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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 55006 ***








                             *THE SUNDIAL*


                                   BY

                             FRED M. WHITE

                 _Author of "The Crimson Blind," etc._



                                NEW YORK
                         B. W. DODGE & COMPANY




                          Copyright, 1908, by
                         B. W. DODGE & COMPANY
                                NEW YORK




                               *CONTENTS*

CHAPTER

      I. A Blighted Life
     II. "The Desire of the Moth"
    III. "Home, Sweet Home!"
     IV. Sackcloth and Ashes
      V. "But yet a Woman"
     VI. A Scientific Discussion
    VII. The Photograph
   VIII. The Rubicon
     IX. Beyond the Bridge
      X. The First of the Fruit
     XI. The Doctrine of Plato
    XII. A Crime or Not?
   XIII. Modern Friendship
    XIV. Bark is Confidential
     XV. Ill Tidings
    XVI. The Honour of the Family
   XVII. "Love me, Love my Dog"
  XVIII. Cupboard Love
    XIX. Unbidden Guests
     XX. Across the Threshold
    XXI. The Honour of the Family.
   XXII. Bread and Salt
  XXIII. Behind the Veil
   XXIV. Mistress of Herself
    XXV. A Plausible Scoundrel
   XXVI. The Jewel Casket
  XXVII. Kate comes Back
 XXVIII. A Startling Contrast
   XXIX. A Lapse of Memory
    XXX. "Thou art the Man"
   XXXI. An Unexpected Friend
  XXXII. Swift comes out
 XXXIII. A Word in Season
  XXXIV. A Black Suspicion
   XXXV. The Search
  XXXVI. An Unseen Danger
 XXXVII. A Dark Suspicion
XXXVIII. The Empty Room
  XXXIX. In the Bar
     XL. "Infirm of Purpose"
    XLI. Damning Proofs
   XLII. The Fire
  XLIII. A One-sided Contest
   XLIV. Brought to Book
    XLV. The Hiding-Place
   XLVI. The Price of a Crime
  XLVII. Absolution
 XLVIII. Sealed in the Grave




                             *THE SUNDIAL*



                              *CHAPTER I*

                           *A BLIGHTED LIFE*


The bitterness of it tasted dry and insipid in John Charlock’s mouth,
like Dead Sea fruit.  It was only lately that he had found out that all
he had longed and hoped for since the early days was nothing more than
vexation of spirit.

This process had been gradual, but it was none the less painful for
that.  It mattered nothing now that fame and fortune had come to him
through the medium of his brush and pencil.  For Charlock had fought his
way up from the bottom.  He had known what it was to starve.  He had
often slept in the open parks.  And now everything was changed, and he
stood almost unrivalled as a portrait-painter.  And at the same time he
appeared to have found the one woman who could make his happiness
complete.

It was only five years ago, yet it seemed to Charlock like a lifetime.
Perhaps he had been to blame; perhaps he had been harsh and hard, but
the gulf between his wife and himself seemed to have been bridged over
since the boy came.

And the child was slipping away, as an evening primrose blooms and dies
within the compass of a night....  It had been a weary vigil and cruel
withal, since there was only one end.  The doctor held out no hope.  He
had told him that the boy could not last till morning, and that was why
Charlock had sent the nurse away, so that he might be with his child
till the end.  Very quietly he crept back to the bed again and stood
looking down at the small, white face.  The features were so colourless
that death might have come already, save that the lips were parting and
the eyelids twitched.  The child had spoken his last words.  Charlock
would never hear that voice again.

The end was very, very near.  The tiny life was drifting out to sea with
the tide.  As Charlock stood there his eye noted the sudden change, his
quick ear caught a fluttering sigh.  There was no need to tell him that
the boy had gone.

Well, that was over, at any rate.  Charlock felt quite calm and
collected.  There was no great grief in his heart.  He supposed it was
all for the best.  Perhaps it would have been a pity if little Jack had
grown up to the knowledge of a divided household.  But it would be a
divided household no longer.  And the sooner Kate Charlock realised that
the better.  Of course, she would have all the sympathy and he would
have all the blame. Not that he cared much about that.  A great artist
like John Charlock was beyond the measure of ordinary criticism.  No
doubt his was a sour, saturnine nature.  No doubt Kate Charlock was
pitied by all who knew her.  It seemed almost a tragedy that a woman so
pure and beautiful should be allied to so uncouth a being as Charlock.
These strange thoughts ran through the painter’s mind like a thread of
scarlet intermingled with a warp of black.

Well, the boy was dead.  Charlock repeated the words over and over
again, as if forcing himself to realise it.  He had sat there for hours
watching the small light burn lower and lower in its socket, while his
wife slept in her own room.  She had persistently refused to believe
that there was anything radically wrong with the boy, though she had
asked Charlock to call her in case a crisis might arise.  Perhaps
Charlock had forgotten about his wife.  But the boy was dead, and Kate
Charlock lay asleep, happily oblivious to the toy tragedy.

But she would have to be told.  She must be aroused at once.  Quietly
Charlock crossed the corridor and entered his wife’s room.  He gave a
quick, contemptuous glance at all the signs of extravagance and luxury
which was the dominant note of the place.  Here was a Duchesse
dressing-table, littered with silver toilet appliances.  The air was
heavy with perfume.  A pair of wax candles gleamed on either side of the
dressing-table. In an armchair close by a figure in black lay fast
asleep.  The hangings from the bed were thrown back, and on the bed
itself lay a heap of discarded clothing.  With a sudden outburst of
anger Charlock shook the figure in the armchair.  The woman opened her
eyes.

"What has become of your mistress?" Charlock asked hoarsely.  "Now,
don’t tell any of your lies to me!  Where has she gone?"

The maid began to whimper, but it was no use to wriggle and prevaricate
under those stern eyes. There was something in the square, grim face of
John Charlock that caused most people to fear him.  He looked positively
cruel.

"She has gone out, sir," the maid stammered.

"Oh, she has gone out, and she left you to wait up for her?  She went
early?  It was a few minutes past ten when your mistress came to bed,
and I was to wake her if anything—happened."

An insolent look came over the maid’s face.

"If you want to know, she’s gone to Mrs. Bromley-Martin’s," she said.
"It’s no business of mine, and, though I am a servant, I am not used to
being spoken to like this.  If you looked after your wife a bit better
there wouldn’t be so much talk."

"Talk!" Charlock echoed.  "What do you mean?"

"Ask the other servants.  Ask your neighbours. Ask them what Mrs.
Charlock does in the garden by night.  It is all very well to be fond of
solitude. If it could only speak, that old sundial could tell a story or
two.  Once they used to hide love-letters in trees.  Nowadays they have
got a better idea than that.  If I were you——"

But Charlock was not listening.  It was doubtful, even, if he had
noticed the studied insolence of the French maid.  He strode back to the
chamber of death and locked the door behind him.  He was thinking of men
who had killed their wives for less than this.  He was filled with the
heartless cruelty of it, the cold-blooded cruelty and deceit.  How could
a mother have slipped away in this fashion, knowing that her child was
so ill?  It was no excuse that she had been sanguine of his recovery.
From the very first she had refused to believe that there was anything
wrong with the boy.  And doubtless that was why she had gone off,
thinking that her husband would be none the wiser.  And once he had
regarded her as one of the best of women and the sweetest.  He had not
been much of a squire of dames, except from a business point of view.
But Kate Chantrey had been different from the rest.  Her beauty was so
_spirituelle_. Those great brown eyes of hers were clear and pure and
soulful as those of a Madonna.

Bare-headed, Charlock walked through the garden and out into the road.
The dawn was breaking in the east and pearly mists were rolling up the
valleys.  But Charlock saw none of these things. In a vague kind of way
he noticed the old sundial at the bottom of the garden, with the
fountain round it—that marvellous piece of carving which had been one of
his extravagances on his last trip to Venice.  It looked fair and chaste
in the light of the early morn.  There was nothing about it to suggest a
vulgar _liaison_ such as that at which Hortense, the French maid, had
hinted.  Charlock would have dismissed the idea contemptuously, but
somehow he could not get it out of his mind; and yet it must have been
mere servants’ gossip.  Kate Charlock was too inordinately selfish, too
fond of the luxuries that her husband’s money provided, to compromise
herself even for so fascinating a man as Arnold Rent.  Charlock knew
that Rent was a friend of his wife’s, a man whom she professed to
understand and sympathise with.  But the matter had never troubled him
before.  He could trust Kate.  Assuredly he had confidence in her so
long as her interests were his.

He came at length to his destination.  He walked across the lawn of Mrs.
Bromley-Martin’s house. He could see two figures on the balcony.  With a
bitter smile he recognised his wife.

"The woman pays," he muttered to himself. "Oh, yes, the woman pays right
enough, but it is generally the man who finds the money.  Presumably God
in His wisdom has some use for women like that, but it is hard to see
where that fool of a fellow comes in.  I dare say he fancies her
ill-used and ill-treated, and tied to a brute unworthy of a mate at all.
And yet as I stand here, knowing everything, I am not surprised that
Rent should be deceived.  Well, he shall have his chance to learn his
lesson as I learnt mine.  It seems almost a pity to intrude upon a scene
of high emotion like that, but it must be done."

Charlock bent to listen again.  There was no word of the conversation
that escaped him.  Then he saw the hostess emerge and claim his wife’s
attention.  A wild desire to rush into the drawing-room, to overturn
chairs and card-tables and drive those puppets into the open air seized
him.  They longed for a new sensation.  They were very near having one
at that moment.  Checking the insane impulse, Charlock passed through
the open window and entered the drawing-room.  The close, highly spiced
atmosphere seemed to choke him.  His mind went back, now, to the great
trouble which he had just gone through.  There sat the woman who should
have shared his vigil, smiling and sorting her cards as if she had not a
care in the world.

It was hard to restrain the reproaches that rose to his lips.  It was a
tense task to approach the card-table quietly and lay his hand upon his
wife’s arm.  It was small wonder, too, that the grip should have been
close as that of a vise.




                              *CHAPTER II*

                       *"THE DESIRE OF THE MOTH"*


"It would be quite safe," Kate Charlock had said to herself.  John was
so foolish about the boy. He always took the gloomiest view of
everything. She would retire to her bedroom and would pretend to be
asleep.  She could dress herself and slip across to Mrs.
Bromley-Martin’s and pass the night in the fascinating pursuit of
bridge. Nobody would know.  She would be back by daylight.  And then she
could take her husband’s place by the boy’s bedside.

She had forgotten everything in the excitement of the moment.  She leant
forward as the game finished.

"Mrs. Charlock cuts out," the dealer murmured.

She rose reluctantly and another gambler eagerly took her place.  The
subdued lights of the shaded candles touched drawn faces.  Now and again
came a cry of annoyance from some plunger whose luck was past bearing.
Outside, the silence of the night was coming to an end.  The trees
murmured with the first touch of the morning breeze.  As Kate Charlock
crossed the room towards one of the French windows a man followed her.
One of the card-players elevated his eyebrows and smiled significantly
at his partner, who happened also to be his hostess.  Her eyes twinkled
in reply.

"Who is the man?" he asked.

"Arnold Rent," was the reply.  "They say he is going to be President of
the Royal Society.  He is a man of various attainments.  He is writing a
series of essays on the follies of Society.  I believe electricity is
his specialty.  But he says he came here to-night to gain experience."

"That was ingenious of him," the questioner said sarcastically.  "He
couldn’t have come to a better house.  All the follies and frivolities
worth seeing can be found here."

"That is right enough," Mrs. Bromley-Martin said placidly.  "I thought
it was awfully sweet of him to choose me out of so many others.  I am
living in hopes that perhaps he will mention my name in one of his
essays, and then how furiously jealous all the rest will be!  Still, I
like Arnold Rent.  He is so terribly cynical.  In the old days he would
have made an ideal libertine."

The man under discussion crossed the room and stood by Kate Charlock’s
side.  She turned her beautiful face to him, her eyes smiled a welcome.
It was by no means the first time the two had met under Mrs.
Bromley-Martin’s roof.

"There is a seat on the balcony," Rent said. "Shall we sit there and
chat for five minutes?  The atmosphere of that room is positively poison
to me.  It seems incredible that civilised men and women, endowed with
all the blessings of life, can sit down and deliberately pass their
nights like this."

A gentle sigh escaped Kate Charlock’s lips.  Her face glowed with
sympathy; there was a sad expression on the lovely features.

"Is it as bad as you expected, then?" she asked.

"Oh, worse, infinitely worse.  In their way these people are just as
heathenish as the Romans of the Empire were.  What a strange thing
fashion is!  Your friends come down here ostensibly from the Cowes
Regatta, but they have played nothing but bridge all day since Monday.
It disgusts me to see young girls given over to the vice of gambling,
heedless of aught else.  Forgive me if I wonder why you come here.  It
cannot be out of sympathy with women like Mrs. Bromley-Martin and her
class."

"Perhaps not," Kate Charlock murmured.  She sighed again in the same
gentle fashion.  Her eyes had a far-away look in them.  "Perhaps I am
like the man who is on the verge of a breakdown from overwork, or the
man who falls back upon brandy to drown some overwhelming sorrow."

The words came slowly and sadly.  In the first flush of the dawn Rent
did not fail to see the look of patient unhappiness on the face of his
companion. Many fair women Arnold Rent had seen in his time, but never
one who appealed to him as Kate Charlock did then.  He had been too
seriously engaged in study to think of women in the abstract. This tall,
fair creature in silver grey appeared to be asking mutely for his
sympathy.  It was such a perfect face, too, a face that seemed to be out
of place here.  There was a suggestion of sadness in the glorious eyes,
as if the woman nursed some secret sorrow and hid it bravely from the
world. Nine men out of ten would have picked out Kate Charlock as a
perfect confidante in the hour of trouble or affliction.  And Arnold
Rent had heard whispers of the story of her life.  He turned to her
quickly, forgetting his cynicism.

"Do you speak from experience?" he asked.

A wave of colour swept over her face.

"You have no right to ask that question," she said.

"That is true, but I am not speaking out of vulgar curiosity.  It was
yourself who hinted that you came here to escape your own thoughts."

"Did I say as much as that?" Kate Charlock asked absently.  "You must
make allowance for us poor women who have seen enough of the world to
know that it is the woman who always pays."

"So you are one of the women who pay, are you?  Do you know, I guessed
that the first time I saw you.  There is something sad and pathetic
about you.  And yet I am sure you are brave and strong.  But, tell me,
is the trouble likely to last?"

"I am afraid so," Kate Charlock murmured. "It is such a terrible thing
for a woman to be tied to a man who has no sympathy with her.  But I am
speaking disloyally of my husband."

Arnold Rent pursued the subject no further.  He had heard something of
the kind of man that John Charlock, the famous artist, was.  Despite his
brilliant genius, despite the position which he had attained from the
ranks of the people, he was spoken of as a boor and a savage brute where
his beautiful wife was concerned.  Strange, Rent thought cynically, how
frequently men like these win the pearls among womanhood.  He was about
to say something of this kind when the hostess darted suddenly out and
pounced upon Kate Charlock.  With a sigh of protest the latter rose.

"You must come and take my hand," Mrs. Bromley-Martin shrieked.  "I am
called away for the moment."

With a self-sacrificing smile Kate Charlock returned to the
drawing-room, followed by Rent. After the sweetness of the morning air,
the atmosphere of the room was close and repellent.  The gamblers sat
jaded and weary, their faces ghastly where the light fell upon them, but
the greedy light in their eyes was still as keen as ever.  Rent could
hear the swish of the cards as they slid over the green baize tables.
He could hear the click of gold and the rustle of bank paper.  His heart
beat faster as he stood watching.  What chance could there be for the
common people, he asked himself, when the rich amused themselves like
this?  It was so demoralising, too.  It seemed almost impossible to
believe that the keen-eyed, eager woman sorting her cards dexterously
could be the same sweet creature who had been seated by his side a few
moments ago.  If ever woman was in need of spiritual support, that woman
was Kate Charlock.  What a glorious thing it would be to play the game
of platonic friend, to show her how to suffer her misfortunes calmly.
She was the sort of woman, too, who in happier auspices might be a maker
of history.  Rent could understand men going mad for the sake of a face
like that, or travelling to the end of the world to obey her lightest
wish.  He wondered what manner of man it was that treated so beautiful a
creature with cruel indifference.

He was still wondering when the open French window was flung back and an
intruder entered. The intruder was not in evening dress.  He was attired
in a shabby flannel suit, his hair was dishevelled, his short brown
beard in disorder.  The man’s face was a strong one, and there was an
almost sinister suggestion of power about the short, blunt nose and
deep-set, gleaming eyes.  There was anger as well as bitter contempt
written on the features as he strode across the room towards the table
where Kate Charlock was seated.  By instinct Arnold Rent knew that he
was face to face with Mrs. Charlock’s husband.

