It is certain that she attended several Anarchist - meetings in Paris, probably for amusement or for professional - study of an interesting type, and in this connection it is a - somewhat singular coincidence that Detective-Inspector Clarke, - who was mentioned on Wednesday as being in charge of the police - investigations into the murder, should have arrested two - notorious Anarchists on the Thames Embankment yesterday shortly - before the Tsar passed that way _en route_ to the Guildhall. The - two men, who refused to give any information as to their - identity, were said to be none other than Emile Janoc and - Antoine Descartes, both well-known French revolutionaries. They - were brought before the Extradition Court, and ordered to be - deported, the specific charge against them being the carrying of - fire-arms without a license. It was stated that on each man was - found an unloaded revolver. - -So far as Rupert could judge, the newspaper was merely pandering to the -craze for sensationalism in bracketing Rose de Bercy with a couple of -unwashed scoundrels from Montmartre. On one occasion, indeed, she had -mentioned to him her visits to an Anarchist club; but their object was -patent when she exhibited a collection of photographs and laudatory -press notices of herself in the stage part of a Russian lady of high -rank who masqueraded as a Terrorist in order to save her lover from -assassination. - -"It would have been only fair," he growled savagely, "if the fellow who -is raking up her past so assiduously had placed on record her appearance -on the stage as _Marie Dukarovna_. And who is this detective who made -the arrests? Clarke was not the name of the man I met yesterday." - -Then he groaned. His glance had just caught a detailed description of -himself, his tastes, his family history, and his wealth. It was -reasonably accurate, and not unkindly in tone, but it grated terribly at -the moment, and in sheer desperation of spirit he crushed the newspaper -in his clenched hands. - -At that instant his man entered. Even the quiet-voiced and -impenetrable-faced Jenkins spoke in an awed tone when he announced: - -"Chief Inspector Winter, of Scotland Yard, wishes to see you, sir." - -"Very well, show him in; and don't be scared, Jenkins. He will not -arrest _you_." - -Rupert must have been stung beyond endurance before he would fling such -a taunt at his faithful servitor. Jenkins, at a loss for a disclaimer, -glanced reproachfully at the table. - -"You have hardly eaten a morsel, sir," he said. "Shall I bring some -fresh coffee and an egg?" - -Then Rupert laughed grimly. - -"Wait till I have seen Mr. Winter," he said. "Perhaps he may join me. If -he refuses, Jenkins, be prepared for the worst." - -But the Chief Inspector did not refuse. He admitted that coffee-drinking -and smoking were his pet vices, and his breezy cheerfulness at once -established him on good terms with his host. - -"I want you to understand, Mr. Osborne, that my presence here this -morning is entirely in your interests," he said when they were seated, -and Rupert was tackling a belated meal. "The more fully we clear up any -doubtful points as to your proceedings on Tuesday the more easy it will -be for the police to drop you practically out of the inquiry except as -an unimportant witness." - -Rupert's heart warmed to this genial-mannered official. - -"It is very kind of you to put things in that light when every newspaper -in the country is prepared to announce my arrest at any moment," he -replied. - -Winter was astonished. His face showed it; his big blue eyes positively -bulged with surprise. - -"Arrest!" he cried. "Why should I arrest you, sir?" - -"Well, after the chauffeur's evidence----" - -"That is exactly what brings me here. Personally, I have no doubt -whatsoever that you did not leave the Ritz Hotel between half-past six -and nine o'clock on the evening of the murder. Two of your friends on -the committee saw you writing those letters, and the clerk at the -inquiry desk remembers supplying you with stamps. Just as a matter of -form, you might give me the names of your correspondents?" - -Rupert supplied the desired information, which Winter duly scribbled in -a notebook, but it did not escape the American's usually quick -perception that his visitor had already verified the statement made -before the coroner. That being so, some other motive lay behind this -visit. What was it? - -Winter, at the moment, seemed to be fascinated by the leaf-color and -aroma of the cigar which Jenkins had brought with the coffee. He puffed, -smelled, pinched, and scrutinized--was completely absorbed, in fact. - -"Don't you like it?" asked Osborne, smiling. The suggestion was almost -staggering to the Chief Inspector. - -"Why, of course I do," he cried. "This is a prize cigar. You young -gentlemen who are lucky enough to command practically unlimited money -can generally obtain anything you want, but I am bound to say, Mr. -Osborne, that you could not buy a thousand cigars like this in London -to-day, no matter what price you paid." - -"I imagine you are right," said Rupert. "The estate on which that -tobacco was grown is one of the smallest in Cuba, but it is on the old -rich belt. My manager is a scientist. He knows to half an ounce per acre -how much sulphate of potash to add each year." - -"Sulphate of potash?" questioned Winter, ever ready to assimilate fresh -lore on the subject of the weed. - -"Yes, that is the secret of the flavor, plus the requisite conditions of -soil and climate, of course. The tobacco plant is a great consumer of -mineral constituents. A rusty nail, a pinch of salt, and a small lump of -lime, placed respectively near the roots of three plants in the same -row, will produce three absolutely different varieties of tobacco, but -all three will be inferior to the plants removed from such influences." - -"Dear me!" said Winter, "how very interesting!" - -But to his own mind he was saying: "Why in the world did Furneaux refuse -to meet this nice young fellow? Really, this affair grows more complex -every hour." - -Osborne momentarily forgot his troubles in the company of this affable -official. It was comforting, too, that his hospitality should be -accepted. Somehow, he felt certain that Winter would have declined it if -any particle of suspicion had been attached to the giver, and therein -his knowledge of men did not deceive him. With a lighter heart, -therefore, than he would have thought possible a few minutes earlier, -he, too, lit a cigar. - -Winter saw that Rupert was waiting for him to resume the conversation -momentarily broken. He began with a straightforward question. - -"Now, Mr. Osborne," he said, "will you kindly tell me if it is true that -you were about to marry Mademoiselle de Bercy?" - -"It is quite true." - -"How long have you known her?" - -"Since she came to London last fall." - -"I suppose you made no inquiries as to her past life?" - -"No, none. I never gave a thought to such a thing." - -"I suppose you see now that it would have been wiser had you done -something of the kind?" - -"Wisdom and love seldom go hand in hand." - -The Chief Inspector nodded agreement. His profession had failed utterly -to oust sentiment from his nature. - -"At any rate," he said, "her life during the past nine months has been -an open book to you?" - -"We soon became friends. Since early in the spring I think I could tell -you of every engagement Mademoiselle de Bercy fulfilled, and name almost -every person she met, barring such trivialities as shopping fixtures and -the rest." - -"Ah; then you would know if she had an enemy?" - -"I--think so. I have never heard of one. She had hosts of friends--all -sympathetic." - -"What was the precise object of your visit on Tuesday?" - -"I took her a book on Sicily. We--we had practically decided on Taormina -for our honeymoon. As I would be occupied until a late hour, she -arranged to dine with Lady Knox-Florestan and go to the opera to hear -_Pagliacci_. It was played after _Philémon et Baucis_, so the dinner was -fixed for half-past eight." - -"Would anyone except yourself and Lady Knox-Florestan be aware of that -arrangement?" - -"I think not." - -"Why did she telephone to Lady Knox-Florestan at 7.30 and plead illness -as an excuse for not coming to the dinner?" - -Rupert looked thoroughly astounded. "That is the first I have heard of -it," he cried. - -"Could she have had any powerful reason for changing her plans?" - -"I cannot say. Not to _my_ knowledge, most certainly." - -"Did she expect any visitor after your departure?" - -"No. Two of her servants were out for the evening, and the housemaid -would help her to dress." - -Winter looked at the American with a gleam of curiosity when the -housemaid was mentioned. - -"Did this girl, the housemaid, open the door when you left?" he asked. - -"No. I just rushed away. She admitted me, but I did not see her -afterwards." - -"Then she may have fancied that you took your departure much later?" - -"Possibly, though hardly likely, since her room adjoins the entrance, -and, as it happened, I banged the door accidentally in closing it." - -Winter was glad that a man whom he firmly believed to be innocent of any -share in the crime had made an admission that might have told against -him under hostile examination. - -"Suppose--just suppose--" he said, "that the housemaid, being hysterical -with fright, gave evidence that you were in Feldisham Mansions at -half-past seven--how would you explain it?" - -"Your own words 'hysterical with fright' might serve as her excuse. At -half-past seven I was arguing against the ever-increasing height of polo -ponies, with the rest of the committee against me. Does the girl say any -such thing?" - -"Girls are queer sometimes," commented Winter airily. "But let that -pass. I understand, Mr. Osborne, that you have given instructions to the -undertaker?" - -Rupert flinched a little. - -"What choice had I in the matter?" he demanded. "I thought that -Mademoiselle de Bercy was an orphan--that all her relatives were dead." - -"Ah, yes. Even now, I fancy, you mean to attend the funeral to-morrow?" - -"Of course. Do you imagine I would desert my promised wife at such an -hour--no matter what was revealed----" - -"No, Mr. Osborne, I did not think it for one instant. And that brings me -to the main object of my visit. Please be advised by me--don't go to the -funeral. Better still, leave London for a few days. Lose yourself till -the day before the adjourned inquest." - -"But why--in Heaven's name?" - -"Because appearances are against you. The public mind--I had better be -quite candid. The man in the street is a marvelous detective, in his own -opinion. Being an idler, he will turn up in his thousands at Feldisham -Mansions and Kensal Green Cemetery to-morrow afternoon, and, if you are -present, there may be a regrettable scene. Moreover, you will meet a -warped old peasant named Jean Armaud and a narrow-souled village girl in -his daughter Marguerite. Take my advice--pack a kit-bag, jump into a -cab, and bury yourself in some seaside town. Let me know where you -are--as I may want to communicate with you--and--er--when you send your -address, don't forget to sign your letter in the same way as you sign -the hotel register." - -Rupert rose and looked out of the window. He could not endure that -another man should see the agony in his face. - -"Are you in earnest?" he said, when he felt that his voice might be -trusted. - -"Dead in earnest, Mr. Osborne," came the quiet answer. - -"You even advise me to adopt an alias?" - -"Call it a _nom de voyage_," said Winter. - -"I shall be horribly lonely. May I not take my valet?" - -"Take no one. I suppose you can leave some person in charge of your -affairs?" - -"I have a secretary. But she and my servants will think my conduct very -strange." - -"I shall call here to-morrow and tell your secretary you have left -London for a few days at my request. What is her name?" - -"Prout--Miss Hylda Prout. She comes here at 11 a.m. and again at 3 p.m." - -"I see. Then I may regard that matter as settled?" - -Again there was silence for a time. Oddly enough, Rupert was conscious -of a distinct feeling of relief. - -"Very well," he said at last. "I shall obey you to the letter." - -"Thank you. I am sure you are acting for the best." - -Winter, whose eyes had noted every detail of the room while Rupert's -back was turned, rose as if his mission were accomplished. - -"Won't you have another cigar?" said Rupert. - -"Well, yes. It is a sin to smoke these cigars so early in the day----" - -"Let me send you a hundred." - -"Oh, no. I am very much obliged, but----" - -"Please allow me to do this. Don't you see?--if I tell Jenkins, in your -presence, to pack and forward them, it will stifle a good deal of the -gossip which must be going on even in my own household." - -"Well--from that point of view, Mr. Osborne----" - -"Ah, I cannot express my gratitude, but, when all this wretched business -is ended, we must meet under happier conditions." - -He touched a bell, and Jenkins appeared. - -"Send a box of cigars to Chief Inspector Winter, at Scotland Yard, by -special messenger," said Rupert, with as careless an air as he could -assume. - -Jenkins gurgled something that sounded like "Yes, sir," and went out -hastily. Rupert spread his hands with a gesture of utmost weariness. - -"You are right about the man in the street," he sighed. "Even my own -valet feared that you had come to arrest me." - -"Ha, ha!" laughed Winter. - -But when Jenkins, discreetly cheerful, murmured "Good-day, sir," and the -outer door was closed behind him, Winter's strong face wore its -prizefighter aspect. - -"Clarke _would_ have arrested him," he said to himself. "But that man -did not kill Mirabel Armaud. Then who did kill her? _I_ don't know, yet -I believe that Furneaux guesses. _Who_ did it? Damme, it beats me, and -the greatest puzzle of all is to read the riddle of Furneaux." - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - THE NEW LIFE - - -No sooner did Rupert begin to consider ways and means of adopting -Winter's suggestion than he encountered difficulties. "Pack a kit-bag, -jump into a cab, and bury yourself in some seaside town" might be the -best of counsel; but it was administered in tabloid form; when analyzed, -the ingredients became formidable. For instance, the Chief Inspector had -apparently not allowed for the fact that a man in Osborne's station -would certainly carry his name or initials on his clothing, linen, and -portmanteaux, and on every article in his dressing-case. - -Despite his other troubles--which were real enough to a man who loathed -publicity--Rupert found himself smiling in perplexity when he endeavored -to plan some means of hoodwinking Jenkins. Moreover, he could not help -feeling that his identity would be proclaimed instantly when a -sharp-eyed hotel valet or inquisitive chambermaid examined his -belongings. He was sure that some of the newspapers would unearth a -better portrait of himself than the libelous snapshot reproduced that -day, in which event no very acute intelligence would be needed to -connect "Osborne" or "R. G. O." with the half-tone picture. Of course, -he could buy ready-made apparel, but the notion was displeasing; -ultimately, he abandoned the task and summoned Jenkins. - -Jenkins was one of those admirable servants--bred to perfection in -London only--worthy of a coat of arms with the blazoned motto: "Leave it -to me." His sallow, almost ascetic, face brightened under the trust -reposed in him. - -"It is now half-past ten, sir," he said. "Will it meet your convenience -if I have everything ready by two o'clock?" - -"I suppose so," said his master ruefully. - -"What station shall I bring your luggage to, sir?" - -"Oh, any station. Let me see--say Waterloo, main line." - -"And you will be absent ten days or thereabouts, sir." - -"That is the proposition as it stands now." - -"Very well, sir. I shall want some money--not more than twenty -pounds----" - -Rupert opened a door leading to the library. He rented a two-story -maisonette in Mayfair, with the drawing-room, dining-room, library, -billiard-room and domestic offices grouped round the hall, while the -upper floor was given over to bedrooms and dressing-rooms. His secretary -was not arrived as yet; but he had already glanced through a pile of -letters with the practiced eye of one who receives daily a large and -varied correspondence. - -He wrote a check for a hundred pounds, and stuffed the book into a -breast pocket. - -"There," he said to Jenkins, "cash that, buy what you want, and bring me -the balance in five-pound notes." - -"Yes, sir, but will you please remember to pack the clothes you are now -wearing into a parcel, and post them to me this evening?" - -"By gad, Jenkins, I should have forgotten that my name is stitched on to -the back of the coat I am wearing. How will you manage about my other -things?" - -"Rip off the tabs, sir, and get you some new linen, unmarked." - -"Good. But I may as well leave my checkbook here." - -"No, sir, take it with you. You may want it. If you do, the money will -be of more importance than the name." - -"Right again, Socrates. I wish I might take you along, too, but our -Scotland Yard friend said 'No,' so you must remain and answer callers." - -"I have sent away more than a dozen this morning, sir." - -"Oh? Who were they?" - -"Newspaper gentlemen, sir, every one of 'em, though they tried various -dodges to get in and have a word with you. If I were you, sir, I would -drive openly in the motor to some big hotel, and let your car remain -outside while you slip out by another door." - -"Jenkins, you seem to be up to snuff in these matters." - -"Well, sir, I had a good training with Lord Dunningham. His lordship was -a very free and easy sort of gentleman, and I never did meet his equal -at slipping a writter. They gave it up at last, and went in for what -they call substitooted service." - -A bell rang, and they heard a servant crossing the hall. - -"That will be Miss Prout, sir," said Jenkins. "What shall I tell her?" - -"Nothing. Mr. Winter will see her in the morning. Now, let us be off out -of this before she comes in." - -Rupert was most unwilling to frame any subterfuge that might help to -explain his absence to his secretary. She had been so manifestly -distressed in his behalf the previous day, that he decided to avoid her -now, being anxious not to hurt her feelings by any display of reticence -as to his movements. As soon as the library door closed behind the -newcomer, he went to his dressing-room and remained there until his -automobile was in readiness. He was spoken to twice and snapshotted -three times while he ran down the steps and crossed the pavement; but he -gave no heed to his tormentors, and his chauffeur, quick to appreciate -the fact that a couple of taxicabs were following, ran into Hyde Park by -the nearest gate, thus shaking off pursuit, since vehicles licensed to -ply for hire are not allowed to enter London's chief pleasure-ground. - -"Yes," said Rupert to himself, "Winter is right. The solitary cliff and -the deserted village for me during the next fortnight. But where are -they to be found? England, with August approaching, is full to the -brim." - -He decided to trust to chance, and therein lay the germ of complications -which might well have given him pause, could he have peered into the -future. - -Having successfully performed the trick of the cab "bilker" by leaving -his motor outside a hotel, Rupert hurried away from the main stream of -fashion along several narrow streets until his attention was caught by a -tiny restaurant on which the day's eatables were scrawled in French. It -was in Soho; an open-air market promised diversion; and he was wondering -how winkles tasted, extracted from their shells with a pin, when some -commotion arose at the end of an alley. A four-wheeled cab had wormed -its way through a swarm of picturesque loafers, and was drawn up close -to the kerb. Pavement and street were pullulating with child life, and -the appearance from the interior of the cab of a couple of -strongly-built, square-shouldered men seemed to send an electric wave -through adults and children alike. - -Instantly there was a rush, and Rupert was pinned in the crowd between a -stout Frenchwoman and a young Italian who reeked of the kitchen. - -"What is it, then?" he asked, addressing madame in her own language. - -"They are police agents, those men there," she answered. - -"Have they come to make an arrest?" - -"But no, monsieur. Two miserables who call themselves Anarchists have -been sent back to France, and the police are taking their luggage. A -nice thing, chasing such scarecrows and letting that bad American who -killed Mademoiselle de Bercy go free. Poor lady! I saw her many times. -Ah, _mon Dieu_, how I wept when I read of her terrible end!" - -Rupert caught his breath. So he was judged and found guilty even in the -gutter! - -"Perhaps the police know that Monsieur Osborne did not kill her," he -managed to say in a muffled tone. - -"Oh, là, là!" cried the woman. "He has money, _ce vilain_ Osborne!" - -The ironic phrase was pitiless. It denounced, condemned, explained. -Rupert forced a laugh. - -"Truly, money can do almost anything," he said. - -A detective came out of the passage, laden with dilapidated packages. -The woman smiled broadly, saying: - -"My faith, they do not prosper, those Anarchists." - -Rupert edged his way through the crowd. On the opposite side of the -street the contents bills of the early editions of the evening -newspapers glared at him: "West End murder--Relatives sail from Jersey." -"Portrait sketch of Osborne"; "Paris Life of Rose de Bercy"; the horror -of it all suddenly stifled his finer impulses: from that hour Rupert -squared his shoulders and meant to scowl at the jeering multitude. - -Probably because he was very rich, he cultivated simple tastes in the -matter of food. At one o'clock he ate some fruit and a cake or two, -drank a glass of milk, and noticed that the girl in the cashier's desk -was actually looking at his own "portrait sketch" when he tendered her a -shilling. About half-past one he took a hansom to Waterloo Station, -where he bought a map and railway guide at the bookstall, and soon -decided that Tormouth on the coast of Dorset offered some prospect of a -quiet anchorage. - -So, when Jenkins came with a couple of new leather bags, Rupert bought a -third-class ticket. Traveling in a corridor compartment, he heard the -Feldisham Mansions crime discussed twice during the afternoon. Once he -was described as a "reel bad lot--one of them fellers 'oo 'ad too little -to do an' too much to do it on." When, at Winchester, these critics -alighted, their places were taken by a couple of young women; and the -train had hardly started again before the prettier of the two called her -companion's attention to a page in an illustrated paper. - -"Poor thing! Wasn't she a beauty?" she asked, pointing to a print of the -Academy portrait of Mademoiselle de Bercy. - -"You can never tell--them photographs are so touched up," was the reply. - -"There's no touching up of Osborne, is there?" giggled the other, -looking at the motor-car photograph. - -"No, indeed. He looks as if he had just done it," said the friend. - -A lumbering omnibus took him to Tormouth. At the Swan Hotel he haggled -about the terms, and chose a room at ten shillings per diem instead of -the plutocratic apartment first offered at twelve and six. In the -register he signed "R. Glyn, London," and at once wrote to Winter. He -almost laughed when he found that Jenkins's address on the label was -some street in North London, where that excellent man's sister dwelt. - -He found that Tormouth possessed one great merit--an abundance of sea -air. It was a quiet old place, a town of another century, cut off from -the rush of modern life by the frenzied opposition to railways displayed -by its local magnates fifty years earlier. Rupert could not have -selected a better retreat. He dined, slept, ate three hearty meals next -day, and slept again with a soundness that argued him free from care. - -But newspapers reached even Tormouth, and, on the second morning after -his arrival, Osborne's bitter mood returned when he read an account of -Rose de Bercy's funeral. The crowds anticipated by Winter were there, -the reporters duly chronicled Rupert's absence, and there could be no -gainsaying the eagerness of the press to drag in his name on the -slightest pretext. - -But the arrows of outrageous fortune seemed to be less barbed when he -found himself on a lonely path that led westward along the cliffs, and -his eyes dwelt on the far-flung loveliness of a sapphire sea reflecting -the tint of a turquoise sky. A pleasant breeze that just sufficed to -chisel the surface of the water into tiny facets flowed lazily from the -south. From the beach, some twenty feet or less beneath the low cliff, -came the murmur of a listless tide. On the swelling uplands of Dorset -shone glorious patches of gold and green, with here and there a hamlet -or many-ricked farm, while in front, a mile away, the cliff climbed with -a gentle curve to a fine headland that jutted out from the shore-line -like some great pier built by a genie for the caravels of giants. It was -a morning to dispel shadows, and the cloud lifted from Rupert's heart -under its cheery influence. He stopped to light a cigar, and from that -moment Rupert's regeneration was complete. - -"It is a shame to defile this wonderful atmosphere with tobacco smoke," -he mused, "so I must salve my conscience by burning incense to the -spirit of the place. That sort of spirit is invariably of the female -gender. Where is the lady? Invisible, of course." - -Without the least expectation of discovering either fay or mortal on the -yellow sands that spread their broad highway between sea and cliff, -Rupert stepped off the path on to the narrow strip of turf that -separated it from the edge and looked down at the beach. Greatly to his -surprise, a girl sat there, painting. She had rigged a big Japanese -umbrella to shield herself and her easel from the sun. Its green-hued -paper cover, gay with pink dragons and blue butterflies, brought a -startling note of color into the placid foreground. The girl, or young -woman, wore a very smart hat, but her dress was a grayish brown costume, -sufficiently indeterminate in tint to conceal the stains of rough usage -in climbing over rocks, or forcing a way through rank vegetation. -Indeed, it was chosen, in the first instance, so that a dropped brush or -a blob of paint would not show too vivid traces; and this was well, for -some telepathic action caused the wearer to lift her eyes to the cliff -the very instant after Rupert's figure broke the sky-line above the long -grasses nodding on the verge. The result was lamentable. She squeezed -half a tube of crimson lake over her skirt in a movement of surprise at -the apparition. - -She was annoyed, and, of course, blamed the man. - -"What do you want?" she demanded. "Why creep up in that stealthy -fashion?" - -"I didn't," said Rupert. - -"But you did." This with a pout, while she scraped the paint off her -dress with a palette knife. - -"I am very sorry that you should have cause to think so," he said. "Will -you allow me to explain----" - -As he stepped forward, lifting his hat, the girl cried a warning, but -too late; a square yard of dry earth crumbled into dust beneath him, and -he fell headlong. Luckily, the strata of shale and marl which formed the -coast-line at that point had been scooped by the sea into a concavity, -with a ledge, which Rupert reached before he had dropped half-way. Some -experience of Alpine climbing had made him quick to decide how best to -rectify a slip, and he endeavored now to spring rather than roll -downward to the beach, since he had a fleeting vision of a row of black -rocks that guarded the foot of the treacherous cliff. He just managed to -clear an ugly boulder that would have taken cruel toll of bruised skin, -if no worse, had he struck it, but he landed on a smooth rock coated -with seaweed. Exactly what next befell neither he nor the girl ever -knew. He performed some wild gyration, and was brought up forcibly by -the bamboo shaft of the umbrella, to which he found himself clinging in -a sitting posture. His trousers were split across both knees, his coat -was ripped open under the left arm, and he felt badly bruised; -nevertheless, he looked up into the girl's frightened face, and laughed, -on which the fright vanished from her eyes, and she, too, laughed, with -such ready merriment and display of white teeth, that Rupert laughed -again. He picked himself up and stretched his arms slowly, for something -had given him a tremendous thump in the ribs. - - [Illustration: He found himself clinging to the bamboo shaft - _Page 61_] - -"Are you hurt?" cried the girl, anxiety again chasing the mirth from her -expressive features. - -"No," he said, after a deep breath had convinced him that no bones were -broken. "I only wished to explain that your word 'stealthy' was -undeserved." - -"I withdraw it, then.... I saw you were a stranger, so it is my fault -that you fell. I ought to have told you about that dangerous cliff -instead of pitching into you because you startled me." - -"I can't agree with you there," smiled Rupert. "We were both taken by -surprise, but I might have known better than to stand so near the edge. -Good job I was not a mile farther west," and he nodded in the direction -of the distant headland. - -"Oh, please don't think of it, or I shall dream to-night of somebody -falling over the Tor." - -"Is that the Tor?" he asked. - -"Yes; don't you know? You are visiting Tormouth, I suppose?" - -"I have been here since the day before yesterday, but my local knowledge -is nil." - -"Well, if I were you, I should go home and change my clothes. How did -your coat get torn? Are you sure you are not injured?" - -He turned to survey the rock on which his feet had slipped. Between it -and the umbrella the top of a buried boulder showed through the deep -sand, ever white and soft at highwater mark. - -"I am inclined to believe that I butted into that fellow during the -hurricane," he said. Then, feeling that an excuse must be forthcoming, -if he wished to hear more of this girl's voice, and look for a little -while longer into her face, he threw a plaintive note into a request. - -"Would you mind if I sat down for a minute or so?" he asked. "I feel a -bit shaken. After the briefest sort of rest I shall be off to the Swan." - -"Sit down at once," she said with ready sympathy. "Here, take this," and -she made to give him the canvas chair from which she had risen at the -first alarm. - -He dropped to the sand with suspicious ease. - -"I shall be quite comfortable here," he said. "Please go on with your -painting. I always find it soothing to watch an artist at work." - -"I must be going home now," she answered. "I obtain this effect only at -a certain stage of tide, and early in the day. You see, the Tor changes -his appearance so rapidly when the sun travels round to the south." - -"Do you live at Tormouth?" he ventured to ask. - -"Half a mile out." - -"Will you allow me to carry something for you? I find that I have broken -two ribs--of your umbrella," he added instantly, seeing that those -radiant eyes of hers had turned on him with quick solicitude. - -"Pity," she murmured, "bamboo is so much harder to mend than bone. -No--you will not carry anything. I think, if you are staying at the -Swan, you will find a path up a little hollow in the cliff about a -hundred yards from here." - -"Yes, and if you, too, are going----" - -"In the opposite direction." - -"Ah, well," he said, "I am a useless person, it seems. Good-by. May I -fall at your feet again to-morrow?" - -The absurd question brought half a smile to her lips. She began to -reply: "Worship so headlong----" - -Then she saw that which caused her face to blanch. - -"Why, your right hand is smothered in blood--something has happened----" - -He glanced at his hand, which a pebble had cut on one of the knuckles; -and he valiantly resisted the temptation that presented itself, and -stood upright. - -"It is a mere scratch," he assured her. "If I wash it in salt water it -will be healed before I reach Tormouth. Good-by--mermaid. I believe you -live in a cavern--out there--beneath the Tor. Some day soon I shall swim -out among the rocks and look for you." - -With that he stooped to recover his hat, walked seaward to find a pool, -and held his hand in the water until the wound was cauterized. Then he -lit another cigar, and saw out of the tail of his eye that the girl was -now on the top of the cliff at some distance to the west. - -"I wonder who she is," he murmured. "A lady, at any rate, and a very -charming one." - -And the girl was saying: - -"Who is he?--A gentleman, I see. American? Something in the accent, -perhaps. Or perhaps not. Americans don't come to torpid old Tormouth." - - - - - CHAPTER V - - THE MISSING BLADE - - -On that same morning of the meeting on the sands at Tormouth, Inspector -Clarke, walking southward down St. Martin's Lane toward Scotland Yard, -had a shock. Clarke was hardly at the moment in his best mood, for to -the natural vinegar of his temperament a drop of lemon, or of gall, had -been added within the last few days. That morning at breakfast he had -explained matters with a sour mouth to Mrs. Clarke. - -"Oh, it was all a made-up job between Winter and Furneaux, and I was -only put on to the Anarchists to make room for Furneaux--that was it. -The two Anarchists weren't up to any mischief--'Anarchists' was all a -blind, that's what '_Anarchists_' was. But that's the way things are run -now in the Yard, and there's no fair play going any more. Furneaux must -have Feldisham Mansions, of course; Furneaux this, and Furneaux that--of -course. But wait: he hasn't solved it yet! and he isn't going to; no, -and I haven't done with it yet, not by a long way.... Now, where do you -buy these eggs? Just look at this one." - -The fact was, now that the two Anarchists, Descartes and Janoc, had been -deported by the Court, and were gone, Clarke suddenly woke to find -himself disillusioned, dull, excluded from the fun of the chase. But, as -he passed down St. Martin's Lane that morning, his underlooking eyes, -ever on the prowl for the "confidence men" who haunt the West End, saw a -sight that made him doubt if he was awake. There, in a little by-street -to the east, under the three balls of a pawnbroker's, he saw, or dreamt -that he saw--Émile Janoc!--Janoc, whom he _knew_ to be in Holland, and -Janoc was so deep, so lost, in talk with a girl, that he could not see -Clarke standing there, looking at him. - -And Clarke knew the girl, too! It was Bertha Seward, the late cook of -the murdered actress, Rose de Bercy. - -Could he be mistaken as to Janoc? he asked himself. Could _two_ men be -so striking to the eye, and so alike--the lank figure, stooping; the -long wavering legs, the clothes hanging loose on him; the scraggy throat -with the bone in it; the hair, black and plenteous as the raven's -breast, draping the sallow-dark face; the eyes so haggard, hungry, -unresting. Few men were so picturesque: few so greasy, repellent. And -there could be no mistake as to Bertha Seward--a small, thin creature, -with whitish hair, and little Chinese eyes that seemed to twinkle with -fun--it was she! - -And how earnest was the talk! - -Clarke saw Janoc clasp his two long hands together, and turn up his eyes -to the sky, seeming to beseech the girl or, through her, the heavens. -Then he offered her money, which she refused; but, when he cajoled and -insisted, she took it, smiling. Shaking hands, they parted, and Janoc -looked after Bertha Seward as she hurried, with a sort of stealthy -haste, towards the Strand. Then he turned, and found himself face to -face with Clarke. - -For a full half-minute they looked contemplatively, eye to eye, at one -another. - -"Janoc?" said Clarke. - -"That is my name for one moment, sare," said Janoc politely in a very -peculiar though fluent English: "and the yours, sare?" - -"Unless you have a very bad memory you know mine! How on earth come you -to be here, Émile Janoc?" - -"England is free country, sare," said Janoc with a shrug; "I see not the -why I must render you account of movement. Only I tell you this time, -because you are so singular familiarly with my name of family, you -deceive yourself as to my little name. I have, it is true, a brother -named Émile----" - -Clarke looked with a hard eye at him. The resemblance, if they were two, -was certainly very strong. Since it seemed all but impossible that Émile -Janoc should be in England, he accepted the statement grudgingly. - -"Perhaps you wouldn't mind letting me see your papers?" he asked. - -Janoc bowed. - -"That I will do with big pleasure, sare," he said, and produced a -passport recently viséd in Holland, by which it appeared that his name -was not Émile, but Gaston. - -They parted with a bow on Janoc's side and a nod on Clarke's; but Clarke -was puzzled. - -"Something queer about this," he thought. "I'll keep my eye on _him_.... -What was he doing talking like that--_so earnest_--to the actress's -cook? Suppose she was murdered by Anarchists? It is certain that she was -more or less mixed up with them--more, perhaps, than is known. Why did -those two come over the night after her murder?--for it's clear that -they had no design against the Tsar. I'll look into it on my own. Easy, -now, Clarke, my boy, and may be you'll come out ahead of Furneaux, -Winter, and all the lot in the end." - -When he arrived at his Chief's office in the Yard, he mentioned to -Winter his curious encounter with the other Janoc, but said not a word -of Bertha Seward, since the affair of the murder was no longer his -business, officially. - -Winter paid little heed to Janoc, whether Émile or Gaston, for Furneaux -was there with him, and the two were head to head, discussing the -murder, and the second sitting of the inquest was soon to come. Indeed, -Clarke heard Winter say to Furneaux: - -"I promised Mr. Osborne to give some sort of excuse to his servants for -his flight from home. I was so busy that I forgot it. Perhaps you will -see to that, too, for me." - -"Glad you mentioned it. I intended going there at once," Furneaux said -in that subdued tone which seemed to have all at once come upon him -since Rose de Bercy was found lying dead in Feldisham Mansions. - -"Well, then, from henceforth everything is in your hands," said Winter. -"Here I hand you over our dumb witness"--and he held out to Furneaux the -blood-soiled ax-head of flint that had battered Rose de Bercy's face. - -He was not sure--he wondered afterwards whether it was positively a -fact--but he fancied that for the tenth part of a second Furneaux shrank -from taking, from touching, that object of horror--a notion so odd and -fantastic that it affected Winter as if he had fancied that the poker -had lifted its head for the tenth part of a second. But almost before -the conceit took form, Furneaux was coolly placing the celt in his -breast-pocket, and standing up to go. - -Furneaux drove straight, as he had said, to Mayfair, and soon was being -ushered into Osborne's library, where he found Miss Prout, the -secretary, with her hat on, busy opening and sorting the morning's -correspondence. - -He introduced himself, sat beside her, and, while she continued with her -work, told her what had happened--how Osborne had been advised to -disappear till the popular gale of ill-will got stilled a little. - -"Ah, that's how it was," the girl said, lifting interested eyes to his. -"I was wondering," and she pinned two letters together with the neatness -of method and order. - -Furneaux sat lingeringly with her, listening to an aviary of linnets -that prattled to the bright sunlight that flooded the library, and -asking himself whether he had ever seen hair so glaringly red as the -lady secretary's--a great mass of it that wrapped her head like a flame. - -"And where has Mr. Osborne gone to?" she murmured, making a note in -shorthand on the back of one little bundle of correspondence. - -"Somewhere by the coast--I think," said Furneaux. - -"West coast? East coast?" - -"He didn't write to me: he wrote to my Chief"--for, though Furneaux well -knew where Osborne was, his retreat was a secret. - -The girl went on with her work, plying the paper-knife, now jotting down -a memorandum, now placing two or more kindred letters together: for -every hospital and institution wrote to Osborne, everyone who wanted -money for a new flying machine, or had a dog or a hunter to sell, or -intended to dine and speechify, and send round the hat. - -"It's quite a large batch of correspondence," Furneaux remarked. - -"Half of these," the girl said, "are letters of abuse from people who -never heard Mr. Osborne's name till the day after that poor woman was -killed. All England has convicted him before he is tried. It seems -unfair." - -"Yes, no doubt. But 'to understand is to pardon,' as the proverb says. -They have to think something, and when there is only one thing for them -to think, they think it--meaning well. It will blow over in time. Don't -you worry." - -"Oh, I!--What do I care what forty millions of vermin choose to say or -think?" - -She pouted her pretty lips saucily. - -"Forty--millions--of vermin," cried Furneaux; "that's worse than -Carlyle." - -Hylda Prout's swift hands plied among her papers. She made no answer; -and Furneaux suddenly stood up. - -"Well, you will mention to the valet and the others how the matter -stands as to Mr. Osborne. He is simply avoiding the crowd--that is all. -Good-day." - -Hylda Prout rose, too, and Furneaux saw now how tall she was, -well-formed and lithe, with a somewhat small face framed in that nest of -red hair. Her complexion was spoiled and splashed with freckles, but -otherwise she was dainty-featured and pretty--mouth, nose, chin, tiny, -all except the wide-open eyes. - -"So," she said to Furneaux as she put out her hand, "you won't let me -know where Mr. Osborne is? I may want to write to him on business." - -"Why, didn't I tell you that he didn't write to me?" - -"That was only a blind." - -"Dear me! A blind.... It is the truth, Miss Prout." - -"Tell that to someone else." - -"What, don't you like the truth?" - -"All right, keep the information to yourself, then." - -"Good-by--I mustn't allow myself to dally in this charming room with the -linnets, the sunlight, and the lady." - -For a few seconds she seemed to hesitate. Then she said suddenly: "Yes, -it's very nice in here. That door there leads into the morning room, and -that one yonder, at the side----" - -Her voice dropped and stopped; Furneaux appeared hardly to have heard, -or, if hearing, to be merely making conversation. - -"Yes, it leads where?" he asked, looking at her. Now, her eyes, too, -dropped, and she murmured: - -"Into the museum." - -"The--! Well, naturally, Mr. Osborne is a connoisseur--quite so, only I -rather expected you to say 'a picture gallery.' Is it--open to -inspection? Can one----?" - -"It is open, certainly: the door is not locked, But there's nothing -much----" - -"Oh, do let me have a look around, and come with me, if it will not take -long. No one is more interested in curios than I." - -"I--will, if you like," said the girl with a strange note of confidence -in her voice, and led the way into the museum. - -Furneaux found himself in a room, small, but full of riches. On a -central table were several illuminated missals and old Hoch-Deutsch -MSS., some ancient timepieces, and a collection of enameled watches of -Limoges. Around the walls, open or in cabinets, were arms, blades of -Toledo, minerals arranged on narrow shelves, an embalmed chieftain's -head from Mexico, and many other bizarre objects. - -Hylda Prout knew the name and history of every one, and murmured an -explanation as Furneaux bent in scrutiny. - -"Those are what are called 'celts,'" she said; "they are not very -uncommon, and are found in every country--made of flint, mostly, and -used as ax-heads by the ancients. These rough ones on this side are -called Palæolithic--five hundred thousand years old, some of them; and -these finer ones on this side are Neolithic, not quite so old--though -there isn't much to choose in antiquity when it comes to hundreds of -thousands! Strange to say, one of the Neolithic ones has been missing -for some days--I don't know whether Mr. Osborne has given it away or -not?" - -The fact that one _was_ missing was, indeed, quite obvious, for the -celts stood in a row, stuck in holes drilled in the shelf; and right in -the midst of the rank gaped one empty hole, a dumb little mouth that yet -spoke. - -"Yes, curious things," said Furneaux, bending meditatively over them. "I -remember seeing pictures of them in books. Every one of these stones is -stained with blood." - -"Blood!" cried the girl in a startled way. - -"Well, they were used in war and the chase, weren't they? Every one of -them has given agony, every one would be red, if we saw it in its true -color." - -Red was also the color of Furneaux's cheek-bones at the moment--red as -hectic; and he was conscious of it, as he was conscious also that his -eyes were wildly alight. Hence, he continued a long time bending over -the "celts" so that Miss Prout might not see his face. His voice, -however, was calm, since he habitually spoke in jerky, clipped syllables -that betrayed either no emotion or too much. - -When he turned round, it was to move straight to a little rack on the -left, in which glittered a fine array of daggers--Japanese kokatanas, -punals of Salamanca, cangiars of Morocco, bowie-knives of old -California, some with squat blades, coming quickly to a point, some long -and thin to transfix the body, others meant to cut and gash, each with -its label of minute writing. - -Furneaux's eye had duly noted them before, but he had passed them -without stopping. Now, after seeing the celts, he went back to them. - -To his surprise, Miss Prout did not come with him. She stood looking on -the ground, her lower lip somewhat protruded, silent, obviously -distrait. - -"And these, Miss Prout?" chirped he, "are they of high value?" - -She neither answered nor moved. - -"Perhaps you haven't studied their history?" ventured Furneaux again. - -Now, all at once, she moved to the rack of daggers, and without saying a -word, tapped with the fore-finger of her right hand, and kept on -tapping, a vacant hole in the rack, though her eyes peered deeply into -Furneaux's face. And for the first time Furneaux made acquaintance with -the real splendor of her eyes--eyes that lived in sleep, torpid like the -dormouse; but when they woke, woke to such a lambency of passion that -they fascinated and commanded like the basilisk's. - -With eyes so alight she now kept peering at Furneaux, standing tall -above him, tapping at the empty hole. - -"Oh, I see," muttered Furneaux, _his_ eyes, too, alight like live coals, -"there's an article missing here, also--one from the celts, one from the -daggers." - -"He is innocent!" suddenly cried Hylda Prout, in a tempest of passionate -reproach. - -"She loves him," thought Furneaux. - -And the girl thought: "He knew before now that these things were -missing. His acting would deceive every man, but not every woman. How -glad I am that I drew him on!" - -Now, though the fact of the discovery of the celt by Inspector Clarke -under the dead actress's piano had not been published in the papers, the -fact that she had been stabbed through the eye by a long blade with -blunt edges was known to all the world. There was nothing strange in -this fierce outburst of Osborne's trusted secretary, nor that tears -should spring to her eyes. - -"Mr. Furneaux, he is innocent," she wailed in a frenzy. "Oh, he is! You -noticed me hesitate just now to bring you in here: well, _this_ was the -reason--this, this, this----" she tapped with her forefinger on the -empty hole--"for I knew that you would see this, and I knew that you -would be jumping to some terrible conclusion as to Mr. Osborne." - -"Conclusion, no," murmured Furneaux comfortingly--"I avoid conclusions -as traps for the unwary. Interesting, of course, that's all. Tell me -what you know, and fear nothing. Conclusion, you say! I don't jump to -conclusions. Tell me what was the shape of the dagger that has -disappeared." - -She was silent again for many seconds. She was wrung with doubt, whether -to speak or not to speak. - -At last she voiced her agony. - -"Either I must refuse to say, or I must tell the truth--and if I tell -the truth, you will think----" - -She stopped again, all her repose of manner fled. - -"You don't know what I will think," put in Furneaux. "Sometimes I think -the most unexpected things. The best way is to give me the plain facts. -The question is, whether the blade that has gone from there was shaped -like the one supposed to have committed the crime in the flat?" - -"It was labeled 'Saracen Stiletto: about 1150,'" muttered the girl -brokenly, looking Furneaux straight in the face, though the fire was now -dead in her eyes. "It had a square bone handle, with a crescent carved -on one of the four faces--a longish, thin blade, like a skewer, only not -round--with blunt-edged corners to it." - -Furneaux took up a little tube containing radium from a table at his -hand, looked at it, and put it down again. - -Hylda Prout was too distraught to see that his hand shook a little. It -was half a minute before he spoke. - -"Well, all that proves nothing, though it is of interest, of course," he -said nonchalantly. "How long has that stiletto been lying there?" - -"Since--since I entered Mr. Osborne's employment, twelve months ago." - -"And you first noticed that it was gone--when?" - -"On the second afternoon after the murder, when I noticed that the celt, -too, was gone." - -"The second--I see." - -"I wondered what had become of them! I could imagine that Mr. Osborne -might have given the celt to some friend. But the stiletto was so rare a -thing--I couldn't think that he would give that. I assumed--I -assume--that they were stolen. But, then, by whom?" - -"That's the question," said Furneaux. - -"Was it this same stiletto that I have described to you that the murder -was done with?" asked Hylda. - -"Now, how can I tell that?" said Furneaux. "_I_ wasn't there, you know." - -"Was not the weapon, then, found in the unfortunate woman's flat?" - -"No--no weapon." - -"Well, but that is excessively odd," she said in a low voice. - -"Why so excessively odd?" demanded Furneaux. - -"Why? Because--don't you see?