The stranger strode up to her and laid his hand on her arm.  Her
features turned a shade paler as she glanced up.

"John," she faltered.  Just for a moment it occurred to Rent that the
woman’s face had a guilty air.  "What are you doing here like this?  Is
anything wrong?"

"Oh, I know I am out of place," the stranger said grimly.  "Mrs.
Bromley-Martin has asked me more than once to call, and now I am here.
I have come for _you_."

The speaker’s stern, clear tones rang through the room, and cards were
dropped for the moment. The hostess laughed.

"Oh, don’t mention it," she said.  "I love originality.  You can’t think
how tired one gets sometimes of bridge in a drawing-room."

All eyes were turned upon Charlock, and he seemed to have become master
of the situation. He walked to the windows and jerked up the blinds.
The clear glow of the morning fell on tired eyes and painted faces that
looked ghastly white and drawn.  There was no sign of a smile on
Charlock’s face.

"Take the tables and play outside," he said. "That will be something
new, something for the papers to chatter about.  But I am intruding
here, and I want my wife.  You will come at once.  I beg your pardon, I
am sure I did not mean to hurt you, but I am a little beside myself
to-night.  You will know why presently.  I will go outside and wait for
you."




                             *CHAPTER III*

                         *"HOME, SWEET HOME!"*


Unconsciously, Charlock had tightened his grip on his wife’s bare arm.
A cry of pain escaped her, a murmuring, uncomplaining cry which drew a
hum of sympathy from the onlookers.  The red band on the white flesh was
plainly visible. Rent, standing by the table, ventured a word of
expostulation.  Charlock saw that he was a handsome man, with a
clean-shaven, sensitive face, though the eyes were resolute, and the
firm lines about the mouth denoted strength of character. So much the
better.  As to the rest, he wore the dress coat of modern civilisation.
This was Kate’s sympathetic friend.  There was something like a sneer on
Charlock’s face as he turned to Rent.

"I am extremely sorry," he said.  "You will forgive me, but I am quite
out of place here.  And in that respect I ought to have your sympathy
and support, my dear sir."

The other man’s face flushed, and he bit his lip. The retort was so
obvious, so keen and pungent, that many of the onlookers made no efforts
to restrain their amusement.  Kate Charlock rose from the table and
turned to the stranger.

"Would you mind getting my wrap for me, Mr. Rent?" she said.  "I am
sure, John, that Mrs. Bromley-Martin will excuse you, and I know you
would prefer to wait outside for me."

Charlock muttered something, and turned upon his heel.  It was no time
now for nice conventionalities. After the close and stuffy atmosphere
the outer air was cool and refreshing.  Charlock passed his hand across
his eyes.  He was trying to realise what had happened during the last
few minutes. He could remember nothing of what he had said and done.
There was but one picture uppermost in his mind—the picture of a tiny
figure lying white and motionless upon a bed.  That was all Charlock’s
world to-night.

While he stood waiting, Kate Charlock lingered in the hall for a moment
with Arnold Rent.  There was an angry gleam in the man’s eyes as he
folded the wrap round his companion’s shoulders.

"You poor, dear child," he burst out.  "So that is your husband?  You
will forgive me for daring to speak like this——"

"One forgives everything when it is dictated by kindness such as yours,"
Kate Charlock murmured. "But I assure you it is nothing.  It is only his
manner.  If you think I am in danger you are mistaken."

"But his face," Rent protested.  "The look in his eyes.  I was watching
him when he caught sight of you.  I saw murder written there.  I could
not rest if I stayed here.  You will not mind if I follow you as far as
your house?  I will take care not to be seen.  You may think this is an
extraordinary suggestion, but we have been friends for a considerable
time, and you know that I would do anything for you."

There was passion as well as sincerity in the speaker’s tones, and a
tinge of colour crept into Kate Charlock’s cheeks.  She raised a pair of
dewy eyes to her companion’s face.

"You are more than kind," she murmured, "but I know your life is one
long self-sacrifice.  I know what penance it must be to you to spend a
long evening among shallow, heartless people such as these, but your
mission lies with people like us——"

"But you do not identify yourself with them, surely?" Rent cried.  "No,
no, you are a broken-hearted, disappointed woman, striving to forget
your unhappiness.  I confess I am sorry to see you here to-night, but
your future is in no danger.  If we had only met before——"

"Hush, hush," Kate Charlock said hastily.  "You must not talk like that.
I—I dare not listen to you.  As you would not be faithless to your own
vows, you would not have me faithless to mine. And so long as I can come
here, and forget my miseries, so long as I can meet you, I feel that I
am safe."

Arnold Rent thrilled with a curious feeling as he listened to those
impassioned words.  It was impossible to doubt the sincerity of them,
impossible to be anything but sorry for the beautiful, unhappy speaker.
Her voice was dangerously low.  There was an appeal in her eyes that set
Rent fairly trembling.

"I must come and see you," he said.  "You will tell me the whole of your
sad story.  And now I must not detain you longer, seeing that your
husband is waiting for you.  But I am going to follow you home, all the
same."

Again came the look of gratitude in Kate Charlock’s dark eyes.  Then she
turned away, as if afraid to trust herself further, and joined John
Charlock in the garden.  The pearly mists had rolled away.  There was a
deep, roseate flush in the eastern sky, but as yet the sun had not
risen. A distant church clock struck the hour of three.

John Charlock strode along with his hands in his pockets, his sombre
eyes fixed upon the ground. The silence was growing intolerable.  It
seemed to Kate that she must speak, that she could not endure it longer.

"How did you find out?" she asked.

"I went to your room," Charlock explained. "I found your maid fast
asleep, and I compelled her to tell me where you had gone.  Did I make a
fool of myself to-night?"

"You were not polite," the woman murmured, "and——"

"And all your friends are profoundly sorry for you.  It must be a
terrible thing for a woman of your temperament to be allied to a brute
like myself.  And to think that I should humiliate you by dragging you
home like this!  Your lot is indeed a hard one.  Think how happy we
might have been had I only been blessed with a more amiable temperament!
Think how you have helped me in my work, and how unflinchingly you have
spent my money!"

Kate Charlock shivered and trembled, the tears gathered in her eyes, and
the scarlet mouth was quivering.

"What have I done?" she protested.  "Why shouldn’t I go out?  If I had
told you I was going, you would have been annoyed with me, you might
even have forbidden me.  And all this because you fancy that the boy’s
life is in danger. It seems singular that a hard, unfeeling man like you
should make such a ridiculous fuss over a child. It was kinder on my
part to slip away without saying anything.  It isn’t as if the poor
little fellow is any worse than he was yesterday."

Charlock clenched his hands behind his back. He was trembling from head
to foot with an overmastering passion.  A red mist floated before his
eyes, and something seemed to oppress his breathing. It was only for a
moment; then he was his grim self again.

"The boy is better," he said, "far better.  In fact, there is no cause
for anxiety any more.  I will never trouble you about him again.  Why,
you will know presently.  Now you will oblige me by coming this way....
There, fond mother! Look at that!"

The woman stood just for a moment, beginning dimly to comprehend.  She
placed her hand to her head.  A moaning cry escaped her lips.  With
faltering steps she crossed the room and laid a long, slim hand on the
child’s face.  For a while she neither spoke nor moved.  No cry escaped
her lips.  Then, at length, she turned to face her husband.  But he was
gone.

He had shown her enough, and more than enough.  In the face of the
tragedy any word of his would be superfluous.  If she did not benefit by
such a lesson as this, assuredly he could teach her nothing.  She had
nothing to learn.

His heart was very sore and heavy within him as he walked out of the
house and down the garden.  Here was the garden of his dreams—the place
he had planned in his mind when fame should come to him.  It was here in
this perfect spot that he and Kate were going to dwell for ever in their
floral paradise.

What a fool he had been!  Yet that fair face and those pensive eyes
would have deceived a more polished man of the world than John Charlock.
He knew now for a certainty that he had given up everything for beauty
devoid of heart.  And one of the worst features was that the woman who
cared nothing for him was wasting his money with a lavish hand.  He
ought to be happy and comfortable, instead of which he was up to his
neck in debt and difficulty.  He almost smiled as he looked at the
ancient sundial which he had given so much for, merely to please his
wife, but he regretted his folly now.  The price of a portrait had gone
to purchase that white marble.  Charlock walked towards it in a sour
frame of mind.  He could have found it in his heart to destroy the whole
thing. And yet, even in the moment of his trouble, he saw that the
fountain was no longer playing in the carved basin round the base of the
dial.  Some dark object lay there.  He fancied he could see a dress
fluttering in the wind.

He moved forward more quickly.  At the same moment one of the gardeners
came down the path. The man came in response to Charlock’s call.
Together they bent over the object in the basin. Charlock’s face grew
pale.  The gardener shouted in open-mouthed dismay.  They had the object
out on the grass now—a black, wet, horrible thing, with pale, sodden
face.

"Hortense, my wife’s maid!" Charlock whispered. "How did she get here?
How could she have fallen in?"

"Excuse me, sir," the gardener said huskily, "but it looks to me like
foul play.  A grown person would hardly drown in so little water.  And
look at that ugly bruise on her forehead.  You may depend upon it, there
has been mischief here."




                              *CHAPTER IV*

                         *SACKCLOTH AND ASHES*


There was trouble and enough to spare in the house of John Charlock.  A
day or two had passed.  The child was buried, and the blinds were drawn
up once more.  It was characteristic of Charlock that he held his grief
sternly in hand and devoted his energy and attention in striving to get
to the bottom of the mystery which surrounded the death of his wife’s
maid.  The affair had created a sensation in the district.  It was held
to be so important that it had passed out of the hands of the local
police into those of Scotland Yard.  As to the girl’s past, nothing
could be discovered.  No trace of her relatives could be found.  And it
could not be proved that she had been entangled in any love affair.
Robbery was not the motive, either, for she had a well-filled purse in
her pocket and wore a handsome gold watch.

Yet, in some way, Charlock felt that the woman had been more or less of
a dangerous character. He had never liked her.  He distrusted her
manner, which had always been a mixture of humility and veiled
insolence.  She was just the sort of creature who would have stooped to
blackmail, and from this point of view Charlock was working. But a week
had passed, and nothing had happened to throw light on the mystery.

And, besides, Charlock had other things to occupy him.  He had made up
his mind to end the present intolerable state of things.  He was waiting
now in his studio for his wife.  The paint brush hung idly in his hand
and his thoughts were far away.  This was John Charlock in one of his
most dangerous moods.  He turned upon his wife a pair of sullen,
brooding eyes.

"Well, what do you want?" he demanded.

"I am sorry to intrude," Mrs. Charlock said coldly, "but we cannot go on
like this."

"That is true," Charlock said, a grim smile playing about the corners of
his mouth.  "If it is any consolation to you to know it, some change
must be made.  I have sat opposite to you for three days now, with
hardly a word, but your thoughts have been to me like an open book.  You
have made up your mind what to do.  Your programme is clear. Now that
the child has gone, and there is no tie to bind us, you think it would
be far better not to remain under this roof.  Grossly extravagant though
you are, you are shrewd enough, when it comes to a question of money to
spend.  You calculate, I suppose, that my income is about four thousand
a year."

"Really, you fill me with pain," Mrs. Charlock murmured.

"Our Lady of Pain!" Charlock sneered.  "Good heavens, do you want to
pose after we have been married five years?  Why, there is not a cranny
in your soul that holds a dark place for me.  I say you have reckoned it
all out, and you are going to propose that I should share my income with
you and give you a free hand to do as you like.  This opportunity of
martyrdom is not to be lost.  Think how you would look wearing a crown!
What a picturesque figure of a long-suffering woman you would make!  And
all your friends would pity the dear saint and condemn the malignant
husband. But we need not go into that.  Do you know that I am over six
thousand pounds in debt?  I have not a single commission on hand and
hardly know where to turn for the money to pay the servants’ wages.
This is one of the tricks that fortune plays a man who gets his living
as I do.  Two of my commissions are in abeyance, and two other pictures
may never be paid for, because the men who ordered them are dead.  It
sounds like a romance, but it is literally true.  And of this load of
debt that hangs about my neck like a millstone, less than two hundred of
it belongs to me!  Putting aside the expenses of the household, which
have not been heavy, in the last two years you have pledged my credit
for more than four thousand pounds. You said nothing to me.  You ordered
what you wanted.  I have one bill here for five hundred pounds from a
Bond Street milliner.  You may call this only thoughtlessness, if you
like, but I call it mean and dishonourable.  And with all your beauty
and sweetness and sympathy, you are little better than a criminal.  And
the joke of it is, it is I who have to pay the penalty, I who will incur
the contempt of honest men, while you get off scot free.  But there is
going to be an end of all this. Before the week is out everything shall
be disposed of."

Kate Charlock looked up swiftly.  There was something like a challenge
in her eyes.  The mantle of sweetness and resignation had fallen from
her shoulders.

"Do you mean to say you will give up this house?" she demanded.  "Do you
mean to tell me that you will sell the furniture?  Surely there is no
necessity."

"I owe all that money," Charlock said doggedly, "and I am going to pay
it off.  I could easily whitewash myself as other men do, but that is
not my way.  To be candid with you, there is a bill of sale on the
things here which covers their value, and, at any time, my creditors
could come in and remove everything.  Now, make the best of it.  Revel
in your extravagance while it lasts, for the time is getting short.  And
you shall have your opportunity to prove to your friends that you are
the saint they take you to be.  Everything I can lay my hands upon I
shall realise for the benefit of my creditors.  I will not rest till the
last farthing is paid.  It will be a question of rigid economy for a
couple of years, and then I shall be able to look the world in the face
once more.  But in future there is going to be no London or Paris for
you. We shall move into a three-roomed cottage, where we shall not even
keep a servant.  I will take the rough work off your hands, and in
return you will do the housework and cooking.  I intend to keep back no
more than three pounds a week from my earnings until my debts are paid.
That is all I am entitled to.  This you can share with me, or, if you
prefer it, you can have thirty shillings a week to live upon.  If you
take legal proceedings to obtain more, you will find that no Court will
ask a man to give his wife more than half his income."

Kate Charlock stood white and rigid, striving in vain to force a smile.

"You are mad," she said hoarsely.  "You could not do it.  Think of your
position!  Think of what the world would say!"

"Did I ever care what the world said?" Charlock cried.  "What does it
matter, so long as one’s good name remains unsmirched?  I have no more
to say.  I have no desire to argue the thing farther.  I have already
taken the cottage and furnished it.  You have till the end of the week
to make up your mind.  You will please yourself whether you come with me
or not, and I care little or nothing what your decision may be.  Now, as
I am busy, I shall be glad to be alone."

Mrs. Charlock crept from the studio to her own room.  There were real
tears in her eyes.  She was trembling from head to foot with a sense of
humiliation and disappointment.  She no longer doubted what her husband
had said.  She knew that when John Charlock had made up his mind to a
thing it was as good as done.  And he was doing this deliberately, in
order to spite her, to wound her most susceptible feelings, because she
had made such a terrible mistake the night of the boy’s death. He would
not understand her point of view.  She could not induce him to believe
that she had never dreamt the end was so near.  No mother would have
gone away had she known what was likely to happen.  And as to Charlock’s
debts, it would have been easy to retrench and wipe them off by degrees.

Kate Charlock wept as she looked about her. It was a beautiful house,
luxuriously and artistically furnished.  All Kate Charlock’s friends
envied her such a place.

To give it up was an act of mean and cowardly vengeance.  The thing
would never have been thought of had the boy lived.  It never occurred
to the passionate, weeping woman that John Charlock valued his honour
beyond his comfort, for there were scores of people in the smart set to
which she belonged who never paid their debts at all.  There were
members of that charmed circle who boasted of this and were thought none
the worse of.

Here were the beautiful pictures, the magnificent furniture, the
marvellous old silver which Kate Charlock had bought from time to time.
Here was everything that made life sweet and enjoyable, and she was
commanded to resign it all, and live alone in a draughty cottage with
the man whom she regarded less as her husband than as her jailer.  Two
years’ penal servitude at least! The thing was impossible,
insupportable!

She must tell somebody.  She must confide in someone.  But in whom?
Among her frivolous friends, who would give her a measure of broad and
genuine sympathy?  She could only think of one person, and the colour
crept into her cheeks as she recalled Arnold Rent.  Then she became
conscious that a servant had come into the room and stood watching her
curiously.

"Well?" she demanded.  "What do you want? Don’t you see that I want to
be alone?"

"It is Mr. Rent, madam," the servant said.  "He is waiting in the
drawing-room, and would like to see you."




                              *CHAPTER V*

                          *"BUT YET A WOMAN"*


The thing was opportune, almost providential, or so Kate Charlock
thought.  She came down to the drawing-room, a subdued smile on her
face. She seemed to fit into the room, to be part and parcel of it, like
a pure jewel in a beautiful setting. And yet what a pity it was that no
happiness went with all this.  The thought flashed through Arnold Rent’s
mind as he shook hands with her.  She had looked fair the last time they
met, but now, clad in deepest black, she appeared even more attractive.
Rent was not often at a loss for words, but he felt strangely awkward at
the moment.

"I hope I am not intruding," he murmured, "but I am going away
to-morrow, and I could not leave without telling you how grieved I am at
your loss. It must have been a great shock."

The ready tears rose to Kate Charlock’s eyes. Although she had troubled
little about the boy when he was alive, she had persuaded herself that
she had sustained a loss which no lapse of time would heal.

"It was a terrible shock," she murmured, "so unexpected.  What must you
think of me when you remember how I was spending the evening at the very
moment——"

"But, of course, you did not know.  How could you know?" Rent protested.
"I have a much higher opinion of you than that.  You must try to bear
up.  Remember that life has its compensations, even for the most
miserable.  You have a beautiful home.  I never saw a more charming
place."

Mrs. Charlock hesitated a moment.

"I think I had better tell you," she said slowly. "Even this home is not
likely to last long. Whatever his faults may be, my husband is a genius,
and everybody knows that geniuses are bad men of business.  I am afraid
I am not altogether blameless myself.  I took it for granted that we had
plenty of money.  When my husband told me last night that he was
hopelessly in debt I was positively staggered.  He says he owes six
thousand pounds, and he upbraided me bitterly for what he was pleased to
call my extravagance.  He accused me of being the author of all the
mischief.  But I am too much accustomed to his bitter tongue to take
much heed of that.  He always likes to see me well dressed.  He has
never complained like that before.  I suppose he wanted to humiliate me.
Indeed, he has been far worse since the child died. It is a wicked way
to treat a mother.  It is refined cruelty to taunt me with being away on
pleasure when the boy was dying....  Oh, I don’t see how I can endure
the life which lies before me.  So long as we are here, where there is
plenty of room and we need not see much of one another, I might manage
to rub along.  But to go away to a tiny cottage——"

"A cottage?" Rent echoed.  "Is your husband mad?"

"Sometimes I almost fear he is," Mrs. Charlock said in a whisper.
"Since our loss he has been terrible.  And now he has it in his mind to
remove to a labourer’s cottage and live on a few shillings a week until
his debts are paid.  Surely no sane man could behave in that way!  I am
ready to retrench, but when I think of the life that John has mapped
out——"

The speaker’s voice broke with a pathetic catch. She pressed her
handkerchief to her eyes.  There was something in the speech that
tickled Rent.  His assumed sympathy was not so keen and clear as it had
been.  Charlock was a fool, a passionate believer in self-sacrifice.
And, moreover, he was playing into his hands.  But probably he was not
moved by any nice considerations of honour and had adopted this course
to humiliate the beautiful creature who sat opposite.

"You are going to leave him?" he asked hopefully.

"I am afraid so," Kate Charlock said.  "Surely, I can make a living,
though I have been brought up in a very useless fashion.  If you would
only see my husband, you might persuade him——"

"Presently," Rent said.  "Just now I am more concerned with yourself.
Whatever happens, you will always have a friend in me.  And you must not
hesitate in the hour of need.  Fortunately, I have the command of a
considerable amount of money——"

"Oh, I couldn’t do that," Kate Charlock cried. "How good and kind you
are!  If I had only met you before I threw in my lot with John
Charlock.... But what am I saying!"

The woman rose to her feet and threw out her hands towards Rent.  Her
soft, pleading eyes were turned upon him.  They were not wholly devoid
of passion, and impulsively Rent stepped forward and took her hands in
his.  For the moment he had forgotten everything—his characteristic
prudence, even.  A sudden recklessness possessed him. What he was doing
he hardly knew.  Then, a moment later, he awoke to the fact that Kate
Charlock was in his arms and his lips were pressed passionately to hers.

Yet there was no sense of shame in Rent’s mind, only a feeling of
exultation and the knowledge that this woman cared for him.  It was
impossible to believe otherwise as he looked long and ardently into her
eyes.  Then, very slowly, he put her from him and walked towards the
door.  The game was his if he did not lose his head.

"This must not happen again," he said.  "I am shocked to find that I am
as human and weak as the rest.  And I have no blame for you, nothing but
the deepest and sincerest pity.  Oh, what a false and treacherous world!
It is hateful to think that you must go on living your life here——"

"Not here," Kate Charlock said quietly.  "A lonely cottage, where I
shall have to do my own work, and sit day by day opposite——  Oh, I
cannot bear to think of it!  I will go mad.  I shall do him some
mischief—of that I am certain."

"No, no," Rent said sternly, "not if I can prevent it.  I will see your
husband now and try to argue with him.  If you will show me the way——"

Charlock looked up from his easel with a frown on his face as Rent
entered.  Then the frown changed to a bitter smile as he bade his
visitor be seated.  He waited for the latter to speak.

"I have been talking to your wife," Rent began lamely.  "She tells me
that you are thinking of leaving."

"Oh, did she?  Perhaps she told you that I was up to my eyes in debt,
and that I am not going to rest until every penny has been paid.  That
is why I am leaving and have furnished a small cottage in the
neighbourhood.  After all, I am not asking my wife very much.  For the
last three or four years she has had everything that the heart of woman
could desire, and now I am asking her to pay the penalty.  You can’t eat
your cake and have it, you know.  Really, my good sir, as a man of the
world, you ought to applaud my resolution."

"So I do," Rent murmured.  "But you will pardon me if I ask you a plain
question.  People say you are a hard man.  They say that your wife’s lot
is not a happy one.  I do hope and trust that in the step you are taking
you have no desire to humiliate the lady——"

"Stop!" Charlock cried.  "You are going too far.  I hear you are
fearless and outspoken.  I know you are a man of sense.  And seeing you
are candid, let me be candid in return.  If I had married a plain,
commonplace woman, would you take as much interest in her as you do in
the lady whom I have the honour to call my wife?  Ah, you are silent.  I
thought so.  Yes, those are very pleading eyes.  That is a very sad,
sweet countenance.  And doubtless I am a brute, because I can watch the
tears fall from those eyes with a smile on my lips. Did it ever strike
you that there may be another side to the question?  Oh, I am not going
to speak of it.  You are quite free to form your own conclusions.  And
now you have come to persuade me to modify my scheme.  Is not that so?"

"I must confess that I had some such idea in my mind," Rent admitted.
"It seems so hard upon your wife."

"Oh, I know," Charlock said, the bitter sneer still on his face.  "It is
always the woman who pays.  But I am busy now and have no time to
discuss this matter.  Come and see me again, say to-morrow evening,
about eight o’clock.  Then you shall have an answer to your question.
You are a well-meaning man, but, like most of your class, you have no
knowledge of the world and you fail to see the grim humour of the
situation.  It is rather amusing, don’t you think, for a married man to
be lectured by a bachelor?  Some day, when your time comes——"

Charlock turned to his easel and refused to say another word.  With a
feeling that he had been baffled, Rent left the house.  He walked slowly
across the fields, the vision of Kate Charlock’s beautiful, pathetic
face occupying his mind to the exclusion of everything else.  He tingled
as he thought of that passionate caress.  The feeling of hope was
drowned in an unreasoning exultation. And yet he ought not to see her
again.  He had his future to consider.  That chapter must be closed for
ever.  But as he walked along, for the first time in his life, Arnold
Rent regretted his aims and the career which he had mapped out for
himself since his schooldays.




                              *CHAPTER VI*

                       *A SCIENTIFIC DISCUSSION*


Much at the same moment two men were sitting on the deck of a yacht,
drifting idly before a light breeze in the Solent.  One was a young,
keen-faced fellow, with quick, alert eyes and a restless expression, who
was known as Malcolm Grey.  He was regarded as a coming man in science,
more especially in electricity.  Already one or two discoveries of his
bade fair to revolutionise hitherto accepted theories, and he was
engaged upon a series of investigations which had for their end the
promulgation of life and the alleviation of human suffering.  Scientific
folk were looking forward with interest to the next pronouncement of
Malcolm Grey.

His companion was a very different-looking man. He was short and
inclined to be stout.  The outline of his figure denoted great personal
strength.  His piercing black eyes had a humorous twinkle.  A heavy dark
moustache concealed the lines of his mouth.  Dr. Tanza was a scientist,
also, but his researches were more concerned with humanity, and
particularly with the cause and prevention of crime.  Tanza had devoted
most of his life to this important subject, and, though some of his
theories had been laughed at once, some of the best men in Europe were
coming round to his way of thinking. Certainly he had been marvellously
successful on two or three occasions and had operated upon the brains of
criminals with the most amazing effect.  As to the rest, he used his
yacht and his great wealth for the sole purpose of developing his hobby.
It was a small matter to him to travel half-way round the world to
interview a wretched creature who had invented something atrocious in
the way of fresh and startling crime.  For the moment he appeared to be
taking his leisure, though his friend knew that he had something on his
mind.

"And now," said Grey, "tell me why you brought me down here.  You know
how busy I am and how precious my moments are.  What have you in view?"

Tanza lighted a fresh cigarette and sipped his after-luncheon coffee
with a ruminating air.

"I want your assistance," he said.  "I think it will be worth your
while.  It isn’t every day that I come across a criminal problem that
interests me, but I think I have found one in the case of the mysterious
death of Mrs. Charlock’s French maid. Charlock is a man difficult to
approach and resents interference of any kind.  As it happens, you are
acquainted with him, which makes our task easier. Between ourselves, I
mean to get to the bottom of that affair, because I feel certain that
here is a new phase of crime."

"Why do you think so?" Grey asked.  "I read the account of the inquest
and I didn’t notice anything out of the common.  I don’t see how a woman
of her class could have enemies in her household. She was a
self-contained foreigner, mainly interested in saving money, and she
seems to have kept apart from the rest of the domestics.  The rest of
the servants are English and appear to be of a humdrum, respectable
type.  As far as I can see, her death happened naturally.  The woman was
fooling about by the fountain, slipped on the marble and stunned herself
against the sundial.  That would account for the bruise on her forehead.
She was unconscious when she fell into the water and consequently was
drowned.  The thing is simple."

"That is because you haven’t studied the subject," Tanza said placidly.
"I flatter myself that I have an unerring instinct for this class of
thing, and that is why I feel sure that we have dropped upon something
new in the way of crime.  You have forgotten that the doctor who made
the _post-mortem_ testified that there was little or no water in the
lungs, which is rather against your drowning theory.  Besides, one of
the witnesses said that the woman’s clothing was slightly singed.  And,
in addition to this, what could the Frenchwoman want in the garden at
that early hour in the morning?  Charlock swore that she was in the
house just before daybreak, and soon after it was light he himself found
her lying in the fountain. Depend upon it, she went to keep an
assignation and met her death that way."

"What, in broad daylight?" Grey asked.

"That," Tanza said, with the air of a connoisseur, "is just where I am
puzzled.  It must have been nearly broad daylight, at any rate, when the
woman left the house, and the sundial was in full view of the front
windows.  We’ve a precious clever rascal to deal with, I know.  I have
gone into all the records of new and ingenious crimes, and in all my
experience I can find nothing to fit this case.  That is why I called
you in.  The murderer is up-to-date and uses all the modern appliances
which are not as yet known to the police.  A good many of them may still
be outside the ken of the average scientist.  And the more my mind
dwells upon the matter the more sure I am that science has been invoked
by our miscreant.  As you are well versed in all the latest discoveries,
I asked you to spend a few days with me and make an examination of the
scene of the trouble."

"Shouldn’t we be rather intruding?" Grey protested. "Charlock is a very
queer sort of man."

"I know that.  In writing to him for his permission to test certain of
my theories I mentioned that I was a friend of yours and that I should
bring you along.  I received a characteristic reply to the effect that I
had best mind my own business, but that so long as you answered for my
_bona fides_ no objection would be made.  So we are going off this
afternoon, and here is the boat coming to fetch us. I don’t expect a
very warm reception."

John Charlock was walking about the grounds when his visitors arrived.
Despite his sternness he looked miserable.  For the time being he could
not work.  He felt that he would be able to do little or nothing until
he had disposed of his expensive household.  He had another plan, too,
in his mind, but for the moment it was not ripe for execution.  He
extended a more or less cordial welcome to Grey, but his manner to Tanza
was chilly. If the latter noticed it, he did not disclose the fact.

"This is very good of you, my dear sir," he said. "I hope you will not
think I am here out of mere curiosity, for I am quite convinced that the
death of your wife’s maid was no ordinary occurrence. Having devoted
most of my life to the study of crime, my experience tells me——"

"I have heard of you, of course," Charlock said civilly enough.  "And,
if such is your opinion, it is entitled to every respect.  If I can do
anything to help you I will.  But I am certain that you are mistaken."

"We shall see," Tanza said drily.  "In the first place, will you be good
enough to show us the famous sundial where the accident took place, and
perhaps you can tell me whether the poor woman’s dress was singed?  Was
it round the skirt, for instance?"

"Personally, I could see no trace of it," Charlock said.  "There was a
certain fraying of the cloth round one of the wrists, and a swelling of
the hand, as if the fingers had been recently charred.  But, then, my
wife tells me that Hortense inadvertently put her right hand on a pair
of almost red-hot curling tongs a day or two ago, which gives the
incident a very prosaic complexion. I think you can dismiss the singeing
idea altogether."

For the moment the doctor looked disconcerted. But he had no intention
of discarding his theory. He dropped behind, discussing the matter with
Charlock, while Grey went forward to the part of the garden where the
sundial was situated.  He stood there admiring the beautiful carving of
the marble and thinking how appropriate were the surroundings.  The
fountain was playing again.  The sundial was like a gleaming statue in
the sun.  The Latin inscription on the top glistened in brass letters.
There appeared to be nothing to connect the sundial with the cruel and
cold-blooded murder. And, though Tanza talked scientifically about his
theories, he did not appear to be making much progress.

"You are wrong," Charlock said.  "I am sure the whole thing was no more
than an unfortunate accident.  I don’t care what the doctor says.
However, I sha’n’t be here after to-morrow, but you are at liberty to
come whenever you please and make what investigations you like.  And
now, if you will excuse me, I will get back to the house. You will
pardon me if I don’t ask you to come in."

Charlock turned away none too graciously, and the Italian doctor
shrugged his shoulders.

"It is as well we are alone," he said.  "I shall yet convince our friend
that I am right.  All the same, I am bound to confess that we look like
having our trouble for our pains.  Now, I suppose you don’t see anything
suspicious, anything which is hidden from unscientific eyes?"

"As a matter of fact, I can," Grey said quietly. "Only I waited till our
friend was gone.  Look here!"

He stooped and picked up a small object, which he slipped upon his
thumb.  Tanza lifted his brows interrogatively.

"Oh, it’s a clue," Grey smiled.  "What is it? Why, it is a finger torn
from an india-rubber glove!"




                             *CHAPTER VII*

                            *THE PHOTOGRAPH*


Malcolm Grey handled the piece of dirty india-rubber almost tenderly.
There was a smile on his face which somewhat irritated Tanza.  The
little Italian, usually so quick at picking up a clue, was quite baffled
now.  His instinct told him that Grey had made an important discovery.
He stretched out his hand eagerly.

"Let me look at it," he said.

"Certainly," Grey said good-naturedly.  "Look at it, by all means, but
you won’t make much out of the thing.  It is simply a finger of a glove
made of india-rubber, which might mean anything.  But to me it conveys a
good deal."

"And to me it conveys nothing," Tanza replied. "Now, let me see.  Who
are the sort of men who wear india-rubber gloves?  I suppose they are
manufactured for a certain class of sportsmen.  I know they are used by
electricians, and latterly by up-to-date burglars.  You know these
gentry have adopted india-rubber gloves to obliterate finger-marks.  No
doubt one of the fraternity has been here, though I am bound to confess
that we are not getting much farther.  What do you make of it?"