--the weapon would be blood-stained--of -course; and I should expect that after committing his horrid deed, the -murderer would be only too glad to get rid of it, and would leave -it----" - -"Oh, come, that is hardly a good guess, Miss Prout. I shall never make a -lady detective of you. Murderers don't leave their weapons about behind -them, for weapons are clews, you see." - -He was well aware that if the fact of the discovery of the celt had been -published in the papers, Hylda might justly have answered: "But _this_ -murderer did leave _one_ of his weapons behind, namely the celt; and it -is excessively odd that, since he left one, the smaller one, he did not -leave the other, the larger one." - -As it was, the girl took thought, and her comment was shrewd enough: - -"All murderers do not act in the same way, for some are a world more -cunning and alert than others. I say that it _is_ odd that the murderer -did not leave behind the weapon that pierced the woman's eye, and I will -prove it to you. If the stiletto was stolen from Mr. Osborne--and it -really must have been stolen--and if that was the same stiletto that the -deed was done with, then, the motive of the thief in stealing it was to -kill Mademoiselle de Bercy with it. But why should one steal a weapon to -commit a murder? And why should the murderer have chosen _Mr. Osborne_ -to steal his weapon from? Obviously, because he wanted to throw the -suspicion upon him--in which case he would _naturally_ leave the weapon -behind as proof of Mr. Osborne's guilt. Now, then, have I proved my -point?" - -Though she spoke almost in italics, and was pale and flurried, she -looked jauntily at Furneaux, with her head tossed back; and he, with -half a smile, answered: - -"I withdraw my remark as to your detective qualifications, Miss Prout. -Yes, I think you reason well. If there was a thief, and the thief was -the murderer, he would very likely have acted as you say." - -"Then, why was the stiletto not found in the flat?" she asked. - -"The fact that it was not found would seem to show that there was _not_ -a thief," he said; and he added quickly: "Perhaps Mr. Osborne gave it, -as well as the celt, to someone. I suppose you asked him?" - -"He was gone away an hour before I missed them," Hylda answered. She -hesitated again. When next she spoke it was with a smile that would have -won a stone. - -"Tell me where he is," she pleaded, "and I will write to him about it. -You may safely tell _me_, you know, for Mr. Osborne has no secrets from -_me_." - -"I wish I could tell you.... Oh, but he will soon be back again, and -then you will see him and speak to him once more." - -Some tone of badinage in these jerky sentences brought a flush to her -face, but she tried to ward off his scrutiny with a commonplace remark. - -"Well, that's some consolation. I must wait in patience till the mob -finds a new sensation." - -Furneaux took a turn through the room, silently meditating. - -"Thanks so much for your courtesy, Miss Prout," he said at last. "Our -conversation has been--fruitful." - -"Yes, fruitful in throwing still more suspicion upon an innocent man, if -that is what you mean. Are not the police _quite_ convinced yet of Mr. -Osborne's innocence, Inspector Furneaux?" - -"Oh, quite, quite," said he hastily, somewhat taken aback by her candor. - -"Two 'quites' make a 'not quite,' as two negatives make an affirmative," -said she coldly, fingering and looking down at some wistaria in her -bosom. - -She added with sudden warmth: "Oh, but you should, Inspector Furneaux! -You should. He has suffered; his honest and true heart has been wounded. -And he has his alibi, which, though in reality it may not be so good as -you think, is yet quite good enough. But I know what it is that poisons -your mind against him." - -"You are full of statements, Miss Prout," said Furneaux with an -inclination of the head; "what is it, now, that poisons my mind against -that gentleman?" - -"It is that taxicabman's delusion that he took him from the Ritz Hotel -to Feldisham Mansions and back, added to the housekeeper's delusion that -she saw him here----" - -Furneaux nearly gasped. Up to that moment he had heard no word about a -housekeeper's delusion, or of a housekeeper's existence even. A long -second passed before he could answer. - -"Well, she was no doubt mistaken. I have not yet examined her -personally, but I have every reason to believe that she is in error. At -what hour, by the way, does she say that she thought she saw him here?" - -"_She_ says she thinks it was about five minutes to eight. But at that -time, I take it from the evidence, he must have been writing those two -letters at the Ritz. If she were right, that would make out that after -doing the deed at about 7.40 or so, he would just have time to come back -here by five to eight, and change his clothes. But he was at the -Ritz--he was at the Ritz! And Mrs. Bates only saw his back an instant -going up the stairs--his ghost's back, she means, his double's back, not -his own. He was at the Ritz, Inspector Furneaux." - -"Precisely," said Furneaux, with a voice that at last had a quiver in -it. "If any fact is clear in a maze of doubt, that, at least, is -established beyond cavil. And Mrs. Bates's other name--I--forget it?" - -"Hester." - -"That's it. Is she here now?" - -"She is taking a holiday to-day. She was dreadfully upset." - -"Thanks. Good-by." - -He held out his hand a second time, quite affably. Hylda Prout followed -him out to the library and, when the street door had closed behind him, -peeped through the curtains at his alert, natty figure as he hastened -away. - -Furneaux took a motor-bus to Whitehall, and, what was very odd, the 'bus -carried him beyond his destination, over Westminster Bridge, indeed, he -was so lost in meditation. - -His object now was to see Winter and fling at his chief's head some of -the amazing things he had just learned. - -But when he arrived at Scotland Yard, Winter was not there. At that -moment, in fact, Winter was at Osborne's house in Mayfair, whither he -had rushed to meet Furneaux in order to whisper to Furneaux without a -moment's delay some news just gleaned by the merest chance--the news -that Pauline Dessaulx, Rose de Bercy's maid, had quarreled with her -mistress on the morning of the murder, and had been given notice to quit -Miss de Bercy's service. - -When Winter arrived at Osborne's house Furneaux, of course, was gone. To -his question at the door, "Is Mr. Furneaux here?" the parlor-maid -answered: "I am not sure, sir--I'll see." - -"Perhaps you don't know Mr. Furneaux," said Winter, "a small-built -gentleman----" - -"Oh, yes, sir, I know him," the girl answered. "I let him in this -morning, as well as when he called some days ago." - -No words in the English tongue could have more astonished Winter, for -Furneaux had not mentioned to him that he had even been to Osborne's. -What Furneaux could have been doing there "some days ago" was beyond his -guessing. Before his wonderment could get out another question, the girl -was leading the way towards the library. - -In the library were Miss Prout, writing, and Jenkins handing her a -letter. - -"I came to see if Inspector Furneaux was here," Winter said; "but -evidently he has gone." - -"Only about three minutes," said Hylda Prout, throwing a quick look -round at him. - -"Thanks--I am sorry to have troubled you," he said. Then he added, to -Jenkins: "Much obliged for the cigars!" - -"Do not mention it, sir," said Jenkins. - -Winter had reached the library door, when he stopped short. - -"By the way, Jenkins, is this Mr. Furneaux's first visit here?--or don't -you remember?" - -"Mr. Furneaux came here once before, sir," said Jenkins in his staid -official way. - -"Ah, I thought perhaps--when was that?" - -"Let me see, sir. It was--yes--on the third, the afternoon of the -murder, I remember." - -The third--the afternoon of the murder. Those words ate their way into -Winter's very brain. They might have been fired from a pistol rather -than uttered by the placid Jenkins. - -"The afternoon, you say," repeated Winter. "Yes--quite so; he wished to -see Mr. Osborne. At what exact _hour_ about would that be?" - -Jenkins again meditated. Then he said: "Mr. Furneaux called, sir, about -5.45, as far as I can recollect. He wished to see my master, who was -out, but was expected to return. So Mr. Furneaux was shown in here to -await him, and he waited a quarter of an hour, if I am right in saying -that he came at 5.45, because Mr. Osborne telephoned me from Feldisham -Mansions that he would not be returning, and as I entered the museum -there, where Mr. Furneaux then was, to tell him, I heard the clock -strike six, I remember." - -At this Hylda Prout whirled round in her chair. - -"The museum!" she cried. "How odd, how exceedingly odd! Just now Mr. -Furneaux seemed to be rather surprised when I told him that there was a -museum!" - -"He doubtless forgot, miss," said Jenkins, "for he had certainly gone in -there when I entered the library." - -"Thanks, thanks," said Winter lightly, "that's how it was--good-day"; -and he went out with the vacant air of a man who has lost something, but -knows not what. - -He drove straight to Scotland Yard. There in the office sat Furneaux. - -For a long time they conferred--Winter with hardly a word, one hand on -his thigh, the other at his mustache, looking at Furneaux with a frown, -with curious musing eyes, meditating, silent. And Furneaux told how the -celt and the stiletto were missing from Osborne's museum. - -"And the inference?" said Winter, speaking at last, his round eyes -staring widely at Furneaux. - -"The inference, on the face of it, is that Osborne is guilty," said -Furneaux quietly. - -"An innocent man, Furneaux?" said Winter almost with a groan of -reproach--"an innocent man?" - -Furneaux's eyes flashed angrily an instant, and some word leapt to his -lips, but it was not uttered. He stood up. - -"Well, that's how it stands for the moment. Time will show--I must be -away," he said. - -And when he had gone out, Winter rose wearily, and paced with slow steps -a long time through the room, his head bent quite down, staring. -Presently he came upon a broken cigar, such as Furneaux delighted in -smelling. Then a fierce cry broke from him. - -"Furneaux, my friend! Why, this is madness! Oh, d--n everything!" - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - TO TORMOUTH - - -"An absinthe!" - -"A packet of Caporal!" - -"Un bock pour vous, m'sieur?" - -"A vodka!" - -A frowsy waiter was hurrying through some such jangle of loud voices -from the "comrades" scattered among the tables set in a back room in a -very back street of Soho. The hour was two in the morning, and the light -in that Anarchist Club was murky and blurred. Only one gas-jet on the -wall lit the room, and that struggled but feebly through the cigarette -smoke that choked the air like a fog--air that was foul and close as -well as dim, for some thirty persons, mostly men but some few women, -were crowded in there as if there was no place else on earth for them. - -One heard the rattle of dice, the whirr of cards being shuffled against -the thumbs, the grating of glass tumblers against imitation granite. Two -poor girls, cramped in a corner, were attempting to dance to the rhythm -of an Italian song. They were laughing with wide mouths, their heads -thrown back, weary unto death, yet alive with make-believe mirth. - -At one of the tables sat Gaston Janoc, the man who had been seen by -Inspector Clarke talking in St. Martin's Lane to Bertha Seward, one-time -cook in the Feldisham Mansions flat. Playing vingt-et-un with him was a -burly Russian-looking man, all red beard and eyebrows; also a small -Frenchman with an imperial and a crooked nose; while a colored man of -Martinique made the fourth of a queer quartette. But somehow Janoc and -the rough, red Russian seemed not to be able to agree in the game. They -were antagonistic as cat and dog, and three times one or other threw -down his cards and looked at his adversary, as who should say: - -"A little more of you, and my knife talks!" - -"Who are you, then, Ruski?" cried Janoc at last, speaking French, since -the Russian only glared at him when he swore in his quaint English. - -Yet the Russian grumbled in English in his beard: "No French." - -"And no Italian, and no Spanish, and no German, and very, very small -English," growled Janoc in English, frowning at him; "Well, then, shall -we converse, sare?" - -"What is that--'_converse_'?" asked the Russian. - -Janoc shrugged disgustedly, while the little Frenchman, whose eyes -twinkled at every tiff between the pair, said politely in French: - -"We await your play, m'sieurs." - -Twice, on the very edge of the precipice of open hostilities, Janoc and -the Russian stopped short; but a little after two o'clock, when much -absinthe and vodka had been drunk, an outbreak took place: for the -Russian then cried out loudly above the hubbub of tongues: - -"Oh, you--how you call it?--_tcheeeet_!" - -"Who? I--me?" cried Janoc sharply, pale, half-standing--"cheat?" - -"Yes--_tcheeet_, you _tcheeet_!" insisted the bearded Slav. And now the -little Frenchman with the crooked nose, who foreknew that the table was -about to be upset, stood up quickly, picked up his thimbleful of -anisette, and holding it in hand, awaited with merry eyes the outcome. - -Instantly Janoc, who was dealing, sent the pack of cards like an assault -of birds into the Russian's face, the Russian closed with Janoc, and -forthwith the room reeled into chaos. The struggle need not be -described. Suffice it to say, that it lasted longer than the Russian had -probably expected, for Janoc proved to have sinews of steel, though thin -steel. His lank arms embraced the Russian, squeezing like a cable that -is being tighter and tighter wound. However, he was overcome by mere -weight, thumping to the floor among a tumbled dance of tables, chairs, -and foreign drinks, while the women shrieked, the men bellowed, and the -scared manager of the den added to the uproar by yelling: - -"M'sieurs! M'sieurs! Je vous prie! The police will come!" - -Only one soul in the room remained calm, and that was the diminutive -Frenchman, who kept dodging through the legs and arms of the flood of -humanity that surged around the two on the floor. - -He alone of them all saw that the Russian, in the thick of the struggle, -was slipping his hand into pocket after pocket of Janoc under him, and -was very deftly drawing out any papers that he might find there. - -In two minutes the row was ended, and the gaming and drinking -recommenced as if nothing had happened. The Russian had been half led, -half hustled to the front door, and was gone. Immediately after him had -slipped out the bright-eyed Frenchman. - -The Russian, after pacing down an alley, turned into Old Compton Street, -twice peering about and behind him, as if disturbed by some instinct -that he was being shadowed. And this was so--but with a skill so nimble, -so expert, so inbred, did the Frenchman follow, that in this pursuit the -true meaning of the word "shadowing" was realized. The Russian did not -see his follower for the excellent reason that the Frenchman made -himself an invisibility. He might have put on those magic shoes that -shadows shoot and dash and slink in, so airily did he glide on the -trail. Nor could mere genius have accomplished such a feat, and with -such ease--were it not for the expertness that was wedded to genius. - -When the Russian emerged into the wide thoroughfare close to the Palace -Theater, he stood under a lamp to look at one of the papers picked from -Janoc's pockets; and only then did he become aware of the Frenchman, who -rose up out of the ground under his elbow with that pert ease with which -a cork bobs to the surface of water. - -"Got anything of importance?" asked the Frenchman, his twinkling eyes -radiant with the humor of the chase. - -The Russian stared at him half a minute with the hung jaw of -astonishment. Then, all at once remembering his rôle, he cried hoarsely: - -"No English!" - -"Oh, chuck it!" remarked the other. - -Again the Russian gazed at the unexpected little phenomenon, and his -voice rumbled: - -"What is that--'chuck it'?" - -Suddenly the Frenchman snatched Janoc's paper neatly with thumb and -finger out of the Russian's hand, and ran chuckling across Charing Cross -Road eastward. The Russian, with a grunt of rage, made after him with -his long legs. But, from the first, he saw that he was being left behind -by the nimble pace set up by a good runner. He seemed to understand that -a miracle was needed, and lo, it occurred, for, as the two crossed the -road in front of the Palace Theater, the Russian lifted his voice into: - -"Stop him! Stop thief! Police! Police!" - -Not only did he yell in most lucid English, but he also plucked a police -whistle from his coat and blew it loudly. - -No policeman happened to be near, however, and the deep sleep of London -echoed their pelting steps eastward, until the Russian saw the -paper-snatcher vanish from sight in the congeries of streets that -converge on the top of St. Martin's Lane. - -He lost hope then, and slackened a little, panting but swearing in a -language that would be appreciated by any London cabman. Nevertheless, -when he, too, ran into St. Martin's Lane, there was the small Frenchman, -standing, wiping his forehead, awaiting him. - -The Russian sprang at him. - -"You little whelp!" he roared. "I arrest you----" - -"Oh, what's the good, Clarke? You are slow this evening. I just thought -I'd wake you up." - -"Furneaux!" - -"Fancy not knowing me!" - -"It was _you_!" - -"Who else? Here's your Janocy document. You might let me have a look at -it. Share and share alike." - -Clarke tried to retrieve lost prestige, though his hand shook as he took -the paper. - -"Well--I--could have sworn it was you!" he said. - -"Of course you could--and did, no doubt. Let's have a glimpse at those -documents." - -"But what were _you_ doing in the Fraternal Club, anyhow? Something on -in that line?" - -"No. An idle hour. Chance of picking up a stray clew. I sometimes do -dive into those depths without special object. You managed that to a T -with Janoc. Where are the other papers? Hand them over." - -"With pleasure," said Clarke, but there was no pleasure in his surly -Russian face, in which rage shone notwithstanding a marvelous make-up. -Still, he opened the paper under the lamp--a sheet of notepaper with -some lines of writing on the first page; and on the top of it, printed, -the name of a hotel, "The Swan, Tormouth." - -The two detectives peered over it. To the illimitable surprise of both, -this letter, stolen by Clarke from Janoc's pocket, was addressed to -Clarke himself--a letter from Rupert Osborne, the millionaire. - -And Osborne said in it: - - DEAR INSPECTOR CLARKE:--Yours of the 7th duly to hand. In reply - to your inquiry, I am not aware that the late Mlle. Rose de - Bercy had any relations with Anarchists, either in London or in - Paris, other than those which have been mentioned in the - papers--_i.e._, a purely professional interest for stage - purposes. I think it unlikely that her connection with them - extended further. - - I am, - Sincerely yours, - RUPERT OSBORNE. - -Furneaux and Clarke looked at each other in a blank bewilderment that -was not assumed by either man. - -"_Did_ you write to Mr. Osborne, asking that question?" asked Furneaux. - -"No," said Clarke--"never. I didn't even know where Osborne was." - -"So Janoc must have written to him in your name?" said Furneaux. "Janoc, -then, wishes to know how much information Osborne can give you as to -Mademoiselle de Bercy's association with Anarchists. That seems clear. -But why should Janoc think that _you_ particularly are interested in -knowing? - -Clarke flushed hotly under the paint, being conscious that he was -investigating the case on his own private account and in a secret way. -As a matter of fact, he was by this time fully convinced that Rose de -Bercy's murder was the work of Anarchist hands, but he was so vexed with -Furneaux's tricking him, and so fearful of official reprimand from -Winter that he only answered: - -"Why Janoc should think that I am interested, I can't imagine. It beats -me." - -"And how can Janoc know where Osborne is, or his assumed name, to write -to him?" muttered Furneaux. "I thought that that was a secret between -Osborne, Winter, and myself." - -Clarke, equally puzzled, scratched his head under his wig, which had -been insufferably hot in that stifling room. - -"Janoc and his crew must be keeping an eye on Osborne, it seems--for -some reason," he exclaimed. "Heaven knows why--I don't. I am out of the -de Bercy case, of course. My interest in the Janoc crowd is--political." - -"Let me see the letter again," said Furneaux; and he read it carefully -once more. Then he opened the sheet, as if seeking additional -information from the blank pages, turned it over, looked at the -back--and there at the back he saw something else that was astounding, -for, written backwards, near the bottom of the page, in Osborne's -handwriting, was the word "Rosalind." - -"Who is 'Rosalind'?" asked Furneaux--"see here, an impression from some -other letter written at the same time." - -"Don't know, I'm sure," said Clarke. "A sister, perhaps." - -"A sister. Why, though, should his sister's name appear at the back of a -note written to Janoc, or to Inspector Clarke, as he thought?" said -Furneaux to himself, deep in meditation. He suddenly added brightly: -"Now, Clarke, there's a puzzle for you!" - -"I don't see it, see any puzzle, I mean. It might have appeared on any -other letter, say to his bankers, or to a friend. It was a mere -accident. There is nothing in that." - -"Quite right," grinned Furneaux. "And it was a sister's name, of course. -'Rosalind.' A pretty name. Poor girl, she will be anxious about her fond -and doting brother." - -"It may be another woman's name," said Clarke sagely--"though, for that -matter, he'd hardly be on with a new love before the other one is cold -in her grave, as the saying is." - -Furneaux laughed a low, mysterious laugh in his throat. It had a -peculiar sound, and rang hard and bitter in the ears of the other. - -"I'll keep this, if you don't mind," he said, lapsing into the detective -again. - -Meantime, Furneaux knew that there were other papers of Janoc's in -Clarke's pocket, and he lingered a little to give his colleague a chance -of exhibiting them. Clarke made no move, however, so he put out his -hand, saying, "Well, good luck," and disappeared southward, while Clarke -walked northward toward his residence, Hampstead way. But in Southampton -Row an overwhelming impatience to see the other Janoc papers overcame -him, and he commenced to examine them as he went. - -Two were bills. A third was a newspaper cutting from the _Matin_ -commenting on the murder in Feldisham Mansions. The fourth had power to -arrest Clarke's steps. It was a letter of three closely-written -pages--in French; and though Clarke's French, self-taught, was not -fluent, it could walk, if it could not fly. In ten minutes he had read -and understood.... - - St. Petersburg says that since the secret meeting, a steady - growth of courage in the rank-and-file is observable. As for the - Nevski funds, an individual highly placed, whose name is in - three syllables, is said to be willing to come to the rescue. - Lastly, as to the traitress, you will see to it that she to - whose hands vengeance has been intrusted shall fail on the 3rd. - -This was in the letter; and as Inspector Clarke's eyes fell on the date, -"the 3d," his clenched hand rose triumphantly in air. It was on July -_the 3d_ that Rose de Bercy had been done to death! - -When Clarke again walked onward his eyes were alight with a wild -exultation. He was thinking: - -"Now, Allah be praised, that I didn't show Furneaux this thing, as I -nearly was doing!" - -He reached his house with a sense of surprise--he had covered so much -ground unconsciously, and the dominant thought in his mind was that the -race was not always to the swift. - -"Luck is the thing in a man's career," he said to himself, "not wit, or -mere sharpness to grasp a point. Slow, and steady, and lucky--that's the -combination. The British are a race slower of thought than some of the -others, just as _I_ may be a slower man than Furneaux, but we Britons -rule the world by luck, as we won the battle of Waterloo by luck. Luck -and prime beef, they go together somehow, I do believe. And what I am -to-day I owe to luck, for it's happened to me too often to doubt that -I've got the gift of it in my marrow." - -He put his latch-key into the door with something of a smile; and the -next morning Mrs. Clarke cried delightedly to him: - -"Well, something must have happened to put you in this good temper!" - -At that same hour of the morning Furneaux, for his part, was at -Osborne's house in Mayfair, where he had an appointment with Mrs. Hester -Bates, Osborne's housekeeper. He was just being admitted into the house -when the secretary, Miss Prout, walked up to the door--rather to his -surprise, for it was somewhat before the hour of a secretary's -attendance. They entered together and passed into the library, where -Hylda Prout invited him to sit down for a minute. - -"I am only here just to collect and answer the morning's letters," she -explained pleasantly. "There's a tree which I know in Epping Forest--an -old beech--where I'm taking a book to read. See my picnic -basket?--tomato and cress sandwiches, half a bottle of Chianti, an -aluminum folding cup to drink from. I'll send for Mrs. Bates in a -moment, and leave her to your tender inquiries. But wouldn't you prefer -Epping Forest on a day like this? Do you like solitude, Inspector -Furneaux? Dreams?" - -"Yes, I like solitude, as boys like piracy, because unattainable. I can -only just find time to sleep, but not time enough to dream." - -Hylda lifted her face beatifically. - -"I _love_ to dream!--to be with myself--alone: the world in one -compartment, I in another, with myself; with silence to hear my heart -beat in, and time to fathom a little what its beating is madly trying to -say; an old tree overhead, and breezes breathing through it. Oh, _they_ -know how to soothe; _they_ alone understand, Inspector Furneaux, and -_they_ forgive." - -Furneaux said within himself: "Well, I seem to be in for some charming -confidences"; and he added aloud: "Quite so; _they_ understand--if it's -a lady: for Nature is feminine; and only a lady can fathom a lady." - -"Oh, women!" Hylda said, with her pretty pout of disdain,--"they are -nothing, mostly shallow shoppers. Give me a man--if he is a man. And -there have been a few women, too--in history. But, man or woman, what I -believe is that for the greater part, we remain foreigners to ourselves -through life--we never reach that depth in ourselves, 'deeper than ever -plummet sounded,' where the real _I_ within us lives, the real, -bare-faced, rabid, savage, divine _I_, naked as an ape, contorted, -sobbing, bawling what it cannot speak." - -Furneaux, who had certainly not suspected this blend of philosopher and -poet beneath that mass of red hair, listened in silence. For the second -time he saw this strange girl's eyes take fire, glow, rage a moment like -a building sweltering in conflagration, and then die down to utter -dullness. - -Though he knew just when to speak, his reply was rather tame. - -"There's something in that, too--you are right." - -She suddenly smiled, with a pretty air of confusion. - -"Surely," she said. "And now to business: first, Mrs. Bates----" - -"One moment," broke in Furneaux. "Something has caused me to wish to ask -you--do you know Mr. Osborne's relatives?" - -"I know _of_ them. He has only a younger brother, Ralph, who is at -Harvard University--and an aunt." - -"Aunt's name Rosalind?" - -"No--Priscilla--Priscilla Emptage." - -"Who, then, may 'Rosalind' be?" - -"No connection of _his_. You must have made some mistake." - -Furneaux held out the note of Rupert Osborne to Janoc intended for -Clarke, holding it so folded that the name of the hotel was not -visible--only the transferred word "Rosalind." - -And as Hylda Prout bent over it, perplexed at first by the seeming -scrawl, Furneaux's eye was on her face. He was aware of the instant when -she recognized the handwriting, the instant when reasoning and the -putting of two-and-two together began to work in her mind, the instant -when her stare began to widen, and her tight-pressed lips to relax, the -rush of color to fade from her face, and the mask of freckles to stand -out darkly in strong contrast with her ivory white flesh. When she had -stared for a long minute, and had had enough, she did not say anything, -but turned away silently to stand at a window, her back to Furneaux. - -He looked at her, thinking: "She guesses, and suffers." - -Suddenly she whirled round. "May I--see that letter?" she asked in a low -voice. - -"The whole note?" he said; "I'm afraid that it's private--not _my_ -secret--I regret it--an official document, you know." - -"All right," she said quietly. "You may come to me for help yet"--and -turned to the pile of letters on the desk. - -"Anyway, Rosalind is not a relative, to your knowledge?" he persisted. - -"No." - -She stuffed the letters into a drawer, bowed, and was gone, leaving him -sorry for her, for he saw a lump working in her throat. - -Some minutes after her disappearance, a plump little woman came in--Mrs. -Hester Bates, housekeeper in the Osborne _ménage_. Her hair lay in -smooth curves on her brow as on the upturned bulge of a china bowl. -There was an apprehensive look in her upward-looking eyes, so Furneaux -spoke comfortingly to her, after seating her near the window. - -"Don't be afraid to speak," he said reassuringly. "What you have to say -is not necessarily against Mr. Osborne's interests. Just state the facts -simply--you did see him here on the murder night, didn't you?" - -She muttered something, as a tear dropped on the ample bosom of her -black dress. - -"Just a little louder," Furneaux said. - -"Yes," she sobbed, "I saw his back." - -"You were--where?" - -"Coming up the kitchen stairs to talk to Mr. Jenkins." - -"Don't cry. And when you reached the top of the kitchen stairs you saw -his back on the house stairs--at the bottom? at the top?" - -"He was nearer the top. I only saw him a minute." - -"A moment, you mean, I think. And in that one moment you became quite -sure that it was Mr. Osborne? Though it was only his back you saw?" - -"Yes, sir...." - -"No, don't cry. It's nothing. Only are you certain sure--that's the -point?" - -"Yes, I am sure enough, but----" - -"But what?" - -"I thought he was the worse for drink, which was a mad thing." - -"Oh, you thought that. Why so?" - -"His feet seemed to reel from side to side--almost from under him." - -"His feet--I see. From side to side.... Ever saw him the worse for drink -before?" - -"Never in all my life! I was amazed. Afterwards I had a feeling that it -wasn't Mr. Osborne himself, but his spirit that I had seen. And it may -have been his spirit! For my Aunt Pruie saw the spirit of her boy one -Sunday afternoon when he was alive and well in his ship on the sea." - -"But a spirit the worse for drink?" murmured Furneaux; "a spirit whose -feet seemed to reel?" - -She dropped her eyes, and presently wept a theory. - -"A spirit walks lighter-like than a Christian, sir." - -"Did you, though," asked Furneaux, making shorthand signs in his -notebook, "did you have the impression that it might be a spirit at the -time, or was it only afterwards?" - -"It was only afterwards when I thought matters over," said Mrs. Bates. -"Even at the time it crossed my mind that there was something in it I -didn't rightly understand." - -"Now, what sort of something?--can't you say?" - -"No, sir. I don't know." - -"And when you saw Mr. Jenkins immediately afterwards, did you mention to -him that you had seen Mr. Osborne?" - -"No, I didn't say anything to him, nor him to me." - -"Pity.... But the hour. You have said, I hear, that it was five minutes -to eight. Now, the murder was committed between 7.30 and 7.45; and at -five to eight Mr. Osborne is said by more than one person to have been -at the Ritz Hotel. If he was there, he couldn't have been here. If he -was here, he couldn't have been there. Are you sure of the hour--five to -eight?" - -As to that Mrs. Bates was positive. She had reason to remember, having -looked at the clock _à propos_ of the servants' supper. And Furneaux -went away from her with eyes in which sparkled a light that some might -have called wicked, and all would have called cruel, as when the cat -hears a stirring, and crouches at the hole's rim with her soul crowded -into an unblinking stare of expectation. - -He looked at his watch, took a cab to Waterloo, and while in the vehicle -again studied that scrawled "Rosalind" on Osborne's letter to Janoc. - -"A trip to Tormouth should throw some light on it," he thought. "If it -can be shown that he is actually in love--again--already----" and as he -so thought, the cab ran out of St. James's Street into Pall Mall. - -"Look! quick! There--in that cab!" hissed a man at that moment to a girl -with whom he was lurking in a doorway deep under the shadow of an awning -near the corner. "Look!" - -"That's him!" - -"Sure? Look well!" - -"The very man!" - -"Well, of all the fatalities!" - -The cab dashed out of sight, and the man--Chief Inspector -Winter--clapped his hand to his forehead in a spasm of sheer distraction -and dismay. The woman with him was the murdered actress's cook, Bertha -Seward, the same whom Inspector Clarke had one morning seen in earnest -talk with Janoc under the pawnbroker's sign in St. Martin's Lane. - -Winter walked away from her, looking on the ground, seeking his lost -wits there. Then suddenly he turned and overtook her again. - -"And you swear to me, Miss Seward," he said gravely, "that that very man -was with your mistress in her flat on the evening of the murder?" - -"I would know him anywhere," answered the slight girl, looking up into -his face with her oblique Chinese eyes that were always half shut as if -shy of light. "I thought to myself at the time what a queer, perky -person he was, and what working eyes the little man had, and I wondered -who he could be. That's the very man in that cab, I'm positive." - -"And when you and Pauline went out to the Exhibition you left him with -your mistress, you say?" - -"Yes, sir. They were in the drawing-room together; and quarreling, too, -for her voice was raised, and she laughed twice in an angry way." - -"Quarreling--in French? You didn't catch--?" - -"No, it was in French." - -Inspector Winter leant his shoulder against the house-wall, and his head -slowly sank, and then all at once dropped down with an air of utter -abandonment, for Furneaux was his friend--he had looked on Furneaux as a -brother. - -Furneaux, meantime, at Waterloo was taking train to Tormouth, and his -fixed stare boded no good will to Rupert Osborne. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - AT TORMOUTH - - -Furneaux reached Tormouth about three in the afternoon, and went boldly -to the Swan Hotel, since he was unknown by sight to Osborne. It was an -old-fashioned place, with a bar opening out of the vestibule, and the -first person that met his eye was of interest to him--a man sitting in -the bar-parlor, who had "Neapolitan" written all over him--a face that -Furneaux had already marked in Soho. He did not know the stranger's -name, but he would have wagered a large sum that this queer visitor to -Tormouth was a bird of the Janoc flock. - -"What is he doing here?" Furneaux asked himself; and the only answer -that suggested itself was: "Keeping an eye on Osborne. Perhaps that -explains how Janoc got hold of the name 'Glyn.'" - -When he was left alone in the bedroom which he took, he sat with his two -hands between his knees, his head bent low, giving ten minutes' thought -by the clock to the subject of Anarchists. Presently his lips muttered: - -"Clarke is investigating the murder on his own account; he suspects that -Anarchists were at the bottom of it; he has let them see that he -suspects; and they have taken alarm, knowing that their ill repute can't -bear any added load of suspicion. Probably she was more mixed up with -them than is known; probably there was some quarrel between them and -her; and so, seeing themselves suspected, they are uneasy. Hence Janoc -wrote to Osborne in Clarke's name, asking how much Osborne knew of her -connection with Anarchists. He must have managed somehow to have Osborne -shadowed down here--must be eager to have Osborne proved guilty. Hence, -perhaps, for some reason, the presence of that fellow below there in the -parlor. But I, for my part, mustn't allow myself to be drawn off into -proving _them_ guilty. Another, another, is my prey!" - -He stood up sharply, crept to his door, and listened. All the upper part -of the house was as still as the tomb at that hour. Mr. Glyn--Osborne's -name on the hotel register--was, Furneaux had been told, out of doors. - -He passed out into a corridor, and, though he did not know which was -Osborne's room, after peering through two doorways discovered it at the -third, seeing in it a cane with a stag's head which Osborne often -carried. He slipped within, and in a moment was everywhere at once in -the room, filling it with his presence, ransacking it with a hundred -eyes. - -In one corner was an antiquated round table in mahogany, with a few -books on it, and under the books a copper-covered writing-pad. In the -writing-pad he found a letter--a long one, not yet finished, in -Osborne's hand, written to "My dear Isadore." - -The first words on which Furneaux's eyes fell were "her unstudied -grace...." - - ... her walk has the undulating smoothness that one looks for in - some untamed creature of the wild.... You are a painter, and a - poet, and a student of the laws of Beauty. Well, knowing all - that, I still feel sure that you would be conscious of a certain - astonishment on seeing her move, she moves so well. I confess I - did not _know_, till I knew her, that our human flesh could - express such music. Her waist is small, yet so willowy and - sinuous that it cannot be trammeled in those unyielding ribs of - steel and bone in which women love to girdle themselves. For her - slimness she is tall, perhaps, what you might think a little too - tall until you stood by her side and saw that her freedom of - movement had deceived you. Nor is she what you would call _a - girl_: her age can't be a day under twenty-three. But she does - not make a motion of the foot that her waist does not answer to - it in as exact a proportion as though the Angel of Grace was - there with measuring-tape and rod. If her left foot moves, her - waist sways by so much to the left; if her right, she sways to - the right, as surely as a lily on a long stalk swings to the - will of every wanton wind. But, after all, words cannot express - the poetry of her being. With her every step, I am confident her - toe in gliding forward touches the ground steadily, but so - zephyr-lightly, that only a megaphone could report it to the - ear. And not only is there a distinct forward bend of the body - in walking, but with every step her whole being and soul - walks--the mere physical movements are the least of it! And her - walk, I repeat, has the security, the lissome elegance of a - leopard's--her eyes, her mouth, her hair, her neck, those of a - Naiad balanced on the crest of a curling wave.... - -"Ah-h-h!..." murmured Furneaux on a long-drawn breath, "'A Naiad'! -Something more fairy-like than Rose de Bercy!" - -He read on. - - Soon I shall see her dance--dance _with_ her! and then you shall - hear. There's a certain Lord Spelding a little way from here - whom I know through a local doctor, and he is giving a dance at - his Abbey two evenings hence--she and her mother are to be - there. She has promised me that she will dance, and I shall tell - you how. But I expect nothing one whit more consummate in the - way of charm from her dancing than from her ordinary motions. I - know beforehand that her dancing will be to her walking what the - singing of a lovely voice is to its talking--beauty moved to - enthusiasm, but no increase of beauty; the moon in a halo, but - still the moon. What, though, do you think of me in all this, my - dear Isadore? I have asked myself whether words like "fickle," - "flighty," "forgetful," will not be in your mind as you read. - And if you are not tolerant, who will be? She, _the other_, is - hardly cold yet in her untimely tomb, and here am I ... shall I - say in love? say, at any rate, enraptured, down, down, on my two - bended knees. Certainly, the other was bitter to me--she - deceived, she pitilessly deceived; and I see now with the - clearest eyes that love was never the name of what I felt for - her, even if she had not deceived. But, oh, such a fountain of - pity is in me for her--untimely gone, cut off, the cup of life - in her hand, her lips purple with its wine--that I cannot help - reproaching this wandering of my eye from her. It is rather - shocking, rather horrible. And yet--I appeal to your sympathy--I - am no more master of myself in this than of something that is - now happening to the Emperor of China, or that once happened to - his grandfather. - -The corners of Furneaux's lips turned downward, and a lambent fire -flamed in his eyes. He clutched the paper in his hand as if he would -strangle its dumb eloquence. Still he glowered at the letter, and read. - - But imagine, meanwhile, my false position here! I am known to - her and to her mother as Mr. Glyn; and _thrice_ has Osborne, the - millionaire, the probable murderer of Rose de Bercy, been - discussed between us. Think of it!