"If you don’t mind, I won’t tell you yet," Grey said.  "Of course, you
have already invented a theory of your own, which may be right and which
may be wrong.  You may not agree with me, but it is possible that if I
tell you my theory you will modify yours, to the destruction of,
perhaps, a really logical sequence of ideas.  Now, if you keep your
notion to yourself and I keep mine to myself we may get a definite
conclusion all the sooner. Don’t you think I am right?"

"Well, perhaps you are," Tanza said thoughtfully. "As for me, I have
already got a notion, so we will both preserve our ideas and see which
leads to the goal first."

"I am glad you said that," Grey remarked gravely.  "I must confess that
when I picked up that finger-stall I was startled.  It indicated a fresh
train of thought to me.  It suggested one of the most startling and most
original crimes of modern times. The idea came to me like a flash.  But
it is one thing to discover the source of a crime, and quite another to
put your hand upon the criminal.  And now, if you don’t mind, I think I
should like to be alone.  There are one or two things I want to do
before I can put my theory into practice, and it would be much more
prudent if I exercised this discretion by myself."

"Right you are," Tanza said gaily.  "I will return to the yacht.  I
suppose you will be back to dinner?"

Grey made no reply.  Already he seemed to be immersed in his own
thoughts.  He was more or less oblivious of the presence of his
companion. When he was alone he walked round the marble basin of the
fountain, scrutinising every inch of the ground with minutest attention.
Round and round he went, with his eyes bent upon the earth, his body
doubled.  But though he spent some considerable time there, nothing
seemed to reward his search. He shook his head as he turned away from
the fountain, and proceeded to walk backwards and forwards across the
lawn, like a man searching for some object which he has dropped.  It was
not till he got to the edge of the grass that his face lighted and a
grim smile trembled on his thin lips. From the gravel path he took up a
mass of silk thread all ravelled up together, and a little farther on
was a piece of wire about the length of a pin, and also a small square
of india-rubber not larger than a postage stamp.  These trivial objects
Grey placed in an envelope which he put in his pocket. As he looked up
he saw Charlock watching him curiously out of one of the windows of the
house. He was about to move away, when the artist beckoned to him.  He
lingered a moment, and Charlock appeared at the front door and asked him
curtly if he would come in.

"I want to ask you a question or two," Charlock said.  "You seem to have
built up a pretty good reputation since we used to meet at the Old
Bohemian Club in Craven Street.  I believe you have studied medicine,
among other things?"

"Quite right," Grey smiled.  "All the same, you don’t look as if you
want a doctor.  You are the picture of health."

Charlock smiled in his grimmest fashion.

"Am I?" he said.  "In that case my looks belie me.  I am not a crank or
a faddist, but certain signs which I have had lately are not to be
disregarded.  I am strong enough physically, but those early days of
poverty have left their mark.  It isn’t good for a young man to starve
for weeks at a time, as I used to do.  And of late I have been working
far too hard.  You see, the trouble that worries me is here."

Charlock laid his hand upon his heart.  He seemed to have some
difficulty in speaking.  The smile died from Grey’s lips and he became
serious. He had seen too many men of perfect _physique_ with that fatal
heart weakness to make light of Charlock’s fears.  He motioned him to a
chair.

"Take off your coat and waistcoat," he said, "and let me listen.  It is
as well to be on the safe side."

The speaker laid his ear to Charlock’s heart for a moment or two, and
when he rose there was a certain gravity in his eyes, which Charlock
noticed with a cynical smile.

"Well," he said, "is it very bad?"

"No," Grey said gravely.  "I don’t think so. Of course, I can’t be
absolutely certain without a stethoscope, but I think there is nothing
organically wrong.  You have been overstraining yourself and there is a
weakness which is more or less pronounced.  A month’s holiday, with
plenty of open air and exercise, will put you right again. Still, there
is another test which ought to settle the matter.  Do you happen to have
such a thing in the house as a bottle of sal volatile?  Or a little
brandy would do."

"No brandy for me," Charlock said.  "I never touch the stuff.  I
shouldn’t wonder if there was a bottle of sal volatile in that
unfortunate maid’s room.  I understand that Hortense was hysterical and
used to doctor herself with the remedy you speak of.  I’ll ring the bell
and see."

A servant came in answer to the summons, but she stood hesitating as
Charlock told her what he needed.  She was a domestic of the country
type, with vacant face and staring eyes.  She shook her head stubbornly.

"I couldn’t do it, sir," she said.  "I wouldn’t go into Hortense’s
room—no, not if you was to double my wages.  It isn’t safe, my mother
always said, to go into the room of a suicide.  It makes you feel that
way yourself."

Charlock appeared to be on the verge of an explosion of temper, when
Grey cut in.  Expostulation was useless.

"Oh, never mind," he said.  "Show me the room and I’ll look for myself.
Now come along. I won’t even ask you to come inside.  If you will point
out the room to me——"

The round-eyed domestic accepted the compromise cheerfully.  She piloted
Grey up the stairs and indicated a room at the far end of the corridor.
Then she retired precipitately, to Grey’s great amusement.  He knew that
it was useless to argue with rustics of that sort.  He entered the room
and glanced around him.

The bedroom was comfortably furnished.  There was a variety of pictures
and knickknacks on the walls, and a book-shelf was laden with French
novels.  The maid had furnished her bedroom in imitation of a lady’s
boudoir.  She was of luxurious habits, too, for a fire was laid in the
grate and an attempt had been made to light it.  Paper and sticks were
charred away, but the coal had been obstinate and had refused to burn.
A few letters had been torn up and thrown in the back of the fire, and
these, for the most part, were charred and smoked until only a few words
could be read.  In a spirit of idle curiosity, Grey knelt down and
examined these.  He smiled to himself at his own weakness.  Clearly he
had caught this fever of investigation from his Italian friend.  After a
moment or two, however, his amused smile vanished, he grew deeply
interested.  A fragment of one of the letters was in his hand.  He could
make out a few words thereon, among which stood out prominently the
expression "be cautious," and then, lower down, the still more
significant words "the sundial."

There was nothing on the back of the paper, nothing more to indicate the
writer’s meaning. But, whoever the writer was, he had conveyed a warning
to Hortense by means of his letter, and in some strange, inscrutable way
that warning was mixed up with the old Roman sundial.  No doubt the maid
had torn up the letter and thrown it on the fire while the sticks were
still burning, taking it for granted, of course, that the letter was
destroyed.

"A lucky find," Grey murmured to himself. "There is more here than meets
the eye.  I shall have a fine story for Tanza.  Still, it is one thing
to know how a crime is committed and another to discover the
perpetrator.  I wonder if I can find a further clue—hallo!"

Grey almost started as he pulled from the grate a photograph which had
been torn across the middle.  He placed the two pieces together and
examined them by the light of the window.  There was a puzzled
expression on his face as he looked at the photograph, which was that of
two men dressed for some outdoor sport.  One face was strange to him,
but he recognised the other.

"Arnold Rent," he muttered.  "Rent, to a certainty."




                             *CHAPTER VIII*

                             *THE RUBICON*


John Charlock had finished his breakfast and was busy with his
correspondence.  He looked up presently as his wife came in.  The tall,
slender figure looked graceful and attractive in the thin black dress
she was wearing, and Charlock’s artistic eye was pleased with the
picture.  He knew that Kate’s gown was an expensive one, and that there
was about it a marked, if subdued, suggestion of festivity.  His brows
contracted.  Surely that dress must have been ordered since he had
spoken of the need of economy.

"Your grief is chastened," he said.  "It is good to see how you are
bearing up under your crushing sorrow.  You have come to the conclusion
that it is your duty not to repine.  Well, what is it? Going off
somewhere for the day?  A little innocent enjoyment will do you no
harm."

"I was thinking of it," Kate Charlock said coldly. "I am going to
Southampton to spend the day with some friends.  But I shall be back in
time for dinner."

Charlock rubbed his hands together slowly. There was a peculiar smile
upon his rugged face.

"Oh, I am glad to hear that," he said.  "Whatever you do, don’t forget
to come back to dinner, because I have a pleasant surprise awaiting you.
I was not sure until I got my letter this morning, but now all doubt is
removed.  Good-bye and a pleasant day to you.  Make the most of your
chances."

Kate Charlock asked no questions.  She had no curiosity concerning her
husband’s meaning.  She came back in the cool of the evening.  She
passed through the lodge gates and noted the untidy state of the drive.
The place was littered here and there with straw and shavings.  The
marks of the wheels of a heavy waggon were to be plainly seen on the
side of the lawn.  Kate was vexed, for she had always prided herself
upon the symmetry and tidiness of her garden.  She looked towards the
gardener’s lodge, and, to her surprise, observed that it was empty.

Her heart sank with a foreboding of coming evil as she quickened her
pace towards the house.  Here the litter increased.  Shavings and scraps
of paper had blown across the velvet lawn, a broken packing-case or two
stood by the front door.  With feelings of alarm and agitation, Kate
Charlock looked up at the long rows of blank windows, which seemed to be
staring her out of countenance. The window-boxes with their brilliant
flowers had gone and the fine lace curtains and the rose-tinted silk
blinds had vanished.  Where a few hours before had been the picture of a
refined English home was now mere chaos and desolation.  With faltering
footsteps and trembling limbs, Kate Charlock passed through the front
door, which stood wide open for all the world to enter.

Her footsteps echoed on the bare boards.  More by instinct than anything
else, she called her husband by name.  She could hear her voice echoing
from room to room.  She knew now that the place was absolutely and
entirely bare.  Then there was the sound of an answering footfall and
John Charlock stood by the side of his wife in the dismantled
drawing-room.

"Well," he said, "and what do you think of it? I promised you a
surprise, and here it is.  For days I have been expecting the creditor
who holds the bill of sale to carry out his threat and remove
everything.  This morning he informed me what he was going to do, and he
has done it.  Save your own belongings, which are packed away in your
dressing-room, the house is empty.  I didn’t tell you this before,
because I did not wish to spoil your holiday.  But you will see that it
is impossible to remain.  Fortunately, the cottage is ready.  Now, if
you will dry your eyes and try to play the woman, we will go off
together where we can have a roof over our heads and no more of this
sickening anxiety for the future.  Come."

Charlock held out his hand, but the woman shrank from him.  There was
terror as well as grief in her eyes.  She shuddered with loathing from
head to foot.  She could not do it.  Come what might, she could not do
it.  In her heart of hearts she had never expected such a crushing blow.
It was so like John Charlock to spring it on her in this cruel fashion.

"No," she said, as she wiped the tears angrily from her cheeks.
"Between you and me there is an end of all things.  I am not coming with
you. If I were starving at this moment I would decline to cross the
threshold of your cottage.  Oh, you need not worry.  I shall make a
living somehow. To-night I shall stay with Mrs. Bromley-Martin and ask
her advice and assistance.  Henceforward our lives shall be spent
apart."

"And that is your last word?" Charlock asked.

"I have no more to say, except good-bye."

Charlock turned and strode resolutely from the house.  There was a queer
smile on his face, though his heart was hot and angry.  He passed out
through the gates in the direction of his cottage. He gave no heed to
his wife standing in the deserted home.  And he had gone out of her mind
directly.

What was she to do?  How would the next chapter in the story read?  She
had spoken bravely enough about her friend Mrs. Bromley-Martin, but she
knew in her heart of hearts how shallow and insincere all the so-called
friendships in her own set were.  Still, she was not penniless.  Her
husband had told her where she would find all her belongings, and her
jewels were worth some hundreds of pounds.  She would gather those
together and go and stay at a hotel for the night.  She was still
debating the matter in her mind when she heard footsteps in the hall,
and her courage deserted her for the moment.  She drew a breath of
something more than relief as Arnold Rent came forward.

"This is almost providential," she sighed.  "How did you come to know
that I was in such sore need of you?"

"That was prosaic enough," Rent said, with a strange thrill in his
voice.  "I came to see your husband by appointment.  He promised me an
answer to my arguments, but I did not expect to get it in such a
dramatic way as this.  Still, I was prepared for what I have found,
because I met Mrs. Bromley-Martin just now and she seems to know
everything.  She is very sorry for you, but when I suggested that she
should place her house at your disposal for a few days, she flatly
refused, saying that her house was already too full.  My dear Mrs.
Charlock, what do you propose to do? How can I help you?"

Kate Charlock threw up her hands in despair.

"I am stunned," she said.  "I am overwhelmed by this cruel stroke.  Now
you see what manner of man my husband is.  Now you see the creature that
I have had to put up with.  A few minutes since he taunted me with my
extravagance and, with a sneer on his lips, offered me the shelter of
his cottage.  I don’t profess to have more courage than most women, but
the worm will turn at last, and I refused to go.  He has left me nothing
but my belongings, nothing but this desolate house. Ah, it is a true
saying that it is always the woman who pays."

A simulated indignation swept over Arnold Rent.  Then his heart softened
to tenderness and love and pity.  Why should this beautiful woman be
left alone in the world?  Why should he not help her?  Good heavens, how
blind John Charlock must be!  Thousands of good men would give all they
possessed to have the affection of a creature like this.  She stood
there in a supplicating attitude, her large, pathetic eyes turned on
Rent. She was asking him as plainly as words could speak for counsel.
Passionate sobs were breaking from her.  She held out her hands to Rent,
murmuring piteously that he was the only friend she had in all the wide
world.  He caught those hands in a firm grip.  He forgot everything in
the delirious excitement of the moment.  Once more the woman was in his
arms, his lips were pressed to hers, and she was sobbing on his
shoulder.

"Oh, I know this is terribly wrong," she murmured. "But I am so
miserable and so helpless. What can I do?  What am I good for, except to
be the faithful wife and companion of some good man who can understand
me and whose heart is entirely mine?  But that is a dream.  Tell me,
Arnold, that you are not ashamed of my impulsive action."

Rent made no reply for the moment.  His mind was moving quickly.  He
looked eagerly and vividly into the future.  He could see his airy
castles vanishing before the fragrant breath of the woman who had
abandoned herself to his embrace.  In an instant all was gone to the
winds, and a mere man, palpitating and trembling with sheer humanity,
was holding in his arms that for which he was going to forfeit the
world.

"Not another word," he whispered hoarsely. "I am glad I came here
to-night, both for your sake and mine.  You shall have no more anxiety
for the future.  We will live for that future, you and me.  Dearest, I
could not let you go.  Say you will let me act for you.  Your honour is
safe in my hands."




                              *CHAPTER IX*

                          *BEYOND THE BRIDGE*


Kate Charlock regarded the speaker with startled eyes.  The crimson wave
stained her face and she stood as if the mere suggestion petrified her.
It was as if she had suddenly stepped into a world of sin and trouble
from some Arcadia where such things were only heard of or discussed in
whispers.

It was magnificently done, so spontaneous. Arnold Rent was moved to a
real, deep admiration. It seemed strange to him that any man could be
cruel to so beautiful a saint.  He waited in a kind of rapture for Kate
to speak.

"Oh, no, no," she murmured.  "You cannot mean it!  Do not think that I
am angry with you. Do not think that I am blind to the enormous
sacrifice that you are making.  You are speaking on the impulse of the
moment.  Think of your future!"

"I am not," Rent cried.  "If anybody had told me this yesterday I should
have repudiated the idea with scorn and amusement.  But yesterday and
to-day are far apart, and I do not recognise myself as the same man.
And I mean every word that I say.  Otherwise, what would become of you?
You could not go back to that man now.  It is out of the question."

Kate Charlock pressed her hands to her eyes and shivered.  The gesture
was more eloquent than any words could be.

"Precisely," Rent went on rapidly.  "Though I understand what is
uppermost in your mind, you stand at the parting of the ways, both of
which end in what the world calls folly.  But is it folly for you to
strike a blow for your just rights?  And, really, you couldn’t go back
to the man whom you hate and despise."

"But there is a middle course," Kate Charlock murmured.  "I can go out
into the world alone. I can get my own living, as other unhappy women
have done before me.  And you will help me."

"That I will," Rent said.  "Ah, I am afraid you do not realise what a
terrible task it is.  And, mind you, nobody cares for your future but
me.  You have no friends among the people with whom your life has been
cast lately.  Not one of them would stretch out a hand to save you."

Kate Charlock shook her head sadly.  There was no occasion for Rent to
tell her that, for she knew it far better than he did.  In worldly
matters this man was a mere child by the side of her.  She glanced at
her hands—those long, slim hands which had not done a day’s work for the
last six years.  And Kate Charlock knew her limits.  She knew perfectly
well that she was not clever, that her mental equipment was slender.
She read no literature, beyond the last thing in neurotic fiction. Her
education had been quite perfunctory.  Save in the direction of the
stage, there was no opening for her.  And, with all her great talents, a
stage career was precarious, if not problematical.

She had nothing except her beauty and the sweet, alluring sadness of her
smile.  On one point she was resolved: she was never going to share an
humble cottage with John Charlock.  As she stood there, meek and
resigned, with the slow dawning of a smile upon her face, she was
reckoning up her chances as avidly as any Cheap Jack at a country fair.
She saw the risks.  She had a luminous grasp of the situation.  Her
mental vision was clear and cold as crystal.

She had done with John Charlock—of that there was no question whatever.
She would be no slave of his any more, even if she had to live on the
dry bread of adversity.  There was an end of that. Possibly she might
live upon the sale of her fine jewels till she could get a footing on
the stage, but that was a slow process even to the cleverest.  And here
was this chivalrous fool holding the gate open for her to pass, ready to
sacrifice his future for the mere shadow of one of her sweet, sad
smiles.

Was the game worth the candle? she asked herself. She was regarding the
crisis from her point of view alone.  She was not giving Arnold Rent as
much as a single thought.

It would be slow enough, she knew that perfectly well.  Audacious as she
was, in her heart of hearts she knew that she would have to bend before
the storm and the stress of the chatter which was sure to follow.  Even
the most liberal members of her own smart set would turn a cold face on
her for the time being, though they might wink at her as they passed by.

For the time being!  Ah, that was the crucial point of the problem.  It
would be impossible to stay in England.  She would have to go abroad for
a time—her means were too limited for England. Rent would be rich—and
her husband’s heart was weak!  Then she would take care that her story
was told.  She would see that among her friends the sympathy was all for
her.  Still, that meant there was a long time to wait.  In the
meanwhile, could she live in fond hope?  Once more, was the game worth
the candle?

On the other hand, as far as Kate Charlock could see, there was no other
game to play.  Fate had thrown this chance into her hands and she was
not disposed to release it.  Besides, Arnold Rent was rich.  At any
rate, if he were not rich himself, he had a very wealthy mother who
idolised him.  That mother was going to be a bit of a stumbling-block
later, but that was Arnold Rent’s affair and did not concern the woman.
On the whole, Kate Charlock had made up her mind.  But it would never do
to throw herself into the arms of this man merely at his bidding.

"I ought to have time to think," she said.  "It is cruel to press me in
this way, and there is your own future to consider.  Do you know that I
shall be a millstone round your neck, and that, as soon as the world
knows that we have thrown in our lot together, your ambitions will die a
natural death?"

"That is how I expected you to speak," Arnold Rent replied.  "Always so
unselfish and considerate for the feelings of others, always putting
yourself in the background!  My dear, sweet saint, what are those paltry
ambitions of mine compared with my love for you?  Who am I that I should
set out to reform the world single-handed?  Why should not the world
know your story, for that matter?  I may be obscured for the moment, but
when people come to understand I shall rank as high as ever.  With you
by my side I could do anything.  We could set up a creed and programme
of our own, based on the broader doctrines of true charity.  I little
thought when your husband asked me to meet him here to-night——"

"To meet you here to-night?" Kate Charlock cried.  "Do you mean to say
that you came here by appointment?  Oh, now I begin to see.  Now I begin
to understand."

She checked herself suddenly.  She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes
as if overcome with the excess of her emotions.  The action filled Rent
with deepest and sincerest pity.  It was not for him to guess how near
the woman had come to betraying herself.

So this had been part of John Charlock’s revenge. He had thrown these
two deliberately together at the very moment when defenceless beauty
must most need champion and defender.  A less wise and more honest woman
than Kate Charlock would have told this to Rent, heedless of the fact
that his own suspicions might have been aroused. But not Kate Charlock.

"I don’t quite understand," she murmured. "Why should you have been
asked to come here to-night at all?"

"Well, you see, I ventured to expostulate with your husband.  I pointed
out to him how cruelly his new project would bear upon you.  It was not
a pleasant interview, I assure you.  Finally, he asked me to come here
this evening at eight o’clock, when he would give me a practical idea of
his decision.  I little dreamt then what he meant, but I see it plainly
now.  The man is a monster in human form, Kate, a cunning scoundrel, who
is not worthy to associate with honest men.  Do you think he really
intended that you and I——  Oh, you know what I mean.  I cannot put it
into words."

"He gave me the choice of going with him," Mrs. Charlock said bitterly.
"That much is in his favour.  And I suppose he could not help the fact
that his creditor was determined to avail himself of his powers to take
everything away.  I am trying to think as fairly of my husband as I can.
It is probable that he has forgotten about you."

Kate Charlock spoke eagerly.  Indeed, she appeared to be sincere in her
defence of her husband. If any suspicion rankled in Rent’s mind, it had
to be laid to sleep at once.  But there was no suspicion in the man’s
mind, nothing but admiration for this woman’s spurious single-mindedness
and love and truth.

"We will say no more about it," he cried. "Meanwhile, we are wasting
time.  There is nothing in this desolate place to attract you, no
memories to keep you lingering here.  And, in any case, it is too late
to draw back.  Get what things you want and I will go down to the
village and procure a conveyance.  You are not afraid to be left here
alone?"

Kate Charlock smiled reassuringly.  There was nothing she desired better
than to be left alone for a moment or two.  She went almost gaily up to
the room where her belongings had been stored.  Her heart was light
within her as that of a child.  The sweet, innocent smile was still upon
her face.  But the smile was faint and wan when she came down again.

"My jewels are gone," she moaned.  "The safe has been forced.  No, my
husband would not have done that.  It was Hortense.  The wicked woman!
Oh, the wicked woman!  But perhaps I had better keep this from Arnold
Rent."




                              *CHAPTER X*

                        *THE FIRST OF THE FRUIT*


The darkness was gathering by the time that Rent came back and Kate
Charlock had her property gathered together.  She had not packed up many
things—just the necessaries for an extravagant woman like herself.  The
rest could follow later.  She trusted to her tact and discretion to make
the future smooth.  Rent would have been dismayed if he had known how
clearly she could read his mind.  She had no intention of compromising
herself.  She was merely going to make use of him.  But he need not know
that yet.  He need not know how perfectly she was able to take care of
herself.  A deep plot lay at the back of her mind, a means by which she
could bring her husband to his knees.  This was no senseless, confiding
creature putting her future in the hands of a man she had known only for
a few months.  That she had seen more of him than her husband was aware
mattered nothing.  She did not fail to note that Rent looked greatly
annoyed.

"I have been detained," he explained.  "A business matter.  I may have
to come back to-morrow. But I can take you in the car I have borrowed as
far as Portsmouth.  Then we can get on to Devonshire as soon as
possible, where I want you to stay with my mother.  I know she will be
glad to help you.  That will be the means of stopping all idle gossip."

"How thoughtful you are," Kate Charlock murmured, as the chauffeur
disappeared.  "I have not burdened myself very much, because I thought
that later—but I hardly dare to think of that.  If you knew how
frightened and terrified I am——"

The speaker broke off and a little sob came from her throat.  It was
dark now, and Rent took her in his arms and soothed her with loving
words.  It was too dark to see the outline of the figure standing by a
belt of shrubs facing the door.  But on the still air every word and
sound carried, so that John Charlock, from his hiding-place, missed
nothing.  He would have been hard put to say why he had returned.
Perhaps his conscience had smitten him.  Perhaps it had occurred to him
that he was treating his wife with undue severity.  But the fact
remained that he was back there again, prepared with a new proposition.

For the moment he had forgotten Arnold Rent. The man had never come into
his mind again, though, at the time, he had meant to give Rent a sharp
lesson on the prudence of minding his own business.  He had come back
through the shrubbery in time to witness a tender little scene in the
porch.  A wave of sudden anger passed over him. Then he grew calm and
collected.  After all, why should he interfere?  Why should he come
between this heartless woman and her platonic flirtation with this
besotted fool—this business man gone mad?

For, man of the world as he was, Charlock had not yet grasped the true
inwardness of the situation. That his wife was an actress to her
fingertips he had learnt by bitter experience.  Doubtless Rent had
arrived to keep the appointment and thus these two had come together.
Charlock smiled bitterly to himself as his mind dwelt upon the dramatic
story which his wife must have had to tell. He could imagine how the
woman would play upon the feelings of the man as a master plays upon an
instrument.  And the setting to the play was worthy of the great actress
herself.  No doubt Rent had been so moved by the whispered wrongs of
this outraged wife that he had placed all he possessed at her disposal.
Doubtless he was removing her to the loving custody of some relation who
would take care of her for the present.  But how far things had gone
Charlock did not know.  If he had, he might have interfered—and again he
might not.  It all depended upon his sardonic mood for the moment.  He
stood there now, erect and motionless, and disposed to watch the thing
to the end.  Presently the great car jumped forward, and a few moments
later the tail lights had vanished down the drive.

"Well, why not?" Charlock murmured.  "Unless I am greatly mistaken,
Arnold Rent is a long way from being a fool.  A little more knowledge of
the world, and he is likely to be a force to cope with.  Let him find
out for himself.  Let him learn what I have had to put up with.  It will
be an education for him.  Upon my word, though he little knows it, I am
going to prove that young man’s greatest benefactor."

Meanwhile, the great car sped on through the darkness, with Kate
Charlock and Rent behind and the driver in front.  They were very quiet
and subdued, for, after the first moments of his mid-summer madness,
Rent could not be blind to the seriousness of the step he had taken.
And the woman by his side, following his every mood and phase of
thought, played up to him like a past mistress in the art of emotions.
She laid her head tenderly on his shoulder and sighed, as she nestled up
to him.

"You do not regret already?" she whispered.

"Regret?" Rent murmured passionately.  "I will never do that.  But one
does not burn one’s boats and mock all the shibboleths without realising
the responsibilities that one is casting aside.  I do hope that you
understand that much, Kate."

Under cover of the darkness, the woman yawned slightly.  She was
beginning to long now for the life and bustle of the hotel, and,
besides, she had not dined as yet, and, like most people who have their
feelings well in hand, she was possessed of a healthy appetite.  She
jumped down briskly from the car as it pulled up at the Royal Solent
Hotel, and the hall porter, majestic in his uniform, threw back the
heavy plate-glass doors.  To Rent’s annoyance, the lounge was thronged
with people in evening dress.  He had forgotten the presence of Royalty
in Portsmouth.  He had expected to have the hotel pretty much to Kate
and himself.  It was no far cry to Southampton, and there was the chance
of being recognized by somebody who knew one or another of them.  Still,
sooner or later, the ordeal would have to be encountered and dealt with.
The thought had hardly flashed through Rent’s mind before a strikingly
handsome woman in evening dress rose from the lounge and came towards
Kate Charlock.  Then, as she caught sight of the man by her side, she
appeared to hesitate, and something like a scornful smile swept across
her dark features, and she slowly went back to her seat.  But, all the
same, she continued to stare at Kate Charlock and her companion.  Kate
grasped Rent’s arm.

"Lady Strathmore," she whispered.  "I am certain that she recognised us.
Did you see how she came down the hall and then turned back?  I wish we
hadn’t come here."

It was the first blow, and the woman staggered under it.  She stood
there, perplexed and uneasy. In a dim kind of way she comprehended the
fact that Arnold Rent was ordering rooms for himself and Mrs. Charlock.
It all came to her in a kind of dream.  But she roused herself presently
as Rent laid his hand upon her arm.

"This way," he said.  "Come along."

They passed up the whole length of the lounge, so near to Lady
Strathmore that Kate Charlock could have touched her.  For the life of
her she could not restrain one glance in the direction of the woman in
black, and just for a brief moment their eyes met.  Lady Strathmore’s
face was rigid as a mask, and her features had just a tinge of scornful
amusement upon them.  But there was not the slightest trace of
recognition.  Then, as the couple passed by, Lady Strathmore turned and
whispered something to her companion, and both broke into a rippling
laugh.  With a feeling of thankfulness, Kate Charlock opened the
sitting-room door.

"That is done," Arnold Rent said.  He placed his hands on the woman’s
shoulders and looked down into her eyes.  "Never mind, Kate.  Always be
kind to me, because, for your sake, I have given up my life’s ambition
to-night."

In a kind of fever, Rent went down the stairs in the direction of the
lounge.  He was furiously angry now and inclined to be quarrelsome.  He
would have liked to have it out with the woman who had slighted Kate
Charlock.  A month ago he would have laughed at his own folly and been
scornfully amused at the idea that he should so far forget himself,
though he had long had a passionate admiration for Kate.  Even now, he
was not quite clear what he was going to do.  Up to the present he was
inclined to play the honourable part. Even now he had only the woman’s
true interests at heart.  Strange that he should have been so foolish.
Strange that he should have imagined that his mother would take the same
view of the matter as himself.  But, then, she had always spoilt him in
the past, and, though she was a rigid Puritan, doubtless she would
continue to do so in the future.

Rent was shaken out of these thoughts by a hotel servant who approached
him with a telegram.  The man held out the envelope.

"You are Mr. Rent, sir?" he said.  "Pardon me, but I think this must be
for you.  It is so strange a name."

Rent looked at the envelope in wonderment. No doubt the message was for
him, though he was at a loss to know how any friend could have found him
out.  He opened the message and read:

"Danger here.  Come back at once."

"How did they find me?" he murmured.  "How did they get on my track?  It
was thoughtful, at any rate.  Still, danger or no danger, I cannot go
back."




                              *CHAPTER XI*

                        *THE DOCTRINE OF PLATO*


Across the breakfast-table Kate Charlock was smiling sweetly, but it was
doubtful whether she heard a single word that Rent was saying.  She was
busy with her own thoughts, which were none of the sweetest.  In the
first instance she thought that she had counted the cost of her action,
but on second thoughts she was not so sure.  Still, she was satisfied
she could not have complied with John Charlock’s order, for it was
nothing else. She would have to make the best of it now.  She was eager
to get away from England until the scandal had blown over.  Kate
Charlock was by no means devoid of vanity, and Lady Strathmore’s studied
insolence of the evening before had cut her to the quick.  There was the
danger of a repetition of this kind of thing so long as she and Rent
remained at the Royal Solent Hotel.

But she was not blind to the material side of things.  It had been the
height of folly to go further without having first made overtures to
Arnold’s mother.  If she should display anything like hostility, then,
indeed, Kate might be said to have stepped out of the frying-pan into
the fire.

"Oh, you needn’t feel worried about that," Rent said, looking up from
his paper.  "No one ever yet was afraid of my mother.  She is gentle and
kind-hearted, but if she takes up the cudgels on anybody’s behalf she
can be amazingly firm.  I don’t think you need have any anxiety as to my
mother."

The shadow of a contemptuous smile flickered across Kate Charlock’s
face.  From her point of view, Rent’s description of his mother was not
reassuring.  It was an outbreak of firmness of this kind that Kate
Charlock had most reason to dread. It never occurred to Rent that his
mother’s firmness might take a wrong direction.  Despite his handsome
face and intellectual strength, it seemed to Kate that in many respects
he was little better than a boy compared with her.  The saint-like woman
by his side could have acted as school-mistress to him.  In her mind’s
eye she already pictured Mrs. Rent, heart-broken and humiliated at the
prospect of the ruin of her son’s prospects, and never yet was there
mother who regarded her son’s wife as in any way worthy of him.  While
Rent was babbling praises of his mother, Kate sat pondering the
magnitude of the task which lay before her.  So far she had hesitated to
discuss the plan of campaign, but it would have to be done now.  The
proper thing was to strike while the iron was hot, to go straight to
Devonshire and confront Mrs. Rent with the cataclysm before she had time
to hear of it from good-natured friends outside.

"Of course, your mother will have to know," she said sweetly and
thoughtfully.  "I am looking forward to seeing her, and yet I dread the
thought of meeting her.  You will have to be prepared for a
disappointment, Arnold.  Your mother is certain to be shocked.  She
would be less than human if she does not lay all the blame upon my
shoulders."

"Never," Rent cried.  "I will make it quite clear that the blame is
entirely mine.  I wrote a long letter to my mother before breakfast,
fully explaining everything——"

"You have not posted it, I hope.  No?  Well, I am glad of that, because
I would prefer that letter not to go.  There is only one thing for it—we
must travel to Devonshire at once and your mother must receive the first
intimation of what has happened from your own lips.  Of course, I shall
come with you.  I am looking forward to the interview with the greatest
possible dread, but my duty is clear.  Besides, we must get away from
here.  Can’t we go this very afternoon?"