--the misery, the falseness of - it. If something were once to whisper to Mrs. Marsh, "this Mr. - Glyn, to whom you are speaking in a tone of chilly censure of - such men as Osborne, is _Osborne himself_; that translucent - porcelain of your teacup has been made impure by his lips; you - should smash your Venetian vases and Satsuma bowl of hollyhocks, - since his not-too-immaculate hands have touched them: beware! a - snake has stolen into your dainty and Puritan nest"--if some imp - of unhappiness whispered that, what would she do? I can't - exactly imagine those still lips uttering a scream, but I can - see her lily fingers--like lilies just getting withered--lifted - an instant in mild horror of the sacrilege! As it is, her - admittance of me into the nest has been an unbending on her - part, an unbending touched with informality, for it was only - brought about through Richards, the doctor here, to whom I got - Smythe, one of my bankers, who is likewise Richards' banker, to - speak of a "Mr. Glyn." And if she now finds that being gracious - to the stranger smirches her, compromises her in the slightest, - she will put her thin dry lips together a little, and say "I am - punished for my laxity in circumspection." And then, ah! no more - Rosalind for Osborne forever, if he were ten times ten - millionaires.... - -"'Rosalind,'" murmured Furneaux, "Rosalind Marsh. That explains the -scribble on the back of the Janoc letter. He calls her -Rosalind--breathes her name to the moon--writes it! We shall see, -though." - -At that moment he heard a step outside, and stood alert, ready to hide -behind a curtain; but it was only some hurrying housemaid who passed -away. He then put back the letter where he had found it; and instantly -tackled Osborne's portmanteaux. The larger he found locked, the smaller, -lying half under the bed, was fastened with straps, but unlocked. He -quickly ransacked the knicknacks that it contained; and was soon holding -up to the light between thumb and finger a singular object taken from -the bottom of the bag--a scrap of lace about six inches long, half of it -stained with a brown smear that was obviously the smear of--blood. - -It was a peculiar lace, Spanish hand-made, and Furneaux knew well, none -better than he, that the dressing-gown in which Rose de Bercy had been -murdered, which she had thrown on preparatory to dressing that night, -was trimmed with Spanish hand-made lace. He looked at this amazing bit -of evidence with a long interest there in the light from the window, -holding it away from him, frowning, thinking his own thoughts behind his -brow, as shadow chases shadow. And presently he muttered the peculiar -words: - -"Now, any detective would swear that this was a clew against him." - -He put it back into the bag, went out softly, walked downstairs, and -passed out into the little town. A policeman told him where the house of -Mrs. Marsh was to be found, and he hastened half a mile out of Tormouth -to it. - -The house, "St. Briavels," stood on a hillside behind walls and -wrought-iron gates and leafage, through which peeped several gables rich -in creepers and ivy. Of Osborne, so far, there was no sign. - -Furneaux retraced his steps, came back to Tormouth, sauntered beyond the -town over the cliffs, with the sea spread out in the sunlight, all -sparkling with far-flung sprightliness. And all at once he was aware of -a murmur of voices sounding out of Nowhere, like the hum of bumble-bees -on a slumbrous afternoon. The ear could not catch if they were right or -left, above or below. But they became louder; and suddenly there was a -laugh, a delicious low cadence of a woman's contralto that seemed to -roll up through an oboe in her throat. And now he realized that the -speakers were just below him on the sands. He stepped nearer the edge of -the cliff, and, craning and peering stealthily through its fringe of -grasses, saw Osborne and a lady walking westward over the sands. - -Osborne was carrying an easel and a Japanese umbrella. He was not -looking where he was going, not seeing the sea, or the sands, or the -sun, but seeing all things in the lady's face. - -Furneaux watched them till they were out of sight behind a bend of the -coast-line; he saw Osborne once stumble a little over a stone, and right -himself without glancing at what he had stumbled on, without taking his -gaze from the woman by his side. - -A bitter groan hissed from Furneaux's lips. - -"But how about this fair Rosalind?" he muttered half aloud. "Is this -well for _her_? She should at least be told who her suitor is--his -name--his true colors--the length and depth of his loves. There is a way -of stopping this...." - -He walked straight back to the hotel, and at once took pen and paper to -write: - - DEAR MISS PROUT:--It has occurred to me that possibly you may be - putting yourself to the pains of discovering for me the identity - of the friend of Mr. Osborne, the "Rosalind," as to whom I asked - you--in which case, to save you any trouble, I am writing to - tell you that I have now discovered who that lady is. I am, you - see, at present here in Tormouth, a very agreeable little place. - - Yours truly, - C. E. FURNEAUX. - -And, as he directed the envelope, he said to himself with a curious -crowing of triumph that Winter would have said was not to be expected -from his friend: - -"This should bring her here; and if it does----!" - -Whereupon a singular glitter appeared an instant in his eyes. - -Having posted the letter, he told the young woman in the bar, who also -acted as bookkeeper, that, after all, he would not be able to stay the -night. He paid, nevertheless, for the room, and walked away with his -bag, no one knew whither, out of Tormouth. Two hours later he returned -to the hotel, and for the second time that day took the same room, but -not a soul suspected for a moment that it was the same Furneaux, since -at present he had the look of a meek old civil servant living on a mite -of pension, the color all washed out of his flabby cheeks and hanging -wrinkles. - -His very suit-case now had a different physiognomy. He bargained -stingily for cheap terms, and then ensconced himself in his apartment -with a senile chuckle, rubbing his palms together with satisfaction at -having obtained such good quarters so cheaply. - -The chambermaid, whom he had tipped well on leaving, sniffed at this new -visitor. "Not much to be got out of him," she said to her friend, the -boots. - -The next afternoon at three o'clock an elderly lady arrived by the -London train at Tormouth, and she, too, came to put up at the Swan. - -Furneaux, at the moment of her arrival, was strolling to and fro on the -pavement in front of the hotel, very shaky and old, a man with feeble -knees, threadbare coat, and shabby hat--so much so that the manager had -told the young person in the bar to be sure and send in an account on -Saturday. - -Giving one near, clear, piercing glance into the newcomer's face, round -which trembled a colonnade of iron-gray ringlets, Furneaux was -satisfied. - -"Marvelously well done!" he thought. "She has been on the stage in her -time, and to some purpose, too." - -The lady, without a glance at him, all a rustle of brown silk, passed -into the hotel. - -The same night the old skinflint and the lady of the iron-gray ringlets -found themselves alone at a table, eating of the same dishes. It was -impossible not to enter into conversation. - -"Your first visit to Tormouth, I think?" began Furneaux. - -The lady inclined her head. - -"My name is Pugh, William Pugh," he told her. "I was in Tormouth some -years ago, and know the place rather well. Charming little spot! I shall -be most happy--if I may--if you will deign----" - -"How long have you been here now?" she asked him in a rather mellow and -subdued voice. - -"I only came yesterday," he answered. - -"Did you by chance meet here a certain Mr. Furneaux?" she asked. - -"Let me see," said he--"Furneaux. I--stay--I believe I did! He was just -departing at the time of my arrival--little man--sharp, unpleasant -face--I--I--hope I do not speak of a friend or relative!--but I believe -I did hear someone say 'Mr. Furneaux.'" - -"At any rate, he is not here now?" she demanded, with an air of -decision. - -"No, he is gone." - -"Ah!" she murmured, and something in the tone of that "Ah!" made -Furneaux's eye linger doubtfully upon her an instant. - -Then the elderly lady wished to know who else was in the hotel, if there -was anyone of any interest, and "Mr. Pugh" was apparently eager to -gossip. - -"There is first of all a Mr. Glyn--a young man, an American, I think, of -whom I have heard a whisper that he is enormously wealthy." - -"Is he in the room?" - -"No." - -"Why is he--invisible?" - -"I am told that he has made friends in Tormouth with a lady--a Mrs. -Marsh--who resides at 'St. Briavels' some way out of town--not to -mention _Miss_ Marsh--Rosalind is her name--upon whom I hear he is more -than a little sweet." - -He bent forward, shading his lips with his palm to conceal the secret as -it came out, and it was a strange thing that the newly-arrived visitor -could not keep her ringlets from shaking with agitation. - -"Well," she managed to say, "when young people meet--it is the old -story. So he is probably at 'St. Briavels' now?" - -"Highly probable--if all I hear be true." - -The ringleted dame put her knife and fork together, rose, bowed with a -gracious smile, and walked away. Five minutes later Furneaux followed -her, went upstairs with soundless steps to his room, and within it stood -some time listening at a crevice he had left between the door and the -door-post. - -Then he crept out, and spurting with swift suddenness, silent as a cat, -to Osborne's room, sent the door open with a rush, and instantly was -bowing profoundly, saying: "My dear madam! how _can_ you pardon me?" - -For the lady was also in Osborne's room, as Furneaux had known; and -though there was no artificial light, enough moonlight flooded the room -to show that even through her elaborate make-up a pallor was suggested -in her face, as she stood there suspended, dumb. - -Mr. Pugh seemed to be in a very pain of regret. - -"I had no idea that it was your room!" he pleaded. "I--do forgive -me--but I took it for my own!" - -Oddly enough, the lady tittered, almost hysterically, though she was -evidently much relieved to find who it was that had burst in so -unceremoniously. - -"The same accident has happened to me!" she cried. "I took it to be my -room, but it doesn't seem----" - -"Ah, then, we both.... By the way," he added, with a magnificent effort -to escape an embarrassing situation, "what beautiful moonlight! And the -Tormouth country under it is like a fairy place. It is a sin to be -indoors. I am going for a stroll. May I hope to have the pleasure----?" - -He wrung his palms wheedlingly together, and his attitude showed that he -was hanging on her answer. - -"Yes, I should like to take a walk--thank you," she answered. Together -they made for the door; he fluttered to his room, she to hers, to -prepare. Soon they were outside the hotel, walking slowly under the -moon. Apparently without definite directive, they turned up the hill in -the direction of "St. Briavels," nor was it many minutes before Mr. Pugh -began to prove himself somewhat of a gallant, and gifted in the saying -of those airy nothings which are supposed to be agreeable to the -feminine ear. The lady, for her part, was not so thorny and hard of -heart as one might have thought from the staidness of her air, and a -good understanding was quickly established between the oddly-assorted -pair. - -"Rather an adventure, this, for people of our age...." she tittered, as -they began to climb the winding road. - -"But, madam, we are not old!" exclaimed the lively Mr. Pugh, who might -be seventy from his decrepit semblance. "Look at that moon--are not our -hearts still sensible to its seductive influences? You, for your part, -may possibly be nearing that charming age of forty----" - -"Oh, sir! you flatter me...." - -"Madam, no, on my word!--not a day over forty would be given you by -anyone! And if you have the heart of twenty, as I am sure that you have, -what matters it if----" - -"Hush!" she whispered, as a soft sound of the piano from "St. Briavels" -reached them. - -Before them on the roadway they saw several carriages drawn up near the -great gates. The tinkle of the piano grew as they approached. Then they -saw a few lantern lights in the grounds glimmering under the trees. Such -signs spoke of a party in progress. For once, the English climate was -gracious to its dupes. - -The lady, without saying anything to her companion, stepped into the -shadow of a yew-tree opposite the manor-close, and stood there, looking -into the grounds over the bars of a small gate, beyond which a path ran -through a shrubbery. On the path were three couples, ladies with light -scarves draped over their décolleté dresses, men, bare-headed and -smoking cigarettes. They were very dim to her vision, which must have -been well preserved for one of her age, despite Mr. Pugh's gallantry. -The overhanging foliage was dense, and only enough moonlight oozed -through the canopy of leaves to toss moving patterns on the lawn and -paths. - -But the strange lady's eyes were now like gimlets, with the very fire of -youth burning in them, and it was with the sure fleetness of youth that -she suddenly ran in a moment of opportunity from the yew to the gate, -pushed it a little open, and slipped aside into a footpath that ran -parallel with the lawn on which the "St. Briavels" diners were now -strolling. - -With equal suddenness, or equal disregard of appearance, Mr. Pugh, too, -became young again, as if both, like Philemon and Baucis, had all at -once quaffed the elixir of youth; and he was soon by the young-old -lady's side on the footpath. But her eyes, her ears, were so strained -toward the lawn before her, that she seemed not to be aware of his -presence. - -"I did not guess that you were interested in the people here," he -whispered. "That man now coming nearer is Mr. Glyn himself, and with him -is Miss Rosalind Marsh." - -"_Sh-h-h_," came from her lips, a murmur long-drawn, absent-minded, her -eyes peering keenly forward. - -He nudged her. - -"Is it fitting that we should be here? We place ourselves in a difficult -position, if seen." - -"Sh-h-h-h-h...." - -Still he pestered her. - -"Really it is a blunder.... We--we become--eavesdroppers--! Let us--I -suggest to you----" - -"Oh, _do_ keep quiet," she whispered irritably; and in that instant the -talk of Osborne and Rosalind became audible to her. She heard him say: - -"Yes, I confess I have known Osborne, and I believe the man perfectly -incapable of the act attributed to him by a hasty public opinion." - -"Intimately known him?" - -Rosalind turned her eyebrows upward in the moonlight. Seen thus, she was -amazingly beautiful. - -"Do we intimately know anyone? Do we intimately know ourselves?" asked -Osborne as he passed within five yards of the two on the path. "I think -I may say that I know Osborne about as well as I know anyone, and I am -confident that he is horribly misjudged. He is a young man of--yes, I -will say that for him--of good intentions; and he is found guilty, -without trial, of a wrong which he never could have committed--and the -wrong which he _has_ committed he is not found guilty of." - -"What wrong?" asked Rosalind. - -"I have heard--I know, in fact--that in the short time that has passed -since the murder of Miss de Bercy, Osborne, her acknowledged lover, has -allowed himself to love another." - -Rosalind laughed, with the quiet amusement of well-bred indifference. - -"What a weird person!" she said. - -And as their words passed beyond hearing, a hiss, like a snake's in the -grass, rose from the shrubbery behind them, a hiss of venom intensely -low, and yet loud enough to be heard by Furneaux, who, standing a little -behind the lady of the ringlets, rubbed his hands together in silent and -almost mischievous self-congratulation. - -The house end of the lawn was not far, the words of the returning pair -were soon again within earshot. The fiery glance of the watching woman, -ferreting, peering, dwelt on them--or rather on one of them, for she -gave no heed to Osborne at all. Her very soul was centered on Rosalind, -whose walk, whose lips, whose eyes, whose hair, whose voice, she ran -over and estimated as an expert accountant reckons up a column of -figures to ascertain their significance. She missed no item in that -calculation. She noted the over-skirt of Chantilly, the wrap of Venetian -lace on the girl's head, the white slippers, the roses disposed on her -corsage with the harmless vanity of the artist's skill, all these that -fixed stare ravenously devoured and digested while Rosalind took half a -dozen slow steps. - -"But seriously," she heard Osborne say, "what is your opinion of a love -so apparently fickle and flighty as this of Osborne's?" - -"Let me alone with your Osborne," Rosalind retorted with another little -laugh. "A person of such a mood is merely uninteresting, and below being -a topic. Let the dead lady's father or somebody horsewhip him--I cannot -care, I'm afraid. Let us talk about----" - -"_Ourselves?_" - -"'Ourselves and our king.'" - -"I have so much to say about ourselves! Where should I begin? And now -that I have a few minutes, I am throwing them away. Do you know, I never -seem to secure you free from interruption. Either yourself or someone -else intervenes every time, and reduces me to silence and despair----" - -Their words passed beyond earshot again in the other direction; and, as -the lawn was wide between house and screen of shrubbery on the road -front, it was some time before they were again heard. At last, though, -they came, and then Rosalind's low tone of earnestness showed that this -time, at least, Osborne had been listened to. - -"I will, since you ask, since you wish"--her voice faltered--"to please -you. You will be at the Abbey to-morrow evening. And, since you say that -you so--desire it, I may then hear what you have to say. Now I'll go." - -"But when--where----?" - -"If the night is fine, I will stroll into the gardens during the -evening. You will see me when I go. On the south terrace of the Abbey -there is a sun-dial in the middle of a paved Italian garden. I'll pass -that way, and give you half an hour." - -"Rosalind!" - -"Ah, no--not yet." - -Her lips sighed. She looked at him with a lingering tenderness -languishing in her eyes. - -"Can I help it?" he murmured, and his voice quivered with passion. - -"Are you glad now?" - -"Glad!" - -"Good-by." - -She left him hurriedly and sped with inimitable grace of motion across -the lawn toward the house, and, while he looked after her, with the rapt -vision of a man who has communed with a spirit, the two listeners crept -to the little gate, slipped out when a laughing couple turned their -heads, and walked back to the hotel. - -The lady said never a word. Mr. Pugh was full of chat and merriment, but -no syllable fell from her tight-pressed lips. - -The next day the lady was reported to have a headache--at any rate she -kept to her room, and saw no one save the "boots" of the establishment, -with whom during the afternoon she had a lengthy interview upstairs. At -about seven in the evening she was writing these words: - - MISS MARSH:--Are you aware that the "Mr. Glyn" whom you know - here is no other than Mr. Rupert Osborne, who is in everyone's - mouth in connection with the Feldisham Mansions Murder? You may - take this as a positive fact from - "ONE WHO KNOWS." - -She wrote it in a handwriting that was very different from her own, -inclosed and directed it, and then, about half-past seven, sent for -"boots" again. - -Her instructions were quite explicit: - -"Wait in the paved rose garden at the Abbey, the square sunken place -with a sun-dial in the center," she said. "It is on the south terrace, -and the lady I have described will surely come. The moment she appears -hand the note to her, and be off--above all else, answer no questions." - -So the youth, with a sovereign in his pocket, hurried away to do Hylda -Prout's will--or was it Furneaux's? Who might tell? - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - AT THE SUN-DIAL - - -The messenger of evil had waited twenty minutes by the side of the -sun-dial, when he saw a lady come round the corner from the front of the -house, and saunter towards him. Moonlight lay weltering on the white -walks of the terrace, on the whiter slabs of stone, on the water of the -basin, on the surface of the lake eastward where the lowest of the -terraces curved into the parkland that the wavelets lapped on. It -weltered, too, on the lady's hair, deftly coiled and twisted into the -coiffure of a Greek statue. It shimmered on the powdered blue of her -gown that made her coming a little ghostly in that light, on the rows of -pearls around her throat, and on the satin gloss of her shoes. She made -straight for the dial; and then, all at once, finding some unknown man -keeping the tryst, half halted. - -He ran out to her, touched his cap, saying "Miss Marsh," handed her the -note, touched his cap again, and was going. - -"From whom?" she called after him in some astonishment. - -"Lady at the Swan, miss"--and he hurried off even more swiftly, for this -was a question which he had answered against orders. - -She stood a little, looking at the envelope, her breathing labored, an -apprehension in her heart. Then, hearing the coming of footsteps which -she knew, she broke it open, and ran her eye over the few words. - -Bending slightly, with the flood of the moon on the paper, she could -easily read the plainly written, message. - - ... The Mr. Glyn whom you know is no other than the Mr. Rupert - Osborne who is in everyone's mouth in connection with the - Feldisham Mansions Murder.... - -Now she laughed with a sudden catch of the breath, gasping "Oh!" with a -sharp impatience of all anonymous scandalizers. But as her head rather -swam and span, she walked on quickly to the basin, and there found it -necessary to sit down on the marble. The stab of pain passed in a few -seconds, and again she sprang up and laughed as lightly as one of the -little fountains in the basin that tossed its tinted drops to the -moonbeams. - -Not twenty yards away was Osborne coming to her. - -She looked at him steadily--her marvelous eyes self-searching for sure -remembrance of the earnestness with which he had pleaded in favor of the -lover of Rose de Bercy--how he had said that Osborne had already loved -again; and how she, Rosalind--oh, how blind and deaf!--heedlessly had -brushed aside his words, saying that a man of that mood was below being -a topic.... - -"Is it half an hour?" Osborne came whispering, with a bending of the -body that was like an act of worship. - -She smiled. In the moonlight he could not perceive how ethereally white -was her face. - -"It is one half-minute!... It was rather quixotic of you to have -proposed, and of me to have accepted, such a meeting. But I felt sure -that by this hour others would be strolling about the terraces. As it -is, you see, we are pioneers without followers. So, till we meet -again----" - -She seemed to be about to hurry away without another word; he stood -aghast. - -"But, Rosalind----" - -"What? How dare you call me Rosalind?" - -Now her eyes flashed upon him like sudden lightning from a dark blue -sky, and the scorn in her voice blighted him. - -"I--I--don't understand," he stammered, trying to come nearer. She drew -her skirts aside with a disdain that was terrifying. - -Then she laughed softly again; and was gone. - -He looked after her as after treasure that one sees sinking into the -sea, flashing in its descent to the depths. For one mad instant he had -an impulse to run in vain pursuit, but instead he gave way, sank down -upon the edge of the marble basin, just where she had dropped a few -brief seconds earlier, covered his face, and a groan that was half a sob -broke so loudly from his throat that she heard it. She hesitated, nearly -stopped, did not look round, scourged herself into resolution, and in -another moment had turned the corner of the house and was lost to sight. - -What had happened to change his Rosalind into this unapproachable -empress Osborne was too stunned to ask himself explicitly. He knew he -was banned, and that was enough. Deep in his subconsciousness he -understood that somehow she had found out his wretched secret--found out -that he was not the happy Glyn reeling through an insecure dream in -fairyland, but the unhappy Osborne, heavily tangled in the sordid and -the commonplace. - -And, because he was unhappy and troubled, she left him without pity, -turned her back eternally upon him. That hurt. As he stood up to walk -away toward Tormouth, a fierce anger and a gush of self-pity battled in -his eyes. - -He had no more hope. He wandered on through the night, unseeing, -stricken as never before. At last he reached the hotel, and, as soon as -he could summon the energy, began to pack his portmanteau to go back to -London. The day of the postponed inquest now loomed near, and he cared -not a jot what became of him, only asking dumbly to be taken far from -Tormouth. - -As he was packing the smaller of the bags, he saw the scrap of -blood-stained lace that Furneaux had already seen, had taken out, and -had replaced. Osborne, with that same feeling of repulsion with which -Furneaux had thrust it away from him, held it up to the light. What was -it? How could it have got into his bag? he asked himself--a bit of lace -stained with blood! His amazement knew no bounds--and would have been -still more profound, if possible, had he seen Furneaux's singular act in -replacing it in the bag after finding it. - -He threw the horrible thing from him out of the window, and his very -fingers tingled with disgust of it. But then came the disturbing -thought--suppose it had been put into his bag as a trap? by the police, -perhaps? And suppose any apparent eagerness of his to rid himself of it -should be regarded as compromising? He was beginning to be circumspect -now, timorous, ostentatious of that innocence in which a whole world -disbelieved. - -So he glanced out of the window, saw where the lace had dropped upon a -sloping spread of turf in the hotel grounds, and ran down to get it. -When he arrived at the spot where he had just seen it, the lace had -disappeared. - -He stood utterly mystified, looking down at the spot where the lace -should be and was not; then looked around in a maze, to discover on a -rustic seat that surrounded an oak tree an elderly lady and a bent old -man sitting there in the shadow. Some distance off, lounging among the -flower beds in the moonlight, was the figure of a tall man. Osborne was -about to inquire of the two nearest him if they had seen the lace, when -the old gentleman hurried nimbly forward out of the tree's shadow and -asked if he was seeking a piece of something that had dropped from -above. - -"Yes," answered Osborne, "have you seen it?" - -"That gentleman walking yonder was just under your window when it -dropped, and I saw him stoop to pick it up," said the other. - -Osborne thanked him, and made for "the gentleman," who turned out to be -a jauntily-dressed Italian, bony-faced, square in the jaw, his hair -clipped convict-short, but dandily brushed up at the corner of the -forehead. - -To the question: "Did you by chance pick up a bit of lace just now?" he -at once bowed, and showing his teeth in a grin, said: - -"He dropped right to my feet from the sky; here he is"--and he presented -the lace with much ceremony. - -"I am obliged," said Osborne. - -"Do not say it," answered the other politely, and they parted, Osborne -hurrying back to his room, with the intent to catch a midnight train -from Tormouth. - -As he entered the house again, the older man, incredibly quick on his -uncertain feet, overtook him, and, touching him on the arm, asked if he -intended to catch the train that night. - -"That is my desire," answered Osborne. - -"It is mine, too," said the other; "now, could you give me a seat in -your conveyance?" - -Osborne said, "With pleasure," and they entered the hotel to prepare to -go. - -At the same moment the Italian sauntered up to the oak tree beneath -which sat Hylda Prout in her Tormouth make-up. Seating himself without -seeking her permission, he lit a cigarette. - -"Good-evening," he said, after enveloping himself in a cloud of smoke. -She did not answer, but evidently he was not one to be rebuffed. - -"Your friend, Mistare Pooh, he is sharp! My! he see all," he said -affably. - -This drew a reply. - -"You are quite right," she said. "He sees all, or nearly all. Do you -mean because he saw you pick up the lace?" - -"Now--how _you_ know it was _lace_?" asked the Italian, turning full -upon her. "You sitting here, you couldn't see it was lace so far--no -eyes could see that." - -This frankness confused the lady a moment; then she laughed a little, -for he had supplied her with a retort. - -"Perhaps I see all, too, like my friend." - -There was a silence, but the Italian was apparently waiting only to -rehearse his English. - -"You know Mr. Glyn--yes?" he said. - -"No." - -"Oh, don't say 'no'!" Reproach was in his ogle, his voice. His tone was -almost wheedling. - -"Why not?" - -"The way I find you spying after him this morning tell me that you know -him. And I know that you know him before that." - -"What concern is it of _yours_?" she asked, looking at him with a -lowering of the lids in a quick scrutiny that was almost startled. "What -is _your_ interest in Mr. Glyn?" - -"Say 'Osborne' and be done," he said. - -"Well, say 'Osborne,'" she responded. - -"Good. We are going to understand the one the other, I can see. But if -you want to know what is 'my interest' in the man, you on your part will -tell me first if you are friend or enemy of Osborne." - -In one second she had reflected, and said: "Enemy." - -His hand shot out in silence to her, and she shook it. The mere action -drew them closer on the seat. - -"I believe you," he whispered, "and I knew it, too, for if you had been -a friend you would not be in a disguise from him." - -"How do you know that I am in a disguise?" - -"Since yesterday morning I know," he answered, "when I see you raise -your blind yonder, not an old woman, but a young and charming lady not -yet fully dressed, for I was here in the garden, looking out for what I -could see, and my poor heart was pierced by the vision at the window." - -He pressed his palm dramatically on his breast. - -"Yes, of course, it is on the left, as usual," said Hylda Prout saucily. -"But let us confine ourselves to business for the moment. I don't quite -understand your object. As to the bit of lace----" - -"How you _know_ it was lace?" - -She looked cautiously all round before answering. "I know because I -searched Mr. Osborne's room, and saw it." - -"Good! Before long we understand the one the other. You be frank, I be -frank. You spied into the bag, and _I_ put it in the bag." - -"I know you did." - -"Now, how you know?" - -"There was no one else to do it!" - -"No? Might not Osborne put it there himself? You know where that bit of -lace come from?" - -"I guess." - -"What you guess?" - -"I guess that it is from the dress of the dead actress, for it has blood -on it." - -"You guess good--very good. And Osborne killed her--yes?" - -She pondered a little. This attack had come on her from a moonlit sky. - -"That I don't know. He may have, and he may not," she murmured. - -"Which is more likely? That _he_ killed her, or that _I_ killed her?" - -"I don't know. I should say it is more likely that you killed her." - -"What! You pay me that compliment? Why so?" - -"Well, you are in possession of a portion of the dress she wore when she -was killed, and you put it into someone's belongings to make it seem -that he killed her, an act which looks a little black against you." - -"Ah, ma bella, now you jest," said the Italian, laughing. "The fact that -I am so frank with you as to say you all this is proof that I not kill -her." - -"Yes, I see that," she agreed. "I was only joking. But since you did not -kill her, how on earth did you get hold of that piece of her dress?" - -"That you are going to know when I have received better proof that you -are as much as I the enemy of Osborne. Did I not guess good, on seeing -you yesterday morning at the window, that you are the same young lady -who is Osborne's secretary in London, where I see you before?" - -Hylda Prout admitted that she was the secretary. - -"Good, then," said the Italian; "you staying in the house with him have -every opportunity to find proof of his guilt of the murder; until which -is proved, the necks of those I am working for are in danger." - -With the impulsive gesture of his race he drew his forefinger in ghastly -mimicry across his throat. - -"So bad as that?" asked the woman coolly. "Unfortunately, I don't know -who 'those' are you are working for. The----?" - -"Yes." - -"The Anarchists?" - -"If you call them so." - -"Did _they_ kill her?" - -"Not they!" - -"Did they intend to?" - -"Not they!" - -"Then, where did you get that bit of lace? And where is the dagger?" - -"Dagger! What about dagger now?" - -He asked it with a guilty start. At last the talk was taking a turn -which left Hylda Prout in command. - -"If you have that lace, you have the dagger, too. And if you have the -dagger, what help do you want from me? Produce that, and Osborne is done -for." - -Her voice sank to a whisper. If Furneaux could have been present he must -have felt proud of her. - -"Dagger!" muttered the Italian again in a hushed tone. "You seem to know -much more----" - -"Stay, let us get up and walk. It is not quite safe here.... There are -too many trees." - -The man, who had lost his air of self-confidence, seemed to be unable to -decide what to do for the best. But Hylda Prout had risen, and he, too, -stood up. He was compelled to follow her. Together they passed through -the grounds toward the cliffs. - -The same moonlight that saw them strolling there, saw at the same time -Furneaux and Osborne racing in a trap along the road to Sedgecombe -Junction to catch the late train on the main line. Furneaux was inclined -to be chatty, but Osborne answered only in monosyllables, till his -companion's talk turned upon the murder of the actress, when Osborne, -with a sudden access of fury, assured him in very emphatic language that -his ears were weary of that dreadful business, and prayed to be spared -it. The old gentleman seemed to be shocked, but Osborne only glanced at -his watch, muttering that they would have to be smart to catch the -train; and as he put back the watch in its pocket, the other dropped his -bag over the side of the vehicle. - -There was nothing to be done but to stop, and the delinquent, with the -stiffness and slowness of age, descended to pick it up. Thus some -precious minutes were wasted. Furneaux, in fact, did not wish Osborne to -start for London that night at that late hour, since he wanted to -apprise Winter of Osborne's departure. Hence he had begged a seat in the -conveyance, and had already lost time at the hotel. A little later, when -Osborne again glanced at his watch, it was to say: "Oh, well, there is -no use in going on," and he called to the driver to turn back. Indeed, -the whistle of the departing train was heard at the station half a mile -away. - -"Well, yes," said Furneaux, curiously pertinacious, when the dog-cart -was on the homeward road, "one is weary of hearing this murder -discussed. I only spoke of it to express to you my feeling of -disapproval of the lover--of the man Osborne. Is it credible to you that -he was not even at her funeral? No doubt he was advised not to be--no -doubt it was wise from a certain point of view. But _nothing_ should -have prevented him, if he had had any affection for her. But he had -none--he was a liar. Talk of her deceiving him! It was he--it was -_he_--who deceived her, I say!" - -"Have a cigar," said Osborne, presenting his case; "these are rather -good ones; you will find them soothing." - -His hospitality was declined, but there was no more talk, and the trap -trotted back into Tormouth. - -Up at "St. Briavels" that same moment the same moonlight, shining on a -balcony, illumined yet another scene in the network of events. Rosalind -Marsh was sitting there alone, her head bent between her clenched hands. -She had returned home early from the Abbey, and Mrs. Marsh, who had -silently wondered, presently came out with the softness of a shadow upon -her, and touched her shoulder. - -"What is the matter?" she asked in a murmur of sympathy. - -"My head aches a little, mother dear." - -"I am sorry. You look tired." - -"Well, yes, dear. There are moments of infinite weariness in life. One -cannot avoid them." - -"Did you dance?" - -"Only a little." - -"Weary of emotions, then?" - -The old lady smiled faintly. - -"Mother!" whispered Rosalind, and pressed her mother's hand to her -forehead. - -There was silence for a while. When Mrs. Marsh spoke again it was to -change the subject. - -"You have been too long at Tormouth this time. I think you need a -change. Suppose we took a little of London now? Society might brighten -you." - -"Oh, yes! Let us go from this place!" said Rosalind under her breath, -her fingers tightly clenched together. - -"Well, then, the sooner the better," said Mrs. Marsh. "Let it be -to-morrow." - -Rosalind looked up with gratitude and the moonlight in her eyes. - -"Thank you, dear one," she said. "You are always skilled in divining, -and never fail in being right." - -And so it was done. The next forenoon saw the mother and daughter -driving in an open landau past the Swan to Tormouth station, and, as -they rolled by in state, Hylda Prout, who was peeping from a window -after the figure of Osborne on _his_ way to the station, saw them. - -A glitter came into her eyes, and the unspoken thought was voiced in -eloquent gesture: "What, following him so soon?"--for she knew that they -could only be going by the London train, which had but one -stopping-place after Tormouth. At once she rushed in a frenzy of haste -to prepare to travel by that very train. - -Some wild ringing of bells and promise of reward brought chambermaid and -"boots" to her aid. - -In her descent to the office to pay her bill she was encountered by her -new friend, the Italian, who, surprised at her haste, said to her, -"What, you go?"--to which she, hardly stopping, answered: "Yes--we will -meet when we said--in two days' time." - -"But me, too, I go," he cried, and ran to get ready, the antics of the -pair creating some stir of interest in the bar parlor. - -At this time Furneaux was already at the station, awaiting the train, -having already wired to Winter in London to meet him at Waterloo. And so -the same train carried all their various thoughts and purposes and -secrets in its different compartments on the Londonward journey. - -Furneaux, who chose to sit in the compartment with Rosalind and Mrs. -Marsh, listened to every sigh and syllable of Rosalind, and, with the -privilege of the aged, addressed some remarks to his fellow-travelers. -Hylda Prout and the Italian were together--a singular bond of intimacy -having suddenly forged itself between these two. They were alone, and -Hylda, who left Tormouth old and iron-gray, arrived at London red-headed -and young, freckle-splashed and pretty. But as for Osborne, he traveled -in the dull company of his black thoughts. - -The first to alight at Waterloo, before the train stopped, was Furneaux. -His searching eyes at once discovered Winter waiting on the platform. In -a moment the Chief Inspector had a wizened old man at his ear, saying: -"Winter--I'm here. Came with the crowd." - -"Hallo," said Winter, and from old-time habit of friendship his hand -half went out. Furneaux, however, seemed not to notice the action, and -Winter's hand drew back. - -"Osborne is in the train," whispered Furneaux. "I telegraphed because -there is an object in his smaller bag that I want you to see--as a -witness, instantly. There he comes; ask him into the first-class -waiting-room. It is usually empty." - -Furneaux himself went straight into the waiting-room and sat in a corner -behind a newspaper. Soon in came Winter, talking to Osborne with a -marked deference: - -"You will forgive me, I am sure, for this apparent lack of confidence, -but in an affair of this sort one leaves no stone unturned." - -"Do not mention it," said Osborne, who was rather pale. "I think I can -guess what it is that you wish to see...." - -A porter, who had followed them, put the two portmanteaux on a table, -and went out. Osborne opened the smaller one, and Winter promptly had -the blood-stained bit of lace in his hand. - -"What is it, sir?" asked Winter. - -"Heaven knows," came the weary answer. "It was not in my possession when -I left London, and was put into one of my bags by someone at Tormouth. -When I found it, I threw it out of the window, as that gentleman there -can prove," for he had seen Furneaux, but was too jaded to give the -least thought to his unaccountable presence. "Afterwards I ran down and -recovered it. _He_ was in the garden...." - -The unhappy young man's glance wandered out of the door to see Rosalind -and her mother go past towards a waiting cab. He cared not a jot if all -Scotland Yard were dogging his footsteps now. - -"Is that so, sir?" asked Winter of Furneaux. - -"Exactly as Mr. Glyn says," answered Furneaux, looking at them -furtively, and darting one very curious glance at Winter's face. - -"And who, Mr.--Glyn, was about the place whom you could possibly suspect -of having placed this object in your bag--someone with a wicked motive -for throwing suspicion upon you?" - -Winter's lips whitened and dwelt with venom upon the word "wicked." - -"There was absolutely no one," answered Osborne. "The hotel was rather -empty. Of course, there was this gentleman----" - -"Yes," said Winter after him, "this gentleman." - -"An elderly lady, a Mrs. Forbes, I believe, as I happened to read her -name, a foreigner who probably never saw me before, an invalid girl and -her sister--all absolutely unconnected with me." - -Furneaux's eyes were now glued on Winter's face. They seemed to have a -queer meaning in them, a meaning not wholly devoid of spite and malice. - -"Well, Mr.--Glyn," said Winter, "let me tell you, if you do not know, -that this bit of lace was certainly part of the dress in which Miss de -Bercy was murdered. Therefore the man--or woman--who put it into your -bag was there--on the spot--when the deed was done." - -Osborne did then exhibit some perplexed interest in a strange discovery. - -"How can you be certain that it was part of her dress?" he asked. - -"Because a fragment of lace of this size was torn from the wrap she was -wearing at the time of the murder--I noticed it at my first sight of the -body. This piece would just fit into it. So, whoever put it into your -bag----" - -"In that case I may have put it in myself!" said Osborne with a nervous -laugh, "since I may be the murderer." - -Apparently the careless comment annoyed Winter. - -"I don't think I need detain you any longer, sir," he said coldly. "As -for the lace, I'll keep it. I feel very confident that this part of the -mystery will not baffle me for more than a day or two." - -And ever the eyes of Furneaux dwelt upon Winter's face with that queer -meaning reveling in their underlook. - -Osborne turned to go. He did not trouble to call another porter, but -carried his own luggage. He was about to enter a cab when he caught -sight of the back of a woman's head among the crowd hurrying to an exit, -a head which seemed singularly familiar to him. The next moment it was -gone from his sight, which was a pity, since the head belonged to Hylda -Prout, who had not anticipated that Osborne would be delayed on the -platform, and had had to steal past the waiting-room door at a rush, -since she was no longer an old lady, but herself. She could not wait in -the train till he was well away, for she thought it well to ascertain -the whereabouts of Rosalind Marsh in London, and wished to shadow her. - -Mrs. Marsh and her daughter carried the usual mountain of ladies' -luggage, which demanded time and care in stowing safely on the roof of a -four-wheeler, so Hylda Prout was in time to call a hansom and follow -them. After her went the Italian, who made off hastily when the train -arrived, but lurked about until he could follow the girl unseen, for she -had frightened him. - -Now, at the station that day, keeping well in the background, was a -third detective beside Winter and Furneaux. - -Clarke, with his interest in Anarchists, knew that this particular -Italian was coming from Tormouth either that day or the day after. Two -nights before, while on a visit to the Fraternal Club in Soho, he had -overheard the whispered word that "Antonio" would "be back" on the -Wednesday or the Thursday. - -Clarke did not know Antonio's particular retreat in London, and had -strong reasons for wishing to know it. He, therefore, followed in a cab -the cab that followed Rosalind's cab. In any other city in the world -than London such a procession would excite comment--if it passed through -street after street, that is. But not so in cab-using London, where a -string of a hundred taxis, hansoms, and four-wheelers may all be going -in the same direction simultaneously. - -As Clarke went westward down the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, he -was full of meditations. - -"What is Antonio doing with Osborne's lady secretary?" he asked himself. -"For that is the young woman he is after, I'll swear. By Jove, there's -more in this tangle than meets the eye. It's a case for keeping both -eyes, and a third, if I had it, wide, wide open!" - -Rosalind's and Mrs. Marsh's cab drew up before a house in Porchester -Gardens. As they got out and went up the steps, the cabs containing -Antonio and Hylda Prout almost stopped, but each went on again. - -"Now, what in the world is the matter?" mused Clarke. "Why are those two -shadowing a couple of ladies, and sneaking on each other as well?" - -He told his own driver to pass the house slowly, as he wished to note -its number, and the vehicle was exactly opposite the front door when it -was opened by a girl with a cap on her head to let in Mrs. Marsh and -Rosalind; Clarke's eye rested on her, and lit with a strange fire. A cry -of discovery leapt to his lips, but was not uttered. A moment after the -door had closed upon the two travelers, Clarke's hand was at the -trap-door in the roof of the hansom, and, careless whether or not he was -seen, he leaped out, ran up the steps, and rang. - -A moment more and the door was opened to him by the same girl, whom he -had recognized instantly as Pauline Dessaulx, the late lady's-maid of -Rose de Bercy--a girl for whom he had ransacked London in vain. And not -he alone, for Pauline had very effectively buried herself from the -afternoon after the murder, when Clarke had seen her once, and she him, -to this moment. And there now they stood, Clarke and Pauline, face to -face. - -He, for his part, never saw such a change in a human countenance as now -took place in this girl's. Her pretty brown cheeks at once, as her eyes -fell on him, assumed the whiteness of death itself. Her lips, the very -rims of her eyelids even, looked ghastly. She seemed to be on the verge -of collapse, and her whole frame trembled in an agony of fear. Why? What -caused these deadly tremors? Instantly Clarke saw guilt in this excess -of emotion, and by one of those inspirations vouchsafed sometimes even -to men of his coarse fiber he did the cleverest act of his life. - -Putting out his hand, he said quietly, but roughly: - -"Come now, no nonsense! Give it to me!" - -What "it" meant he himself had no more notion than the man in the moon. -His real motive was to set the terrified girl speaking, and thus lead -her on to yield some chance clew on which his wits might work. But at -once, like one hypnotized, Pauline Dessaulx, still keeping her eyes -fixed on his face, slowly moved her right hand to a pocket, slowly drew -out a little book, and slowly handed it to him. - -"All right--you are wise," he said. "I'll see you again." The door -slammed, and he ran down the steps, his blood tingling with the sense -that he had blundered upon some tremendous discovery. - -Nor was he far wrong. When in the cab he opened the book, he saw it was -Rose de Bercy's diary. He did not know her handwriting, but he happened -to open the book at the last written page, and the very first words his -staring eyes devoured were these: - - If I am killed this night, it will be by ---- or by C. E. F. - -Where the blank occurred it was evident that some name had been written, -and heavily scratched through with pen and ink. - -But the alternative suggested by the initials! C. E. F.! How grotesque, -how exquisitely ludicrous! Clarke, gazing at the enigma, was suddenly -shaken with a spasm of hysterical laughter. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - THE LETTER - - -Two days later, not Britain alone, but no small part of the two -hemispheres, was stirred to the depths by the adjourned inquest on the -Feldisham Mansions crime. Nevertheless, though there were sensations in -plenty, the public felt vaguely a sense of incompleteness in the -process, and of dissatisfaction with the result. The police seemed to be -both unready and unconvinced; no one was quite sincere in anything that -was said; the authorities were swayed by some afterthought; in popular -phrase, they appeared "to have something up their sleeve." - -Furneaux, this time, figured for the police; but Winter, too, was there -unobtrusively; and, behind, hidden away as a mere spectator, was Clarke, -smiling the smile that knows more than all the world, his hard mouth set -in fixed lines like carved wood. - -As against Osborne the inquiry went hard. More and more the hearts of -the witnesses and jury grew hot against him, and, by a kind of electric -sympathy, the blood of the crowd which gathered outside the court caught -the fever and became inflamed with its own rage, lashing itself to a -fury with coarse jibes and bitter revilings. - -Furneaux, bringing forth and marshaling evidence on evidence against -Osborne, let his eye light often on Winter; then he would look away -hastily as though he feared his face might betray his thoughts. - -In that small head of his were working more, by far more, secret things, -dark intents, unspoken mazy purposes, than in all the heads put together -in the busy court. He was pale, too, but his pallor was nothing compared -with the marble forehead of Winter, whose eyes were nailed to the -ground, and whose forehead was knit in a frown grim and hard as rock. - -It was rarely that he so much as glanced up from the reverie of -pitch-black doubts weltering through his brain like some maelstrom -drowned in midnight. Once he glanced keenly upon William Campbell, the -taxicab driver, who kept twirling his motor-cap round and round on his -finger until an irritated coroner protested; once again did he glance at -Mrs. Bates, housekeeper, and at the fountain of tears that flowed from -her eyes. - -Campbell was asked to pick out the man whom he had driven from Berkeley -Street to Feldisham Mansions, if he saw him in court. He pointed -straight at Osborne. - -"You will swear that that is the man?" he was asked. - -"No, not swear," he said, and looked round defiantly, as if he knew that -most of those present were almost disappointed with his non-committal -answer. - -"Just think--look at him well," said the Treasury representative, as -Osborne stood up to confront the driver with his pale face. - -"That gentleman is like him--very like him--that's all I'll swear to. -His manner of dress, his stand, his height, yes, and his face, his -mustache, the chin, the few hairs there between the eyebrows--remarkably -like, sir--for I recollect the man well enough. It may have been his -double, but I'm not here to swear positively it was Mr. Osborne, because -I'm not sure." - -"We will take it, then, that, assuming there were two men, the one was -so much like the other that you swear it was either Mr. Osborne or his -double?" the coroner said. - -"Well, I'll go so far as that, sir," agreed Campbell, and, at this -admission, Furneaux glanced at a veiled figure that sat among the -witnesses at the back of the court. - -He knew that Rosalind Marsh was present, and his expression softened a -little. Then he looked at another veiled woman--Hylda Prout--and saw -that her eyes were fastened, not on the witness, but ever on Rosalind -Marsh, as though there was no object, no interest, in the room but that -one black-clothed figure of Rosalind. - -Campbell's memory of the drive was ransacked, and turned inside out, and -thrashed and tormented by one and another to weariness; and then it was -the turn of Hester Bates, all tears, to tell how she had seen someone -like unto Osborne on the stairs at five to eight, whose feet seemed to -reel like a drunken man's, and who afterwards impressed her, when she -thought of it, as a shape rather of limbo and spirit-land than of -Mayfair and everyday life. - -Then the flint ax-head, or celt, was presented to the court, and Hylda -Prout was called to give evidence against her employer. She told how she -had missed an ax-head from the museum, and also a Saracen dagger, but -whether this was the very ax-head that was missing she could not say. It -was very like it--that was all--and even Osborne showed his amaze at her -collectedness, her calm indifference to many eyes. - -"May I not be allowed to examine it?" he asked his solicitor. - -"Why not?" said the coroner, and there was a tense moment when the celt -was handed him. - -He bent over it two seconds, and then said quietly: "This is certainly -one of my collection of flints!" - -His solicitor, taken quite aback, muttered an angry protest, and a queer -murmur made itself felt. Osborne heard both the lawyer's words and the -subdued "Ah!" of the others echoing in his aching heart. By this time he -was as inwardly sensitive to the opinion of the mob as a wretch in the -hands of inquisitors to the whim and humors of his torturers. - -"That evidence will be taken on oath in due course," said the coroner, -dryly official, and the examination of Miss Prout went on after the -incident. - -"And now as to the dagger," resumed the Treasury solicitor, "tell us of -that." - -She described it, its shape, the blunt edges of the long and pointed -blade, the handle, the label on it with the date. It was Saracen, and -it, too, like the celt, had once been used, in all probability, in the -hands of wild men in shedding blood. - -"And you are sure of the date when you first missed it from its place in -the museum?" - -"It was on the third day after the murder"--and Hylda Prout's glance -traveled for an instant to the veiled, bent head of Rosalind, as it -seemed to droop lower after every answer that she gave. - -"And you are unable to conceive how both the dagger and the celt could -have vanished from their places about that time?" - -"Yes, I conceive that they were stolen," she said--"unless Mr. Osborne -made them a present to some friend, for I have known him to do that." - -"'Stolen,' you say," the Treasury man remarked. "But you have no grounds -for such a belief? You suggest no motive for a thief to steal these two -objects and no other from the museum? You know of no one who entered the -room during those days?" - -"No, I know of no one--except Inspector Furneaux, who seems to have -entered it about six o'clock on the evening of the murder." - -The coroner looked up sharply from his notes. This was news to the -court. - -"Oh?" said the examiner. "Let us hear how that came about." - -She explained that Furneaux had called to see Mr. Osborne, and, while -awaiting his coming in the library, had apparently strolled into the -museum. Jenkins, Mr. Osborne's valet, was her informant. It was not -evidence, but the statement was out before the court well knew where it -was leading. Winter's lip quivered with suppressed agitation, and over -Clarke's face came a strange expression of amazement, a stare of utter -wonderment widening his eyes, as when one has been violently struck, and -knows not by what or whom. - -When Hylda Prout stepped down, the coroner invited the officer in charge -of the case to explain the curious bit of intelligence given by the last -witness. - -Furneaux, not one whit disturbed in manner, rose to give his evidence of -the incident. Oddly enough, his eyes dwelt all the time, with a dull -deadness of expression in them, upon the lowered face of Winter. - -It was true, he told the court, that he had called upon Mr. Osborne that -evening; it was true that he was asked to wait; and he seemed to -remember now that he _had_ wandered through a doorway into a room full -of curios to have a look at them in those idle moments. - -"So you knew Mr. Osborne _before_ the murder?" inquired the court. - -"Yes. I knew him very well by sight and repute, as a man about town, -though not to speak to." - -"And what was the nature of the business on which you called to see -him?" - -"It was a purely personal matter." - -The coroner paused, with the air of a man who suddenly discovers a -morass where he imagined there was a clear road. - -"And did you see Mr. Osborne that evening?" he asked at length. - -"No, sir. After I had waited some time the valet entered and told me -that Mr. Osborne had just telephoned to say that he would not be home -before dinner. So I came away." - -"Have you spoken to Mr. Osborne _since_ then about the matter on which -you called to see him that evening?" - -"No, sir." - -"Why not?" - -"Because after that evening there was no longer any need!" - -Well, to the more experienced officials in court this explanation had an -unusual sound, but to Winter, who slowly but surely was gathering the -threads of the murder in the flat into his hands, it sounded like a -sentence of death; and to Clarke, too, who had in his possession Rose de -Bercy's diary taken from Pauline Dessaulx, it sounded so amazing, that -he could scarce believe his ears. - -However, the coroner nodded to Furneaux, and Furneaux turned to -Osborne's solicitor, who suddenly resolved to ask no questions, so the -dapper little man seated himself again at the table--much to the relief -of the jury, who were impatient of any red herring drawn across the -trail of evidence that led unmistakably to the millionaire. - -Then, at last, appeared six witnesses who spoke, no longer against, but -for Osborne. Four were International polo-players, and two were waiters -at the Ritz Hotel, and all were positive that at the hour when Mrs. -Bates saw her employer at home, _they_ saw him elsewhere--or some among -them saw him, and the others, without seeing him, knew that he was -elsewhere. - -Against this unassailable testimony was the obviously honest cabman, and -Osborne's own housekeeper: and the jury, level-headed men, fully -inclined to be just, though perhaps, in this instance, passionate and -prejudiced, weighed it in their hearts. - -But Furneaux, to suit his own purposes, had contrived that the tag of -lace should come last; and with its mute appeal for vengeance everything -in favor of Osborne was swept out of the bosom of His Majesty's lieges, -and only wrath and abhorrence raged there. - -Why, if he had actually killed Rose de Bercy, Osborne should carry about -that incriminating bit of lace in his bag, no one seemed to stop to ask; -but when the dreadful thing was held up before his eyes, the twelve good -men and true looked at it and at each other, and a sort of shuddering -abhorrence pervaded the court. - -Even the Italian Antonio, who had contrived to be present as -representing some obscure paper in Paris--the very man who had put the -lace into the bag--shook his head over Osborne's guilt, being, as it -were, carried out of himself by the vigor and rush of the mental -hurricane which swept around him! - -When Osborne, put into the box, repeated that the "celt" was really his, -this candor now won no sympathy. When he said solemnly that the bit of -lace had been secreted among his belongings by some unknown hand, the -small company of men present in court despised him for so childish a -lie. - -His spirit, as he stood in that box, exposed to the animus of so many -spirits, felt as if it was being hurried by a kind of magnetic gale to -destruction; his fingers, his knees shivered, his voice cracked in his -throat; he could not keep his eyes from being wild, his skin from being -white, and in his heart his own stupefied conscience accused him of the -sin that his brothers charged him with. - -Though the jury soon ascertained from the coroner's injunctions what -their verdict had to be, they still took twenty minutes to think of it. -However, they knew well that the coroner had spoken to them under the -suggestion of the police, who, no doubt, would conduct their own -business best; so in the end they came in with the verdict of "willful -murder committed by some person or persons unknown." - -And now it was the turn of the mob to have their say. The vast crowd was -kept in leash until they were vouchsafed just a glimpse of Osborne, in -the midst of a mass of police guarding him, as he emerged from the court -to his automobile. Then suddenly, as it were, the hoarse bellow of the -storm opened to roar him out of the universe--an overpowering load of -sound for one frail heart to bear without quailing. - -But if Osborne's heart quailed, there was one heart there that did not -quail, one smooth forehead that suddenly flushed and frowned in -opposition to a world's current, and dared to think and feel alone. - -As the mob yelped its execration, Rosalind Marsh cried a protest of -"Shame, oh, shame!" - -For now her woman's bosom smote her with ruth, and her compassion -championed him, believed in him, refused to admit that he could have -been so base. If she had been near him she would have raised her veil, -and gazed into his face with a steady smile! - -As she was about to enter the carriage that awaited her, someone said -close behind her: - -"Miss Marsh." - -She looked round and saw a small man. - -"You know me," he said--"Inspector Furneaux. We have even met and spoken -together before--you remember the old man who traveled with you in the -train from Tormouth? That was myself in another aspect." - -His eyes smiled, though his voice was respectful, but Rosalind gave him -the barest inch of condescension in a nod. - -"Now, I wish to speak to you," he muttered hurriedly. "I cannot say when -exactly--I am very occupied just now--but soon.... To speak to you, I -think, in your own interests--if I may. But I do not know your address." - -Very coldly, hardly caring to try and understand his motive, she -mentioned the house in Porchester Gardens. In another moment she was in -her carriage. - -When she reached home she saw in her mother's face just a shadow of -inquiry as to where she had been driving during the forenoon; but -Rosalind said not a word of the inquest. She was, indeed, very silent -during the whole of that day and the next. She was restless and woefully -uneasy. Through the night her head was full of strange thoughts, and she -slept but little, in fitful moments of weariness. Her mother observed -her with a quiet eye, pondering this unwonted distress in her heart, but -said nothing. - -On the third morning Rosalind was sitting in a rocking-chair, her head -laid on the back, her eyes closed; and with a motion corresponding with -the gentle to-and-fro motion of the chair her head moved wearily from -side to side. This went on for some time; till suddenly she brought her -hand to her forehead in a rather excited gesture, her eyes opened with -the weak look of eyes dazzled with light, and she said aloud: - -"Oh, I _must_!..." - -Now she sprang up in a hurry, hastened to an escritoire, and dashed off -a letter in a very scamper of haste. - -At last, then, the floods had broken their gates, for this is what she -wrote: - - My dear, my dear, I was brutal to you that night at the - sun-dial. But it was necessary, if I was to maintain the - severity which I felt that your lack of frankness to me - deserved. Inwardly there was a terribly weak spot, of which I - was afraid; and if you had come after me when I left you, and - had commanded me, or prayed me, or touched me, no doubt it would - have been all up with me. Forgive me, then, if I seemed over - harsh where, I'm afraid, I am disposed to be rather too - infinitely lenient. At present, you see, I quite lack the - self-restraint to keep from telling you that I am sorry for - you.... I was present at the inquest.... Pity is like lightning; - it fills, it burns up, it enlightens ... see me here struck with - it!... You are not without a friend, one who knows you, judges - you, and acquits you.... If you want to come to me, come!... I - once thought well of a Mr. Glyn, but, like a flirt, will forget - him, if Osborne is of the same manner, speaks with the same - voice.... My mother is usually good to me.... - -She enclosed it in a flurry of excitement, ran to the bell-rope, rang, -and while waiting for a servant held the envelope in the manner of one -who is on the very point of tearing a paper in two, but halts to see on -which cheek the wind will hit. In the midst of this suspense of -indecision the door opened; and now, straightway, she hastened to it, -and got rid of the letter, saying rapidly in a dropped voice, -confidentially: - -"Pauline, put that in the pillar-box at once for me, will you?" - -Another moment and she stood alone there, with a shocked and beating -heart, the deed done, past recall now. - -As for Pauline Dessaulx, she was half-way down the stairs when she -chanced to look at the envelope. "Rupert Osborne, Esq." She started! -Everything connected with that name was of infinite interest to her! But -she had not dreamt that Miss Marsh knew it, save as everyone else knew -it now, from public gossip and the papers. - -She had never seen Rosalind Marsh, or her mother, till the day of their -arrival from the country. It was but ten days earlier that she had -become the servant of a Mrs. Prawser, a friend of Mrs. Marsh's, who kept -a private boarding-house, being in reduced circumstances. Then, after -but an interval of peace and security, the Marshes had come, and as she -let them in, and they were being embraced by Mrs. Prawser, Inspector -Clarke had appeared at the door, nearly striking her dead with -agitation, and demanding of her the diary, which she had handed him. - -Luckily, luckily, she had been wise enough before that to scratch out -with many thick scratches of the pen the name that had been written by -the actress before the initials C. E. F. in that passage where the words -appeared: "If I am killed this night it will be by ---- or by C. E. F." -But suppose she had not shown such sense and daring, what then? She -shivered at the thought. - -And a new problem now tortured her. Was it somehow owing to the fact -that Miss Marsh knew Osborne that Inspector Clarke had come upon her at -the moment of the two ladies' arrival? What was the relation between -Miss Marsh and Osborne? What was in this letter? It might be well to -see.... - -Undecided, Pauline stood on the stairs some seconds, letter in hand, all -the high color fled from lips and cheeks, her breast rising and falling, -no mere housemaid now, but a figure of anguish fit for an artist to -sketch there in her suspense, a well-molded girl of perfect curves and -graceful poise. - -Then it struck her that Miss Marsh might be looking out of the window to -watch her hurrying with the letter to the pillar-box a little way down -the street, and at this thought she ran downstairs and out, hurried to -the pillar-box, raised her arm with the letter, inserted it in the slot, -drew it out swiftly and hiddenly again, slipped it into her pocket, and -sped back to the house. - -In her rooms half an hour later she steamed the envelope open, and read -the avowal of another woman's passion and sympathy. It appeared, then, -that Miss Marsh was now in love with Osborne? Well, that did not -specially interest or concern her, Pauline. It was a good thing that -Osborne had so soon forgotten _cette salope_, Rose de Bercy. She, -Pauline, had conceived a fondness for Miss Marsh; she had detested her -mistress, the dead actress. At the first chance she crept afresh into -the street, and posted the letter in grim earnest. But an hour had been -lost, an hour that meant a great deal in the workings of this tragedy of -real life and, as a minor happening, some of the gum was dissolved off -the flap of the envelope. - -Inspector Furneaux, as he had promised after the inquest, called upon -Rosalind during the afternoon. They had an interview of some length in -Mrs. Prawser's drawing-room, which was otherwise untenanted. Furneaux -spoke of the picturesqueness of Tormouth, but Rosalind's downright -questioning forced him to speak of himself in the part of the decrepit -Mr. Pugh, and why he had been there as such. He had gone to have a look -at Osborne. - -"Is his every step, then, spied on in this fashion?" asked Rosalind. - -"No," answered Furneaux. "The truth is that I had had reason to think -that the man was again playing the lover in that quarter----" - -"Ah, playing," said Rosalind with quick sarcasm. "It is an insipid -phrase for so serious an occupation. But what reason had you for -thinking that he was playing in that particular mood?" - -"The reason is immaterial.... In fact, he had impressed on the back of a -letter a name--I may tell you it was 'Rosalind'--and sent it off -inadvertently----" - -"Oh, poor fellow! Not so skilled a villain then, after all," she -murmured. - -"But the point was that, if this was so, it was clear to me that he -could not be much good--I speak frankly----" - -"Very, sir." - -"And with a good meaning to _you_." - -"Let us take it at that. It makes matters easier." - -"Well, as I suspected, so I found. And--I was disgusted. I give you my -assurance that he had professed to Mademoiselle de Bercy that he--loved -her. He had, he had! And she, so pitifully handled, so butchered, was -hardly yet cold in her grave. Even assuming his perfect innocence in -that horrible drama, still, I must confess, I--I--was disgusted; I was -put against the man forever. And I was more than disgusted with him, I -was concerned for the lady whose inclinations such a weather-vane might -win. I was concerned before I saw you; I was ten times more concerned -afterwards. I travelled to town in the same compartment as you--I heard -your voice--I enjoyed the privilege of breathing the same air as you and -your charming mother. Hence--I am here." - -Rosalind smiled. She found the detective's compliments almost -nauseating, but she must ascertain his object. - -"Why, precisely?" she asked. - -"I want to warn you. I had warned you before: for I had given a certain -girl whose love Mr. Osborne has inspired a hint of what was going on, -and I felt sure that she would not fail to tell you who 'Mr. Glyn' was. -Was I not right?" - -Rosalind bent her head a little under this unexpected thrust. - -"I received a note," she said. "Who, then, is this 'certain girl, whose -love Mr. Osborne has inspired,' if one may ask?" - -"I may tell you--in confidence. Her name is Prout. She is his -secretary." - -"He is--successful in that way," observed Rosalind coldly, looking down -at a spray of flowers pinned to her breast. - -"Too much so, Miss Marsh. Now, I felt confident that the warning given -by Miss Prout would effectually quash any friendship between a lady of -your pride and quality and Mr. Glyn--Osborne. But then, through your -thick veil I noticed you at the inquest: and I said to myself, 'I am -older than she is--I'll speak to her in the tone of an old and -experienced man, if she will let me.'" - -"You see, I let you. I even thank you. But then you notice that Mr. -Osborne is just now vilified and friendless." - -"Oh, there is his Miss Prout." - -Rosalind's neck stiffened a little. - -"That is indefinite," she said. "I know nothing of this lady, except -that, as you tell me, she is ready to betray her employer to serve her -own ends. Mr. Osborne is my friend: it is my duty to refuse to credit -vague statements made against him. It is not possible--it cannot be----" - -She stopped, rather in confusion. Furneaux believed he could guess what -she meant to say. - -"It _is_ possible, believe me," he broke in earnestly. "Since it was -possible, as you know, for him to turn his mind so easily from the dead, -it is also possible----" - -"Oh, the dead deceived him!" she protested with a lively flush. "The -dead was unworthy of him. He never loved her." - -"_He_ deceived _her_," cried Furneaux also in an unaccountable heat--"he -deceived her. No doubt she was as fully worthy of him as he of her--it -was a pair of them. And he loved her as much as he can love anyone." - -"Women are said to be the best judges in such matters, Inspector -Furneaux." - -"So, then, you will not be guided by me in this?" Furneaux said, -standing up. - -"No. Nevertheless, I thank you for your apparent good intent," answered -Rosalind. - -He was silent a little while, looking down at her. On her part, she did -not move, and kept her eyes studiously averted. - -"Then, for your sake, and to spite him, I accuse him to you of the -murder!" he almost hissed. - -She smiled. - -"That is very wrong of you, very unlike an officer of the law. You know -that he is quite innocent of it." - -"Great, indeed, is your faith!" came the taunt. "Well, then," he added -suddenly, "again for your sake, and again to spite him, I will even let -you into a police secret. Hear it--listen to it--yesterday, with a -search-warrant, I raided Mr. Osborne's private apartments. And this is -what I found--at the bottom of a trunk a suit of clothes, the very -clothes which the driver of the taxicab described as those of the man -whom he took from Berkeley Street to Feldisham Mansions on the night of -the murder. And those clothes, now in the possession of the police, are -all speckled and spotted with blood. Come, Miss Marsh--what do you say -now? Is your trust weakened?" - -Furneaux's eyes sparkled with a glint of real hatred of Osborne, but -Rosalind saw nothing of that. She rose, took an unsteady step or two, -and stared through the window out into the street. Then she heard the -door of the room being opened. She turned at once. Before a word could -escape her lips, Furneaux was gone. - -One minute later, she was scribbling with furious speed: - - Do not read my letter. I will call for it--unopened--in person. - - ROSALIND MARSH. - -She tugged at the bell-rope. When Pauline appeared, she whispered: -"Quickly, Pauline, for my sake--this telegram." And as Pauline ran with -it, she sank into a chair, and sat there with closed eyelids and -trembling lips, sorely stricken in her pride, yet even more sorely in -her heart. - -Now, if her letter had gone by the post by which she had sent it, -Osborne would have read it two hours or more before the telegram -arrived. But it had been kept back by Pauline: and, as it was, the -letter only arrived five minutes before the telegram. - -At that moment Osborne was upstairs in his house. The letter was handed -to Hylda Prout in the library. She looked at it, and knew the writing, -for she had found in Osborne's room at Tormouth a note of invitation to -luncheon from Rosalind to Osborne, and did not scruple to steal it. A -flood of jealousy now stabbed her heart and inflamed her eyes. It was -then near five in the afternoon, and she had on a silver tripod a kettle -simmering for tea, for she was a woman of fads, and held that the -servants of the establishment brewed poison. She quickly steamed open -the letter--which had been already steamed open by Pauline--and, every -second expecting Osborne to enter, ran her eye through it. Then she -pressed down the flap of the envelope anew. - -Two minutes afterwards Rupert made his appearance, and she handed him -the letter. - -He started! He stared at it, his face at one instant pale, at the next -crimson. And as he so stood, flurried, glad, agitated, there entered -Jenkins with a telegram on a salver. - -"What is it?" muttered Osborne with a gesture of irritation, for he was -not quite master of himself in these days. Nevertheless, to get the -telegram off his mind at once before rushing upstairs to read the letter -in solitude, he snatched at it, tore it open, and ran his eye over it. - -"Do not read my letter. I will call for it _unopened_...." - -He let his two hands drop in a palsy of anger, the letter in one, the -telegram in the other--bitter disappointment in his heart, a wild -longing, a mad temptation.... - -He lifted the letter to allow his gaze to linger futilely upon it, like -Tantalus.... In spite of his agitation he could not fail to see that the -envelope was actually open, for, as a matter of fact, the gum had nearly -all been steamed away.... - -It was open! He had but to put in his finger and draw it out, and read, -and revel, like the parched traveler at the solitary well in the desert. -Would that be dishonest? Who could blame him for that? He had not opened -the envelope.... - -"Miss Prout, just give me the gum-pot," he said, for he could see that -the gum on the flap was too thin to be of any service. - -Hylda Prout handed him a brush, and he pasted down the flap, but with -fingers so agitated that he made daubs with the gum on the envelope, -daubs which anyone must notice on examination. - -Meantime, he had dropped the telegram upon the table, and Hylda Prout -read it. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - THE DIARY, AND ROSALIND - - -Strange as a process of nature is the way in which events, themselves -unimportant, work into one another to produce some foredestined result -that shall astonish the world. - -The sudden appearance of Inspector Clarke before Pauline Dessaulx at the -front door of Mrs. Marsh's lodgings produced by its shock a thorough -upset in the girl's moral and physical being. And in Clarke himself that -diary of Rose de Bercy which Pauline handed him produced a hilarity, an -almost drunken levity of mind, the results of which levity and of -Pauline's upset dovetailed one with the other to bring about an effect -which lost none of its singularity because it was preordained. - -To Clarke the diary was a revelation! Moreover, it was one of those -sweet revelations which placed the fact of his own wit and wisdom in a -clearer light than he had seen those admitted qualities before, for it -showed that, though working in the dark, he had been guided aright by -that special candle of understanding that must have been lit within him -before his birth. - -"Well, fancy that," cried he again and again in a kind of surprise. "I -was right all the time!" - -He sat late at night, coatless and collarless, at a table over the -diary, Mrs. Clarke in the next room long since asleep, London asleep, -the very night asleep from earth right up to heaven. Four days before a -black cat had been adopted into the household. Surely it was _that_ -which had brought him the luck to get hold of the diary!--so easily, so -unexpectedly. Pussie was now perched on the table, her purr the sole -sound in the quietude, and Clarke, who would have scoffed at a hint of -superstition, was stroking her, as he read for the third time those last -pages written on the day of her death by the unhappy Frenchwoman. - - ... I so seldom dream, that it has become the subject of remark, - and Dr. Naurocki of the Institute said once that it is because I - am such a "perfect animal." It is well to be a perfect - _some_thing: but that much I owe only to my father and mother. I - am afraid I am not a perfect anything else. A perfect liar, - perhaps; a perfect adventuress; using as stepping-stones those - whose fond hearts love me; shallow, thin within; made of - hollow-ringing tin from my skin to the tissue of my liver. Oh, - perhaps I might have done better for myself! Suppose I had - stayed with Marguerite and _le père_ Armaud on the farm, and - helped to milk the two cows, and met some rustic lover at the - stile at dusk, and married him in muslin? It might have been as - well! There is something in me that is famished and starved, and - decayed, something that pines and sighs because of its utter - thinness--I suppose it is what they call "the soul." I have lied - until I am become a lie, an unreality, a Nothing. I seem to see - myself clearly to-day; and if I could repent now, I'd say "I - will arise and go to my father, and will say to him 'Father.'" - - Too late now, I suppose. Marguerite would draw her skirts away - from touching me, though the cut of the skirt would set me - smiling; and, if the fatted calf was set before me on a soiled - table-cloth, I should be ill. - - Too late! You can't turn back the clock's hands: the clock - stops. God help me, I feel horribly remorseful. Why should I - have dreamt it? I so seldom dream! and I have _never_, I think, - dreamt with such living vividness. I thought I saw my father and - Marguerite standing over my dead body, staring at me. I saw - them, and I saw myself, and my face was all bruised and wounded; - and Marguerite said: "Well, she sought for it," and my father's - face twitched, and suddenly he sobbed out: "I wish to Heaven I - had died for her!" and my dead ears on the bed heard, and my - dead heart throbbed just once again at him, and then was dead - for ever. - -Clarke did not know that he was reading literature, -but he did know that this was more exciting than -any story he had ever set eyes on. He stopped, -lit a pipe, and resumed. - - I saw it, I heard it, though it was in a black world that it - happened, a world all draped in crape; black, black. But what is - the matter with me to-day? Is there any other woman so sad in - this great city, I wonder? I have opened one of the bottles of - Old Veuve, so there are only seven left now; and I have drunk - two full glasses of it. But it has made no difference; and I - have to dine with Lady Knox-Florestan, and go with her to the - opera; and Osborne may be coming. They will think me a - death's-head, and catch melancholy from me like a fever. I do - not know why I dreamt it, and why I cannot forget. It seems - rather strange. Is anything going to happen to me, really? Oh, - inside this breast of mine there is a bell tolling, and a - funeral moving to the tomb this afternoon. It is as if I had - drunk of some lugubrious drug that turns the human bosom to - wormwood. Is it my destiny to die suddenly, and lie in an early - grave? No, not that! Let me be in rags, and shrunken, with old, - old eyes and toothless gums, but give me life! Let me say I am - still alive! - -"By Jove!" growled Clarke, chewing his pipe, "that rings in my ears!" - - Yet I have had curious tokens, hints, fancies, of late. Four - nights ago, as I was driving down Pall Mall from Lady Sinclair's - _diner dansant_--it was about eleven-thirty--I saw a man in the - shadow at a corner who I could have sworn for a moment was F. I - didn't see his face, for as the carriage approached him, he - turned his back, and it was that turning of the back, I think, - that made me observe him. Suppose all the time F. knows of - me?--knows _who_ Rose de Bercy _is_! I never wanted to have that - Academy portrait painted, and I must have been mad to consent in - the end. If F. saw it? If he _knows_? What would he do? His - nature is capable of ravaging flames of passion! Suppose he - killed me? But could a poor woman be so unlucky? No, he doesn't - know, he can't, fate is not so hard. Then there is that wretched - Pauline--she shan't be in this house another week. My quarrel - with her this morning was the third, and the most bitter of all. - Really, that girl knows too much of me to permit of our living - any longer under one roof; and, what is more, she has twice - dropped hints lately which certainly seem to bear the - interpretation that she knows of my work in Berlin for the - Russian Government. Oh, but that must only be the madness of my - fancy! Two persons, and two only, in the whole world know of - it--how could _she_, possibly? Yet she said in her Friday - passion: "You will not be a long liver, Madame, you have been - too untrue to your dupes." _Untrue to my dupes!_ Which dupes? My - God, if she meant the Anarchists! - -Clarke's face was a study when he came to that word. It wore the -beatific expression of the man who is justified in his own judgment. - - Just suppose that she knows! For that she is mixed up with some - of them to some uncertain extent I have guessed for two years. - And if they knew that I have actually been a Government agent; - they would do for me, oh, they would, I know, it would be all up - with me. Three months ago Sauriac Paulus in the _promenoire_ at - Covent Garden, said to me: "By the way, do you know that you - have been condemned to death?" I forget _à propos_ of what he - said it, and have never given it a thought from that day. He was - bantering me, laughing in the lightest vein, but--God! it never - struck me like this before!--Suppose there was earnest under the - jest, deep-hidden under? He is a deep, deep, evil beast, that - man. Those were his words--I remember distinctly. "By the way, - do you know that you have been condemned to death?" "By the - way:" his heavy face shook with chuckling. And it never once - till now entered my head!--Oh, but, after all, I must be - horribly ill to be having such thoughts this day! The beast, of - course, didn't mean anything. Think, though, of saying, "by the - way?"--the terrible, evil beast. Oh, yes, I am ill. I have begun - to die. This night, may be, my soul shall be required of me. I - hear Marguerite saying again, "Well, she sought for it," and my - father's bitter sobbing, "I wish to Heaven I had died for her!" - But, if I am killed this day, it will be by ... or by C. E. F.... - -That last dash after the "F." was not, Clarke saw, meant as a dash, for -it was a long curved line, as if her elbow had been struck, or she -herself violently startled. She had probably intended, this time, to -write the name in full, but the interruption stopped her. - -At the spot of the first dash lay thick ink-marks--really made by -Pauline Dessaulx--and Clarke, cute enough to see this, now commenced to -scratch out the ink blot with a penknife, and after the black dust was -scraped away, he used a damp sponge. - -It was a delicate, slow operation, his idea being that, since under -those layers of ink lay a written name, if he removed the layers with -dainty care, then he would see the name beneath. And this was no doubt -true in theory, but in practice no care was dainty enough to do the -trick with much success. He did, however, manage to see the shape of -some letters, and, partly with the aid of his magnifying glass, partly -with the aid of his imagination, he seemed to make out the word -"_Janoc_." - -The murder, then, was committed either by Janoc, or by C. E. F.--this, -as the mantle of the night wore threadbare, and some gray was showing -through it in the east, Clarke became certain of. - -_Who_ was C. E. F.? There was Furneaux, of course. Those were his -initials, and as the name of Furneaux arose in his mind, Clarke's head -dropped back over his chair-back, and a long, delicious spasm of -laughter shook him. For the idea that it _might_, in very truth, be -Furneaux who was meant never for one instant occurred to him. He assumed -that it must needs be some French or Russian C. E. F., but the joke of -the coincidence of the initials with Furneaux's, who had charge of the -case, into whose hands the case had been given by Winter over his -(Clarke's) head, was so rich, that he resolved to show the diary to -Winter, and to try and keep from bursting out laughing, while he said: - -"Look here, sir--this is your Furneaux!" - -Clarke, indeed, had heard at the inquest how Furneaux had been seen on -the evening of the murder in Osborne's museum, from which the "celt" and -the dagger had vanished. Hearing this, his mind had instantly remembered -the "C. E. F." of the diary, and had been amazed at such a coincidence. -But his brain never sprang to grapple with the possibility that Rose de -Bercy might, in truth, be afraid of Furneaux. So, whoever "C. E. F." -might be, Clarke had no interest in him, never suspected him: his -thoughts had too long been preoccupied with one idea--Anarchists, Janoc, -Anarchists--to receive a new bent with real perspicacity and interest. -And the diary confirmed him in this opinion: for she had actually been -condemned to death as an agent of the Russian Government months before. -At last he stood up, stretching his arms in weariness before tumbling -into bed. - -"Well! to think that I was right!" he said again, and again he laughed. - -When he was going out in the morning, he put some more ink-marks over -the "Janoc" in the diary--for he did not mean that any other than -himself should lay his hand on the murderer of Rose de Bercy--and when -he arrived at Scotland Yard, he showed the diary to the Chief Inspector. - -Winter laid it on the desk before him, and as he read where Clarke's -finger pointed, his face went as colorless as the paper he was looking -at. - -A laugh broke out behind him. - -"Furneaux!" - -And Winter, glancing round, saw Clarke's face merry, like carved ivory -in a state of gayety, showing a tooth or two lacking, and browned fangs. -For a moment he stared at Clarke, without comprehension, till the absurd -truth rushed in upon him that Clarke was really taking it in jest. Then -he, too, laughed even more loudly. - -"Ha! ha!--yes, Furneaux! 