Rent reproached himself for his thoughtless selfishness.  He was
prepared to do anything that his companion desired.  But nothing could
be settled before lunch.  Most of the people had finished their
luncheon, so that the two had the room to themselves.  From the long
balcony outside came the sound of voices, and Kate Charlock flushed
uncomfortably as she recognised Lady Strathmore’s tones.  She had an
uneasy feeling that she was the subject of discussion.  A moment or two
later Lady Strathmore herself came into the dining-room.  She flashed a
brilliant smile in Rent’s direction, but she seemed to be unaware that
he was not alone.  A sudden anger possessed Kate Charlock.  With
audacious passion she came forward and held out her hand.

"You seem to have forgotten me," she said sweetly.

"Absolutely," the other woman murmured.  "I am afraid you have a
distinct advantage over me, though when I come to look at you again I
see you bear a strong likeness to Mrs. John Charlock. But, of course, a
dear saint like that would never so far compromise herself as to be
lunching here with any man but her husband.  Mr. Rent, can I have a few
moments’ conversation with you?"

The stroke was so swift and merciless, so utterly unexpected, that Kate
Charlock had no reply. Overwhelmed and uncomfortable, with the tears
smarting in her eyes, she sank into a chair, without the slightest
attempt to detain Rent.  His face was crimson, too.  The corners of his
sensitive mouth trembled, but he followed Lady Strathmore politely to
the balcony.

"I am going to be candid with you," she said. "Oh, I quite understand
how things are.  I am a woman of the world and can judge for myself.  It
is a pity you are not a man of the world, also, or this would never have
happened.  Can’t you see for yourself that you ought not to stay here?
Surely you recognised me last night.  I am speaking for your own good,
because you are a young man whose education in some respects has been
sadly neglected.  Take my advice——"

"You are mistaken," Rent exclaimed.  "And as regards Mrs. Charlock, she
is as good and pure as any woman——"

"Oh, I have heard all that before," Lady Strathmore said, with a pitying
smile.  "You see, I happen to belong to the same set as Mrs.
Bromley-Martin, and we are not so shallow-minded and frivolous as you
appear to imagine.  One side of a story always holds good till the other
is told. Don’t you think John Charlock has a side to the story as well?"

Rent muttered something incoherent.  Recalling to mind now his strange
interview with John Charlock, he could not see that the latter had a
single claim to consideration.  It was useless to discuss that matter
with this hard, worldly woman.

"I see that I am wasting your time," Lady Strathmore went on.  "Still, I
might as well tell you that Mrs. Bromley-Martin and some of her friends
are coming to have tea with me this afternoon at four o’clock, and if in
the meanwhile you discover that you have important business elsewhere,
why—well, good-bye.  Wonderfully fresh and bracing atmosphere this
morning, don’t you think?"

The shrewd woman of the world smiled and went her way.  Arnold Rent’s
thoughts were not pleasing as he returned to the dining-room. Already he
was beginning dimly to comprehend the far-reaching effects of his
impulsive action, but his heart smote him as he noted the pathetic droop
of Kate Charlock’s shoulders as she sat toying with her lunch.  Lady
Strathmore was right.  It was necessary to go away at once.  It might be
possible to reach Devonshire before night, and, on the whole, it would
be better to say nothing to Kate about the impending visit of Mrs.
Bromley-Martin and her frivolous friends.

"What did she want?" Kate asked wearily.

"Really, I can hardly tell you," Rent stammered. "I don’t think she
meant to be unkind, though she is a bit hard.  The gist of our
conversation was that I should get away at once."

Kate Charlock smiled in her sweet, melancholy way, though her heart was
hot within her and passionate words trembled on her lips.

"We must try to forgive her," she said gently, "though she was very
cruel to me.  But she is right about leaving, and the sooner we set out
for Devonshire the better.  If you will pay the bill, I will go up—what
is the matter?"

"Upon my word, I am very sorry," Rent stammered, "but I have only a few
shillings in my pocket.  In the excitement of yesterday I forgot all
about money.  Of course, I could telegraph to my solicitors, but even
then I could not hear till the morning.  Still, I know one or two people
here, and I will go out at once and see if I can borrow a few pounds.  I
sha’n’t be long."

She sat there till a waiter came into the room with an envelope in his
hand.  With some agitation she noticed that the handwriting was that of
Rent.  She waved the waiter from the room and, in a frenzy of eagerness,
tore open the envelope. There were only a few words hurriedly scrawled
on the back of a visiting card.

"There is no help for it," the missive ran, "but I must go back to Cowes
at once.  The business is urgent and admits of no delay.  Stay where you
are until I return.  At the very most I cannot be longer than two
hours."

There was passion as well as hate in Kate Charlock’s eyes as she tore
the card into fragments.

"What does this mean?" she asked.  "Can he intend to leave me here?
But, no, I cannot possibly believe anything of the kind.  And yet, how
very awkward!"




                             *CHAPTER XII*

                           *A CRIME OR NOT?*


It was the day following the dramatic disappearance of Kate Charlock,
and once more Tanza and his companion were on board the yacht.  The
Italian had been away most of the morning, and had only arrived in time
for lunch.  He appeared to be on excellent terms with himself.  There
was a merry twinkle in his eye as he contentedly sucked his cigarette.

"You are not going to tell me anything, then?" he asked.

"My dear sir, there isn’t anything to tell you," Malcolm Grey replied.
"I won’t say that I haven’t made a discovery or two, because that
wouldn’t be true.  At the same time, I stick to my original idea of
keeping what I know to myself.  We will both go our own way and see what
we can make of it.  But I am more or less convinced that your original
suggestion is correct, and that there was foul play in the matter of the
French maid."

Tanza’s eyes sparkled brightly.

"I have never had the slightest doubt of it," he said.  "I have an
instinct for that kind of thing. I knew that we had to deal with a
scoundrel above the common.  The whole thing is most fascinating. I
suppose you have heard the latest development?"

"Indeed, I haven’t," Grey said.  "Tell me."

"Mrs. Charlock has left her husband.  There are a good many versions as
to the cause of the quarrel.  But, at any rate, she has gone, apparently
leaving no trace behind her.  I dare say there are faults on both sides;
he is a hard man, and she is an extravagant, thoughtless woman.  One
never knows what a man of the artistic temperament is going to do.  It
seems that Charlock has disposed of his household goods and has made up
his mind to spend the next year or two in a cottage."

"Posing, I presume," Grey said cynically.

"No, I don’t think so," Tanza went on.  "He is too great a genius to
indulge in childish follies. He can afford to leave that kind of thing
to the log-rollers.  I understand that he has outrun the constable, and
that he has every desire to get on terms with the world again.  Anyway,
his wife wouldn’t go with him, and I believe they have separated.  As
the man is a friend of yours, I thought you might have heard about
this."

But Grey shook his head.  The information was news to him.  He was a
little annoyed, too, because there were certain facts which he expected
to gather from Charlock.  He sat there debating the matter for a short
time in his mind, then announced his intention of seeking out Charlock.
It was possible the artist had not left the neighbourhood yet, and there
was no time to be lost.  Tanza raised no objection.  He hinted that he
had work to do himself and that he could dispense with Grey’s company
for the rest of the afternoon.

A little time afterwards Grey walked up the drive of Charlock’s house.
There was nothing in the condition of the grounds to indicate that the
place was empty.  The lawns had been freshly cut, the flower-beds were
trim and neat as usual.  It was only the blank, staring windows and the
litter of straw on the front door which told the story. As Grey stood
there the door opened, and Charlock himself came out.  There was a grim,
significant smile on his face.

"You are astonished to see this?" he asked.

"Not in the least," Grey said.  "I should not be astonished at anything
you did.  But, if it isn’t an impertinent question, why are you acting
in this fashion?  It seems almost a sacrilege to strip a beautiful place
like this.  And if you must leave it, why not have let it furnished?"

A cynical laugh broke from Charlock’s lips.

"It takes time to let a furnished house," he said, "even a little
paradise like this.  And the lesson loses nothing of its force because
it is administered promptly and speedily.  When I bark, I bite.  And I
don’t want to give warning.  Ah, you don’t know what it is to be mated
to an extravagant wife who has no consideration for any one but herself.
I should be, at the present moment, a rich man.  I have no vices.  My
personal expenditure is nothing. But I do love to be surrounded by
things that are good and beautiful.  That is why I spent so much in
furnishing this house.  I thought I was one of the happiest of men.  I
thought I was going to lead an ideal existence.  But I found I was tied
to a woman whose one idea was fashion, who thought nothing of playing at
gardening in a Paris frock that cost fifty or sixty pounds.  And one day
I awoke to the fact that I was on the verge of bankruptcy.  Great Scott!
how those bills came rolling in!  There was only one thing to be done—to
act at once.  There are no half measures with me.  I cut everything
adrift.  I have taken a labourer’s cottage.  I told my wife she would
have to live there with me and do everything till every farthing was
paid.  And now she has gone."

Charlock spoke harshly and bitterly.  It was rarely, indeed, that he
mentioned his own feelings. But the wound was too recent.  And there was
something in Grey’s manner that invited confidence.

"Your wife will think better of it," the latter murmured.

"Will she?  Yes, perhaps, when the leopard changes his spots and the
Ethiopian his skin, but not till then.  Oh, everybody will side with
her, of course.  Everybody knows that I am hard and harsh and difficult
to live with.  She will pose as an injured woman, and the blame will be
mine; indeed, she has begun to do so already.  What do you think of her
making a convert of Arnold Rent? Fancy that cynical man of the world,
who would stick at nothing to gratify his ambition, forfeiting his
future for the sake of my injured wife!  That is the idea.  He has
become her champion.  I presume he is going to look after her welfare
till I am forced to make her a proper allowance.  Probably you will hear
of the thing again in the law courts—the well-known artist and his
outraged wife, and all that kind of thing.  Well, let them take what
steps they like; I sha’n’t trouble to defend it.  And yet behind it all
there is a comedy so amusing that I feel inclined to laugh in spite of
myself.  What do you think of my wife’s going down to Devonshire to seek
an asylum under the roof of Rent’s mother?  And what do you think of me
as an honoured guest in the same house?  I am not joking. The thing is
in my own hands; indeed, it is more or less imperative, especially as I
am not very busy, and an early commission is essential.  There is a
situation in a play for you!  Think what Pinero would make out of it!
But why should I bore you with these sordid details?  They cannot
interest you."

Before Grey could make a suitable reply Charlock held out his hand and
bade his companion a blunt good-day.  He turned back to the house and
banged the door behind him, as if ashamed at this display of feeling.
It was not often that the strong man cried aloud so that the world might
know of his hurt.  He was furious with himself that he had done so now.
And it seemed to Grey that it would be in bad taste to attempt to follow
his friend and clear up the points which had been the object of his
journey.

He walked out of the gates and down the road to the outskirts of the
town to the newly erected buildings where, until the past day or two,
Arnold Rent had been conducting a series of experiments in wireless
telegraphy.  The office was close to the shore.  One or two workmen were
engaged with some apparatus the like of which Grey had not seen before.
It was only natural that he should be interested in what was going on,
that he should linger for a moment or two, until the office door opened
and a clerk emerged.  With some directness of manner, but civilly
enough, he asked Grey’s business.  The scientist turned to face the man,
abnormally thin and tall—a man with a face like faded yellow parchment,
lighted by a pair of sombre, smouldering eyes.

"You seem to have forgotten me, Swift," Grey said.  "Have I altered so
much during the last two years?"

The tall man gasped.  His features twitched convulsively for a moment.
Then the colour of his face changed.  A sullen red tinged the parchment
hue, leaving it still more pallid a minute afterwards.

"Mr. Grey," he stammered.  "What do you want here?"

There was something embarrassed, almost guilty, in the speaker’s manner.
Grey smiled as he replied.

"I am interested in all these kinds of things," he said.  "But don’t
think I come here to learn your secrets.  As a matter of fact, I called
to see Mr. Rent."

"He is away," the tall man explained.  "But now a piece of business has
turned up and I am telegraphing him in the course of the day.  Is there
anything I can tell him?"

"I don’t think so," Grey said thoughtfully. "Anyway, there is no hurry.
And how are you doing?  Have you got over the old weakness?  For, if so,
you are likely to realise the old ambitions, after all.  Don’t think me
impertinent."

"I don’t," Swift said indifferently.  "I am only human, and I begin to
realise that I shall never be able to cope with that accursed thing.
Still, I am better than I was, and I am fairly happy here doing
congenial work.  You see——"

What Swift was going to say was cut short by the appearance of a third
party.  He was a slight, dapper man, with prominent features and sleek,
glossy hair.  His manner was heavily dashed with audacity.  He was
ludicrously overdressed, and he carried the fact that he was an
unregenerate scamp written in every line of his face.

"You are wasting your time," Swift said coldly. "Mr. Rent desires me to
say that he does not know you and has no desire to see you.  I hope I
make myself plain."

"Oh, very well," the stranger said.  "In that case, I will wait till Mr.
Rent comes back and see him personally.  I shall find a way to refresh
his memory, and don’t you forget it.  I don’t allow anybody to play the
fool with Ephraim Bark."




                             *CHAPTER XIII*

                          *MODERN FRIENDSHIP*


As Kate Charlock sat debating her position with anxiety, the door opened
cautiously and a gaily dressed figure slipped into the room.  The place
seemed to be half-filled with billowing draperies and the air was heavy
with subtle perfume.  Kate Charlock turned in amazement upon the
intruder.

"Jessica!" she gasped.  "What are you doing here?"

"You may well ask that," Mrs. Bromley-Martin tittered.  "But a little
bird told me what was going on, and when I had a wire from Lady
Strathmore this morning asking me to bring a mob over to tea this
afternoon, I jumped at the opportunity.  My word, what a time we have
had all morning pulling your character to pieces!  And just now, when
Belle Langley bet me a dozen pairs of gloves I dare not come up and
interview you, I closed like a shot.  Well, what have you to say for
yourself?"

From head to foot Kate Charlock quivered with indignation.  She was not
blind to her own folly, but, then, she had so hedged herself in with
self-pity that she did not regard herself as the average woman who has
fallen away from grace.  Her case was quite different.  But she merely
smiled as she replied.

"I have nothing to say for myself," she responded.  "I am content to
leave my character in the hands of those who, like yourself, are
acquainted with my unhappy domestic life.  My husband chose to turn me
out of house and home, and the punishment should be his more than mine.
I know that socially my life is finished."

"Terribly sad," Mrs. Bromley-Martin laughed gaily.  "I am not going to
blame you.  You are no worse than two-thirds of us, as you know very
well.  Besides, we ought to be grateful to you for giving us something
fresh to talk about.  Still, we shall miss our tall, white saint who was
the connecting link between ourselves and absolute respectability.  But
I must not stay longer.  One has to be careful, you know."

"Yes, with a reputation like yours, one has to be," Mrs. Charlock said
sweetly.  "You may tell your friends that they need not trouble to waste
their sympathy upon me.  I am quite happy."

Kate Charlock’s looks belied her words as Mrs. Bromley-Martin flitted
from the room like some great gauze butterfly.  She had little enough to
be happy about, she told herself; from the bottom of her heart she
resented the patronage of her late visitor.  At length she was roused
from her reverie by the entrance of a servant with a telegram on a tray.
It was addressed to Rent, but Kate opened it and glanced carelessly at
the contents.  Her face did not move a muscle as she turned to the
waiter and told him that there was no reply.

Yet the few words were calculated to disturb. They were charged with
meaning and called for immediate action.  It was clear that the telegram
came from Arnold Rent’s mother.

"Have just received your letter," the message ran.  "Am terribly
surprised and shocked.  On no account come here, as I am travelling to
see you and will call to-morrow afternoon.

"HELEN RENT."

Kate crushed the flimsy paper into a ball and tossed it contemptuously
into the fireplace.  A moment later and she was reading the words again
thoughtfully.  Doubtless some enemy had done this thing, and the words
brought the reader no sort of comfort.  Kate Charlock recognised courage
and stern determination of purpose on the part of the sender of the
message.  Her ready wit saw that it was necessary to strike a
counter-blow without delay.  It was evident that Mrs. Rent would adopt a
firm attitude and could carry out her part far better in the Royal
Solent Hotel than under her own roof.  She must start for Devonshire
instantly as the only possible way of saving the situation.

Would Arnold Rent really return?  It was getting on towards five o’clock
and he had been gone for two hours.  With a sigh of mingled impatience
and surprise, she heard him coming along the corridor.  He looked
uncomfortable.

"Upon my word, I am very sorry," he said, "but, as luck would have it, I
have not been able to find a single friend.  We must wait till I get
money from my solicitors to-morrow morning.  The delay is maddening!"

"Meanwhile, what are we to do about this?" Kate asked, as she held out
the telegram.  "This is from your mother."