'Pon my honor, the funniest thing! Furneaux it -is for sure!" - -"Officer in charge of the case!" - -"Ripping! By gad, I shall have to apply for a warrant!" - -Finding his chief in this rare good humor, Clarke thought to obtain a -little useful information. - -"Do you know any of the Anarchist crowd with those initials, sir?" he -asked. - -"I think I do; yes, a Frenchman. Or it may be a German. There is no -telling whom she means--no telling. But where on earth did you come -across this diary?" - -"You remember the lady's-maid, Pauline, the girl who couldn't be found -to give evidence at the inquest? I was following the Anarchist Antonio, -who seemed to be prowling after some ladies in a cab a day or two ago, -and the door that was opened to the ladies when their cab stopped was -opened by--Pauline." - -Then he told how he had obtained the diary, and volunteered a theory as -to the girl's possession of it. - -"She must have picked it up in the flat on coming home from the -Exhibition on the night of the murder, and kept it." - -They discussed the circumstances fully, and Clarke went away, his -conscience clear of having kept the matter dark from headquarters, yet -confident that he had not put Winter on the track of his own special -prey, Janoc. And as his footsteps became faint and fainter behind the -closed door, Winter let his head fall low, almost upon the desk, and so -he remained, hidden, as it were, from himself, a long while, until -suddenly springing up with a face all fiery, he cried aloud in a rage: - -"Oh, no more sentiment! By the Lord, I'm done with it. From this hour -Inspector Furneaux is under the eye of the police." - -Furneaux himself was then, for the second time that week, at Mrs. -Marsh's lodgings in Porchester Gardens in secret and urgent talk with -Rosalind. - -"You will think that I am always hunting you down, Miss Marsh," he said -genially on entering the room. - -"You know best how to describe your profession," she murmured a little -bitterly, for his parting shot at their last meeting had struck deep. - -"But this time I come more definitely on business," he said, seating -himself uninvited, which was a strange thing for Furneaux to do, since -he was a gentleman by birth and in manners, "and as I am in a whirl of -occupation just now, I will come at once to the point." - -"To say 'I will come at once to the point' is to put off coming to -it--for while you are saying it----" - -"True. The world uses too many words----" - -"It is a round world--hence its slowness in coming to a point." - -"I take the hint. Yet you leave me rather breathless." - -"Pray tell me why, Inspector Furneaux." - -"For admiration of so quick and witty a lady. But I shall make you dumb -by what I am going to suggest to-day. I want to turn you into a -detective----" - -"It _is_ a point, then. You want me to be sharp?" - -"You are already that. The question is, what effect did what I last said -have upon your mind?" - -"About your finding the blood-spotted clothes in Mr. Osborne's trunk?" -she asked, looking down at his tired and worn face from her superior -height, and suddenly moved to listen to him attentively. "Well, it was -somewhat astounding at first. In fact, it sounded almost convincing. But -then, I had already believed in Mr. Osborne's innocence in this matter. -Nor am I over-easily shaken, I think, in my convictions. If he confessed -his guilt to me, then I would believe--but not otherwise." - -"Good," said Furneaux, "you have said that well, though I am sure he -does not deserve it. Anyhow, since you persist in believing in his -innocence, you must also believe that every new truth must be in his -favor, and so may be willing to turn yourself into the detective I -suggested.... You have, I think, a servant here named Pauline Dessaulx?" - -This girl he had been seeking for some time, and had been gladly -surprised to have her open the door to him on the day of his first visit -to Rosalind. "She did not know me," he explained, "but _I_ have twice -seen her in the streets with her former mistress. Do you know who that -mistress was? Rose de Bercy!" - -Rosalind started as though a whip had cracked across her shoulders. She -even turned round, looked at the door, tested it by the handle to see if -it was closed, and stood with her back to it. Furneaux seemingly ignored -her agitation. - -"Now, you were at the inquest, Miss Marsh," he said. "You heard the -description given by Miss Prout of the Saracen dagger missing from Mr -Osborne's museum--the dagger with which the crime was probably -committed. Well, I want to get that into my hands. It is lying in -Pauline Dessaulx's trunk, and I ask you to secure it for me." - -"In Pauline's trunk," Rosalind repeated after him, quite too dazed in -her astonishment to realize the marvels that this queer little man was -telling her. - -"To be quite accurate," he continued, "I am not altogether sure of what -I say. But that is where it _should_ be, in her trunk, and with it you -should find a second dagger, or knife, which I am also anxious to -obtain, and if you happen to come across a little book, a diary, with a -blue morocco cover, I shall be extremely pleased to lay my hand on it." - -"How can you possibly know all this?" Rosalind asked, her eyes wide open -with wonder now, and forgetful, for the moment, of the pain he had -caused her. - -"Going up and down in the earth, like Satan, and then sitting and -thinking of it," he said, with a quick turn of mordant humor. "But is it -a bargain, now? Of course, I could easily pounce upon the girl's trunk -myself: but I want the objects to be _stolen_ from her, since I don't -wish to have her frightened--not quite yet." - -"Do you, then, suspect this girl of having--of being--the guilty hand, -Inspector Furneaux?" asked Rosalind, her very soul aghast at the notion. - -"I have already intimated to you the person who is open to suspicion," -answered Furneaux promptly, "a man, not a woman--though, if you find -these objects in the girl's trunk, that _may_ lighten the suspicion -against the man." - -A gleam appeared one instant in his eyes, and died out as quickly, but -this time Rosalind saw it. She pulled a chair close to him and sat down, -her fingers clasped tightly over her right knee--eager to serve, to -help. But, then, to steal, to pry into a servant's boxes, that was not a -nice action. And this Pauline Dessaulx was a girl who had interested -her, had shown a singular liking for her. - -She mentioned her qualms. - -"At the bidding of the police," urged Furneaux--"in the interests of -justice--to serve a possibly innocent man, who is also a friend--surely -that is something." - -"I might have been able to do it yesterday," murmured Rosalind, -distraught, "but she is better to-day. I will tell you. For two days the -girl has been ill--in a kind of hysteria or nervous collapse--a species -of neurosis, I think--altogether abnormal and strange. I--you may as -well know--wrote a letter to Mr. Osborne on the day you first came, a -little before you came. I gave it her to post--she may have seen the -address. Then you appeared. After you were gone, I sent him a telegram, -also by Pauline's hand, telling him not to read my letter----" - -"Ah, you see you did believe that what I told you proved his guilt----" - -"Hear me.... No, I did not believe that. But--you had impressed me with -the fact that Mr. Osborne has been, may have been, already sufficiently -successful in attracting the sympathies of young ladies. I had been at -the inquest--I had seen there in the box his exquisite secretary, of -whose perfect ways of acting you gave me some knowledge that day, and I -thought it might be rash of me to seem to be in rivalry with so charming -a lady. Now you see my motive--I am often frank. So, when you were gone, -I sent the telegram forbidding the reading of my letter; and the next -morning I received a very brief note from Mr. Osborne saying that the -letter was awaiting my wishes unopened." - -"How did he know your address, if he did not open the letter?" asked -Furneaux. - -Rosalind started like a child caught in a fault. She was so agitated -that she had not asked herself that question. As a matter of fact, it -was Hylda Prout, having tracked Rosalind from Waterloo, who had given -Osborne the address for her own reasons: Hylda had told Osborne, on -hearing his fretful exclamation of annoyance, that she knew the address -of a Miss Marsh from an old gentleman who had apparently come up from -Tormouth with him and her, and had called to see Osborne when Osborne -was out. - -"He got the address from some source, I don't know what," Rosalind said, -with a rather wondering gaze at Furneaux's face; "but the point is, that -the girl, Pauline, saw my letter to him, and the telegram; and last -night, coming home from an outing in quite a broken-down and enfeebled -state, she said to me with tears in her eyes: 'Oh, he is innocent! Oh, -do not judge him harshly, Miss Marsh! Oh, it was not he who did it!' and -much more of that sort. Then she collapsed and began to scream and kick, -was got to bed, and a doctor sent for, who said that she had an attack -of neurasthenia due to mental strain. And I was sitting by her bedside -quite a long while, so that I might then--if I had known--But I think -she is better to-day." - -"It is not too late, if she is still in bed," said Furneaux. "Sit with -her again till she is asleep, and then see if the trunk is unlocked, or -if you can find the key----" - -"Only it doesn't seem quite fair to----" - -"Oh, quite, in this case, I assure you," said Furneaux. "Whether this -girl committed that murder with her own hand or not----" - -"But how _could_ she? She was at an Exhibition----!" - -"Was she? Are you sure? I was saying that whether the girl committed the -murder with her own hand or not----" - -"If _she_ did, it could not have been done by the person you said that -you suspect!" - -"No? Why speak so confidently? Have you not heard of such things as -accomplices? She might have helped Osborne! _He_ might have helped -_her_! But I was saying--for the third time--that whether the girl -committed the murder with her own hand or not, I am in a position to -give you my assurance that she is not a lawful citizen, and that you -needn't have the least compunction in doing anything whatever to her -trunk or her--in the cause of truth." - -"Well, if you say so----" Rosalind said, and Furneaux stood up to go. - -It was then two o'clock in the afternoon. By five o'clock Rosalind had -in her hand the Saracen dagger, and another dagger--though not, of -course, the diary, which Clarke had carried off long ago. - -At about three she had gone to sit by Pauline's bedside, and here, with -the leather trunk strapped down, not two feet from her right hand, had -remained over an hour. Pauline lay quiet, with a stare in her wide-open -eyes, gazing up at the ceiling. Every now and again her body would twist -into a gawky and awkward kind of position, a stupid expression would -overspread her face, a vacant smile play on her lips; then, after some -minutes, she would lie naturally again, staring at the ceiling. - -Suddenly, about half-past four, she had had a kind of seizure; her body -stiffened and curved, she uttered shrieks which chilled Rosalind's -blood, and then her whole frame settled into a steady, strong agitation, -which set the chamber all in a tremble, and could not be stilled by the -two servants who had her wrists in their grip. When this was over, she -dropped off into a deep sleep. - -And now, as soon as Rosalind was again left alone with the invalid, she -went to the trunk, unstrapped it, found it locked. But she was not long -in discovering the key in the pocket of the gown which Pauline had had -on when she fell ill. She opened the trunk, looking behind her at the -closed eyes of the exhausted girl, and then, in feverish haste, she -ransacked its contents. No daggers, however, and no diary were there. -She then searched methodically through the room--an improvised -wardrobe--a painted chest of drawers--kneaded and felt the bed, searched -underneath--no daggers. She now stood in the middle of the room, her -forehead knit, her eyes wandering round, all her woman's cunning at work -in them. Then she walked straight, with decision, to a small shelf on -the wall, full of cheap books; began to draw out each volume, and on -drawing out the third, she saw that the daggers were lying there behind -the row. - -Her hand hovered during some seconds of hesitancy over the horrible -blades, one of which had so lately been stained so vilely. Then she took -them, and replaced the books. One of the daggers was evidently the -Saracen weapon that she had heard described. The label was still on it; -the other was thick-bladed, of an Italian type. She ran out with them, -put them in a glove box, and, rather flurriedly, almost by stealth, got -out of the house to take her trophies to Furneaux. - -She drove to the address that he had given her, an eagerness in her, a -gladness that the truth would now appear, and through _her_--most -unexpectedly! Quite apart from her friendship for Osborne, she had an -abstract interest in this matter of the murder, since from the first, -before seeing Osborne, she had said that he was innocent, but her mother -had seemed to lean to the opposite belief, and they were in hostile -camps on the subject, like two good-natured people of different -political convictions dwelling in the same house. - -She bade her driver make haste to Furneaux's; but midway, seeing herself -passing close to Mayfair, gave the man Osborne's address, thinking that -she would go and get her unopened letter, and, if she saw Osborne -himself, offer him a word of cheer--an "all will be well." - -Her driver rapped for her at the house door, she sitting still in the -cab, a hope in her that Osborne would come out. It seemed long since she -had last seen his face, since she had heard that sob of his at the -sun-dial at the Abbey. The message went inwards that Miss Marsh had -called for a letter directed to Mr. Osborne by her; and her high spirits -were damped when Jenkins reappeared at the door to say that the letter -would be brought her, Mr. Osborne himself having just gone out. - -In sober fact, Osborne had not stirred out of the house for days, lest -her promised call "in person" should occur when he was absent, but at -last, unable to bear it any longer, he had made a dash to see her, and -was at that moment venturing to knock at her door. - -However, though the news was damping, she had a store of high spirits -that afternoon, which pushed her to leave a note scribbled with her gold -pencil on the back of a letter--an act fraught with terrible sufferings -for her in the sequel. This was her message: - - I will write again. Meantime, do not lose hope! I have - discovered that your purloined dagger has been in the possession - of the late lady's-maid, Pauline. "A small thing, but mine own!" - I am now taking it to Inspector Furneaux's. - R. M. - -"What _will_ he think of '_I_ have discovered'?" she asked herself, -smiling, pleased; "he will say 'a witch'!" - -She folded it crossways with a double bend so that it would not open, -and leaning out of the cab, handed it to Jenkins. - -As he disappeared with it, Hylda Prout stood in the doorway with -Rosalind's letter to Osborne--Hylda's freckles showing strong against -her rather pale face. She held the flap-side of the envelope forward -from the first, to show the stains of gum on it. - -As she approached the cab, Rosalind's neck stiffened a little. Their -eyes met malignly, and dwelt together several seconds, in a stillness -like that of somber skies before lightnings fly out. Truly, Rupert -Osborne's millions were unable to buy him either happiness or luck, for -it was the worst of ill-luck that he should not have been at home just -then. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - ENTRAPPED! - - -When Rosalind's contemptuous eyes abandoned that silent interchange of -looks, they fell upon the envelope in Hylda Prout's hand, nor could she -help noticing that round the flap it was clumsily stained with gum. Yet -Osborne had written her saying that it had been unopened.... - -The other woman stepped to the door of the cab. - -"Miss Marsh?" she inquired, with an assumed lack of knowledge that was -insolent in itself. - -"Yes." - -"Mr. Osborne left this for you, if you called." - -"Thank you." - -The business was ended, yet the lady-secretary still stood there, -staring brazenly at Rosalind's face. - -"Drive on----" - -Rosalind raised her gloved hand to attract the driver's attention. - -"One moment, Miss Marsh," said Hylda, also raising a hand to forbid him -to move; "I want to tell you something--You are very anxious on poor Mr. -Osborne's behalf, are you not?" - -"I thought he was rich? You are not to say 'poor Mr. Osborne.'" - -"Is that why you are so anxious, because he is rich?" and those -golden-brown eyes suddenly blazed out outrageously. - -"Driver, go on, please!" cried Rosalind again. - -"Wait, cabman!" cried Hylda imperiously.... "Stay a little--Miss -Marsh--one word--I cannot let you waste your sympathies as you do. You -believe that Mr. Osborne is friendless; and you offer him your -friendship----" - -"_I!_" - -Rosalind laughed a little, a laugh with a dangerous chuckle in it that -might have carried a warning to one who knew her. - -"Do you not say so in that letter? In it you tell him that since the -night at the sun-dial, when you were '_brutal_' to him----" - -"You know, then, my letter--by heart?" said Rosalind, her eyes sparkling -and cheeks aflame. "That is quite charming of you! You have been at the -pains to read it?" - -"No, of course, Mr. Osborne wouldn't exactly _show_ it to me, nor did I -ask him. But I think you guess that I am in Mr. Osborne's confidence." - -"Mr. Osborne, it would seem, has--read it? He even thought the contents -of sufficient importance to repeat them to his typist? Is that so?" - -"Mr. Osborne repeats many things to me, Miss Marsh--by habit. You being -a stranger to him, do not know him well yet, but I have been with him -some time, you see. As to his reading it, I know that you telegraphed -him not to, and he received the telegram before the letter, I admit; -but, the letter once in his hand, it became his private property, of -course. He had a right to read it." - -A stone in Rosalind's bosom where her heart had been ached like a wound; -yet her lips smiled--a hard smile. - -"But then, having read, to be at the pains to seal it down again!" she -said. "It seems superfluous, a contemptible subterfuge." - -"Oh, well," sneered Hylda, with a pouting laugh, "he is not George -Washington--a little harmless deception." - -"But you cry out all his secrets!" - -"To you." - -"Why to me?" - -"I save you from troubling your head about him. He is not so friendless -as you have imagined." - -"Happy man! And was it you who wrote me the anonymous information that -he was not Glyn but Osborne?" - -"No, that was someone else." - -And now Rosalind, blighting her with her icy smile, which no inward -fires could melt, said contemplatively: - -"I am afraid you are not speaking the truth. I shall tell Mr. Osborne to -get rid of you." - -The dart was well planted. The paid secretary's lips twitched and -quivered. - -"Try it! He'll laugh at you!" she retorted. - -"No, I think he will do it--to please me!" - -Sad to relate, our gracious Rosalind was deliberately adding oil to the -fires of hate and rage that she saw devouring Hylda Prout; and when -Hylda again spoke it was from a fiery soul that peered out of a ghost's -face. - -"Will he?--to please you?" she said low, hissingly, leaning forward. "He -has a record in a diary of the girls he has kissed, and the number of -days from the first sight to the first kiss. He only wanted to see in -how few days he could secure you." - -This vulgarity astonished its hearer. Rosalind shrank a little; her -smile became forced and strained; she could only murmur: - -"Oh, you needn't be so bourgeoise." - -Hylda chuckled again maliciously. - -"It's the mere truth." - -"Still, I think I shall warn him against you, and have you -dismissed,"--this with that feminine instinct of the dagger that plunged -deepest, the lash that cut most bitterly. - -"You try!" hissed Hylda sharply, as it were secretly, with a nod of -menace. "I am not anybody! I am not some defenseless housemaid, the only -rival you have experienced hitherto, perhaps. I am--at any rate, you -try! You dare! Touch me, and I'll wither your arm----" - -"Drive on!" cried Rosalind almost in a scream. - -"Wait!" shrilled Hylda--"you _shall_ hear me!" - -"Cabman, please----!" wailed Rosalind despairingly. - -And now at last the cab was off, Hylda Prout running with it to pant -into it some final rancor; and when it left her, she remained there on -the pavement a minute, unable to move, trembling from head to foot, -watching the vehicle as it sped away from her. - -When she re-entered the library the first thing that she saw was -Rosalind's cross-folded note to Osborne, and, still burning inwardly, -she snatched it up, tore it open, and read: - - I will write again. Meantime, high hope! _I_ have discovered - that your purloined dagger has been in the possession of the - late lady's-maid, Pauline. "A small thing but mine own." I am - now taking it to Inspector Furneaux's. - R. M. - -Hylda dashed the paper to the ground, put her foot on it, then catching -it up, worried it in her hands to atoms which she threw into a -waste-paper basket. Then she collapsed into a chair at her desk, her -arms thrown heedlessly over some documents, and her face buried between -them. - -"I have gone too far, too far, too far----" - -Now that her passion had burnt to ashes this was her thought. A crisis, -it was clear, had come, and something had to be done, to be decided, -now--that very day. Rosalind would surely tell Osborne what she, Hylda, -had said, how she had acted, and then all would be up with Hylda, no -hope left, her whole house in ruins about her, not one stone left -standing on another. Either she must bind Osborne irrevocably to her at -once, or her brain must devise some means of keeping Osborne and -Rosalind from meeting--or both. But how achieve the apparently -impossible? Osborne, she knew, was at that moment at Rosalind's -residence, and if Rosalind was now going home ... they would meet! Hylda -moved her buried head from side to side, woe-ridden, in the grip of a -hundred fangs and agonies. She had boasted to Rosalind that she was not -a whimpering housemaid, but of a better texture: and if that was an -actual truth, the present moment must prove it. Yet she sat there with a -buried head, weakly weeping.... - -Suddenly she thought of the words in Rosalind's note to Osborne, which -she had thrown into the basket: "I have discovered that your purloined -dagger has been in the possession of the late lady's-maid, Pauline.... I -am now taking it to Inspector Furneaux's...." - -That, then, was the person who had the dagger which had been so sought -and speculated about--Pauline Dessaulx! - -And at the recollection of the name, Hylda's racked brain, driven to -invent, invented like lightning. Up she sprang, caught at her hat, and -rushed away, pinning it on to her magnificent red hair in her flight, -her eyes staring with haste. In the street she leapt into a -motor-cab--to Soho. - -She was soon there. As if pursued by furies she pelted up two foul -staircases, and at a top back room, rapped pressingly, fiercely, with -the clenched knuckles of both hands upon the panels. As a man in his -shirt-sleeves, his braces dropped, smoking a cigarette, opened the door -to her, she almost fell in on him, and the burning words burst from her -tongue's tip: - -"Antonio!--it's all up with Pauline--the dagger she did it with--has -been found--by a woman--the same woman from Tormouth whom you and I -tracked to Porchester Gardens--Pauline is in her employ probably--tell -Janoc--he has wits--he may do something before it is too late--the woman -has the dagger--in a motor-cab--in a long, narrow box--she is this -instant taking it to Inspector Furneaux's house--if _she_ lives, Pauline -hangs--tell Janoc that, Antonio--don't stare--tell Janoc--it is _she_ or -Pauline--let him choose----" - -"_Grand Dieu!_" - -"Don't stare--don't stand--I'm gone." - -She ran out; and almost as she was down the stair Antonio had thrown on -a coat and was flying down behind her. - -He ran down three narrow streets to Poland Street, darted up a stair, -broke into a room; and there on the floor, stretched face downwards, lay -the lank length of Janoc's body, a map of Europe spread before him, on -which with an ivory pointer he was marking lines from town to town. He -glanced at the intruder with a frowning brow, yet he was up like an -acrobat, as the tidings leapt off Antonio's tongue. - -"Found!" he whispered hoarsely, "Pauline found!" - -"Yes, and the dagger found, too!" - -"Found! dearest of my heart! my sweet sister!" - -Janoc clasped to his bosom a phantom form, and kissed thrice at the air. - -"Yes, and the dagger found that she did it with----" - -"The dagger?" - -"Yes, and the lady is this minute taking it to Inspector Furneaux----" - -"Lady?--Oh, found! found! dear, sweet sister, why didst thou hide -thyself from me?" - -Janoc spread his arms with a face of rapture. He could only assimilate -the one great fact in his joy. - -"But Janoc--listen--the lady----" - -"Lady?" - -"The lady who has the dagger! Listen, my friend--she is on the way to -Inspector Furneaux with Pauline's dagger----" - -"_Mille diables!_" - -"Janoc, what is to be done? O, arouse yourself, _pour l'amour de -Dieu_--Pauline will be hanged----" - -"Hanged? Yes! They hang women, I know, in England--the only country in -Europe--this ugly nest of savages. Yes! they hang them by the neck on -the gallows here--the gallant gentlemen! But they won't hang _her_, -Antonio! Let them touch her, and _I_, I set all England dancing like a -sandstorm of the Sahara! Furneaux's house No. 12?" - -"Yes." - -"And the lady's address?" - -"Porchester Gardens--unfortunately I did not notice the number of the -house." - -"Pity: weak. What is she like, this lady?" - -"Middle-size--plentiful brown hair--eyes blue--beautiful in the cold -English way, elegant, too--yes, a pretty woman--I saw her in -Tormouth----" - -"Come with me"--and Janoc was in action, with a suddenness, a fury, a -contrast with his previous stillness of listening that was very -remarkable--as if he had waited for the instant of action to sound, and -then said: "Here it is! I am ready!" - -Out stretched his long leg, as he bent forward into running, catching at -his cap and revolver with one sweep of his right arm, and at Antonio -with a snatch of the left; and from that moment his motions were in the -tone of the forced marches of Napoleon--not an instant lost in the -business he was at. - -He took Antonio in a cab to Furneaux's house in Sinclair Street. There -he was nudged by Antonio, as they drove up, with a hysterical sob of -"See! There she is!" - -Rosalind was driving away at the moment. She had, then, seen Furneaux? -told Furneaux? given Furneaux the dagger? In that case, the battle would -lie between Furneaux and Janoc that day. Janoc's flesh was pale, but it -was the paleness of iron, his eyes were full of fire. In his heart he -was a hero, in brain and head an assassin! - -He alighted at the detective's house, letting Rosalind go. But the -landlady of the flat told him that Furneaux had not been at home for two -hours, and was not expected for another hour. Rosalind, then, had not -seen him; and the battle swung back to its first ground as between -Rosalind and Janoc. Had the lady who had just called left any parcel, or -any weapon for Mr. Furneaux? The answer was "No." He hurried down into -his cab, to make for Rosalind's boarding-house. - -But Antonio had not noted the number, and, to discover it, Janoc started -off to Osborne's house, to ask it of Miss Prout. - -Now, Rosalind was herself driving to the same place. On learning that -Furneaux was not at home, she had paced his sitting-room a little while, -undecided whether to wait, or to leave a message and go home. Then the -new impulse had occurred in her to go to Osborne's in the meantime, and -then return to Furneaux. Hylda Prout had contrived to put a lump in her -throat and a firebrand in her bosom, an arrogance, a hot rancor. How -much of what the hussy had said against Osborne might contain some truth -she did not know; it had so scorched her, and inflamed her gorge, and -kindled her eyes, that she had not had time to question its probability -in her preoccupation with the gall and smart of it. But that Osborne -should have opened the letter, and then written to say he had not--this -was a vileness that the slightest reflection found to be incredible. The -creature with the red hair certainly knew what was in the letter, -but--might she not have opened it herself? And if any part of her -statements were false, _all_ might be false. An impatience to see -Osborne instantly seized and transported Rosalind. He had honest -eyes--had she not whispered it many a time to her heart? She hurried off -to him.... And by accident Janoc went after her. - -Osborne himself had arrived home some ten minutes before this, after a -very cold reception from Mrs. Marsh at Porchester Gardens. - -As he entered the library, he saw Hylda Prout standing in the middle of -the room with a face of ecstasy which astonished him. She, lately -arrived back from her visit to the Italian, had heard him come, and had -leapt up to confront him, her heart galloping in her throat. - -"Anything wrong?" he asked with a quick glance at her. - -"Miss Marsh has been here." - -"Ah?... Miss Marsh?" - -She made a mad step toward him. The words that she uttered rasped -harshly. She did not recognize her own voice. - -"I told her straight out that it is not the slightest good her running -after you." - -"You told her _what_?" - -Amazement struggled with indignation in his face. All the world seemed -to have gone mad when the pale, studiously sedate secretary used such -words of frenzy. - -"I meant to stop--her pursuit of you.... Mr. Osborne--hear me--I--I...." -Excessive emotion overpowered her. In attempting to say more she panted -with distress. - -"What is it all about, Miss Prout? Calm yourself, please--be quiet"--he -said it with some effort to express both his resentment and his -authority. - -"Mr. Osborne--I warn you--I cannot endure--any rival----" - -"Who can't? you speak of a _rival_!" - -"Oh, Heaven, give me strength--words to explain. Ah!..." - -She had been standing with her left hand resting on a table, shivering -like a sail in the wind, and now the hand suddenly gave way under her, -and she sank after it, falling to the ground in a faint, while her head -struck the edge of the table in her descent. - -"Well, if this isn't the limit," muttered Osborne, as he ran to her, -calling loudly for Jenkins. He lifted her to a sofa, and, in his flurry, -not knowing what else to do, wet her forehead with a little water from a -carafe. Jenkins had not heard his call, and by the time he looked round -for a bell to summon help, her eyes unclosed themselves, and she smiled -at him. - -"You are there...." - -"You feel better now?" He sat on a chair at her head, looking down on -her, wondering what inane words he should use to extricate both himself -and her from an absurd position. - -"It is all right.... I must have fainted. I have undergone a great -strain, a dreadful strain. You should be sorry for me. Oh, I have -loved--much." - -"Miss Prout----" - -"No, don't call me that, or you kill me. You should be sorry for me, if -you have any pity, any shred of humanity in your heart. I have--passed -through flames, and drunk of a cup of fire. Ten women, yes, ten--have -hungered and wailed in me. I tell _you_--yet to whom should I tell it -but to you?" - -She smiled a ravished smile of pain; her hand fell upon his heavily; her -restless head swung from side to side. - -"Well, I am very sorry," said Osborne, forced to gentleness in spite of -the anger that had consumed him earlier. "It is impossible not to -believe you sincere. But, you will admit, all this is very singular and -unexpected. I am afraid now that I shall have to send you on a trip -to--Switzerland; or else go myself. Better you--it is chilling there, on -the glaciers." - -Yet the attempt at humor died when he looked at her face with its -languishing, sick eyes, its expression of swooning luxury. She sighed -deeply. - -"No, you cannot escape me now, I think, or I you," she murmured. "There -are powers too profound to be run from when once at work, like the -suction of whirlpools. If you don't love me, my love is a force enough -for two, for a thousand. It will draw and compel you. Yes, I think so. -It will either warm you, or burn you to ashes--and myself, too. Oh, I -swear to Heaven! It will, it shall! You shouldn't have pressed my hand -that night." - -"Pressed your hand! on which night?" asked Osborne, who had now turned -quite pale, and wanted to run quickly out of the house but could not. - -"What, have you _forgotten_?" she asked with tender reproach, gazing -into his eyes; "the night I was going to see my brother nine months ago, -and you went with me to Euston, and in saying good-by you----" - -She suddenly covered her eyes with her fingers in a rapture at the -memory. - -Osborne stared blankly at her. He recalled the farewell at Euston, which -was accidental, but he certainly had no memory of having pressed her -hand. - -"I loved you before," her lips just whispered in a pitiful assumption of -confidence, "but timidly, not admitting it to myself. With that pressure -of your hand, I was done with maidenhood, my soul rushed to you. After -that, you were mine, and I was yours." - -The words almost fainted on her bitten under lip, and in Osborne, too, a -rush of soul, or of blood, took place, a little flush of his forehead. -It was a bewitching woman who lay there before him, with that fair -freckle-splashed face couched in its cloud of red hair. - -"Come, now," he said, valiantly striving after the commonplace, "you are -ill--you hardly know yet what you are saying." - -She half sat up suddenly, bending eagerly toward him. - -"Is it pity? Is it 'yes'?" - -"Please, please, let us forget that this has ever----" - -"It _would_ be 'yes' instantly but for that Tormouth girl! Oh, drive her -out of your mind! That cannot be--I could never, never permit it! For -that reason alone--and besides, you are about to be arrested----" - -"I!" - -"Yes: listen--I know more of what is going on than you know. The man -Furneaux, who, for his own reasons, hates you, and is eager to injure -you, has even more proofs against you than you are aware of. _I_ happen -to know that in his search of your trunks he has discovered something or -other which he considers conclusive against you. And there is that -housemaid at Feldisham Mansions, who screamed out 'Mr. Osborne did -it!'--Furneaux only pretended at the inquest that she was too ill to be -present, because he did not want to produce the whole weight of his -evidence just then. But he has her, too, safe up his sleeve, and _she_ -is willing to swear against you. And now he has got hold of your Saracen -dagger. But don't you fear _him_: I shall know how to foil him at the -last; I alone have knowledge that will surely make him look a fool. -Trust in me! I tell you so. But I can't help your being arrested--that -must happen. Believe me, for I know. And let that once take place, and -that Tormouth girl will never look at you again. I understand her class, -with its prides and prejudices--she will never marry you--innocent or -guilty--if you have once stood in the dock at an assize court. Such as -she does not know what love is. _I_ would take you if you were a -thousand times guilty--and I only can prove you innocent--even if you -were guilty--because I am yours--your preordained wife--oh, I shall die -of my love--yes, kiss me--yes--now----" - -The torrent of words ended in a fierce fight for breath. Her eyes were -glaring like two lakes of conflagration, her cheeks crimson, her -forehead pale. Unexpectedly, eagerly, she caught him round the neck in -an embrace from which there was no escape. She drew him almost to his -knees, and pressed his lips to hers with a passion that frightened and -repelled him. - -And he was in the thick of this unhappy and ridiculous experience when -he heard behind him an astonished "Oh!" from someone, while some other -person seemed to laugh in angry embarrassment. - -It was Jenkins who had uttered the "Oh!" and when the horrified Osborne -glanced round he saw Rosalind's eyes peering over Jenkins's shoulder. -She it was who had so lightly, so perplexedly, laughed. - -Before he could free himself and spring up she was gone. She had -murmured to Jenkins: "Some other time," and fled. - -As she ran out blindly, and was springing into the cab, Janoc, in -pursuit of her, drove up. In an instant he was looking in through the -door of the cab. - -"Miss Marsh?" he inquired. - -"Yes." - -His hands met, wringing in distress. - -"You are the lady I am searching for, the mistress of the young girl -Pauline Dessaulx, is it not? I am her brother. You see--you can see--the -resemblance in our faces. She threatens this instant to commit the -suicide----" - -Rosalind was forced to forget her own sufferings in this new terror. - -"Pauline!" she cried, "I am not her employer. Moreover, she is ill--in -bed----" - -"She has escaped to my lodging during your absence from home! Something -dreadful has happened to her--she speaks of the loss of some weapon--one -cannot understand her ravings! And unless she sees you--her hands cannot -be kept from destroying herself--Oh, lady! lady! Come to my sweet -sister----" - -Rosalind looked at him with the scared eyes of one who hears, yet not -understands. There was a mad probability in all this, since Pauline -_might_ have discovered the loss of the daggers; and, in her present -anguish of spirit, the thought that the man's story might only be a -device to lure her into some trap never entered Rosalind's head. Indeed, -in her weariness of everything, she regarded the mission of succor as a -relief. - -"Where do you live? I will go with you," she said. - -"Lady! Lady! Thank God!" he exclaimed. "It is not far from here, in -Soho." - -"You must come in my cab," said Rosalind. - -Janoc ran to pay his own cabman, came back instantly, and they started -eastward, just as Osborne, with the wild face of a man falling down a -precipice, rushed to his door, calling after them frantically: "Hi, -there! Stop! Stop! For Heaven's sake----" - -But the cab went on its way. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - THE SARACEN DAGGER - - -Next morning, just as the clock was striking eight, Osborne was rising -from his bed after a night of unrest when Jenkins rapped at the door and -came in, deferential and calm. - -"Mrs. Marsh below to see you, sir," he announced. - -Osborne blinked and stared with the air of a man not thoroughly awake, -though it was his mind, not his body, that was torpid. - -"Mrs.," he said, "not Miss?" - -"No, sir, Mrs." - -"I'll be there in five minutes," he hissed with a fierce arousing of his -faculties, and never before had he flung on his clothes in such a flurry -of haste; in less than five minutes he was flying down the stairs. - -"Forgive me!" broke from his lips, as he entered the drawing-room, and -"Forgive me!" his visitor was saying to him in the same instant. - -It was pitiful to see her--she, ever so enthroned in serenity, from whom -such a thing as agitation had seemed so remote, was wildly agitated now. -That pathetic pallor of the aged when their heart is in labor now -underlay her skin. Her lips, her fingers, trembled; the tip of her nose, -showing under her half-raised veil, was pinched. - -"The early hour--it is so distressing--I beg your forgiveness--I am in -most dreadful trouble----" - -"Please sit down," he said, touching her hand, "and let me get you some -breakfast." - -"No, nothing--I couldn't eat--it is Rosalind----" - -Now he, too, went a shade paler. - -"What of Rosalind?" - -"Do you by chance know anything of her whereabouts?" - -"No!" - -"She has disappeared." - -Her head bowed, and a sob broke from her bosom. - -"Disappeared"--his lips breathed the word foolishly after her, while he -looked at her almost stupidly. - -Mrs. Marsh's hand dropped with a little nervous fling. - -"She has not been at home all night. She left the house apparently -between four and five yesterday--I was out; then I came in; then you -called.... She has not come home--it is impossible to conceive...." - -"Oh, she has slept with some friend," he said, feeling that the world -reeled around him. - -"No, she has never done that without letting me know.... She would -surely have telegraphed me.... It is quite impossible even to imagine -what dispensation of God----" - -She stopped, her lips working; suddenly covering her eyes with her hand, -as another sob gushed from her, she humbly muttered: - -"Forgive me. I am nearly out of my senses." - -He sprang up, touched a bell, and whispered to Jenkins, who instantly -was with him: "Brandy--_quick_." Then, running to kneel at the old -lady's chair, he touched her left hand, saying: "Take heart--trust in -God's Providence--rely upon _me_." - -"You believe, then, that you may find her----?" - -"Surely: whatever else I may fail in, I could not fail now.... Just one -sip of this to oblige me." Jenkins had stolen in, and she drank a little -out of the glass that Osborne offered. - -"You must think it odd," she said, "that I come to you. I could not give -a reason--but I was so distracted and benumbed. I thought of you, and -felt impelled----" - -"You were right," he said. "I am the proper person to appeal to in this -case. Besides, she was here yesterday----" - -"Rosalind?" - -"The fact is----" - -"Oh, she was here? Well, that is something discovered! I did well to -come. Yes--you were saying----" - -"I will tell you everything. Three days ago she wrote me a letter----" - -"Rosalind?" - -"Are you astonished?" - -"I understood--I thought--that your friendship with her had suffered -some--check." - -"That is so," said Osborne with a bent head. "You may remember the night -of the dance at the Abbey down at Tormouth. That night, when I was full -of hopes of her favor, she suddenly cast me off like a burr from her -robe--I am not even now sure why--unless she had discovered that my name -was not Glyn." - -"If so, she no doubt considered that a sufficient reason, Mr. Osborne," -said Mrs. Marsh, a chill in her tone. "One does not like the names of -one's friends to be detachable labels." - -"Don't think that I blame her one bit!" cried Osborne--"no more than I -blame myself. I was ordered by--the police to take a name. There seemed -to be good reason for it. I only blame my baleful fate. Anyway, so it -was. She dropped me--into the Pit. But she was at the inquest----" - -"Indeed? At the inquest. She was there. Singular." - -"Deeply veiled. She didn't think, I suppose, that I should know. But I -should feel her presence in the blackest----" - -"Mr. Osborne--I must beg--do not make your declarations to _me_----" - -"May I not? Be good--be pitiful. Here am I, charged with guilt, -conscious of innocence----" - -"Let us suppose all that, but are you a man free to make declarations of -love? One would say that you are, as it were, married for some time to -come to the lady who has lately been buried." - -"True," said Osborne--"in the eyes of the world, in a formal way: but in -the eyes of those near to me? Oh, I appeal to your indulgence, your -friendship, your heart. Tell me that you forgive, that you understand -me! and then I shall be so exuberantly gladsome that in the sweep of my -exhilaration I shall go straight and find her, wherever she lies -hidden.... Will you not say 'yes' on those terms?" He smiled wanly, with -a hungry cajolery, looking into her face. - -But she did not unbend. - -"Let us first find her! and then other things may be discussed. But to -find her! it is past all knowing--Oh, deep is the trouble of my soul -to-day, Mr. Osborne!" - -"Wait--hope----" - -"But you were speaking of yesterday." - -"Yes. She was at the inquest: and when I saw her--think how I felt! I -said: 'She believes in me.' And three days after that she wrote to -me----" - -"My poor Rosalind!" murmured Mrs. Marsh. "She suffered more than I -imagined. Her nature is more recondite than the well in which Truth -dwells. What _could_ she have written to you?" - -"That I don't know." - -"How----?" - -"As I was about to open the letter, a telegram came from her. 