"Perhaps it is a good thing," Rent said.  "It will save us a journey, at
any rate.  You must not be annoyed with my mother.  It is only natural
that she should feel like that, till the case is explained to her.  When
she has seen us and heard everything she _must_ be on our side.  We can
have dinner here and spend the evening together."

For a moment a gleam of anger came into Kate Charlock’s eyes.  She felt
a wild desire to lay her hand upon Rent, to box his ears, to do anything
as an outlet for her rage at his crass stupidity. She schooled herself,
though as she stood there her finger nails were cutting into the white
flesh of her palms.

"You don’t understand," she said.  "Your mother may forgive you, but she
will never forgive me.  If we meet here, there will be an end of
everything.  But under her own roof she will be bound by the dictates of
hospitality to listen to what we have to say.  I have been looking out
the trains, and if we start within an hour we ought to reach our
destination this evening."

"It shall be as you please," Rent said tenderly. "I will go with you
now, if you choose.  There is one little thing you have forgotten—I have
no money, and the railway people won’t give credit——"

"Oh, please don’t raise these obstacles," Kate Charlock cried wearily.
"I suppose you carry a watch?"

"Oh, no, my dear, I never carry one.  And if I did, what use would it be
to us just now?"

In spite of herself a laugh broke from Kate Charlock’s lips.  Would this
man never improve? She crossed the room to her dressing-case and took
out a diamond bangle.

"There!" she said.  "You are going to have a new experience.  I daresay
you will have no difficulty in raising twenty pounds on that.  You
understand what I mean?  I have nothing else to spare."

Arnold Rent inclined his head shamefully.

"Oh, I am speaking of a pawnbroker.  There is no need to flush and look
uncomfortable, because the thing has to be done, whether you like it or
not.  And, besides, there is no disgrace in the transaction.  The
pawnbroker keeps open his shop to do business and is as anxious for your
patronage as the butcher or the grocer.  Ask the first policeman you
meet where you can find a respectable shop, and the rest will be easy."

"My dear girl," Rent said, with a hardening of his lips, "I couldn’t do
it.  We must wait."

Kate Charlock shot one glance at him.  Then she laid her head upon the
table and burst into a flood of tears.  The strategy was successful, for
Rent jumped in agitation to his feet and slipped the bangle into his
pocket.

"For Heaven’s sake, don’t cry," he said.  "For your sake I will do
anything.  I had quite forgotten——"

His voice trailed away in an incoherent manner. He grabbed at his hat
and left the room.  The woman’s eyes dried like magic.  A smile trembled
on her lips.  But the anxious feeling did not leave her.  Her heart
would not lighten till the express train pulled out from the station on
its long journey to the West.  The fight was coming and Kate Charlock
did not mean to fail.

Despite the extent of his infatuation, the pill was none the less a
bitter one for Rent to swallow. He was back again at the hotel
presently, with the sovereigns jingling as he came in.

"I am glad that is all right," she said.  "And now tell me why you
behaved so badly just now? Surely you could not have had business of so
great importance as to take you away from me in a crisis like this!  It
is not as if you were engaged in trade. Now tell me what it was.  You
can trust me."

An ingenious prevarication trembled upon Rent’s lips, when the waiter
entered the room with a further telegram.  Rent glanced at it more or
less carelessly, but, though he was conscious his colour changed, he
managed to drop the telegram coolly in the fire.

"The business was not my own," he said, "therefore I cannot tell it you.
But I am afraid you will have to be patient.  That telegram came from
the same quarter and admits of no delay.  You won’t mind very much if I
go back to Cowes now and return in the morning?"

Kate Charlock swallowed her passion.  She saw that the time had come to
act and struck accordingly.

"Very well," she said.  "In that case I will go back to my husband.  It
is not yet too late and I am not ashamed to meet him.  It must be one
thing or the other."

Rent stifled what sounded like a groan.

"As you like," he said.  "I shall not be the first fool beguiled by a
woman!"




                             *CHAPTER XIV*

                         *BARK IS CONFIDENTIAL*


Malcolm Grey stood somewhat uncomfortably outside the little office on
the seashore, hardly knowing what to do.  In some vague way the features
of the person who called himself Ephraim Bark were familiar, though he
could not place the man.  He would have stayed a little longer, only he
seemed to be in the way; it looked, too, as if he were listening to a
private conversation.  He knew Arnold Rent by reputation and personally.
He was aware that the latter had the character of a man about town, not
too scrupulous where his passions and fancies were concerned.  One or
two strange tales had come to Grey’s ears, though, at the time, he had
paid small heed to them.  And here was a man, whom no gentleman would
touch without gloves, actually speaking as if he held some power over
Rent.  No man who did not feel positive of his ground would have spoken
in that bullying way, especially as the fellow gave every indication of
being a coward if he came to be tackled.

At any other time Grey would have dismissed the incident with a shrug of
the shoulders, but he had his own reasons now for learning all he could
concerning the past history of Arnold Rent.  Therefore he lingered to
see what was likely to be the upshot of the interview.

He saw Swift’s hands clenched with passion.  He saw the desire to strike
down the intruder gleaming in his eyes.  Then Swift restrained himself,
as if suddenly remembering that this was an occasion when diplomacy was
wiser than strength.

"It is useless for you to hang about here," Swift said.  "Mr. Rent is
not in the neighbourhood, and I don’t suppose he will be back before
morning. You can come and see him if you like, but I should not advise
you to do so."

"That’s all very well," the aggrieved Bark burst out.  "But what am I to
do in the meantime?  And why should he have everything while I’ve got
nothing?  By the time I have had my dinner I sha’n’t have a cent to pay
my lodgings.  Just hand over a sovereign or two to go on with.  Do you
hear?"

"I hear," Swift said coldly.  "I regret that I have no money to spare.
And I don’t think I should let you have it if I had.  Come, clear out,
or I’ll have to put you off the premises."

For the moment it looked as if the truculent Bark would show fight, but
he contented himself with vague threats and innuendoes as he turned on
his heel and sauntered away.  Grey no longer doubted that the man had a
powerful hold on Arnold Rent.  He waited a few moments, discussing
general matters with Swift; then he, too, strode into the road and
followed Bark.  There was no occasion to introduce himself to this
individual, for, without a moment’s hesitation, Bark raised his curly
brimmed hat with what he believed to be refined and courtly politeness.
Grey pulled up at once.

"You’ll excuse me, Mr. Grey," Bark said effusively, "but I hope you
won’t mind doing me a little favour?"

"You know my name, then?" Grey said.  "I ought to recognise you, but my
memory plays me false."

A look of deep cunning came into Bark’s eyes.

"You can’t know me, sir," he said, "considering that most of my life has
been passed in Paris.  But I know you by sight and reputation, because I
am by way of being a bit of a scientist myself.  I came down to see Mr.
Rent, and this is how they treat me!  And to think of what I’ve done for
that man, to think of what I know about him!  Why, I have only to raise
my little finger and say the word, and before a day passed our friend——"

A judicious fit of coughing put an end to further revelations on the
part of Bark.  He seemed to realise that he was going too far and
instantly changed his tone.  But this did not deceive Grey.

"Ah!" said Bark, "I am talking too fast, as usual.  You might think by
my tone that I was threatening Mr. Rent.  As a matter of fact, I am only
disappointed at his carelessness.  But it is very awkward for me.  Here
am I with only a few shillings in my pocket, which would have been fifty
pounds if I had seen Mr. Rent.  Now, will you be offended if I ask you
for the loan of a fiver for two or three days?"

Grey hesitated for a moment.  Would the expenditure be justified?  Then,
by inspiration, it occurred to him that perhaps Tanza might know this
plausible scamp.  Certainly it might be worth while to temporise.

"I am sorry," he said, "but I have very little money in my pocket.  I
can let you have ten shillings, if you like."

Bark audibly expressed his disappointment.

"Well, perhaps I can do better than that," Grey, said, with a smile.
"Let me give you the ten shillings to go on with, and if you will be on
the landing-stage to-night at nine o’clock I will meet you and give you
the balance of the five pounds.  I suppose that will be convenient?"

Bark’s eyes gleamed with a greedy light.

"Spoken like a man and a brother," he cried. "Now, there’s a pal for
you!  There’s a friend in need when a poor chap is down on his luck
through no fault of his own!  Mr. Grey, you’re a gentleman. And it is
evident you know another gentleman when you see him."

"I hope so," Grey said drily.

"That being so," said Bark, ignoring the sarcasm, "I will be on the
landing-stage at nine o’clock.  Thank you very much.  In my hard-up
state even the half-sovereign is acceptable.  You will excuse me if I
leave you, as I have an appointment to keep, a business matter involving
thousands."

So saying, Bark, with another flourish of his hat, swaggered off down
the street.  Grey smiled to himself as he saw the flashy little
adventurer turn into a public-house.  Then, in a thoughtful frame of
mind, he went back to the yacht in search of Tanza, whom he found
sprawling in a deck chair, deeply engrossed in his eternal cigarettes
and reading a French novel.

"What news?" the Italian asked gaily.  "I see you have had an
interesting morning by the expression of your face.  At any rate, your
conversation will be more engrossing than this book.  Now unbosom
yourself."

"There isn’t much to tell you at present," said Grey.  "I have been
following up my investigations and have ascertained one or two important
pieces of information.  I rather wanted to see Rent, but he is away.  I
went down to his place, where I found an old friend of ours in the
person of John Swift."

"Oh, indeed!" Tanza exclaimed, lifting his eyebrows.  "Now that is a man
who was made to adorn anything he touched.  If he could only keep away
from the infernal drink he might now have been one of our leading
scientists.  What is he doing in these parts?"

"Acting as assistant to Rent," Grey explained. "But that isn’t what I
wanted to talk to you about. I don’t mind telling you I have got hold of
a most important clue, and as all roads are said to lead to Rome, so
everybody I am meeting at present seems to be more or less mixed up with
the matter I have in hand.  While I was talking to Swift a man turned up
and demanded to see Arnold Rent.  He was very disappointed to find that
Rent wasn’t at home and was at no pains to disguise his feelings. His
manner had a suggestion of blackmail about it. Also he seemed to be
pretty sure of his ground.  I don’t suppose I should have given the
fellow another thought had I not felt sure I had seen him somewhere.
And I thought perhaps that you, with your amazing acquaintance with all
sorts and conditions of scoundrels, might know something about him."

"Have you managed to learn his name?" Tanza asked.

"Well, yes, I did, if he doesn’t happen to be passing under some
_alias_.  He is called Ephraim Bark.  Rather a curious sort of name,
isn’t it?"

"I know him quite well," he said.  "That is his name.  At any rate, I
never heard him called anything else.  He is a most plausible and
ingenious rascal, and I should very much like to meet him again.  I
suppose you have his address; if so, we will seek him out and entertain
him after dinner."

Grey explained exactly what course he had adopted, and Tanza was pleased
to signify his approval.  So it came about that shortly after nine
o’clock the two proceeded to the landing-stage. There they found Bark
arrayed in a somewhat resplendent evening dress, the effect of which,
however, was slightly marred by the fact that the linen was exceedingly
dingy.  But he carried it all off with a truculent air.  Obviously he
had spent a good deal of the half-sovereign in liquid refreshment, and
was in a condition which in a less seasoned drinker might have been
called an advanced stage of intoxication.

"Well, Bark," Tanza said cheerfully.  "So we have met again.  No, you
needn’t trouble to express your gratification.  You are coming on board
my yacht with Mr. Grey to give us certain information we are in need
of."

"Lumme, yes," Bark said, with some emotion. "I’ll tell you anything.  I
couldn’t refuse an old friend."




                              *CHAPTER XV*

                             *ILL TIDINGS*


In its modest way, Alton Lee, which stands upon the South Devonshire
coast, was quite a show place.  There the Rents had held their sway for
the best part of three centuries, since the founder of the family first
came West and built the old house, which his successors had altered out
of all recognition.  The history of the family had been fairly
uneventful.  They had married with their neighbours, and more than one
heiress had come along to swell their fortunes.  For the most part they
had been people of moderate ideas, clean-living, healthy-minded men and
women, not endowed with too much intellect, and perfectly contented with
their lot.  At present the Rents were represented by Arnold himself and
his mother, an elderly lady, who was exceedingly popular with all who
knew her.

Ever since Arnold Rent had left school his mother had been more or less
afraid of him.  That she was passionately devoted to her only son goes
without saying; but she herself had been brought up in the simple,
narrow way.  She had an almost morbid horror of anything that was in the
least unconventional and a mighty regard for her neighbours.

And her boy was totally different in every respect.  The knowledge that
he had an inclination for work had filled her with tranquil happiness
and a sense of security, which, however, was not destined to last.
There being several livings in the family gift, there had been no reason
why Arnold Rent should not settle down to the career of a country
parson.  But from the first he had other plans which in Mrs. Rent’s
opinion were almost revolutionary.  The limited field did not appeal to
a man of his views and restless energy, and with many misgivings his
mother had seen him start an entirely different career of his own
choosing in London.  That he was squandering money on this did not
matter.  The past three or four generations of Rents had not spent
anything like half their income, so there was money enough and to spare.
There was no anxiety on that score.

From time to time Mrs. Rent had reports of her son’s progress.  She was
convinced that knighthood was within his grasp if he could only control
some of his advanced ideas and bow to the voice of authority.  At any
rate he was strong and good and in earnest.  On the whole, it seemed to
Mrs. Rent that Providence had been more than kind to her.

She was in the garden now busy among her roses.  The rose gardens at
Alton Lee were famous.  Even in that well-favoured spot there was
nothing like them.  And the lady of the house fitted well in with the
picture.  She walked with a slight stoop; one long, slender hand was
closed upon an ebony crutch-stick; her delicate features were half
hidden by a large, shady hat.  For the rest, her hair was grey and
abundant, and her blue eyes beamed with a kindly expression.  She was
the embodiment of an elderly lady of the old school, which is fast
becoming extinct.  With all beneath her she had the widest sympathy.  No
tale of distress found her unmoved, but she had undemonstrative pride,
for all that.  There were people in the neighbourhood who said that Mrs.
Rent was haughty and distant, but most of these were newcomers whose
money had been derived from trade.  As to the wealthy financiers who
play so prominent a part in Society to-day, not one of them would have
been permitted to cross the threshold of Alton Lee, though Mrs. Rent was
always pleased to see the little curate’s wife to dinner.

She cut the last of a basketful of large, dark, red-hearted roses and
dropped into a garden seat with a sigh of placid satisfaction.  It was a
perfect afternoon, with just the suspicion of a breeze rustling the
great oaks in the park.  Across the middle distance a herd of deer moved
slowly and gracefully. Away to the west the blue sea lay placid in the
sunshine.  From one of the side paths a girl came along, carrying a huge
mass of sprays of maidenhair fern in her hand.  She was not particularly
tall or strikingly beautiful, but there was a rare attraction about
Ethel Margrave’s face that grew upon one the more her features were
studied. But the eyes of deep blue were the chief attraction. No one
ever failed to notice these liquid azure lakes which drew to her every
man and woman of her acquaintance.  She came gaily along and dropped
into the seat by Mrs. Rent’s side.

"My dear auntie, how busy you have been!" she exclaimed.  "I thought I
should have been in time to cut at least half those roses for you; but I
suppose I stayed too long in the greenhouses admiring the orchids.  I
won’t get the drawing-room flowers done before tea-time, at this rate."

Mrs. Rent smiled indulgently at the speaker. Next to her son, there was
nobody in the world whom she loved as deeply and sincerely as her niece,
Ethel Hargrave.  If she had one wish left ungratified, it was that
Arnold and Ethel might some day be master and mistress of the old house.
The dream had gradually deepened till it had become almost a passion,
but it looked now as if the elderly lady was going to be disappointed.
Perhaps the young people had been too much together to fall in love with
one another.  At any rate, Arnold Rent had always looked upon Ethel as a
sister.  And there was something in Mrs. Rent’s disappointment that had
a touch of pain in it. Those kindly blue eyes could look keenly enough
at human nature sometimes, and Mrs. Rent had more than a suspicion that
Ethel cared deeply for her son.  There were moments when this knowledge
filled her with anxiety.

"Let us sit here and talk a little longer," she said.  "There will be
plenty of time for your drawing-room flowers.  Did I tell you that I had
a letter from your father this morning?  He hopes that he will be able
to get away from Australia for a long holiday at the beginning of next
year.  What a long time it is since you saw him!  And what a pity it is
that you photograph so badly!  I have been thinking it over lately and I
am going to give my brother a surprise.  I have been in communication
with one of the most famous artists of the day, and he is coming here to
paint your portrait."