'Don't -read my letter: I will call for it unopened in person,' it said. Picture -my agony then! And now I am going to tell you something that will move -you to compassion for me, if you never had it before. Yesterday she -called for the letter. I was with you at Porchester Gardens at that very -hour. When I came home, an extraordinary scene awaited me with my -secretary, a Miss Prout.... I tell you this as to a friend, a Mother, -who will believe even the incredible. An extraordinary scene.... Without -the least warning, the least encouragement that I know of, Miss Prout -declared herself in love with me. While I stood astonished, she fainted. -I bore her to a sofa. Soon after she opened her eyes, she--drew--me to -her--no, I will say that I was _not_ to blame; and I was in that -situation, when the library door opened, and who should be there looking -at me but--yes--_she_." - -Mrs. Marsh's eyes fell. There was a little pressure of the lips that -revealed scant sympathy with compromising situations. And suddenly a -thought turned her skin to a ghastlier white. What if the sight of that -scene accounted for Rosalind's disappearance? If Rosalind was dead--by -her own act? The old lady had often to admit that she did not know the -deepest deeps of her daughter's character. But she banished the -half-thought hurriedly, contenting herself with saying aloud: - -"That made the second time she came to you yesterday. Why a second -time?" - -"I have no idea!" was the dismayed reply. "She uttered not one -word--just turned away, and hurried out to her waiting cab--and by the -time I could wring myself free, and run after her, the cab was going -off. I shouted--I ran at top speed--she would not stop. I think a man -was in the cab with her----" - -"A man, you say?" - -"I think so. I just caught a glimpse of a face that looked out -sideways--a dark man he seemed to me--I'm not sure." - -"It becomes more and more mysterious!" - -"Well, we must be making a move to do something--first, have you -breakfasted?" - -She had eaten nothing! Osborne persuaded her to join him in a hurried -meal, during which his motor-car arrived, and soon they set off -together. He was for going straight to the police, but she shrank from -the notoriety of that final exposure until she had the clear assurance -that it was absolutely necessary. So they drove from friend to friend of -the Marshes who might possibly have some information; then drove home to -Mrs. Prawser's to see if there was news. Osborne had luncheon there--a -polite pretense at eating, since they were too full of wonder and woe to -care for food. By this time Mrs. Marsh had unbent somewhat to Osborne, -and humbly enough had said to him, "Oh, find her, and if she is alive, -every other consideration shall weigh less than my boundless gratitude -to you!" - -After the luncheon they again drove about London, making inquiries -without hope wherever the least chance of a clew lay; and finally, near -six, they went to Scotland Yard. - -To Inspector Winter in his office the whole tale was told; and, after -sitting at his desk in a long silence, frowning upon the story, he said -at last: - -"Well, there is, of course, a great deal more in this than meets the -eye." He spun round to Mrs. Marsh: "Has your daughter undergone anything -to upset her at home lately?" - -"Nothing," was the answer. "One of the servants in the house has had a -sort of hysteria: but that did not trouble Rosalind beyond the mere -exercise of womanly sympathy." - -"Any visitors? Any odd circumstance in that way?" - -"No unusual visitors--except an Inspector Furneaux, who--twice, I -think--had interviews with her. She was not very explicit in telling me -the subject of them." - -"Inspector Furneaux," muttered Winter. To himself he said: "I thought -somehow that this thing was connected with Feldisham Mansions." And at -once now, with a little start, he asked: "What, by the way, is the name -of the servant who has had the hysteria?" - -"Her name is Pauline," answered Mrs. Marsh--"a French girl." - -"Ah, Pauline!" said Winter--"just so." - -The fewness of his words gave proof of the activity of his brain. He -knew how Clarke had obtained the diary of Rose de Bercy from Pauline, -and he felt that Pauline was in some undetermined way connected with the -murder. He knew, too, that she was now to be found somewhere in -Porchester Gardens, and had intended looking her up for general -inquiries before two days had passed. That Pauline might actually have -had a hand in the crime had never entered into his speculations--he was -far too hot in these days on the trail of Furneaux, who was being -constantly watched by his instructions. - -"I think I will see this Pauline to-night," he said. "Meantime, I can -only recommend you to hope, Mrs. Marsh. These things generally have some -simple explanation in the end, and turn out less black than they look. -Expect me, then, at your residence within an hour." - -But when Mrs. Marsh and Osborne were gone he was perplexed, remembering -that this was Thursday evening, for he had promised himself on this very -evening to be at a spot which he had been told by one of his men that -Furneaux had visited on two previous Thursday evenings, a spot where he -would see a sight that would interest him. - -While he was on the horns of the dilemma as to going there, or going to -Pauline, Inspector Clarke entered: and at once Winter shelved upon -Clarke the business of sounding Pauline. - -"You seem to have a lot of power over her--to make her give up the diary -so promptly," he said to Clarke. "Go to her, then, get at the bottom of -this business, and see if you cannot hit upon some connection between -the disappearance of Miss Marsh and the murder of the actress." - -Clarke stood up with alacrity, and started off. Presently Winter himself -was in a cab, making for the Brompton Cemetery. - -As for Clarke, the instant he was within sight of Porchester Gardens, -his whole interest turned from Pauline Dessaulx and the vanished -Rosalind to two men whom he saw in the street almost opposite the house -in which Pauline lay. They were Janoc and the Italian, Antonio, and -Antonio seemed to be reasoning and pleading with Janoc, who had the -gestures of a man distracted. - -Hanging about near them was a third man, whom Clarke hardly noticed--a -loafer in a long coat of rags, a hat without any crown, and visible -toes--a diminutive loafer--Furneaux, in fact, who, for his own reasons, -was also interested in Janoc in these days. - -Every now and again Janoc looked up at the windows of Mrs. Marsh's -residence with frantic gestures, and a crying face--a thing which -greatly struck Clarke; and anon the loafer passed by Janoc and Antonio, -unobserved, peering into the gutter for the cast-aside ends of cigars -and cigarettes. - -Instantly Clarke stole down the opposite side of the square into which -the house faced, looked about him, saw no one, climbed some railings, -and then through the bushes stole near to the pavement where the -foreigners stood. There, concealed in the shrubbery, he could clearly -hear Janoc say: - -"Am I never to see her? My little one! But I am about to see her! I will -knock at that door, and clasp her in my arms." - -"My friend, be reasonable!" pleaded Antonio, holding the arm of Janoc, -who made more show of tearing himself free than he made real -effort--with that melodramatic excess of gesture to which the Latin -races are prone. "Be reasonable! Oh, she is wiser than you! She has -hidden herself from you because she realizes the danger of being seen -near you even in the dark. Be sure that she has longed to see you as -keenly as you hunger to see her; but she feels that there must be no -meeting with so many spying eyes in the world----" - -"Let them spy! but they shall not keep me from the embrace of one whom I -love, of one who has suffered," said Janoc, covering his face. "Oh, when -I think of your cruelty--you who all the time knew where she was and did -not tell me!" - -"I confess it, but I acted for the best," said Antonio. "She wrote to me -three days after the murder, so that she might have news of you. I met -her, and received from her that bit of lace from the actress's dress -which I put into Osborne's bag at Tormouth, to throw still more doubt -upon him. But she implored me not to reveal to you where she was, lest, -if you should be seen with her, suspicion of the murder should fall upon -you----" - -"Her heart's goodness! My sister! My little one!" exclaimed Janoc. - -"Only be patient!" wooed Antonio--"do not go to her. Soon she will make -her escape to France, and you also, and then you will embrace the one -the other. And now you have no longer cause for much anxiety as to her -capture, for the dagger cannot be found with her, since it lies safe in -your room in your own keeping, and to-night you will drop it into the -river, where it will be buried forever. Do not go to her----" - -These were the last words of the dialogue that Clarke heard, for the -tidings that "the dagger" was in Janoc's room sent him creeping away -through the bushes. He was soon over the railings and in a cab, making -for Soho; and behind him in another cab went Furneaux, whose driver, -looking at his fare's attire, had said, "Pay first, and then I'll take -you." - -Clarke, for his part, had no difficulty in entering Janoc's room with -his skeleton-keys--indeed, he had been there before! Nor was there any -difficulty in finding the dagger. There it lay, with another, in the -narrow cardboard box into which Rosalind had put both weapons on finding -them behind the shelf of books in Pauline's room. - -Clarke's eyes, as they fell at last upon that Saracen blade which he -knew so well without ever having seen it, pored, gloated over it, with a -glitter in them. - -He relocked the trunk, relocked the door, and with the box held fast, -ran down the three stairs to his cab--feeling himself a made man, a head -taller than all Scotland Yard that night. He put his precious find on -the interior front seat of the cab--a four-wheeler; for in his eagerness -he had jumped into the first wheeled thing that he had seen, and, having -lodged the box inside, being anxious to hide it, he made a step forward -toward the driver, to tell him whither he had now to drive. Then he -entered, shut the door, and, as the vehicle drove off, put out his hand -to the box to feast his eyes on its contents again. But the box was -gone--no daggers were there! - -"Stop!" howled Clarke. - -The cab stopped, but it was all in vain. The loafer, who had opened the -other door of the cab with swift deftness while Clarke spoke to the -driver, had long since turned a near corner with box and daggers, and -was well away. Clarke, standing in the street, glanced up at the sky, -down at the ground, and stared round about, like a man who does not know -in which world he finds himself. - -Meantime, Furneaux hailed another cab, again having to pay in advance, -and started off on the drive to Brompton Cemetery--where Winter was -already in hiding, awaiting his arrival. - -Something like a storm of wind was tearing the night to pieces, and the -trees of the place of graves gesticulated as if they were wrangling. The -moon had moved up, all involved in heavy clouds whose grotesque shapes -her glare struck into garish contrasts of black against silver. Furneaux -bent his way against the gale, holding on his dilapidated hat, his rags -fluttering fantastically behind him, till he came to the one grave he -sought--the cheerless resting-place of Rose de Bercy. The very spirit of -gloom and loneliness brooded here, in a nook almost inclosed with -foliage. As yet no stone had been erected. The grave was just a narrow -oblong of red marl and turf, which the driven rain now made soft and -yielding. On it lay two withered wreaths. - -Furneaux, standing by it, took off his hat, and the rain flecked his -hair. Then from a breast-pocket of his rags he took out a little funnel -of paper, out of which he cast some Parma violets upon the mound. This -was Thursday--and Rose de Bercy had been murdered on a Thursday. - - [Illustration: Then from a breast-pocket he took a little funnel of - paper - _Page 219_] - -After that he stood there perhaps twenty minutes, his head bent in -meditation. - -Then he peered cautiously into the dark about him, took a penknife with -a good-sized blade from a pocket, and with it set to work to make a -grave within the grave--a grave just big and deep enough to contain the -box with the daggers. He buried his singular tribute and covered it -over. - -After this he waited silently, apparently lost in thought, for some ten -minutes more. - -Then, with that curious omniscience which sometimes seemed to belong to -the man, he sent a strange cry into the gloom. - -"Are you anywhere about, Winter?" - -Nor was there anything aggressive in the call. It was subdued, sad, -touched with solemnity, like the voice of a man who had wept, and dried -his eyes. - -There was little delay before Winter appeared out of the shadow of his -ambush. - -"I am!" he said; he was amazed beyond expression, yet his colleague had -ever been incomprehensible in some things. - -"Windy night," said Furneaux, in an absurd affectation of ease. - -"And wet," said Winter, utterly at a loss how to take the other. - -"Odd that we should both come to visit the poor thing's grave at the -same hour," remarked Furneaux. - -"It _may_ be odd," agreed Winter. - -There was a bitter silence. - -Then Furneaux's cold voice was heard again. - -"I dare say, now, it seems to you a suspicious thing that I should come -to this grave at all." - -"Why should it, Furneaux?" asked his chief bluntly. - -"Yes, why?" said Furneaux. "I once knew her. I told you from the first -that I knew her." - -"I remember: you did." - -"You asked no questions as to how I came to know her, or how long, or -under what circumstances. Why did you not ask? Such questions occur -among friends: and I--might have told you. But you did not ask." - -"Tell me now." - -"Winter, I'd see you hanged first!" - -The words came in a sharp rasp--his first sign of anger. - -"Hanged?" repeated Winter, flushing. "You'll see _me_ hanged? _I_ -usually see the hanging, Furneaux!" - -"Sometimes you do: sometimes you are not half smart enough!" - -Furneaux barked the taunt like a dog at him. - -Of the two, the big bluff man of Anglo-Saxon breed, mystified and -saddened though he was, showed more self-control than the excitable -little man more French than English. - -"This is an occasion when I leave the smartness to you, Furneaux," he -said bitterly, "though there is a sort of clever duplicity which ought -to be drained out of the blood, even if it cost a limb, or a life." - -"Ah, you prove yourself a trusty friend--loyal to the backbone!" - -"For Heaven's sake, make no appeal to our friendship!" - -"What! Appeal? I? Oh, this is too much!" - -"You are trying me beyond endurance. Can't you understand? Why keep up -this farce of pretense?" - -There was genuine emotion in Winter's voice, but Furneaux's harsh laugh -mingled with the soughing of the laden branches that tossed in the wind. - -"Farce, indeed!" he cried. "I refuse to continue it. Go, then, and be -punished--you deserve it--you, whom I trusted more than a brother." - -He turned on his heel, and made off, a weird figure in those wind-blown -tatters, and Winter watched him with eyes that had in them some element -of fear, almost of hope, for in that hour he could have forgiven -Furneaux were he standing by his corpse. - -But the instinct of duty soon came uppermost. He had seen his colleague -bury something in the grave, and the briefest search brought to light -the daggers in their cardboard coffin. Even in that overwhelming gloom -of night and shivering yews he recognized one of the weapons. A groan -broke from him, as it were, in protest. - -"Mad!" he sighed, "stark, staring mad--to leave this here, where he knew -I must find it. My poor Furneaux! Perhaps that is best. I must defer -action for a few hours, if only to give him a last chance." - -While the Chief Inspector was stumbling to the gate of the -Cemetery--which was long since closed to all except those who could show -an official permit--one of his subordinates was viewing the Feldisham -Mansions crime in a far different light. Inspector Clarke, in whom -elation at his discovery was chastened by chagrin at his loss, was -walking towards Scotland Yard and saying to himself: - -"I can prove, anyhow, that I took the rotten things from his trunk. So -now, Monsieur Janoc, the next and main item is to arrest you!" - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - OSBORNE MAKES A VOW - - -When Inspector Winter returned to his office from the cemetery he sat at -his desk, gazing at the two daggers before him, and awaiting the coming -of Clarke, from whom he expected to receive a full report of an -interview with Pauline Dessaulx in connection with the disappearance of -Rosalind. - -There lay that long sought-for Saracen dagger at last: and Furneaux had -it, had been caught burying it in the grave of her who had been killed -by it. Was not this fact, added to the fact that Furneaux was seen in -Osborne's museum before the murder--was it not enough to -justify--indeed, enough to demand--Furneaux's arrest straight away? And -Furneaux had visited Rose de Bercy that night--had been seen by Bertha -Seward, the actress's cook! And yet Winter hesitated.... What had been -Furneaux's motive? There was as yet no ray of light as to that, though -Winter had caused elaborate inquiries to be made in Jersey as to -Furneaux's earlier career there. And there were _two_ daggers buried, -not one.... - -"Where does _this_ come in, this _second_ dagger...?" wondered Winter, a -maze of doubt and horror clouding his brain. - -Just then Clarke arrived, rather breathless, jubilant, excited, but -Winter had already hidden the daggers instinctively--throwing them into -a drawer of his writing-desk. - -"Well, what news of Miss Marsh?" he asked, with a semblance of official -calm he was far from feeling. - -"The fact is, sir, I haven't been to Pauline Des----" - -"What!" - -"I was nearly at her door when I came across Gaston Janoc----" - -"Oh, Heavens!" muttered Winter in despair. "You and your eternal -Janocs----" - -The smiling Clarke looked at his chief in full confidence that he would -not be reprimanded for having disobeyed orders. Suddenly making three -steps on tiptoe, he said in Winter's ear: - -"Don't be too startled--here's an amazing piece of information for you, -sir--_it was Gaston Janoc_ who committed the Feldisham Mansions murder!" - -Winter stared at him without real comprehension. "Gaston Janoc!" his -lips repeated. - -"I want to apply to-morrow for a warrant for his arrest," crowed Clarke. - -"But, man alive!--don't drive me distracted," cried out Winter; "what -are you talking about?" - -"Oh, I am not acting on any impulse," said Clarke, placidly satisfied, -enthroned on facts; "I may tell you now that I have been working on the -Feldisham Mansions affair from the first on my own account. I couldn't -help it. I was drawn to it as a needle by a magnet, and I now have all -the threads--ten distinct proofs--in my hands. It was Gaston Janoc did -it! Just listen to this, sir----" - -"Oh, do as you like about your wretched Anarchist, Clarke," said Winter -pestered, waving him away; "I can't stop now. I sent you to do -something, and you should have done it. Miss Marsh's mother is half dead -with fright and grief; the thing is pressing, and I'll go myself." - -With a snatch at his hat, he rushed out, Clarke following sullenly to go -home, though on his way northward, by sheer force of habit, he strolled -through Soho, looked up at Janoc's windows, and presently, catching -sight of Janoc himself coming out of the restaurant on the ground floor, -nodded after him, muttering to himself: "Soon now----" and went off. - -But had he shadowed his Janoc just then, it might have been well! The -Frenchman first went into a French shop labeled "Vins et Comestibles," -where he bought slices of sausage and a bottle of cheap wine, from which -he got the cork drawn--he already carried half a loaf of bread wrapped -in paper, and with bread, sausage, and wine, bent his way through -spitting rain and high wind, his coat collar turned up round his neck, -to a house in Poland Street. - -An unoccupied house: its window-glass thicker than itself with grime, -broken in some of the panes, while in others were roughly daubed the -words: "To Let." But he possessed a key, went in, picked up a -candlestick in the passage, and lit the candle-end it contained. - -At the end of the passage he went down a narrow staircase of wood, then -down some stone steps, to the door of a back cellar: and this, too, he -opened with a key. - -Rosalind was crouching on the floor in the corner farthest from the -door, her head bent down, her feet tucked under her skirt. She had been -asleep: for the air in there was very heavy, the cellar hardly twelve -feet square, no windows, and the slightest movement roused a cloud of -dust. The walls were of rough stone, without break or feature, save -three little vaulted caves like ovens in the wall facing the door, made -to contain wine bottles and small barrels: in fact, one barrel and -several empty bottles now lay about in the dust. Besides, there were -sardine tins and a tin of mortadel, and relics of sausage and bread, -with which Janoc had lately supplied his prisoner, with a bottle half -full of wine, and one of water: all showing very dimly in the feeble -rays of the candle. - -She looked at him, without moving, just raising her scornful eyes and no -more, and he, holding up the light, looked at her a good time. - -"Lady," he said at last, "I have brought you some meat, wine, and -bread." - -She made no answer. He stepped forward, and laid them by her side; then -walked back to the door, as if to go out, coughing at the dust; but -stopped and leant his back on the wall near the door, his legs crossed, -looking down at her. - -"Lady," he said presently, "you still remain fixed in your obstinacy?" - -No answer: only her wide-open reproving eyes dwelt on him with their -steady accusation like a conscience, and her hand stuck and stuck many -times with a hat-pin her hat which lay on her lap. Her gown appeared to -be very frowsy and unkempt now; her hair was untidy, and quite gray with -dust on one side, her face was begrimed and stained with the tracks of -tears; but her lips were firm, and the wonderful eyes, chiding, -disdainful, gave no sign of a drooping spirit. - -"You will say nothing to me?" asked Janoc. - -No answer. - -"Is it that you think I may relent and let you free, lady, because my -heart weakens at your suffering? Do not imagine such a thing of me! The -more you are beautiful, the more you are sublime in your torture, the -more I adore you, the more my heart pours out tears of blood for you, -the more I am inflexible in my will. You do not know me--I am a man, I -am not a wind; a mind, not an emotion. Oh, pity is strong in me, love is -strong; but what is strongest of all is self-admiration, my worship of -intelligence. And have I not made it impossible that you should be let -free without conditions by my confession to you that it was my sister -Pauline who killed the actress? I tell you again it was Pauline who -killed her. It was not a murder! It was an assassination--a political -assassination. Mademoiselle de Bercy had proved a traitress to the group -of Internationals to which she belonged: she was condemned to death; the -lot fell upon Pauline to execute the sentence; and on the day appointed -she executed it, having first stolen from Mr. Osborne the 'celt' and the -dagger, so as to cast the suspicion upon him. I tell you this of my -sister--of one who to me is dearest on earth; and, having told you all -this, is it any longer possible that I should set you free without -conditions? You see, do you not, that it is impossible?" - -No answer. - -"I only ask you to promise--to give your simple word--not to say, or -hint, to anyone that Pauline had the daggers. What a risk I take! What -trust in you! I do not know you--I but trust blindly in the -highly-evolved, that divine countenance which is yours; and since it was -with the object of saving my sister that you came here with me, my -gratitude to you deepens my trust. Give me, then, this promise, Miss -Marsh!" - -Now her lips opened a little to form the word "No," which he could just -catch. - -"Sublime!" he cried--"and I am no less sublime. If I was rich, if I had -a fair name, and if I could dare to hope to win the love of a lady such -as you, how favored of the gods I should be! But that is--a dream. Here, -then, you will remain, until the day that Pauline is safely hidden in -France: and on that day--since for myself I care little--I will open -this door to you: never before. Meanwhile, tell me if you think of -anything more that I can do for your comfort." - -No answer. - -"Good-night." He turned to go. - -"You made me a promise," she said at the last moment. - -"I have kept it," he said. "This afternoon, at great risk to myself, I -wrote to your mother the words: 'Your daughter is alive and safe.' Are -you satisfied?" - -"Thank you," she said. - -"Good-night," he murmured again. - -Having locked the door, he waited five minutes outside silently, to hear -if she sobbed or wailed in there in the utter dark: but no sound came to -him. He went upstairs, put out the light, put down the candlestick in -the passage, and was just drawing back the door latch, when he was aware -of a strong step marching quickly along an almost deserted pavement. - -After a little he peeped out and recognized the heavy figure of -Inspector Winter. Even Janoc, the dreamer, whose dreams took such tragic -shape, was surprised for an instant. - -"How limited is the consciousness of men!" he muttered. "That so-called -clever detective little guesses what he has just passed by." - -But Winter, too, might have indulged in the same reflection: "How -limited the consciousness of Janoc! He doesn't know where I am passing -to--to visit and question his sister Pauline!" - -Winter, a little further on, took a taxicab to Porchester Gardens, got -out at the bottom of the street, and was walking on to Mrs. Marsh's -temporary residence, when he saw Furneaux coming the opposite way. - -Winter wished to pretend not to see him, but Furneaux spoke. - -"Well, Providence throws us together somehow!" - -"Ah! Why blame Providence?" said Winter, with rather a snarl. - -"Not two hours ago there was our chance meeting by that graveside----" - -The "chance" irritated Winter to the quick. - -"You have all the faults of the French nature," he said bitterly, -"without any of its merits: its levity without its industry, its -pettiness without its minuteness----" - -"And you the English frankness without its honesty. The chief thing -about a Frenchman is his intelligence. At least you do not deny that I -am intelligent?" - -"I have thought you intelligent. I am damned if I think you so any -longer." - -"Oh, you will again--soon--when I wish it. We met just now at a grave, -and there was more buried in that grave than the grave-diggers know: and -we both stood looking at it: but I fancy there were more X-rays in my -eye to see what was buried there than in yours!" - -Driven beyond the bounds of patience, Winter threw out an arm in angry -protest. - -"Ha! ha! ha!" tittered Furneaux. - -An important official at Scotland Yard must learn early the value of -self-control. Consumed with a certain sense of the monstrous in this -display of untimely mirth, Winter only gnawed a bristle or two of his -mustache. He looked strangely at Furneaux, and they lingered together, -loath to part, having still something bitter and rankling to say, but -not knowing quite what, since men who have been all in all to each other -cannot quarrel without some childish tone of schoolboy spite mingling in -the wrangle. - -"I believe I know where you are going now!" jeered Furneaux. - -"Ah, you were always good at guessing." - -"Going to pump the Pauline girl about Miss Marsh." - -"True, of course, but not a very profound analysis considering that I am -just ten yards from the house." - -"Don't you even know where Miss Rosalind Marsh is?" asked Furneaux, -producing a broken cigar from a pocket and sniffing it, simply because -he was well aware that the trick displeased his superior. - -"No. Do you?" Winter jeered back at him. - -"I do." - -"Oh, the sheerest bluff!" - -"No, no bluff. I know." - -"Well, let me imagine that it is bluff, anyway: for brute as a man might -be, I won't give you credit for being _such_ a brute as to keep that -poor old lady undergoing the torments of hell through a deliberate -silence of yours." - -"Didn't you say that I have all the bad qualities of the Latin -temperament?" answered Furneaux. "Now, there is something cat-like in -the Latin; a Spaniard, for example, can be infernally cruel at a -bullfight; and I'll admit that _I_ can, too. But 'torments of hell' is -rather an exaggeration, nor will the 'torments' last mortally long, for -to-morrow afternoon at about four--at the hour that I choose--in the -hour that I am ready--Miss Marsh will drive up to that door there." - -"Evidently you were not born in Jersey, but in Gascony," Winter said -sourly. - -"Wrong again! A Jersey man will bounce any Gascon off his feet," said -Furneaux. "And, just to pile up the agony, here is another sample for -you, since you accuse me of bluffing. To-morrow afternoon, at that same -hour--about four--I shall have that scoundrel Osborne in custody charged -with the murder in Feldisham Mansions." - -"Mr. Osborne?" whispered Winter, towering and frowning above his -diminutive adversary. "Oh, Furneaux, you drive me to despair by your -folly. If you are mad, which I hope you are, that explains, I suppose, -your delusion that others are mad, too." - -"Genius is closely allied with insanity," said Furneaux carelessly; -"yet, you observe that I have never hinted any doubt as to your -saneness. Wait, you'll see: my case against Osborne is now complete. A -warrant can't be refused, not even by you, and to-morrow, as sure as you -stand there, I lay my hand on your protégé's shoulder." - -Winter nearly choked in his rage. - -"All right! We'll see about that!" he said with a furious nod of menace. -Furneaux chuckled; and now by a simultaneous impulse they walked apart, -Furneaux whistling, in Winter a whirlwind of passion blowing the last -shreds of pity from his soul. - -He was soon sitting at the bedside of Pauline Dessaulx, now -convalescent, though the coming of this strange man threw her afresh -into a tumult of agitation. But Winter comforted her, smoothed her hand, -assured her that there was no cause for alarm. - -"I know that you took Mademoiselle de Bercy's diary," he said to her, -"and it was very wrong of you not to give it up to the police, and to -hide yourself as you did when your evidence was wanted. But, don't be -frightened--I am here to-night to see if you can throw any light on the -sad disappearance of Miss Marsh. The suspense is killing her mother, and -I feel sure that it has some connection with the Feldisham Mansions -affair. Now, can you help me? Think--tell me." - -"Oh, I cannot!" She wrung her hands in a paroxysm of distress--"If I -could, I would. I cannot imagine----!" - -"Well, then, that part of my inquiry is ended. Only, listen to this -attentively. I want to ask you one other question: Why did you leave the -Exhibition early on the night of the murder, and where did you go to?" - -"_I--I--I_, sir!" she said, pointing to her guiltless breast with a -gaping mouth; "I, poor me, I _left_----?" - -"Oh, come now, don't delude yourself that the police are fools. You went -to the Exhibition with the cook, Hester Se----" - -"And she has said such a thing of me? She has declared that _I_ -left----?" - -"Yes, she has. Why trouble to deny it? You did leave--By the way, have -you a brother or any other relative in London----?" - -"_I--I_, sir! A brother? Ah, mon Dieu! Oh, but, sir----!" - -"Really you must calm yourself. You went away from the Exhibition at an -early hour. There is no doubt about it, and you must have a brother or -some person deeply interested in you, for some man afterwards got hold -of the cook, Bertha Seward, and begged her for Heaven's sake not to -mention your departure from the Exhibition that night. He gave her -money--she told me so. And Inspector Clarke knows it, as well as I, for -Hester Seward has told me that he went to question her----" - -"M'sieur _Clarke_!"--at the name of "Clarke," which she whispered after -him, the girl's face turned a more ghastly gray, for Clarke was the -ogre, the griffon, the dragon of her recent life, at the mere mention of -whom her heart leaped guiltily. Suddenly, abandoning the struggle, she -fell back from her sitting posture, tried to hide her face in the -bedclothes, and sobbed wildly: - -"I didn't do it! I didn't do it!" - -"Do what? Who said you had done anything?" asked Winter. "It isn't _you_ -that Mr. Clarke suspects, you silly child, it is a man named----" - -She looked up with frenzied eyes to hear the name--but Winter stopped. -In his hands the unhappy Pauline was a little hedge-bird in the talons -of a hawk. - -"Named?" she repeated. - -"Never mind his name." - -She buried her head afresh, giving out another heart-rending sob, and -from her smothered lips came the words: - -"It wasn't I--it was--it was----" - -"It was who?" asked Winter. - -She shivered through the whole of her delicate frame, and a low murmur -came from her throat: - -"You have seen the diary--it was Monsieur Furneaux." - -Oddly enough, despite his own black conviction, this was not what Winter -expected to hear. - -He started, and said sharply: - -"Oh, you are stupid. Why are you saying things that you know nothing -of?" - -"May Heaven forgive me for accusing anyone," she sobbed hoarsely. "But -it was not anybody else. It could not be. You have seen the diary--it -was Mr. Furneaux, or it was Mr. Osborne." - -"Ah, two accusations now," cried Winter. "Furneaux or Osborne! You are -trying to shield someone? What motive could Mr. Furneaux, or Mr. -Osborne, have for such an act?" - -"Was not Mr. Osborne her lover? And was not Mr. Furneaux her--husband?" - -"Her----!" - -In that awesome moment Winter hardly realized what he said. Half -starting out of his chair, he glared in stupor at the shrinking figure -on the bed, while every drop of blood fled away from his own face. - -There was a long silence. Then Winter, bending over her, spoke almost in -the whisper of those who share a shameful secret. - -"You say that Mr. Furneaux was her husband? You know it?" - -She trembled violently, but nerved herself to answer: - -"Yes, I know it." - -"Tell me everything. You must! Do you understand? I order you." - -"She told me herself when we were friends. She was married to him in the -church of St. Germain l'Auxerrois in Paris on the 7th of November in the -year '98. But she soon left him, since he had not the means to support -her. I have her marriage certificate in my trunk." - -Winter sat some minutes spellbound, his big round eyes staring at the -girl, but not seeing her, his forehead glistening. This, then, supplied -the long-sought motive. The unfaithful wife was about to marry another. -This was the key. An affrighting callousness possessed him. He became -the cold, unbending official again. - -"You must get up at once, and give me that certificate," he said in the -tone of authority, and went out of the room. In a little while she -placed the paper in his hands, and he went away with it. Were she not so -distraught she might have seen that it shook in his fingers. - -Now he, like Clarke, held all the threads of an amazing case. - -The next afternoon Furneaux was to arrest Osborne--it was for him, -Winter, then, to anticipate such an outrage by the swift arrest of -Furneaux. But was he quite ready? He wished he could secure another -day's grace to collate and systematize each link of his evidence, and he -hurried to Osborne's house in order to give Osborne a hint to vanish -again for a day or two. Nevertheless, when at the very door, he paused, -refrained, thought that he would manage things differently, and went -away. - -On one of the blinds of the library as he passed he saw the shadow of a -head--of Osborne's head in fact, who in that hour of despair was sitting -there, bowed down, hopeless now of finding Rosalind, whom he believed to -be dead. - -Though Mrs. Marsh had that evening received a note from Janoc: "Your -daughter is alive," as yet Osborne knew nothing of it. He was mourning -his loss in solitude when a letter was brought to him by Jenkins. He -tore it open. After an uncomprehending glare at the written words he -suddenly grasped their meaning. - - The writer believes that your ex-secretary, Miss Hylda Prout, - could tell you where Miss Rosalind Marsh is imprisoned. - -"Imprisoned!" That was the word that pierced the gloom and struck -deepest. She was alive, then--that was joy. But a prisoner--in what hole -of blackness? Subject to what risks? In whose power? In ten seconds he -was rushing out of the house, and was gone. - -During the enforced respite of a journey in a cab he looked again at the -mysterious note. It was a man's hand; small, neat writing; no signature. -Who could have written it? But his brain had no room for guessing. He -looked out to cry to the driver: "A sovereign for a quick run." - -To his woe, Hylda Prout was not in her lodgings when he arrived there. -During the last few days he had known nothing of her movements. After -that flare-up of passion in the library, the relation of master and -servant had, of course, come to an end between them; and the lady of the -house in Holland Park where Hylda rented two rooms told him that Miss -Prout had gone to see her brother for the weekend, and was not expected -back till noon on the following day. - -And Osborne did not know where her brother lived! His night was dismal -with a horror of sleeplessness. - -Long before midday he was in Hylda's sitting-room, only to pace it to -and fro in an agony of impatience till two o'clock--and then she came. - -"Oh, I have waited hours--weary hours!" he cried with a reproach that -seemed to sweep aside the need for explanations. - -"I am so sorry!--sit here with me." - -She touched his hand, leading him to a couch and sitting near him, her -hat still on, a flush on her pale face. - -"Hylda"--her heart leapt: he called her "Hylda"!--"you know where Miss -Marsh is." - -She sprang to her feet in a passion. - -"So it is to talk to me about another woman that you have come? I who -have humbled myself, lost my self-respect----" - -Osborne, too, stood up, stung to the quick by this mood of hers, so -foreign to the disease of impatience and care in which he was being -consumed. - -"My good girl," he said, "are you going to be reasonable?" - -"Come, then," she retorted, "let us be reasonable." She sat down again, -her hands crossed on her lap, a passionate vindictiveness in her pursed -lips, but a mock humility in her attitude. - -"Tell me! tell me! Where shall I find her?" and he bent in eager -pleading. - -"No. How is it possible that I should tell you?" - -"But you do know! Somehow you do! I see and feel it. Tell it me, Hylda! -Where is she?" - -She looked up at him with a smiling face which gave no hint of the asp's -nest of jealousy which the sight of his agony and longing created in her -bosom. And from those calm lips furious words came out: - -"Why, I horribly hate the woman--and since I happen to know that she is -suffering most vilely, do you think it likely that I would tell you -where she is?" - -He groaned, as his heart sank, his head dropped, his hope died. He moved -slowly away to a window; then, with a frantic rush was back to her, on -his knees, telling her of his wealth--it was more than she could -measure!--and he had a checkbook in his pocket--all, one might say, was -hers--she had only to name a sum--a hundred thousand, two -hundred--anything--luxury for life, mansions, position--just for one -little word, one little act of womanly kindliness. - -When he stopped for lack of breath, she covered her eyes with the back -of her hand, and began to cry; he saw her lips stretched in the tension -of her emotion. - -"Why do you cry?--that achieves nothing--listen----" he panted. - -"To be offered money--to be so wounded--I who----" She could not go on. - -"My God! Then I offer you--what you will--my friendship--my -gratitude--my affection--only speak----" - -"For another woman! Slave that you are to her! she is sweet to you, is -she, in your heart? But she shall never have you--be sure of that--not -while I draw the breath of life! If you want her free, I will sell -myself for nothing less than yourself--you must marry me!" - -Her astounding demand struck him dumb. He picked himself slowly up from -her feet, walked again to the window, and stood with his back to her--a -long time. Once she saw his head drop, heard him sob, heard the words: -"Oh, no, not that"; and she sat, white and silent, watching him. - -When he returned to her his eyes were calm, his face of a grim and stern -pallor. He sat by her, took her hand, laid his lips on it. - -"You speak of marriage," he said gently, "but just think what kind of a -marriage that would be--forced, on one side--I full of resentment -against you for the rest of my life----" - -Thus did he try to reason with her, tried to show her a better way, -offering to vow not to marry anyone for two years, during which he -promised to see whether he could not acquire for her those feelings -which a husband---- - -But she cut him short coldly. In two years she would be dead without -him. She would kill herself. Life lived in pain was a thing of no -value--a human life of no more value than a fly's. If he would marry -her, she would tell him where Miss Marsh was: and, after the marriage, -if he did not love her, she knew a way of setting him free--though, even -in that case, Rosalind Marsh should never have him--she, Hylda, would -see to that. - -For the first time in his life Osborne knew what it was to hate. He, the -man accused of murder, felt like a murderer, but he had grown strangely -wise, and realized that this woman would die cheerfully rather than -reveal her secret. He left her once more, stood ten minutes at the -window--then laughed harshly. - -"I agree," he said quite coolly, turning to her. - -She, too, was outwardly cool, though heaven and hell fought together in -her bosom. She held out to him a Bible. He kissed it. - -"When?" she asked. - -"This day week," he said. - -She wrote on a piece of paper the address of a house in Poland Street; -and handed it to him. - -"Miss Marsh is there," she said, as though she were his secretary of -former days, in the most business-like way. - -He walked straight out without another word, without a bow to her. - -When he was well out of the house he began to run madly, for there was -no cab in sight. But he had not run far when he collided with Inspector -Furneaux. - -"Mr. Osborne," said Furneaux--"one word. I think you are interested in -the disappearance of Miss Marsh? Well, I am happy to say that I am in a -position to tell you where that lady is." - -He looked with a glitter of really fiendish malice in his eyes at the -unhappy man who leant against a friendly wall, his face white as death. - -"Are you ill, sir?" asked Furneaux, with mock solicitude. - -"Why, man, your information is a minute late," muttered Osborne; "I have -it already--I have bought it." He held out the paper with the address in -Poland Street. - -Furneaux gazed at him steadily as he leant there, looking ready to drop; -then suddenly, eagerly, he said: - -"You say '_bought_': do you mean with money?" - -"No, not with money--with my youth, with my life!" - -Furneaux seemed to murmur to himself: "As I hoped!" And now the glitter -of malice passed away from his softened eyes, his forehead flushed a -little, out went his hand to Osborne, who, in a daze of misery, without -in the least understanding why, mechanically shook it. - -"Surely, Mr. Osborne," said Furneaux, "Miss Marsh would consider that a -noble deed of you, if she knew it." - -"She will never know it." - -"Oh, never is a long time. One must be more or less hopeful. -Unfortunately, I am compelled to inform you that I am here to arrest -you----" - -"Me? At last! For the murder?" - -"It was to be, Mr. Osborne. But, come, you shall first have the joy of -setting free Miss Marsh, to whom you have given so much--there's a -cab----" - -Osborne followed him into the cab with a reeling brain. Yet he smiled -vacantly. - -"I hope I shall be hanged," he said, in a sort of self-communing. "That -will be better than marriage--better, too, than deserving to be hanged, -which might have been true of me a few minutes ago. Why, I killed a -woman in thought just now--killed her, with my hands. Yes, this is -better. I should hate to have done that wretched thing, but now I am -safe--safe from--myself." - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - THE ARRESTS - - -As Furneaux and Osborne were being driven rapidly to Poland Street, bent -on the speedy release of Rosalind, Inspector Winter, for his part, was -seeking for Furneaux in a fury of haste, eager to arrest his colleague -before the latter could arrest Osborne. At the same time Clarke, -determined to bring matters to a climax by arresting Janoc, was lurking -about a corner of Old Compton Street, every moment expecting the passing -of his quarry. Each man was acting without a warrant. The police are -empowered to arrest "on suspicion," and each of the three could produce -proof in plenty to convict his man. - -As for Winter, he knew that where Osborne was Furneaux would not be far -that day. Hence, when in the forenoon he received notice from one of his -watchers that Furneaux had that morning deliberately fled from -observation, he bade his man watch Osborne's steps with one eye, while -the other searched the offing for the shadow of Furneaux, on the sound -principle that "wheresoever the carcase is, there will the eagles be -gathered together." - -Thus Osborne's ride to Holland Park to see Hylda Prout had been -followed; and, two hours afterwards, while he was still waiting for -Hylda's arrival, Winter's spy from behind the frosted glass of a -public-house bar had watched Furneaux's arrival and long wait on the -pavement. He promptly telephoned the fact to Winter, and Winter was -about to set out westward from Scotland Yard when the detective -telephoned afresh to say that Mr. Osborne had appeared out of the house, -and had been accosted by Furneaux. The watcher, quite a smart youngster -from a suburban station, hastened from his hiding-place. Evidently, -Furneaux was careless of espionage at that moment. He hailed a cab -without so much as a glance at the man passing close to Osborne and -himself on the pavement, and it was easy to overhear the address given -to the driver--a house in Poland Street. - -Why to Poland Street Winter could not conceive. At all events, the fact -that the drive was not to a police-station inspired him with the hope -that Osborne's arrest was for some reason not yet an accomplished fact, -and he, too, set off for Poland Street, which happily lay much nearer -Scotland Yard than Holland Park. - -Meantime, Osborne and Furneaux were hastening eastward in silence, -Osborne with his head bent between his clenched hands, and an expression -of face as wrenched with pain as that of a man racked with neuralgia. It -was now that he began to feel in reality the tremendousness of the vow -he had just made to marry Hylda Prout, in order to set Rosalind free. -Compared to that his impending arrest was too little a thing for him to -care about. But as they were spinning along by Kensington Gardens, a -twinge of curiosity prompted him to ask why he was to be arrested now, -after being assured repeatedly that the police would not formulate any -charge against him. - -Furneaux looked straight in front of him, and when he answered, his -voice was metallic. - -"There was no escaping it, Mr. Osborne," he said. "But be thankful for -small mercies. I was waiting there in the street for you, intending to -pounce on you at once, but when I knew that you had sacrificed yourself -for Miss Marsh, I thought, 'He deserves to be permitted to release her': -for, to promise to marry Miss Prout----" - -"What are you saying? How could you possibly know that I promised to -marry Miss Prout?" - -Osborne's brain was still seething, but some glimmer of his wonted clear -judgment warned him of the exceeding oddity of the detective's remark. - -"Well, you told me that you had 'bought' the knowledge of her -whereabouts with 'your youth and your life'--so I assumed that there -could be no other explanation." - -"Still, that is singularly deep guessing----!" - -"Well, if you demand greater accuracy, I foresaw exactly what would be -the result of your interview with your late secretary, in case you -really did care for Miss Marsh. Therefore, I brought about the interview -because----" - -"_You_ brought it about?" cried Osborne in a crescendo of astonishment. - -"Yes. You see I am candid. You are aware that I knew where Miss Marsh -could be found, and I might have given you the information direct. But I -preferred to write a note telling you that you must depend on Miss Prout -for tidings." - -"Ah! it was you, then, who sent that note! But how cruel, how savagely -cruel! Could you not have told me yourself? Don't you realize that your -detestable action has bound me for life to a woman whom--Oh, I hope, -since you are about to arrest me, that you will prove me guilty, for if -I live, life henceforth will hold nothing for me save Dead Sea fruit!" - -He covered his eyes, but Furneaux, whose face was twitching curiously, -laid a hand on his knee, and said in a low voice: - -"Do not despair. You are not the only man in the world who suffers. I -had reasons--and strong reasons--for acting in this manner. One reason -was that I was uncertain of the depth of your affection for Miss Marsh, -and I wished to be as certain as you have now made me." - -"But how on earth could that concern you, the depth or shallowness of my -affection for Miss Marsh?" asked Osborne in a white heat of anger and -indignation. - -"Nevertheless, it did concern me," answered Furneaux dryly; "I cannot, -at present, explain everything to you. I had a suspicion that your -affection for Miss Marsh was trivial: if it had been, you would then -have shown a criminal forgetfulness of the dead woman whom so recently -you said you loved. In that event, you would have found me continuing -the part I have played in regard to you--anything but a friend. As -matters stand, I say I may yet earn your gratitude for what to-day you -call my cruelty." - -Osborne passed his hands across his eyes wearily. - -"I fear I can neither talk myself, nor quite understand what you mean by -your words," he murmured. "My poor head is rather in a whirl. You see, I -have given my promise--I have sworn on the Bible to that woman--nothing -can ever alter that, or release me now. I am--done for----" - -His chin dropped on his breast. He had the semblance of a man who had -lost all--for whom death had no terrors. - -"Nevertheless, I tell you that I forecasted the result of your interview -with Hylda Prout," persisted Furneaux. "Even now I do not see your -reason for despair. I knew that Miss Prout had an ardent attachment to -you; I said to myself: 'She will surely seek to sell the information in -her possession for what she most longs for, and the possibility is that -Osborne may yield to her terms--always provided that his attachment to -the other lady is profound. If it is not profound, I find out by this -device; if it is profound, he becomes engaged to Miss Prout, which is a -result that I greatly wish to bring about before his arrest.'" - -"My God! why?" asked Osborne, looking up in a tense agony that might -have moved a less sardonic spirit. - -"For certain police reasons," said Furneaux, smiling with the smug air -of one who has given an irrefutable answer. - -"But what a price _I_ pay for these police reasons! Is this fair, -Inspector Furneaux? Now, in Heaven's name, is this fair? Life-long -misery on the one hand, and some trick of officialism on the other!" - -The detective seemed to think the conversation at an end, since he sat -in silence and stared blankly out of the window. - -Osborne shrank into his corner, quite drooping and pinched with misery, -and brooded over his misfortunes. Presently he started, and asked -furiously: - -"In what possible way did Hylda Prout come to know where Miss Marsh was -hidden, to use your own ridiculous word?" - -"Miss Prout happens to be a really clever woman," answered Furneaux. "In -the times of Richelieu she would have governed France from an _alcôve_. -You had better ask her herself how she obtained her knowledge. Still, I -don't mind telling you that Miss Marsh has been imprisoned in a -wine-cellar by a certain Anarchist, a great man in his way, and that -your former secretary has of late days developed quite an intimate -acquaintance with Anarchist circles----" - -"Anarchist?" gasped Osborne. "My Rosalind--imprisoned in a wine-cellar?" - -"It is a tangled skein," purred Furneaux with a self-satisfied smirk; "I -am afraid we haven't time now to go into it." - -The cab crossed Oxford Circus--two minutes more and they were in Soho. - -Winter at that moment was on the lookout for Furneaux at the corner of a -shabby street which traverses Poland Street. As for Clarke, he had -vanished from the nook in Compton Street where he was loitering in the -belief that Janoc would soon pass. In order to understand exactly the -amazing events that were now reaching their crisis it is necessary to go -back half an hour and see how matters had fared with Clarke.... - -During his long vigil, he, in turn, had been watched most intently by -the Italian, Antonio, who, quickly becoming suspicious, hastened to a -barber's shop, kept by a compatriot, where Janoc was in hiding. Into -this shop he pitched to pant a frenzied warning. - -"Sauriac says that Inspector Clarke has been up your stairs--may have -entered your rooms--and I myself have just seen him prowling round Old -Compton Street!" - -Agitation mastered Janoc; he, who so despised those bunglers, the -police, now began to fear them. Out he pelted, careless of consequences, -and Antonio after him. - -He made straight for his third-floor back, and, losing a few seconds in -his eagerness to unlock the door, rushed to the trunk in which he had -left the two daggers, meaning to do away with them once and for all. - -And now he knew how he had blundered in keeping them. He looked in the -trunk and saw, not the daggers, but the gallows! - -For the first time in his life he nearly fainted. Political desperadoes -of his type are often neurotic--weak as women when the hour of trial is -at hand, but strong as women when the spirit has subdued the flesh. -During some moments of sheer despair he knelt there, broken, swaying, -with clasped hands and livid face. Then he stood up slowly, with some -degree of calmness, with no little dignity. - -"They are gone," he said to Antonio, pointing tragically. - -Antonio's hands tore at his hair, his black eyes glared out of their red -rims with the look of a hunted animal that hears the hounds baying in -close pursuit. - -"This means the sure conviction either of her or me," went on Janoc. "My -efforts have failed--I must confess to the murder." - -"My friend!" cried Antonio. - -"Set free Miss Marsh for me," said Janoc, and he walked down the stairs, -without haste, yet briskly--Antonio following him at some distance -behind, with awe, with reverence, as one follows a conqueror. - -Janoc went unfalteringly to his doom. Clarke, seeing him come, chuckled -and lounged toward him. - -"It is for me you wait--yes?" said Janoc, pale, but strong. - -"There may be something in _that_," said Clarke, though he was slightly -taken aback by the question. - -"You have the daggers--yes?" - -This staggered him even more, but he managed to growl: - -"You may be sure of that." - -"Well, I confess! I did it!" - -At last! The garish street suddenly assumed roseate tints in the -detective's eyes. - -"Oh, you do?" he cried thickly. "You confess that you killed Rose de -Bercy on the night of the 3d of July at Feldisham Mansions?" - -"Yes, I confess it." - -Clarke laid a hand on Janoc's sleeve, and the two walked away. - -As for Antonio, in an ecstasy of excitement he cast his eyes and his -arms on high together, crying out, "_O Dio mio!_" and the next moment -was rushing to find a cab to take him to Porchester Gardens. Arrived -there, he rang, and the instant Pauline appeared, she being now -sufficiently recovered to attend to her duties, his right hand went out -in a warning clutch at her shoulder. - -"Your brother is arrested!" he cried. - -With her clenched fists drawn back, she glared crazily at him, and her -face reddened for a little while, as if she were furious at the outrage -and suddenness of his news. Then her cheeks whitened, she went faint, -sank back into the shelter of the hall, and leant against an inner -doorway, her eyes closed, her lips parted. - -"Oh, Pauline, be brave!" said Antonio, and tears choked his voice. - -After a time, without opening her eyes, she asked: - -"What proofs have they?" - -"They have found the daggers in his trunk." - -"But _I_ have the daggers!" - -"No, that woman who lived here, your supposed friend, Miss Marsh, stole -the daggers from you, and Janoc secured them from her." - -She moaned, but did not weep. She, who had been timid as a mouse at -sight of Clarke, was now braver than the man. Presently she whispered: - -"Where have they taken him to?" - -"He will have been taken to the Marlborough Street police-station." - -After another silence she said: - -"Thank you, Antonio; leave me." - -Passionately he kissed her hand in silence, and went. - -She was no sooner alone than she walked up to her room, dressed herself -in clothes suited for an out-of-door mission, and went out, heedless and -dumb when a wondering fellow-servant protested. She called a cab--for -Marlborough Street; and now she was as calm and strong as had been her -brother when he gave himself up to Clarke. - -Her cab crossed Oxford Circus about ten minutes ahead of the vehicle -which carried Furneaux and Osborne; and as she turned south to enter -Marlborough Street, she saw Winter, who had lately visited her, standing -at a corner awaiting the arrival of Furneaux. - -"Stop!" Pauline cried to her driver: and she alighted. - -"Well, you are better, I see," said Winter, who did not wish to be -bothered by her at that moment. - -"Sir," said Pauline solemnly in her stilted English, "I regret having -been so unjust as to tell you that it was either Mr. Furneaux or Mr. -Osborne who committed that murder, since it was I myself who did it." - -"What!" roared Winter, stepping backward, and startled most effectually -out of his official phlegm. - -"Sir," said Pauline again, gravely, calmly, "it was not a murder, it was -an assassination, done for political reasons. As I have no mercy to -expect, so I have no pardon to ask, and no act to blush at. It was -political. I give myself into your custody." - -Winter stood aghast. His brain seemed suddenly to have curdled; -everything in the world was topsy-turvy. - -"So that was why you left the Exhibition--to kill that poor woman, -Pauline Dessaulx?" he contrived to say. - -"That is the truth, sir. I could bear to keep it secret no longer, and -was going now to the police-station to give myself up, when I saw you." - -Still Winter made no move. He stood there, frowning in thought, staring -at nothing. - -"And all the proofs I have gathered against--against someone else--all -these are false?" he muttered. - -"I am afraid so, sir," said Pauline, "since it was I who did it with my -own hands." - -"And Mr. Osborne's dagger and flint--where do they come in?" - -"It was I who stole them from Mr. Osborne's museum, sir, to throw -suspicion upon him." - -"Oh, come along," growled Winter. "I believe, I know, you are lying, but -this must be inquired into." - -Not unkindly, acting more like a man in a dream than an officer of the -law, he took her arm, led her to the cab from which she had just -descended, and the two drove away together to the police-station higher -up the street. - -Thus, and thus only, was Inspector Furneaux saved from arrest that day. -Two minutes later he and Osborne passed the very spot where Pauline -found Winter, and reached Poland Street without interference. - -Furneaux produced a bunch of keys when he ran up the steps of the house. -He unlocked the door at once, and the two men entered. Evidently -Furneaux had been there before, for he hurried without hesitation down -the kitchen stairs, put a key into the cellar door, flung it open, and -Osborne, peering wildly over his shoulder, caught a glimpse of Rosalind -sitting on the ground in a corner. - -She did not look up when they entered--apparently she thought it was -Janoc who had come, and with fixed, mournful eyes, like one gazing into -profundities of vacancy, she continued to stare at the floor. Her face -and air were so pitiable that the hearts of the men smote them into -dumbness. - - [Illustration: She did not look up when they entered - _Page 258_] - -Then, half conscious of some new thing, she must have caught sight of -two men instead of the usual one, for she looked up sharply; and in -another moment was staggering to her feet, all hysterical laughter and -sobbings, like a dying light that flickers wildly up and burns low -alternately, trying at one instant to be herself and calm, when she -laughed, and the next yielding to her distress, when she sobbed. She put -out her hand to Osborne in a last effort to be graceful and usual; then -she yielded the struggle, and fainted in his arms. - -Furneaux produced a scent-bottle and a crushed cigar, such as it was his -habit to smell, to present them to her nose.... - -But she did not revive, so Osborne took her in his arms, and carried -her, as though she were a child, up the stone steps, and up the wooden, -and out to the cab. Furneaux allowed him to drive alone with her, -himself following behind in another cab, which was a most singular -proceeding on the part of a detective who had arrested a man accused of -an atrocious murder. - -Half-way to Porchester Gardens Rosalind opened her eyes, and a wild, -heartrending cry came from her parched lips. - -"I will have no more wine nor water--let me die!" - -"Try and keep still, just a few moments, my dear one!" he murmured, -smiling a fond smile of pain, and clasping her more tightly in a -protecting arm. "You are going home, to your mother. You will soon be -there, safe, with her." - -"Oh!"--Then she recognized him, though there was still an uncanny -wildness in her eyes. "I am free--it is you." - -She seemed to falter for words, but raised her hands instinctively to -her hair, knowing it to be all rumpled and dusty. Instinctively, too, -she caught her hat from her knee, and put it on hurriedly. She could not -know what stabs of pain these little feminine anxieties caused her -lover. No spoken words could have portrayed the sufferings she had -endured like unto her pitiful efforts to conceal their ravages. At last -she recovered sufficiently to ask if her mother expected her. - -"I am not sure," said Osborne. "I am not your deliverer; Inspector -Furneaux discovered where you were, and went to your rescue." - -"But you are with him?" and an appealing note of love, of complete -confidence, crept into her voice. - -"I merely happen to be with him, because he is now taking me to a -felon's cell. But he lets me come in the cab with you, because he trusts -me not to run away." - -His smile was very sad and humble, and he laid his disengaged hand on -hers, yielding to a craving for sympathy in his forlornness. But -memories were now thronging fast on her mind, and she drew herself away -from both hand and arm. She recalled that her last sight of him was when -in the embrace of Hylda Prout in his library; and, mixed with that -vision of infamy, was a memory of her letter that had been opened, whose -opening he had denied to her. - -And that snatch of her hand as from a toad's touch, that shrinking from -the pressure of his arm, froze him back into his loneliness of misery. -They remained silent, each in a corner, a world between them, till the -cab was nearly at the door in Porchester Gardens. Then he could not help -saying from the depths of a heavy heart: - -"Probably I shall never see you again! It is good-by now; and no more -Rosalind." - -The words were uttered in a tone of such heart-rending sadness that they -touched some nerve of pity in her. But she could find nothing to say, -other than a quite irrelevant comment. - -"I will tell my mother of your consideration for me. At least, we shall -thank you." - -"If ever you hear anything--of me--that looks black----" he tried to -tell her, thinking of his coming marriage with Hylda Prout, but the -explanation choked in his throat; he only managed to gasp in a quick -appeal of sorrow: "Oh, remember me a little!" - -The cab was at the door. She put out her hand, and he shook it; but did -not offer to escort her inside the house. It was Furneaux who led her up -the steps, and Osborne heard from within a shrill outcry from Mrs. -Marsh. Furneaux waited until the door was closed. Then he rejoined -Osborne. They went, without exchanging a syllable of talk, to -Marlborough Street police-station, where Janoc and his sister were -already lodged. Arrived there, Furneaux formally arrested him, "on -suspicion," charged with the murder of Rose de Bercy. - -"But why _now_?" asked Osborne again. "What has happened to implicate me -now more than before?" - -"Oh, many things have happened, and will happen, that as yet you know -nothing of," said Furneaux, smiling at the stolid station inspector, a -man incapable of any emotion, even of surprise, and Osborne was led away -to be searched for concealed weapons, or poison, before being placed in -a cell. - -Half an hour afterwards Furneaux walked into Winter's quarters. His -chief, writing hard, hardly glanced up, and for some time Furneaux stood -looking at his one-time friend with the eyes of a scientist who -contemplates a new fossil. - -"Well, I have Osborne safe," he said at last. - -"You have, have you?" muttered Winter, scribbling rapidly; but a flush -of anger rose on his forehead, and he added: "It will cost you your -reputation, my good fellow!" - -"Is that all?" cried Furneaux mockingly. "Why, I was looking out for -worse things than that!" - -Winter threw down his pen. - -"You informed me last night," he snarled, "that by this hour Miss Marsh -would have returned to her home. I need not ask----" - -"I have just taken her there," remarked the other coolly. - -Winter was thoroughly nonplused. Everybody, everything, seemed to be -mad. He was staring at Furneaux when Clarke entered. The newcomer's hat -was tilted a little backward, and there was an air of business-like -haste in him from the creak of his boot soles to the drops of -perspiration shining on his brow. He contrived to hold himself back just -long enough to say, "Hello, Furneaux!" and then his burden of news broke -from him: - -"Well, I've got Janoc under lock and key all right." - -"Oh, _you've_ got somebody, too, have you?" groaned Winter. "And on what -charge, pray, have you collared Janoc?" - -"Why, what a question!" cried Clarke. "Didn't I tell you, sir----?" - -"So true," said Winter; "I had almost forgotten. _You_'ve grabbed Janoc, -and the genius of Mr. Furneaux is sated by arresting Mr. Osborne----" - -Clarke slapped his thigh vigorously, doubling up in a paroxysm of -laughter. - -"Osborne! Oh, not Osborne at this time of day!" He leered at Furneaux in -comic wonder--he, who had never dared question aught done by the little -man, save in the safe privacy of his thoughts. - -"And I have arrested Pauline," said Winter in grim irony. - -"Who has?" asked Clarke, suddenly agape. - -"I, I say. Pauline is _my_ prize. _I_ wouldn't be left out in the cold." -And he added bitterly: "We've all got one!--_all_ guilty!--a lovely -story it will make for the newspapers. I suppose, to keep up the -screaming farce, that we each ought to contrive to have our prisoner -tried in a different court!" - -Clarke's hands went akimbo. He swelled visibly, grew larger, taller, and -looked down from his Olympus at the others. - -"But _I_ never dream at night," he cried. "When _I_ arrest a man for -murder he is going to be hanged. You see, _Janoc has confessed_--that's -all: he has confessed!" - -Winter leaped up. - -"Confessed!" he hissed, unable to believe his ears. - -"That's just it," said Clarke--"confessed!" - -"But Pauline has confessed, too!" Winter almost screamed, confronting -his subordinate like an adversary. - -And while Clarke shrank, and gaped in dumb wonder, Furneaux, looking -from one to the other, burst out laughing. Never a word he said, but -turned in his quick way to leave the room. He was already in the -corridor when Winter shouted: - -"Come back, Furneaux!" - -"Not I," was the defiant retort. - -"Come back, or I shall have you brought back!" - -Winter was in a white rage, but Furneaux pressed on daringly, whistling -a tune, and never looking round. Clarke, momentarily expecting the roof -of Scotland Yard to fall in, gazed from Furneaux to Winter and from -Winter to Furneaux until the diminutive Jersey man had vanished round an -angle of a long passage. - -But nothing happened. Winter was beaten to his knees, and he knew it. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - CLEARING THE AIR - - -Winter was far too strong a man to remain long buried in the pit of -humiliation into which Furneaux, aided unwittingly by Clarke, had cast -him. The sounds of Furneaux's jaunty footsteps had barely died away -before he shoved aside the papers on which he had been engaged -previously, and reached across the table for a box of cigars. - -He took one, and shoved the box towards Clarke, whose face was still -glistening in evidence of his rush from Marlborough Street -police-station. - -"Here, you crack-pate!" he said, "smoke; it may clear your silly head." - -"But I can't repeat too often that Janoc has confessed--_confessed_!" -and Clarke's voice rose almost to a squeal on that final word. - -"So has his sister confessed. In an hour or two, when the silence and -horror of a cell have done their work, we shall have Osborne confessing, -too. Oh, man, man, can't you see that Furneaux has twisted each of us -round his little finger?" - -"But--sir----" - -"Yes, I know," cried Winter, in a fume of wrath and smoke. "Believe -these foreign idiots and we shall be hearing of a masked tribunal, -glistening with daggers, a brace of revolvers in every belt--a dozen or -more infuriated conspirators, cloaked in gaberdines, gathered in a West -End flat, while a red-headed woman harangues them. Furneaux has fooled -us, I tell you--deliberately brought the Yard into discredit--made us -the laughing-stock of the public. Oh, I shall never----" - -He pulled himself up, for Clarke was listening with the ears of a -rabbit. Luckily, the detective's ideas were too self-concentrated to -extract much food for thought from these disjointed outpourings. - -"I don't wish to seem wanting in respect, sir," he said doggedly, "but -have you forgotten the diary? Why, Rose de Bercy herself wrote that she -would be killed either by C. E. F. or Janoc. Now----" - -"Did she mention Janoc?" interrupted Winter sharply. "In what passage? I -certainly _have_ forgotten that." - -Clarke, stubborn as a mule, stuck to his point, though he felt that he -had committed himself. - -"Perhaps I did wrong," he growled savagely, "but I couldn't help myself. -You were against me all along, sir--now, weren't you?" - -No answer. Winter waited, and did not even look at him. - -"What was I to do?" he went on in desperation. "You took me off the job -just as I was getting keen in it. Then I happened upon Janoc, and found -his sister, and when I came across that blacked-out name in the diary I -scraped it and sponged it until I could read what was written beneath. -The name was Janoc!" - -"Was it?" said Winter, gazing at him at last with a species of contempt. -"And to throw dust in my eyes--in the eyes of your superior officer--you -inked it out again?" - -"You wouldn't believe," muttered Clarke. "Why, you don't know half this -story. I haven't told you yet how I found the daggers----" - -"You don't say," mocked Winter. - -"But I do, I did," cried Clarke, beside himself with excitement. "I took -them out of Janoc's lodgings, and put them in a cab. I would have them -in my hands this minute if some d--d thing hadn't occurred, some trick -of fate----" - -Winter stooped and unlocked a drawer in his writing-desk. - -"Are these your daggers?" he demanded, though Clarke was shrewd enough, -if in possession of his usual senses, to have caught the note of -suppressed astonishment in the Chief Inspector's voice, since this was -the first he had heard of Furneaux's deliberate pilfering of the weapons -from his colleague. - -But something was singing in Clarke's ears, and his eyes were glued on -the blades resting there in the drawer. Denial was impossible. He -recognized them instantly, and all his assurance fled from that moment. - -"Well, there!" he murmured, in a curiously broken voice. "I give in! I'm -done! I'm a baby at this game. Next thing, I suppose, I'll be asked to -resign--me, who found 'em, and the diary, and the letter telling Janoc -not to kill her--yet." - -He was looking so fixedly at the two daggers that he failed to see the -smile of relief that flitted over Winter's face. Now, more than ever, -the Chief Inspector realized that he was dealing with one of the most -complex and subtle crimes which had come within his twenty years of -experience. He was well versed in Furneaux's sardonic humor, and the -close friendship that had existed between them ever since the little -Jersey man joined the Criminal Investigation Department had alone -stopped him from resenting it. It was clear now to his quick -intelligence that Furneaux had actually planned nearly every discovery -which either he himself or Clarke had made. Why? He could not answer. He -was moving through a fog, blind-folded, with hands tied behind his back. -Search where he would, he could not find a motive, unless, indeed, -Furneaux was impelled by that strangest of all motives, a desire to -convict himself. At any rate, he did not want Clarke to tread on the -delicate ground that must now be covered before Furneaux was arrested, -and the happy accident which had unlocked Clarke's tongue with regard to -the diary would serve admirably to keep him well under control. - -"Now, look here, Inspector Clarke," said Winter severely, after a pause -that left the other in wretched suspense, "you have erred badly in this -matter. For once, I am willing to overlook it--because--because you -fancied you had a grievance. But, remember this--never again! Lack of -candor is fatal to the best interests of the service. It is for me to -decide which cases you shall take up and which you shall leave alone. -You know perfectly well that if, by chance, information reaches you with -regard to any inquiry which may prove useful to the man in charge of it, -it is your duty to tell him everything. I say no more now. You -understand me fully, I have no doubt. You must take it from me, without -question or protest, that neither Janoc nor his sister was responsible -for that crime. They may have been mixed up in it--in some manner now -hidden from me--but they had no share in it personally. Still, seeing -that you have worked so hard, I don't object to your presence while I -prove that I am right. Come with me now to Marlborough Street. Mr. -Osborne must be set at liberty, of course, but I shall confront your -Anarchist friends with one another, and then you will see for yourself -my grounds for being so positive as to their innocence." - -"But you yourself arrested Pauline, sir," Clarke ventured to say. - -"Don't be an ass!" was the cool rejoinder. "Could I refuse to arrest -her? Suppose you told me now that you had killed the Frenchwoman, -wouldn't I be compelled to arrest _you_?" - -"Ha!" laughed Clarke, in solemn mirth, "what about C. E. F.? Wouldn't it -be funny if he owned up to it?" - -Winter answered not a word. He was busy locking the drawer and rolling -down the front of the desk. But Clarke did not really mean what he had -said. His mind was dwelling on the inscrutable mystery of the daggers -which he had last held in his hands in Soho and now knew to be reposing -in a locked desk in Scotland Yard. - -"Would you mind telling me, sir, how you managed to get hold of 'em?" he -asked. - -Winter did not pretend ignorance. - -"You will be surprised to hear that I myself took them, disinterred -them, from the poor creature's grave in Kensal Green Cemetery," he said. - -Clarke's jaw dropped in the most abject amazement. The thing had a -supernatural sound. He felt himself bewitched. - -"From her grave?" he repeated. - -"Yes." - -"But who put 'em there?" - -"Ah," said the other with a new note of sternness in his voice, "who but -the murderer? But come, we are wasting time--that unfortunate Osborne -must be half-demented. I suppose the Marlborough Street people will let -him out on my authority. If not, I must get an order from the -Commissioner. By gad, there will be a fiendish rumpus about this -business before it is all settled!" - -Clarke shivered. He saw a certain well-belovèd detective inspector -figuring prominently in that "rumpus," and he was in no mind to seek a -new career after passing the best part of his life in the C. I. D. - -But at Marlborough Street another shock awaited the Chief. He and Clarke -were entering the street in a taxi when Furneaux crooked a finger at him -from the pavement. Winter could not, nay, he dared not, ignore that -demand for an interview. - -"Stop here!" he said to Clarke. Then he sprang out, and approached -Furneaux. - -"Well?" he snapped, "have you made up your mind to end this tragic -farce?" - -"I am not its chief buffoon," sneered Furneaux. "In fact, I am mainly a -looker-on, but I do appreciate its good points to the full." - -Winter waved aside these absurdities. - -"I have come to free Mr. Osborne," he said. "I was rather hoping that -your own sense of fair dealing, if you have any left----" - -"Exactly what I thought," broke in the other. "That is why _I_ am here. -I hate correcting your mistakes, because I fancy it does you good to -discover them for yourself. Still, it is a pity to spoil a good cause. -Mere professional pride forces me to warn you against liberating -Osborne." - -"Man alive, you try me beyond endurance. Do you believe I don't know the -truth--that Rose de Bercy was your wife--that _you_ were in that museum -before the murder--that _you_.... Oh, Furneaux, you wring it from me. -Get a pistol, man, before it is too late." - -"You mean that?" cried Furneaux, his eyes gleaming with a new fire. - -"Heaven knows I do!" - -"You want to be my friend, then, after all?" - -"Friend! If you realized half the torture----" - -"Pity!" mused Furneaux aloud. "Why didn't you speak sooner? So you would -rather I committed suicide than be in your hands a prisoner?" - -Winter then awoke to the consciousness that this extraordinary -conversation was taking place in a crowded thoroughfare, within a -stone's throw of a police-station in which lay three people charged with -having committed the very crime he was tacitly accusing Furneaux of, -while Clarke's ferret eyes must be resting on them with a suspicion -already half-formed. - -"I can say no more," he muttered gruffly. "One must forego friendship -when duty bars the way. But if you have a grain of humanity left in your -soul, come with me and release that unhappy young man----" - -Some gush of emotion wrung Furneaux's face as if with a spasm of -physical pain. He held out his right hand. - -"Winter, forgive me, I have misjudged you," he said. - -"Is it good-by?" came the passionate question. - -"No, not good-by. It is an alliance, Winter, a wiping of the slate. You -don't understand, perhaps, that we are both to blame. But you can take -my hand, old man. There is no stain of blood on it. I did not murder my -wife. I am her avenger, her pitiless, implacable avenger--so pitiless, -so implacable, that I may have erred in my harshness. For Heaven's sake, -Winter, believe me, and take my hand!" - -The man's magnetism was irresistible. Despite the crushing weight of -proof accumulated against him, the claims of old friendship were not to -be ignored. Winter took the proffered hand and squeezed it with a -vehemence that not only showed the tension of his feelings but also -brought tears of real anguish to Furneaux's eyes. - -"I only asked you for a friendly grip, Winter," he complained. "You have -been more than kind. No matter what happens, don't offer to shake hands -with me again for twelve months at least." - -There was no comprehending him, and Winter abandoned the effort. -Moreover, Clarke's puzzled brows were bent on them. - -"An alliance implies confidence," he said, and the official mask fell on -his bluff features. "If you can honestly----" - -Furneaux laughed, with just a faint touch of that impish humor that the -other knew so well. - -"Not Winter, but Didymus!" he cried. "Well, then, let us proceed to the -confounding of poor Clarke. _Peste!_ he deserves a better fate, for he -has worked like a Trojan. But leave Osborne to me. Have no fear--I shall -explain, a little to him, all to you." - -Clarke writhed with jealousy when Winter beckoned to him. While his -chief was paying the cabman, he jeered at Furneaux. - -"I had a notion----" he began, but the other caught his arm -confidentially. - -"I was just telling the guv'nor how much we owe to you in this Feldisham -Mansions affair," he said. "You were on the right track all the time. -You've the keenest nose in the Yard, Clarke. You can smell an Anarchist -through the stoutest wall ever built. Now, not a word! You'll soon see -how important your investigations have been." - -Clarke was overwhelmed by a new flood. Never before had Furneaux praised -him, unless in some ironic phrase that galled the more because he did -not always extract its hidden meaning. He blinked with astonishment. - -With a newborn trust, which he would have failed ignominiously to -explain in words, Winter led his colleagues to Marlborough Street -police-station. There, after a brief but earnest colloquy with the -station inspector, he asked that Janoc and his sister should be brought -to the inspector's office. - -Janoc came first, pale, languid, high-strung, but evidently prepared to -be led to his death that instant. - -He looked at the four men, three in plain clothes and one in uniform, -with a superb air of dignity, almost of superiority; in silence he -awaited the inquisition which he supposed he would be compelled to -undergo, but when no word was spoken--when even that phantom of evil, -Clarke, paid no heed to him, he grew manifestly uneasy. - -At last steps were heard, the door opened, and Pauline Dessaulx entered. -Of course, this brother and sister were Gauls to the finger-tips. Each -screamed, each flew to the other's arms; they raved; they wept, and -laughed, and uttered incoherent words of utmost affection. - -Winter indulged them a few seconds. Then he broke in on their -transports. - -"Now, Janoc," he said brusquely, "have done with this acting! Why have -you given the police so much trouble?" - -"Monsieur, I swear----" - -"Oh, have done with your swearing! Your sister didn't kill Mademoiselle -de Bercy. She wouldn't kill a fly. Come, Pauline, own up!" - -"Monsieur," faltered the girl, "I--I----" - -"You took the guilt on your shoulders in order to shield your brother?" - -Wild-eyed, distraught, she looked from the face of the man who seemed to -peer into her very soul to that other face so dear to her. She knew not -what to say. Was this stern-visaged representative of the law merely -torturing her with a false hope? Dared she say "Yes," or must she -persist in self-accusation? - -"Janoc," thundered Winter, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Don't -you see how she is suffering for your sake? Tell her, then, that you are -as innocent as she of this murder?" - -The dreamer, the man who would reform an evil world by force, had the -one great quality demanded of a leader--he knew a man when he met him. -He turned now to Pauline. - -"My sister," he said in French, "this gentleman can be trusted. He is no -trickster. I had no hand in the slaying of the traitress, just though -her death might be." - -"Ah, _Dieu merci_!" she breathed, and fainted. - -The police matron was summoned, and the Frenchwoman soon regained -consciousness. Meanwhile, Janoc admitted readily enough that he did -really believe in his sister's acceptance of the dread mission imposed -on her by the revolutionary party in Russia. - -"Rose de Bercy was condemned, and my sweet Pauline, alas! was deputed to -be her executioner," he said. "We had waited long for the hour, and the -dagger was ready, though I, too, distrusted my sister's courage. Then -came an urgent letter from St. Petersburg that the traitress was -respited until a certain list found among her papers was checked----" - -"Found?" questioned Winter. - -"By Pauline," said Janoc. - -"Ah, stolen?" - -Janoc brushed aside the substituted word as a quibble. - -"Conceive my horror when I heard of the murder!" he cried with hands -flung wide and eyes that rolled. "I was sure that Pauline had mistaken -the instructions----" - -"Where is the St. Petersburg letter?" broke in Furneaux. - -"Sapristi! You will scarce credit. It was taken from me by a man--a -Russian agent he must have been--one night in the Fraternal Club, -Soho----" - -"Clarke, produce it," said Furneaux, grinning. - -Clarke flushed, grew white, nervously thumbed some papers in a -pocketbook, and handed to Winter the letter which commenced: "St. -Petersburg says ..." and ended: "You will see to it that she to whose -hands vengeance has been intrusted shall fail on the 3d." - -Winter read, and frowned. Furneaux, too, read. - -"The 3d!" he muttered. "Just Heaven, what a fatal date to her!" - -"What was I to think?" continued Janoc. "Antonio shared my view. He met -Pauline at the Exhibition, and was ready, if necessary, to vouch for her -presence there at the time Rose de Bercy went to her reckoning; but he -is not in the inner--he had not heard of the Petersburg order." - -"Yet he, and the rest of your gang, were prepared to let Mr. Osborne -hang for this crime," said Winter, surveying the conspirator with a -condemning eye. But his menace or scorn was alike to Janoc, who threw -out his arms again. - -"Cré nom!" he cried, "why not? Is he not a rich bourgeois like the rest? -He and his class have crushed us without mercy for many a century. What -matter if he were hanged by mistake? He could be spared--my Pauline -could not. He is merely a rich one, my Pauline is a martyr to the -cause!" - -"Listen to me, Janoc," said Winter fiercely. "Spout what rubbish you -please in your rotten club, but if ever you dare again to plot--even to -plot, mind you--any sort of crime against life or property in this free -country, I shall crush you like a beetle--like a beetle, do you hear, -you wretched--insect! Now, get out!" - -"Monsieur, my sister?" - -"Wait outside there till she comes. Then leave England, the pair of you, -or you will try what hard labor in a British prison can do for your -theories." - -Janoc bowed. - -"Monsieur," he said, "a prison has made me what I am." - -Pauline was candid as her brother. She had, in truth, misunderstood the -respite given to her mistress, and meant to kill her on the night of the -3d. The visit to the Exhibition was of her own contriving. She had got -rid of her English acquaintance, the cook, very easily after meeting -Antonio by appointment. Then she left him, without giving a reason, and -hurried back to the mansions, where, owing to her intimate knowledge of -the internal arrangements, she counted on entering and leaving the flat -unseen. She did actually succeed in her mission, but found Rose de Bercy -lying dead. - -On the floor, close to the body, was a dagger, and she had no doubt -whatever that her brother had acted in her stead, so she picked up the -weapon, secreted it with the dagger given her in readiness for the -crime, and took the first opportunity of hiding herself, lest the mere -fact that Janoc was seen in her company should draw suspicion towards -him. - -"Ah, but the lace? What of the piece of blood-stained lace?" demanded -Furneaux. - -"I wished to make sure, monsieur," was the astounding reply. "Had she -not been dead, but merely wounded, I--_Eh, bien!_ I tore her dress open, -in order to feel if her heart was beating, and the bit of lace remained -in my hand. I was so excited that I hardly knew what I was doing. I took -it away. Afterwards, when Antonio said that the police were cooling in -their chase of Osborne, I gave it to him; he told me he could use it to -good effect." - -"Phew!" breathed Winter, "you're a pretty lot of cutthroats, I must say. -Why did you keep the daggers and the diary, sweet maid?" - -"The knife that rid us of a traitress was sacred. I thought the diary -might be useful to the--to our friends." - -"Yet you gave it to Mr. Clarke without any demur?" - -The girl shot a look at Clarke in which fright was mingled with hatred. - -"He--he--I was afraid of him," she stammered. - -Winter opened the door. - -"There is your brother," he said. "Be off, both of you. Take my advice -and leave England to-night." - -They went forth, hand in hand, in no wise cast down by the loathing they -had inspired. Clarke looked far more miserable than they, for by their -going he had lost the prize of his life. - -"Now for Osborne," whispered Furneaux. "Leave him to me, Winter. Trust -me implicitly for five minutes--that is all." - -Osborne was brought in by the station inspector, that human ledger who -would record without an unnecessary word the name of the Prime Minister -or the Archbishop of Canterbury on any charge preferred against either -by a responsible member of the force. The young American was calm now, -completely self-possessed, disdainful of any ignominy that might be -inflicted on him. He did not even glance at Furneaux, but nodded to -Winter. - -"Your assurances are seemingly of little value," he said coldly. - -"Mr. Winter is quite blameless," snapped Furneaux, obviously nettled by -the implied reproof. "Please attend to me, Mr. Osborne--this affair -rests wholly between you and me. Learn now, for the first time, I -imagine, that Rose de Bercy was my wife." - -Osborne did truly start at hearing that remarkable statement. Clarke's -mouth literally fell open; even the uniformed inspector was stirred, and -began to pare a quill pen with a phenomenally sharp knife, this being -the only sign of excitement he had ever been known to exhibit. - -"Yes, unhappily for her and me, we were married in Paris soon after she -ran away from home," said Furneaux. "I--I thought--we should be happy. -She had rare qualities, Mr. Osborne; perhaps you discovered some of -them, and they fascinated you as they fascinated me. But--she had -others, which _I_ learnt to my sorrow, while _you_ were spared. I cannot -explain further at this moment. I have only to say that you are as free -from the guilt of her death--as _I_ am!" - -Winter alone was conscious of a queer note in the little man's voice as -he dwelt on the comparison. He seemed to be searching for some simile of -wildest improbability, and to have hit upon himself as supplying it. But -Osborne was in no mood for bewilderment. He cared absolutely nothing -about present or future while the horrible past still held the pall it -had thrown on his prospects of bliss with Rosalind. - -"In that event, one might ask why I am here," he said quietly. "Not that -I am concerned in the solving of the riddle. You have done your worst, -Mr. Furneaux. You can inflict no deeper injury on me. If you have any -other vile purpose to serve by telling me these things, by all means go -right ahead." - -Furneaux's eyes glinted, and his wizened cheeks showed some token of -color, but he kept his voice marvelously under control. - -"In time you will come to thank me, Mr. Osborne," he said. "To-day you -are bitter, and I am not surprised at it, but you could never have been -happy in your marriage with Miss Rosalind Marsh while the shadow of -suspicion clung to you. Please do not forget that the world believes you -killed Rose de Bercy. If you walked forth now into Regent Street, and -the word went around that you were there, a thousand people would mob -you in a minute, while ten thousand would be prepared to lynch you -within ten minutes. I have played with you, I admit--with others, too, -and now I am sorry--to a certain extent. But in this case, I was at once -detective, and judge, and executioner. If you wantonly transferred your -love from the dead woman to the living one, I cared not a straw what you -suffered or how heavily you were punished. That phase has passed. To-day -you have justified yourself. Within twenty-four hours you will be free -to marry Rosalind Marsh, because your name will have lost the smirch now -placed on it, while your promise to Hylda Prout will be dissolved. But -for twenty-four hours you must remain here, apparently a prisoner, in -reality as much at liberty as any man in London. Yes, I vouch for my -words----" for at last wonder and hope were dawning in Osborne's -eyes--"my chief, Mr. Winter, will tell you that I have never spoken in -this manner without making good what I have said--never, I repeat. If I -could spare you the necessity of passing a night in a cell I would do -so; but I cannot. You are the decoy duck for the wild creature that I -mean to lay hands on before another day has closed. Make yourself as -comfortable as possible--the inspector will see to that--but I _must_ -keep you here, a prisoner in all outward semblance. Are you willing?" - -"For Heaven's sake----" began Osborne. - -"For Rosalind's sake, too," said Furneaux gravely. "No, I can answer no -questions. She has more to bear than you. She does not know what to -believe, whom to trust, whereas you have my solemn assurance that all -will soon be well with both you and her. You see, I am not craving your -forgiveness--yet. It suffices that I have forgiven _you_, since your -tribulation will end quickly, whereas mine remains for the rest of my -days. I _did_ love Rose de Bercy: you did not.... Ah, bah! I am growing -sentimental. Winter, have you ever seen me weep? No; then gag me if you -hear me talking in this strain again. Come, I have much to tell you. -Good-day, Mr. Osborne. The hours will soon fly; by this time to-morrow -you will be gay, light-hearted, ready to shout your joy from the -housetops--ready even to admit that a detective may be bothered with -that useless incubus--a heart." - -Osborne took a step towards him, but Furneaux sprang out and banged the -door. Winter caught the millionaire by the shoulder. - -"I am as thoroughly in the dark as you," he said. "Perhaps not, though. -I have a glimmer of light; you, too, will begin to see dimly when you -have collected your thoughts. But you must let Furneaux have his way. It -may not be your way--it certainly is not mine--but he never fails when -he promises, and, at any rate, you must now be sure that no manner of -doubt rests in the minds of the police where you are concerned. It is -possible, after Furneaux and I have gone into this thing fully, that you -may be released to-night----" - -"Mr. Winter," cried Osborne, in whose veins the blood was coursing -tumultuously, "let that strange man justify his words concerning Miss -Marsh, and I shall remain here a month if that will help." - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - WHEREIN TWO WOMEN TAKE THE FIELD - - -Some tears, some tea, a bath, a change of clothing--where is the woman -who will not vie with the Phoenix under such conditions, especially if -she be sound in mind and limb? An hour after her arrival at Porchester -Gardens, Rosalind was herself again, a somewhat pale and thin Rosalind, -to be sure, but each moment regaining vigor, each moment taking huge -strides back to the normal. - -Of course, her ordered thoughts dwelt more and more with Osborne, but -with clear thinking came a species of confusion that threatened to -overwhelm her anew in a mass of contradictions. If ever a man loved a -woman then Osborne loved her, yet she had seen him in the arms of that -dreadful creature, Hylda Prout. If ever a man had shown devotion by word -and look, then Osborne was devoted to her, yet he had taken leave of her -with the manner of one who was going to his doom. Ah, he spoke of "a -felon's cell." Was that it? Was it true what the world was saying--that -he had really killed Rose de Bercy? No, that infamy she would never -believe. Yet Furneaux had arrested him--Furneaux, the strange little man -who seemed ever to say with his lip what his heart did not credit. - -During those weary hours in Poland Street, when she was not dozing or -faint with anxiety, she had often recalled Furneaux's queer way of -conducting an inquiry. She knew little or nothing of police methods, yet -she was sure that British detectives did not badger witnesses with -denunciations of the suspected person. In newspaper reports, too, she -had read of clever lawyers who defended those charged with the -commission of a crime; why, then, was Osborne undefended; what had -become of the solicitor who appeared in his behalf at the inquest? -Unfortunately, she had no friend of ripe experience to whom she could -appeal in London, but she determined, before that day closed, to seek -those two, the solicitor and Furneaux, bidding the one protect Osborne's -interests, and demanding of the other an explanation of his gross -failure to safeguard her when she was actually carrying out his behests. - -Mrs. Marsh, far more feeble and unstrung than her daughter, was greatly -alarmed when Rosalind announced her intention. - -"My dear one," she sobbed, "I shall lose you again. How can you dream of -running fresh risk of meeting those terrible beings who have already -wreaked their vengeance on you?" - -"But, mother darling, you shall come with me--there are lives at -stake----" - -"Of what avail are two women against creatures like these Anarchists?" - -"We shall go to Scotland Yard and obtain police protection. Failing -that, we shall hire men armed with guns to act as our escort. Mother, I -did not die in that den of misery, but I shall die now of impotent wrath -if I remain here inactive and let Mr. Osborne lie in prison for my -sake." - -"For your sake? Rosalind? After what you have told me?" - -"Oh, it is true, true! I feel it here," and an eager hand pressed close -to her heart. "My brain says, 'You are foolish--why not believe your -eyes, your ears?' but my heart bids me be up and doing, for the night -cometh when no man can work, and I shall dream of death and the grave if -I sleep this day without striking one blow for the man that loves me." - -"Yet he said----" - -"Bear with me, mother dear! I cannot explain, I can only feel. A woman's -intuition may sometimes be trusted when logic points inexorably to the -exact opposite of her beliefs. And this is a matter that calls for a -woman's wit. See how inextricably women are tangled in the net which has -caught Osborne in its meshes. A woman was killed, a woman found the poor -thing's body, a woman gave the worst evidence against Osborne, a woman -has sacrificed all womanliness to snatch him from me. Ah, where is -Pauline Dessaulx? She, too, is mixed up in it. Has she discovered the -loss of the daggers? Has she fled?" - -Rosalind rose to her feet like one inspired, and Mrs. Marsh, fearing for -her reason, stammered brokenly her willingness to go anywhere and do -anything that might relieve the strain. When her daughter began to talk -of "daggers" she was really alarmed. The girl had alluded to them more -than once, but poor Mrs. Marsh's troubled brain associated "daggers" -with Anarchists. That any such murderous-sounding weapons should be -secreted in a servant's bedroom at Porchester Gardens, be found there by -Rosalind, and carried by her all over London in a cab, never entered her -mind. Perhaps the sight of Pauline would in itself have a soothing -effect, since one could not persist in such delusions when the demure -Frenchwoman, in the cap and apron of respectable domestic service, came -in answer to the bell. So Mrs. Marsh rang: and another housemaid -appeared. - -"Please send Pauline here," said the white-faced mother. - -"Pauline is out, ma'm," came the answer. - -"Will she return soon?" - -"I don't know, ma'm--I--I think she has run away." - -"Run away!" - -Two voices repeated those sinister words. To Rosalind they brought a dim -memory of something said by Janoc, to Mrs. Marsh dismay. The three were -gazing blankly at each other when the clang of a distant bell was heard. - -"That's the front door," exclaimed the maid. "Perhaps Pauline has come -back." - -She hurried away, and returned, breathless. - -"It isn't Pauline, ma'm, but a lady to see Miss Rosalind." - -"What lady?" - -"She wouldn't give a name, miss; she says she wants to see you -perticular." - -"Send her here.... Now, mother, don't be alarmed. This is not Soho. If -you wish it, I shall get someone to wait in the hall until we learn our -mysterious visitor's business." - -Most certainly, the well-dressed and elegant woman whom the servant -ushered into the room was not of a type calculated to cause a pang of -distrust in any household in Porchester Gardens. She was dressed quietly -but expensively, and, notwithstanding the heat of summer, so heavily -veiled that her features were not recognizable until she raised her -veil. Then a pair of golden-brown eyes flashed triumphantly at the -startled Rosalind, and Hylda Prout said: - -"May I have a few words in private with you, Miss Marsh?" - -"You can have nothing to say to me that my mother may not hear," said -Rosalind curtly. - -The visitor smiled, and looked graciously at Mrs. Marsh. - -"Ah, I am pleased to have this opportunity of meeting you," she said. -"You may have heard of me. I am Hylda Prout." ... Then, seeing the older -woman's perplexity, she added: "Since you do not seem to know me by -name, let me explain that Mr. Rupert Osborne, of whom you must have -heard a good deal, is my promised husband." - -Mrs. Marsh might be ill and worried; but she was a well-bred lady to the -marrow, and she realized instantly that the stranger's politeness -covered a studied insult to her daughter. - -"Has Mr. Osborne sent you as his ambassador?" she asked. - -"No, he could not: he is in prison. But your daughter and I have met -under conditions that compel me to ask her now not to interfere in the -efforts I shall make to secure his release." - -"Please go!" broke in Rosalind, and she moved as if to summon a servant. - -"I am not here from choice," sneered Hylda. "I have really come to plead -for Mr. Osborne. If you care for him as you say you do I want you to -understand two things: first, that your pursuit is in vain, since he has -given his word to marry me within a week, and, secondly, that any -further interference in his affairs on your part may prove disastrous to -him. You cannot pretend that I have not warned you. Had you taken my -advice the other day, Rupert would not now be under arrest." - -Mrs. Marsh was sallow with indignation, but Rosalind, though tingling in -every fiber, controlled herself sufficiently to utter a dignified -protest. - -"You had something else in your mind than Mr. Osborne's safety in coming -here today: I do not believe one word you have said," she cried. - -"Oh, but you shall believe. Wait one short week----" - -"I shall not wait one short hour. Mr. Osborne's arrest is a monstrous -blunder, and I am going this instant to demand his release." - -"He has not taken you into his confidence, it would seem. Were it not -for his promise to me you would still be locked in your den at Poland -Street." - -"Some things may be purchased at a price so degrading that a man pays -and remains silent. If Mr. Osborne won my liberty by the loss of his -self-respect I am truly sorry for him, but the fact, if it is a fact, -only strengthens my resolution to appeal to the authorities in his -behalf." - -"You can achieve nothing, absolutely nothing," shrilled Hylda -vindictively. - -"I shall try to do much, and accomplish far more, perhaps, than you -imagine." - -"You will only succeed in injuring him." - -"At any rate, I shall have obeyed the dictates of my conscience, whereas -your vile purposes have ever been directed by malice. How dare you talk -of serving him! Since that poor woman was struck dead by some unknown -hand you have been his worst enemy. In the guise of innocent friendship -you supplied the police with the only real evidence they possess against -him. Probably you are responsible now for his arrest, which could not -have happened had I been at liberty during the past two days. Go, and -vent your spite as you will--no word of yours can deter me from raising -such a storm as shall compel Mr. Osborne's release!" - -For a second or two those golden-brown eyes blazed with a fire that -might well have appalled Rosalind could she have read its hidden -significance. During a tick of the clock she was in mortal peril of her -life, but Hylda Prout, though partially insane, was not yet in that -trance of the wounded tiger which recks not of consequences so that it -gluts its rage. - -Mrs. Marsh, really frightened, rushed to the electric bell, and the jar -of its summons, faintly audible, seemed to banish the grim specter that -had entered the room, though unseen by other eyes than those of the -woman who dreamed of death even while she glowered at her rival. Her -bitter tongue managed to outstrip her murderous thoughts in the race -back to ordered thought. - -"You are powerless," she taunted Rosalind, "but, like every other -discarded lover, you cling to delusions. Now I shall prove to you how my -strength compares with your weakness. You speak of appealing to the -authorities. That means Scotland Yard, I suppose. Very well. I, too, -shall go there, in your very company, if you choose, and it will then be -seen which of us two can best help Mr. Osborne." - -The housemaid appeared. - -"Please show this person out," said Rosalind. - -"My carriage is waiting--Rupert's carriage," said Hylda. - -"After she has gone, Lizzie," said Rosalind to the maid, "kindly get me -a taxicab." - -Porchester Gardens is well out to the west, so the taxicab, entered in a -fever of haste by Rosalind and her mother, raced ahead of Osborne's bays -in the flight to Westminster. Hylda Prout had experienced no difficulty -in securing the use of the millionaire's carriage. She went to his -Mayfair flat, paralyzed Jenkins by telling him of his master's arrest, -assured him, in the same breath, that she alone could prove Osborne's -innocence, and asked that all the resources of the household should be -placed at her disposal, since Mr. Osborne meant to marry her within a -few days. Now, Jenkins had seen things that brought this concluding -statement inside the bounds of credibility, so he became her willing -slave in all that concerned Osborne. - -Winter was sitting in his office, with Furneaux straddled across a chair -in one corner, when Johnson, the young policeman who was always at the -Chief Inspector's beck and call, entered. - -"Two ladies to see you, sir," he said. - -Furneaux's eyes sparkled, but Winter took the two cards and read: "Mrs. -Marsh; Miss Rosalind Marsh." - -"Bring them here," he said. - -"I rather expected the other one first," grinned Furneaux, who was now -evidently on the best of terms with his Chief. - -"Perhaps she won't show up. She must be deep, crafty as a fox, or she -could never have humbugged me in the way you describe." - -"My dear Winter, coincidence is the best dramatist yet evolved. You were -beaten by coincidence." - -"But you were not," and the complaint fell querulously from the lips of -one who was almost unrivaled in the detection of crime. - -"You forget that _I_ supplied the coincidence. Clarke, too, blundered -with positive genius. I assure you that, in your shoes, I must have -acted with--with inconceivable folly." - -"Thank you," said Winter grimly. - -Rosalind and her mother came in. Both ladies had been weeping, but the -girl's eyes shone with another light than that of tears when she cried -vehemently: - -"You are the responsible official here, I understand. I have no word for -_that_ man," and she transfixed Furneaux with a tragic finger, "but I do -appeal to someone who may have a sense of decency----" - -"You have come to see me about Mr. Osborne?" broke in Winter, for -Rosalind's utterance was choked by a sob. - -"Yes, of course. Are you aware----" - -"I am aware of everything, Miss Marsh. Please be seated; and you, too, -Mrs. Marsh. Mr. Osborne is in no danger whatsoever. I cannot explain, -but you must trust the police in this matter." - -"Ah, so _he_ said," and Rosalind shot a fiery glance at the unabashed -Furneaux. - -"Seen anybody?" he asked, with an amiable smirk. - -"What do you mean?" - -"Has anybody been gloating over Mr. Osborne's arrest?" - -For the life of her, Rosalind could not conceal the surprise caused by -this question. She even smothered her resentment in her eagerness. - -"Mr. Osborne's typist, a woman named Hylda Prout, has been to see me," -she cried. - -"Excellent! What did she say?" - -"Everything that a mean heart could suggest. But you will soon hear her -statements. She is coming here herself, or, at least, so she said." - -"Great Scott!" - -Furneaux sprang up, and ran to the bell. For some reason which neither -Mrs. Marsh nor her daughter could fathom, the mercurial little Jersey -man was wild with excitement; even Winter seemed to be disturbed beyond -expression. Johnson came, and Furneaux literally leaped at him. - -"Ring up that number, quick! You know exactly what to say--and do!" - -Johnson saluted and vanished again; Winter had chosen him for his -special duties because he never uttered a needless word. Still, these -tokens of activity in the police headquarters did not long repress the -tumult in Rosalind's breast. - -"If, as you tell me, Mr. Osborne is in no danger----" she began; but -Winter held up an impressive hand. - -"You are here in order to help him," he said gravely. "Pray believe that -we appreciate your feelings most fully. If this girl, Hylda Prout, is -really on her way here we have not a moment to lose. No more appeals, I -beg of you, Miss Marsh. Tell us every word that passed between you and -her. You can speak all the more frankly if I assure you that Mr. -Furneaux, my colleague, has acted throughout in Mr. Osborne's interests. -Were it not for him this young gentleman, who, I understand, will soon -become your husband, would never have been cleared of the stigma of a -dreadful crime.... No, pardon me, not a syllable on that subject.... -What did Hylda Prout say? Why is she coming to Scotland Yard?" - -Impressed in spite of herself, Rosalind gave a literal account of the -interview at Porchester Gardens. She was burning to deliver her soul on -matters that appeared to be so much more important, such as the finding -and loss of the daggers, the strange behavior of Pauline Dessaulx, the -statement, now fiery bright in her mind, made by Janoc when he spoke of -his sister's guilt--but, somehow, the tense interest displayed by the -two detectives in Hylda Prout's assertions overbore all else, and -Rosalind proved herself a splendid witness, one able to interpret moods -and glances as well as to record the spoken word. - -Even while she spoke a lurid fancy flashed through her brain. - -"Oh, gracious Heaven!" she cried. "Can it be----" - -Winter rose and placed a hand on her shoulder. - -"You have endured much, Miss Marsh," he said in a voice of grave -sympathy. "Now, I trust to your intelligence and power of self-command. -No matter what suspicions you may have formed, you must hide them. -Possibly, Mr. Furneaux or I may speak or act within the next half-hour -in a manner that you deem prejudicial to Mr. Osborne. I want you to -express your resentment in any way you may determine, short of leaving -us. Do you understand? We shall act as on the stage; you must do the -same. You need no cue from us. Defend Mr. Osborne; urge his innocence; -threaten us with pains and penalties; do anything, in short, that will -goad Hylda Prout into action in his behalf for fear lest you may prevail -where she has failed." - -A knock was heard at the door. He sank back into his seat. - -"Do you promise?" he muttered. - -"Yes," she breathed. - -"Come in!" cried Winter, and the imperturbable Johnson ushered in Hylda -Prout. Even in the storm and stress of contending emotions Rosalind knew -that there was a vital difference between the reception accorded to the -newcomer and that given to her mother and herself. They had been -announced, their names scrutinized in advance, as it were, whereas Hylda -Prout's arrival was expected, provided for; in a word, the policeman on -guard had his orders and was obeying them. - -"Well, this _is_ a surprise, Miss Prout," exclaimed Furneaux before -anyone else could utter a word. - -"Is it?" she asked, smiling scornfully at Rosalind. - -"Quite. Miss Marsh told us, of course, of your visit, and I suppose that -your appearance here is inspired by the same motive as hers. My chief, -Mr. Winter, has just been telling her that the law brooks no -interference, yet she persists in demanding Mr. Osborne's release. She -cannot succeed in obtaining it, unless she brings a positive order from -the Home Secretary----" - -"I shall get it," vowed Rosalind, to whom it seemed that Furneaux's -dropped voice carried a subtle hint. - -"Try, by all means," said Furneaux blandly. "Nevertheless, I strongly -advise you ladies, all three, to go home and let matters take their -course." - -"Never!" cried Rosalind valiantly. "You must either free Mr. Osborne -to-night or I drive straight from this office to the House of Commons. I -have friends there who will secure me a hearing by the Home Secretary." - -Furneaux glanced inquiringly at Winter, whose hand was stroking his chin -as if in doubt. Hylda Prout took a step nearer the Chief Inspector. Her -dress brushed against the drawer which contained the daggers, and one of -those grewsome blades had pierced Rose de Bercy's brain through the eye. - -"The Home Secretary is merely an official like the rest of you," she -said bitingly. "Miss Marsh may appeal to whom she thinks fit, but the -charge against Mr. Osborne will keep him in custody until it is heard by -a magistrate. Nothing can prevent that--nothing--unless----" and her -gaze dwelt warily on Furneaux for a fraction of an instant--"unless the -police themselves are convinced that the evidence on which they rely is -so flimsy that they run the risk of public ridicule by bringing it -forward." - -"Ha! ha!" laughed Furneaux knowingly. - -"I think I am wasting time here," cried Rosalind, half rising. - -"One moment, I pray you," put in Winter. "There is some force in Miss -Prout's remarks, but I am betraying no secret in saying that Mr. -Osborne's apparently unshakable alibi can be upset, while we have the -positive identification of at least three people who saw him on the -night of the crime." - -"Meaning the housekeeper, the driver of the taxicab, and the housemaid -at Feldisham Mansions?" said Hylda coolly, and quite ignoring Rosalind's -outburst. - -"At least those," admitted Winter. - -"Are there others, then?" - -"Really, Miss Prout, this is most irregular. We are not trying Mr. -Osborne in this room." - -"I see there is nothing for it but to carry my plea for justice to the -Home Secretary," cried Rosalind, acting as she thought best in obedience -to a lightning glance from Furneaux. "Come, mother, we shall soon prove -to these legal-minded persons that they cannot juggle away a man's -liberty to gratify their pride--and spite." - -Hylda's eyes took fire at that last word. - -"Go to your Home Secretary," she said with measured venom. "Much good -may it do you! While _you_ are being dismissed with platitudes _I_ shall -have rescued my affianced husband from jail." - -"Dear me! this is most embarrassing. Your affianced husband?" - -Furneaux cackled out each sentence, and looked alternately at Hylda and -Rosalind. There was no mistaking his meaning. He implied that the one -woman was callously appropriating a man who was the acknowledged suitor -of the other. - -Hylda laughed shrilly. - -"That is news to you, Mr. Furneaux," she cried. "Yet I thought you were -so clever as to be almost omniscient. Come now with me, and I shall -prove to you that the so-called identification of Mr. Osborne by Hester -Bates and Campbell, the chauffeur, is a myth. The hysterical housemaid I -leave to you." - -Winter leaned back in his chair and waved an expostulating hand. - -"'Pon my honor, this would be amusing if it were not so terribly serious -for Osborne," he vowed. - -"If that is all, I prefer to depend on the Home Secretary," said -Rosalind. - -"Let her go," purred Hylda contemptuously. "I can make good my boast, -but she cannot." - -"Boasting is of no avail in defeating a charge of murder," said -Furneaux. "Before we even begin to take you seriously, Miss Prout, we -must know what you actually mean by your words." - -"I mean this--that I, myself, will appear before Hester Bates in such -guise that she will swear it was me, and not Mr. Osborne, whom she saw -on the stairs that night. If that does not suffice, I shall meet -Campbell at the corner of Berkeley Street, if you can arrange for his -presence there, and tell him to drive me to Feldisham Mansions, and he -will swear that it was I, and not Mr. Osborne, who gave him that same -order on the night of the third of July. Surely, if I accomplish so -much, you will set Rupert at liberty. Believe me, I am not afraid that -you will commit the crowning blunder of arresting _me_ for the murder, -after having arrested Janoc, and his sister, _and_ Rupert." - -Winter positively started. So did Furneaux. Evidently they were -perturbed by the extent of her information. Hylda saw the concern -depicted on their faces; she laughed low, musically, full-throated. - -"Well, is it a bargain?" she taunted them. - -"Of course----" began Winter, and stopped. - -"There is no denying the weakness of our position if you can do all -that," said Furneaux suavely. - -"Pray do not let me detain you from visiting the House of Commons," -murmured Hylda to Rosalind. - -"Perhaps, in the circumstances, you had better wait till to-morrow," -said Winter, rising and looking hard at Rosalind. - -This man had won her confidence, and she felt that she was in the -presence of a tragedy, yet it was hard to yield in the presence of her -rival. Tears filled her eyes, and she bowed her head to conceal them. - -"Come, mother," she said brokenly. "We are powerless here, it would -seem." - -"Allow me to show you the way out," said Winter, and he bustled forward. - -In the corridor, when the door was closed, he caught an arm of each and -bent in a whisper. - -"Furneaux was sure she would try some desperate move," he breathed. -"Rest content now, Miss Marsh. If all goes well, your ill-used friend -will be with you to-night. Treat him well. He deserves it. He did not -open your letter. He sacrificed himself in every way for your sake. He -even promised to marry that woman, that arch-fiend, in order to rescue -you from Janoc. So, believe him, for he is a true man, the soul of -honor, and tell him from me that he owes some share of the restitution -of his good name in the eyes of the public to your splendid devotion -during the past few minutes." - -Not often did the Chief Inspector unbend in this fashion. There was no -ambiguity in his advice. He meant what he said, and said it so -convincingly that Rosalind was radiantly hopeful when she drove away -with her mother. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - THE CLOSING SCENE - - -It was a scared and worried-looking Jenkins who admitted Hylda Prout and -the two detectives to Osborne's flat in Clarges Street, Mayfair. These -comings and goings of police officers were disconcerting, to put it -mildly, and an event had happened but a few minutes earlier which had -sorely ruffled his usually placid acceptance of life as it presented -itself. Still, the one dominant thought in his mind was anxiety in his -master's behalf, and, faithful to its promptings, he behaved like an -automaton. - -Hylda carried herself with the regal air of one who was virtual mistress -of the house. She had invited the two men to share her carriage, and -there was an assured authority in her voice when she now directed the -gray-headed butler to show them into the library while she went upstairs -to Mr. Osborne's dressing-room. - -"And, by the way, Jenkins," she added, "tell Mrs. Bates to come to these -gentlemen. They wish to ask her a few questions." - -"Yes, bring Mrs. Bates," said Furneaux softly. "Don't let her come -alone. She might be frightened, and snivel, being a believer in ghosts, -whereas we wish her to remain calm." - -Jenkins thought he understood, but said nothing. Hylda Prout sped -lightly up the stairs, and when Jenkins came with the housekeeper, -Furneaux crept close to him, pointed to a screened doorway leading to -the kitchen quarters, and murmured the one word: - -"There!" - -At once he turned to Mrs. Bates and engaged her in animated chatter, -going so far as to warn her that the police were trying an experiment -which might definitely set at rest all doubts as to Mr. Osborne's -innocence, so she must be prepared to see someone descend the stairs who -might greatly resemble the person she saw ascending them on the night of -the murder. - -The maisonette rented by the young millionaire was not constructed on -the lines associated with the modern self-contained flat. It consisted -of the ground floor, and first story of a mid-Victorian mansion, while -the kitchen was in a basement. As it happened to be the property of a -peer who lived next door--a sociable person who entertained -largely--these lower stories were completely shut off from the three -upper ones, which were thrown into the neighboring house, thus supplying -the landlord with several bedrooms and bathrooms that Osborne did not -need. As a consequence, the entrance hall and main staircase were -spacious, and the staircase in particular was elaborate, climbing to a -transverse corridor in two fine flights, of which the lower one sprang -from the center of the hall and the upper led at a right angle from a -broad half-landing. - -Anyone coming down this upper half of the stairs could be seen full face -from the screened door used by the servants: but when descending the -lower half, the view from the same point would be in profile. - -At present, however, the curtains were drawn tightly across the passage, -and the only occupants of the hall and library were the two detectives, -Jenkins, and Mrs. Bates. - -Hylda Prout did not hurry. If she were engaged in a masquerade which -should achieve its object she evidently meant to leave nothing to -chance, and a woman cannot exchange her costume for a man's without -experiencing difficulty with her hair, especially when she is endowed by -nature with a magnificent chevelure. - -Jenkins returned from the mission imposed by Furneaux's -monosyllable,--insensibly the four deserted the brilliantly lighted -library and gathered in the somewhat somber hall, whose old oak -wainscoting and Grinling Gibbons fireplace forbade the use of garish -lamps. Insensibly, too, their voices lowered. The butler and housekeeper -hardly knew what to expect, and were creepy and ill at ease, but the two -police officers realized that they were about to witness a scene of -unparalleled effrontery, which, in its outcome, might have results -vastly different from those anticipated. - -They were sure now that Hylda Prout had killed Rose de Bercy. Furneaux -had known that terrible fact since his first meeting with Osborne's -secretary, whereas Winter had only begun to surmise it when he and -Furneaux were reconciled on the very threshold of Marlborough Street -police-station. Now he was as certain of it as Furneaux. Page by page, -chapter by chapter, his colleague had unfolded a most convincing theory -of the crime. But theories will not suffice for a judge and jury--there -must be circumstantial evidence as well--and not only was such evidence -scanty as against Hylda Prout, but it existed in piles against Osborne, -against Pauline Dessaulx, and against Furneaux himself. Indeed, Winter -had been compelled to recall his permission to Janoc and his sister to -leave England that day. He foresaw that Hylda Prout, if brought to -trial, would use her knowledge of Rose de Bercy's dealings with the -Anarchist movement to throw the gravest suspicion on its votaries in -London, and it would require no great expert in criminal law to break up -the theoretical case put forward by the police by demonstrating the -circumstantial one that existed in regard to Pauline Dessaulx. - -This line of defense, already strong, would become impregnable if -neither Janoc nor Pauline were forthcoming as witnesses. So Clarke, -greatly to his delight, was told off again to supervise their movements, -after they had been warned not to quit Soho until Winter gave them his -written permission. - -Some of the difficulties ahead, a whole troupe of fantastic imageries -from the past, crowded in on Winter's mind as he stood there in the hall -with Furneaux. What a story it would make if published as he could tell -it! What a romance! It began eight years ago at a _fête champêtre_ in -Jersey. Then came a brief delirium of wedded life for Furneaux, followed -by his wife's flight and reappearance as a notable actress. Osborne came -on the scene, and quickly fell a victim to her beauty and charm of -manner. It was only when marriage was spoken of that Furneaux decided to -interfere, and he had actually gone to Osborne's residence in order to -tell him the truth as to his promised wife on the very day she was -killed. Failing to meet him, after a long wait in the library and -museum, during which he had noted the absence of both the Saracen dagger -and the celt, already purloined for their dread purposes, he had gone to -Feldisham Mansions. - -During a heart-breaking scene with his wife he had forced from her a -solemn promise to tell Osborne why she could not marry him, and then to -leave England. The unhappy woman was writing the last word in her diary -when Furneaux was announced! No wonder she canceled an engagement for -dinner and the theater. She was sick at heart. A vain creature, the -wealth and position she craved for had been snatched from her grasp on -the very moment they seemed most sure. - -The murder followed his departure within half an hour. Planned and -executed by a woman whom none would dream of, it was almost worthy to -figure as the crime of the century. Hylda Prout had counted on no other -suspect than the man she loved. She knew he was safe--she assured -herself, in the first place, that he could offer the most positive proof -of his innocence--but she reckoned on popular indignation alleging his -guilt, while she alone would stand by him through every pang of obloquy -and despair. She was well prepared, guarded from every risk. Her -open-hearted employer had no secrets from her. She meant to imperil him, -to cast him into the furnace, and pluck him forth to her own arms. - -But fate could plot more deviously and strangely than Hylda Prout. It -could bring about the meeting of Osborne and Rosalind, the mutual -despair and self-sacrifice of Janoc and Pauline, the insensate quarrel -between Winter and Furneaux, and the jealous prying of Clarke, while -scene after scene of tragic force unfolded itself at Tormouth, in the -Fraternal Club, in the dismal cemetery, in Porchester Gardens, and in -the dens of Soho. - -Winter sighed deeply at the marvel of it all, and Furneaux heard him. - -"She will be here soon," he said coolly. "She is just putting on -Osborne's boots." - -Winter started at the apparent callousness of the man. - -"This is rather Frenchified," he whispered. "Reminds one of the -'reconstructed crime' method of the _juge d'instruction_. I wish we had -more good, sound, British evidence." - -"There is nothing good, or sound, or British about this affair," said -Furneaux. "It is French from beginning to end--a passionate crime as -they say--but I shall be glad when it is ended, and I am free." - -"Free?" - -"Yes. When she is safely dealt with," and he nodded in the direction of -the dressing-room, "I shall resign, clear off, betake my whims and my -weaknesses to some other clime." - -"Don't be an ass, Furneaux!" - -"Can't help it, dear boy. I'm a bit French, too, you know. No Englishman -could have hounded down Osborne as I have done, merely to gratify my own -notions of what was due to the memory of my dead wife. And I have played -with this maniac upstairs as a cat plays with a mouse. I wouldn't have -done that, though, if she hadn't smashed Mirabel's face. She ought to -have spared that. Therein she was a tiger rather than a woman. Poor -Mirabel!" - -Not Rose, but Mirabel! His thoughts had bridged the years. He murmured -the words in a curiously unemotional tone, but Winter was no longer -deceived. It would be many a day, if ever, before Furneaux became his -cheery, impish, mercurial self again. - -And now there was an opening of a door, and Winter shot one warning -glance at the curtains which shrouded the passage to the kitchen. A -man's figure appeared beyond the rails of the upper landing, a man -attired in a gray frock-coat suit and wearing a silk hat. Mrs. Bates -uttered a slight scream. - -"Well, I never!" she squeaked. - -"But you did, once," urged Furneaux, instantly alert. "You see now that -you might be mistaken when you said you saw Mr. Osborne on that -evening?" - -"Oh, yes, sir; if that is Miss Prout she's the very image----Now, who -would have believed it?" - -"You did," prompted Furneaux again. "But this time you must be more -careful. Tell us now who it was you saw on the stair, your master, or -his secretary made up to represent him?" - -Mrs. Bates began to cry. - -"I wouldn't have said such a thing for a mint of money, sir. It was -cruel to deceive a poor woman so, real cruel I call it. Of course, it -was Miss Prout I saw. Well, there! What a horrid creature to behave in -that way----" - -"No comments, please," said Furneaux sternly. - -Throughout he was gazing at Hylda Prout with eyes that scintillated. She -was standing now on the half-landing, and her face had lost some of its -striking semblance to Osborne's because of the expression of mocking -triumph that gleamed through its make-up. - -"That will do, thank you, Miss Prout," he said. "Now, will you kindly -walk slowly up again, reeling somewhat, as if you were on the verge of -collapse after undergoing a tremendous strain?" - -A choked cry, or groan, followed by a scuffle, came from the curtained -doorway, and Hylda turned sharply. - -"Who is there?" she demanded, in a sort of quick alarm that contrasted -oddly with her previous air of complete self-assurance. - -"Jenkins," growled Winter, "just go there and see that none of the -servants are peeping. That door should have been closed. Slam it now!" - -The butler hurried with steps that creaked on the parquet floor. Hylda -leaned over the balusters and watched him. He fumbled with the curtains. - -"It is all right, sir," he said thickly. - -"Some one is there," she cried. "Who is it? I am not here to be made a -show of, even to please some stupid policemen." - -Winter strode noisily across the hall, talking the while, vowing -official vengeance on eavesdroppers. He, too, reached the doorway, -glanced within, and drew back the curtains. - -"Some kitchen-maid, I suppose," he said off-handedly. "Anyhow, she has -run away. You need not wait any longer, Miss Prout. Kindly change your -clothing as quickly as possible and come with us. You have beaten us. -Mr. Osborne must be released forthwith." - -"Ah!" - -Her sudden spasm of fear was dispelled by hearing that promise. She -forgot to "reel" as she ran upstairs, but Furneaux did not remind her. -He exchanged glances with Winter, and the latter motioned Jenkins to -take Mrs. Bates to her own part of the establishment. - -"At Vine Street, I think," muttered Winter in Furneaux's ear. - -"No, here, I insist; we must strike now. She must realize that we have a -case. Give her time to gather her energies and we shall never secure a -conviction." - -Winter loathed the necessity of terrifying a woman, but he yielded, -since he saw no help for it. This time they had not long to wait. Soon -they heard a rapid, confident tread on the stairs, and Hylda Prout was -with them in the library. Both men, who had been seated, rose when she -entered. - -"Well," she said jauntily, "are you convinced?" - -"Fully," said Winter. - -She turned to Furneaux. - -"But you, little man, what do _you_ say?" - -"I have never needed to be convinced," he answered. "I have known the -truth since the day when we first met." - -Something in his manner seemed to trouble her, but those golden brown -eyes dwelt on him in a species of scornful surprise. - -"Why, then, have you liberated Janoc and his sister?" she demanded. - -"Because they are innocent." - -She laughed, a nervous, unmirthful laugh. - -"But there only remains Mr. Osborne," she protested. - -"There is one other, the murderess," he said. Even while she gazed at -him in wonder he had come quite near. His right hand shot out and -grasped her arm. - -"I arrest you, Hylda Prout," he said. "I charge you with the murder of -Mirabel Furneaux, otherwise known as Rose de Bercy, at Feldisham -Mansions, on the night of July 3d." - -She looked at him in a panic to which she tried vainly to give a -semblance of incredulity. Even in that moment of terror a new thought -throbbed in her dazed brain. - -"Mirabel Furneaux!" she managed to gasp. - -"Yes, my wife. You committed a needless crime, Hylda Prout. She had -never done, nor ever could have done, you any injury. But it is my duty -to warn you that everything you now say will be taken down in writing, -and may be used in evidence against you." - -She tried to wrest herself free, but his fingers clung to her like a -steel trap. Winter, too, approached, as if to show the folly of -resistance. - -"Let go my arm!" she shrieked, and her eyes blazed redly though the -color had fled from her cheeks. - -"I cannot. I dare not," said Furneaux. "I have reason to believe that -you carry a weapon, perhaps poison, concealed in your clothing." - -"Idiot!" she screamed, now beside herself with rage, "what evidence can -you produce against me? You will be the laughing stock of London, you -and your arrests." - -"Mrs. Bates knows now who it was she saw on the stairs," said Furneaux -patiently. "Campbell, the driver of the taxicab, has recognized you as -the person he drove to and from Feldisham Mansions. Mary Dean, the -housemaid there, can say at last why she fancied that Mr. Osborne killed -her mistress. But you'll hear these things in due course. At present you -must come with me." - -"Where to?" - -"To Vine Street police-station." - -"Shall I not be permitted to see Rupert?" - -"No." - -A tremor convulsed her lithe body. Then, and not till then, did she -really understand that the apparently impossible had happened. Still, -her extraordinary power of self-reliance came to her aid. She ceased to -struggle, and appealed to Winter. - -"This man is acting like a lunatic," she cried. "He says his wife was -killed, and if that be true he is no fit person to conduct an inquiry -into the innocence or guilt of those on whom he wreaks his vengeance. -You know why I came here to-night--merely to prove how you had blundered -in the past--yet you dare to turn my harmless acting into a -justification of my arrest. Where are these people, Campbell and the -woman, whose testimony you bring against me?" - -Now, in putting that impassioned question, she was wiser than she knew. -Furneaux was ever ready to take risks in applying criminal procedure -that Winter fought shy of. He had seen more than one human vampire slip -from his grasp because of some alleged unfairness on the part of the -police, of which a clever counsel had made ingenious use during the -defense. If Hylda Prout had been identified by others than Mrs. Bates, -of whose presence alone she was aware, she had every right to be -confronted with them. He turned aside and told the horrified Jenkins to -bring the witnesses from the room in which they had taken refuge. As a -matter of fact, Campbell and Mary Dean, in charge of Police Constable -Johnson, had been concealed behind the curtains that draped the -servants' passage, and Johnson had scarce been able to stifle the scream -that rose to the housemaid's lips when she saw on the stairs the living -embodiment of her mistress's murderer. - -But Furneaux did not mean to allow Hylda Prout to regain the marvelous -self-possession which had been imperiled by the events of the past -minute. - -"While we are waiting for Campbell and the girl you may as well learn -the really material thing that condemns you," he said, whispering in her -ear with quiet menace. "You ought to have destroyed that gray suit which -you purchased from a second-hand clothes dealer. It was a deadly mistake -to keep those blood-stained garments. The clothes Osborne wore have been -produced long since. They were soiled by you two days after the murder, -a fact which I can prove by half a dozen witnesses. Those which you wore -to-night, _which you are wearing now_, are spotted with your victim's -blood. I know, because I have seen them in your lodgings, and they can -be identified beyond dispute by the man who sold them to you." - -Suddenly he raised his voice. - -"Winter! Quick! She has the strength of ten women!" - -For Hylda Prout, hearing those fateful words, was seized with a fury of -despair. She had peered into Furneaux's eyes and seen there the pitiless -purpose which had filled his every waking moment since his wife's -untimely death. Love and hate had conspired to wreck her life. They had -mastered her at last. From being their votary she had become their -victim. An agonizing sigh came from her straining breast. She was -fighting like a catamount, while Winter held her shoulders and Furneaux -her wrists; then she collapsed between them, and a thin red stream -issued from her lips. - -They carried her to the sofa on which she had lain when for the first -and only time in her life those same red lips had met Rupert Osborne's. - -Winter hurried to the door, and sent Campbell, coming on tiptoe across -the hall, flying in his taxi for a doctor. But Furneaux did not move -from her side. He gazed down at her with something of the judge, -something of the executioner, in his waxen features. - -"All heart!" he muttered, "all heart, controlled by a warped brain!" - -"She has broken a blood vessel," said Winter. - -"No; she has broken her heart," said Furneaux, hearing, though -apparently not heeding him. - -"A physical impossibility," growled the Chief Inspector, to whom the -sight of a woman's suffering was peculiarly distressing. - -"Her heart has dilated beyond belief. It is twice the normal size. This -is the end, Winter! She is dying!" - -The flow of blood stopped abruptly. She opened her eyes, those -magnificent eyes which were no longer golden brown but a pathetic -yellow. - -"Oh, forgive!" she muttered. "I--I--loved you, Rupert--with all my -soul!" - -She seemed to sink a little, to shrink, to pass from a struggle to -peace. The lines of despair fled from her face. She lay there in white -beauty, a lily whiteness but little marred by traces of the make-up -hurriedly wiped off her cheeks and forehead. - -"May the Lord be merciful to her!" said Furneaux, and without another -word, he hurried from the room and out of the house. - -Winter, having secured some degree of order in a distracted household, -raced off to Marlborough Street; but Furneaux had been there before him, -and Osborne, knowing nothing of Hylda Prout's death, had flown to -Porchester Gardens and Rosalind. - -The hour was not so late that the thousand eyes of Scotland Yard could -not search every nook in which Furneaux might have taken refuge, but in -vain. Winter, grieving for his friend, fearing the worst, remained all -night in his office, receiving reports of failure by telephone and -messenger. At last, when the sun rose, he went wearily to his home, and -was lying, fully dressed, on his bed, in the state of half-sleep, -half-exhaustion, which is nature's way of healing the bruised spirit, -when he seemed to hear Furneaux's voice sobbing: - -"My Mirabel, why did you leave me, you whom I loved!" - -Instantly he sprang up in a frenzy of action, and ran out into the -street. At that early hour, soon after six o'clock, there was no vehicle -to be found except a battered cab which had prowled London during the -night, but he woke the heavy-witted driver with a promise of double -fare, and the horse ambled over the slow miles to the yews and laurels -of Kensal Green Cemetery. - -There he found him, kneeling by the side of that one little mound of -earth, after having walked in solitude through the long hours till the -gates were opened for the day's digging of graves. Winter said nothing. -He led his friend away, and had him cared for. - -Slowly the cloud lifted. At last, when a heedless public had forgotten -the crime and its dramatic sequel, there came a day when Furneaux -appeared at Scotland Yard. - -"Hello, Winter," he said, coming in as though the world had grown young -again. - -"Hello, Furneaux, glad to see you," said Winter, pushing the cigar-box -across the table. - -"Had my letter?" - -"Yes." - -"Who has taken my place--Clarke?" - -"No, not Clarke." - -"Who, then?" - -"Nobody, yet. The fact is, Furneaux----" - -"I've resigned--that is the material fact." - -"Yes, I know. But you don't mind giving me your advice." - -"No, of course not--just for the sake of old times." - -"Well, there is this affair of Lady Harringay's disappearance. It is a -ticklish business. Seen anything about it in the paper?" - -"A line or two." - -"I'm at my wits' end to find time myself to deal with it. And I've not a -man I can give it to----" - -"Look here, Winter, I'm out of the force." - -"But, to oblige me." - -"I would do a great deal on that score." - -"Get after her, then, without a moment's delay." - -"But there's my resignation." - -Winter picked a letter from a bundle, struck a match, set fire to the -paper, and lighted a cigar with it. - -"There goes your resignation!" he said. - - * * * * * - -During the following summer Rosalind Marsh and Rupert Osborne were -married at Tormouth. It was a quiet wedding, and since that day they -have led quiet lives, so it is to be presumed that they have settled -satisfactorily the problem of how to be happy though rich. - - - THE END - - - - - Transcriber Notes: - -Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. - -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. - -The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up -paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. - -Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected -unless otherwise noted. - -On the title page, "DISSAPEARANCE" was replaced with "DISAPPEARANCE". - -On page 69, "Emile" was replaced with "Émile". - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The de Bercy Affair, by Gordon Holmes - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DE BERCY AFFAIR *** - -***** This file should be named 50705-8.txt or 50705-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/7/0/50705/ - -Produced by Suzanne Shell, Ernest Schaal, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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