"What a distinguished honour!" the girl laughed.  "My dear, you are
making quite a Society woman of me.  Will the picture be exhibited in
next year’s Academy and be reproduced in the ladies’ papers?  Really, I
ought to be quite angry with you for such extravagance."

"Oh, I am glad to find you don’t mind," Mrs. Rent replied.  "Besides, I
want a proper picture of you myself.  We were only talking about it the
last time Arnold was here.  By the way, have you heard from him lately?"

The girl flushed at the mention of Rent’s name.

"Oh, dear, no," she said.  "Arnold is much too busy to trouble about a
simple country girl like myself.  The last time I heard from him his
letter was one of tirade and abuse of the doings of Society.  I
understood he was moving in it himself, so that he would be able to
speak from personal knowledge.  Do you know, my dear aunt, I wish Arnold
wouldn’t be so dreadfully serious.  One feels a poor creature by
comparison.  I should like to see him do something foolish.  You know
what I mean."

"Oh, I think I do," Mrs. Rent smiled.  "It would be nice if he made a
mistake or two and came down here for us to sympathise with him. But one
never feels sure of Arnold.  I expect to hear every day that he has gone
over to the Rationalists, or taken monastic vows, or some equally
dreadful thing.  But you may be sure that Arnold would never do anything
to make one blush for him."

The mother spoke with a serene pride that brought an answering smile to
Ethel’s face. Attached as she was to Arnold Rent, she would have
preferred him to be a little more human.  Like most girls who live a
good deal alone, she had her imaginative moods, and was fond of
picturing Arnold as wounded in a conflict and coming home for her
support and sympathy.  She dismissed the mental picture now with a sigh
of impatience. There was not the least likelihood of Arnold stepping
from the straight path.  He would go to high honours in the world.  He
would marry some noble woman of great intellectual attainments to help
him in his work.

"I think we spoil him," she said.  "However, it is no use talking about
it.  But, surely, my eyes don’t deceive me.  That must be Mr. Westlake
coming down the drive.  What brings him here? Something dreadful must
have happened to induce him to leave his beloved London."

Mrs. Rent rose with a sudden feeling of approaching trouble.  It was
rare, indeed, for the old family solicitor to come to Devonshire,
especially without warning.  The elderly man approached the garden-seat
and raised his hat. Nothing could be gathered from his austere features
except a trace of anxiety on his brow.  He murmured something in reply
to Mrs. Rent’s question, then glanced significantly at Ethel.

"Very well," the girl said.  "I see you have come on affairs of state,
so I’ll run away and finish my flowers.  Don’t forget that it is very
nearly tea-time."




                             *CHAPTER XVI*

                       *THE HONOUR OF THE FAMILY*


Arnold Rent’s mother waited for the lawyer to speak.  She scented
trouble.

"And now, my dear old friend, what is it?" Mrs. Rent said quietly.  "I
see you are in great anxiety about something.  I suppose it has to do
with money.  But, in any case, I am sure you are in no way to blame."

"It has nothing to do with money at all," Mr. Westlake replied.  "From
that point of view, things were never better.  Before I go any further,
have you had any news of your son lately?  Have you heard this morning?
I thought, perhaps, possibly——"

"Arnold!" Mrs. Rent exclaimed.  "Something has happened to him!  You are
keeping me in suspense."

"Indeed, I am not," Westlake protested.  "So far as I know, there is
nothing wrong with your son, who was perfectly well last night.  But it
is to consult you about Arnold that I have hurried here to-day.  I
learnt something yesterday and immediately went out to Southampton last
night, where my worst suspicions were confirmed.  It struck me as
strange that a young man in his position should be telegraphing for
money, and I heard one or two rumours in the early part of the week.
You must not be too hard upon the boy, because one never knows what
temptations unscrupulous women put in the way of impressionable men.
And, if I may be allowed to say it, in worldly matters Arnold is a
little lax."

All the colour left Mrs. Rent’s cheeks.  She sat for a moment with her
hand pressed to her heart. Then her dignity and courage came back to
her. Her voice was tranquil as she spoke.

"Perhaps you had better begin at the beginning, my dear friend," she
said.  "A mother is always anxious about her child.  She has gloomy
moments when she fears the worst.  I won’t say that Arnold has never
given me any anxiety, because that would not be true, but I never dreamt
he would so far forget himself as to tarnish his good name and honour.
Do you mean to say that he allowed himself to get entangled?"

"That would be hardly fair," Westlake said, with lawyer-like caution.
"I am told that the lady is exceedingly beautiful and that she has been
very unhappy in her married life.  She has been described to me as a
sweet saint, a kind of Madonna—just the sort of creature who would be
likely to appeal to a chivalrous, romantic man like your son. I believe
that the husband turned his wife out of the house, or that he sold the
house over her head, which comes to much the same thing.  Unfortunately,
Arnold appeared on the scene at that very moment, and that is how the
trouble began.  At any rate, the mischief is done and nothing we can say
can alter it.  The worst feature is that Arnold’s career is seriously
checked.  He will have to delay matters.  He will have to abandon his
experiments till this fancy is forgotten.  No one would listen to a man
who had been god in the car to another man’s wife.  Of course, this
sounds very cruel, but, then, you are always so rational and reasonable
that I can speak to you the more freely.  Believe me, I would have given
half I possess if I could have saved the situation before it was too
late."

"I know it," Mrs. Rent said quietly.  "My dear Richard Westlake, this is
a bitter blow to me.  As yet I can hardly realise it.  He must have been
mad.  He must have been carried away by impulsive good-heartedness.  But
we are wasting time. I must see Arnold.  I suppose I shall even have to
see the woman.  I shall have to sit down in the same room with her."

"That is the point I was coming to," Westlake said, almost eagerly.  "I
want to prevent those misguided people from coming here.  That must be
avoided at any cost."

"Here!" Mrs. Rent murmured.  "Do you mean to say that that woman would
have the audacity to come to Alton Lee?"

"I think you will find that that will be the programme," Westlake said
shrewdly.  "Unless I am mistaken, Mrs. Charlock will pose as a martyr,
driven to despair by the brutality of a cruel husband.  If she gets a
footing here the whitewashing process will be half complete.  It will be
held that she has the support and sympathy of so great a lady as Mrs.
Rent.  And even if the other man takes proceedings, as he is sure to do,
half the people who read the case will come to the conclusion that Mrs.
Charlock is an injured woman.  She may be a saint, of course.  But that
is not a synonym for a fool."

Mrs. Rent looked despairingly across the park. She was beginning to
appreciate the full force of the disaster.  Her pride was in arms.  The
strong side of her character began to show uppermost, and there was a
depth and force in her moral nature that few people dreamt of.  Her duty
was plain.  If it wounded her to the heart, she must do that which was
right and proper.

"I begin to see my way," she said quietly.  "I will go and see my
unhappy boy and this woman. I will go up with you to-day.  It may be
that there are extenuating circumstances.  Indeed, I shall only be too
glad to be able to take a lenient view of this disgraceful affair.  But
if you will give me Arnold’s address I will telegraph to him that on no
account is he to come here.  It would be an outrage."

"To tell the truth," Westlake confessed, "I have already taken the
liberty of sending a telegram in your name.  I did it directly I got the
news.  You see, there was no time to be lost, and they might already be
on their way."

"Quite right," Mrs. Rent murmured.  "By the way, what did you say was
the name of this woman?  It sounded familiar."

"Charlock," Westlake explained.  "I believe her husband is an artist, or
something of that kind."

"I wonder if he is any relation to _the_ Charlock?" Mrs. Rent mused.  "I
have been in correspondence with him.  But I suppose that is out of the
question, especially as there are two or three Charlocks who are
artists."

Westlake glanced at the speaker.  She was taking the blow with far
greater resignation and courage than he had expected.  The colour had
crept back into her cheeks.  Her face was strong and resolute. Come what
might, she would do the right and proper thing; she would vindicate the
honour of the family.  She rose now and suggested that it was time for
tea.

"It seems strange to mention the meal," she said, "but I suppose the
world will go on the same, even though this black disgrace has fallen on
the family.  But fancy having to tell Ethel!  My heart sinks at the mere
thought of it.  And the servants, too, every one of whom was born on the
estate. But the thing will have to be done, bitterly as one resents it.
Everybody must know.  There shall be no attempt at deceit or
prevarication.  As soon as we have had tea you had better decide to take
a stroll in the garden and smoke a cigar.  I shall not be able to rest
till Ethel knows the story.  Now give me your arm."

In silence they passed between the rose-bushes, across the velvet lawns
to the drawing-room.  The light was subdued, and Mrs. Rent was grateful
for it.  She had no desire to be under the scrutiny of Ethel’s keen
eyes.  The girl came forward from behind a bank of roses and fern.
Something suggested suppressed excitement in her manner.

"Well, are all the secrets told?" she asked gaily. "Or has Mr. Westlake
got a surprise in store for us?  But, whether he has or not, I have a
surprise for you.  You know you were talking just now of a famous artist
who was to paint my portrait. What would you say if I told you that Mr.
John Charlock is in the library at the present moment?"

Something like a groan escaped Westlake’s lips.

"The husband," he murmured.  "The husband, for a million.  Now, what on
earth is the fellow doing here?"

There was a startled expression on Mrs. Rent’s face.

"This had not occurred to me," she murmured. "Strange that I had failed
to notice it.  Fancy a thing like this happening in so quiet and
respectable a house as Alton Lee!  It reminds one of those dreadful
plays where extraordinary events take place in the most unexpected
quarters.  Who could have foreseen the elements of such a drama
four-and-twenty hours ago?  I should have said this would be the last
house in the world to entertain anything like this.  But perhaps the
misfortune will prove to be a blessing in disguise.  Don’t you think we
might settle matters, now that Mr. Charlock is here, in such a way that
there shall be no scandal?  I cannot possibly believe that my son is——"

"An ordinary human being," Westlake said cynically.  "My dear madam,
when a young man comes in contact with a beautiful woman who is
cold-blooded and playing entirely for her own hand, nobody knows what
will take place.  Believe me, this is not the time for weakness or
compromise. It may be that your son is acting from the highest possible
motives.  It may be that his soul is full of chivalry and all that kind
of thing. Nevertheless, I should like to hear what you have to suggest."

Mrs. Rent pondered the matter for a moment.

"Cannot you think of anything?" she asked timidly. "Oh, I don’t know how
to act.  I can’t think what to do for the best.  And yet it seems as if
this were a direct intervention of Providence.  On the other hand, you
may say that it would be far better if Mr. Charlock left the house
without delay."




                             *CHAPTER XVII*

                        *"LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG"*


Ethel Hargrave turned with a startled expression on her face.

"What do you mean?" she asked.  "Is there anything wrong, aunt?  You
both look as though something dreadful had happened."

"Never mind that for a moment," Westlake interrupted.  "It so happens
that I am particularly interested in this Mr. Charlock.  Tell me, what
is the gentleman like?"

"I like him," Ethel went on, "though he does remind one strongly of a
bulldog.  He has a tenacious, fighting face.  But I always was fond of
bulldogs.  They are such gentle, faithful creatures when you come to
understand them."

"You have been talking to him," Mrs. Rent murmured.

"Oh, dear, yes.  We had quite a long conversation. Our introduction was
as unconventional as the most bohemian could have wished.  Mr. Charlock
came up the drive carrying a poor little terrier in his arms.  I fancy
the dog had been run over, for it was bleeding from a wound in the side,
and making a horrid mess of Mr. Charlock’s grey flannel suit, which fact
I ventured to point out to him. He didn’t even take the trouble to
reply.  He was too busy with the dog.  I suppose this incident impressed
me favourably.  Only a really kind-hearted man would have taken all that
trouble about a toy-terrier."

Mrs. Rent and Westlake did not appear to be listening.  The solicitor
turned to his hostess and elevated his eyebrows.

"This is certain to be the same man," he said. "The circumstance is so
extraordinary that it could not be anybody else.  I think there is one
thing we can count upon—he has not come to make any disturbance.  I
should not be surprised to find him utterly ignorant of any relations
between that lady and your son.  It is unfortunate that he should be
here at this moment, but it can’t be helped.  Don’t you think it would
be as well if I saw him and explained matters?"

"Perhaps you had better," Mrs. Rent murmured. "Naturally, I have a
certain amount of sympathy for Mr. Charlock, and I agree with you that
he has only come here to talk over Ethel’s portrait.  If you will be so
good as to see him——"

"What is all this mystery?" Ethel demanded. "Why am I being kept in the
dark?  Not but what I shall know sooner or later, because dear Aunt
Helen is one of the most transparent women in the world.  It would be
impossible for her to keep a secret for more than a day."

Westlake turned to Mrs. Rent.

"You had better tell her," he said.  "Meanwhile, I’ll go and see what I
can do with the artist."

Westlake’s tone was so grave that the smile faded from Ethel’s cheeks.
She placed an arm around her aunt’s neck and kissed the white cheek
tenderly.

"I know you are in some trouble," she murmured. "Tell me what it is.
You have lost all your money?"

"Not a penny," Mrs. Rent replied.  "A money loss would be nothing to the
trouble I am suffering now.  It is difficult to tell you the truth, but
it will have to be told.  You know how proud I have always been of
Arnold.  You know how I have boasted that the boy could do nothing
wrong. Well, he has disgraced us.  There is no other word for it.  He
has forgotten his duty to God and to himself.  He has deliberately
broken one of the Commandments."

Ethel’s face grew as pale and colourless as that of her companion.

"Do not be afraid to speak," she murmured. "Try to forget that I am not
a child.  What has Arnold done?"

"There was a woman," Mrs. Rent said incoherently. "She was a married
woman, which makes matters worse.  And now she has left her husband ...
with Arnold.  I could not say more if I sat here all night.  Of course,
one could find excuses for the boy.  One could argue that he has acted
in this mad fashion from chivalrous motives.  But the sorry truth
remains that these two have gone off together, and that scandal is bound
to follow. Of all the paths of dishonour that my boy might have trodden,
I cannot think of one more discreditable than this.  Don’t press me to
say more.  Don’t ask me for details, for I have none to give you. Mr.
Westlake came here at once to break the trouble to me, and I have no
doubt that I shall have a long letter from Arnold in the morning."

"What are you going to do?" Ethel asked.  She could think of nothing
else to say.  "You will see him, of course."

"I don’t know.  I am not sure.  I have been a fond and loving mother to
Arnold, and I have striven to do my duty by him, but, also, I owe a duty
to society.  And everything that I possess is at my discretion.  If I
like to say the word, Arnold will rise to-morrow without a penny.  I
have not said much, because I hardly realise the magnitude of this
disaster.  Shame and disgrace like this must not be allowed to go
unpunished.  I don’t wish to be too hard upon anybody, but I cannot
believe that that woman would have thrown in her lot with my son unless
she had known he had great expectations."

"I see what you mean," Ethel said.  "You are going to take a firm stand.
But why not wait? Why assume that there is anything really wrong? It is
not just to Arnold.  You do not mean to disown him?"

"Oh, no, no," Mrs. Rent cried.  "I could not do that.  That might be the
means of sending a poor, unhappy creature headlong to her ruin.  We may
find Mr. Charlock——"

"Mr. Charlock!" Ethel exclaimed.  "Do you mean to say——"

"I am afraid so," Mrs. Rent went on.  "I am afraid that the cruel irony
of fate has brought the poor gentleman into this house at the most
inopportune time.  It may be mere coincidence, but that is almost too
much to hope for.  What was I saying?  Oh, yes.  You see, when the law
gives Mr. Charlock his freedom, it will be a point of honour on Arnold’s
part to marry this woman. Common humanity will prevent me from
interfering. Common decency would compel Arnold to take that step.  And
do you suppose that that wicked creature would care much, so long as she
had money to spend?  She would make Arnold take her on the continent.
She would drag him down to her own level.  The best years of his life
would be wasted.  But if I say that they must go their own way, without
assistance from me, Arnold may pull himself together and live down his
disgrace.  Don’t you see, I wish to find out what this woman is made of?
Perhaps Mr. Charlock may be a wretch, and have driven his wife in sheer
desperation to take this step."

"I don’t believe it," Ethel said firmly.  "I don’t believe that a man
who would take so much trouble over a stray dog could be guilty of
unkindness. There is something about his face that I like.  But I
interrupt you."

"What was I saying?  Oh, I want to test the woman.  I want to see if she
will remain true to the man whose life she has spoilt in the face of
adversity.  If so, then in the future she has little to fear from me.
Meanwhile, I have made up my mind.  I will stop Arnold’s allowance.  He
will not receive another penny from me.  He is strong and brave and
clever.  He is equipped for the earning of his own living.  All this I
will tell him when we meet to-morrow.  It will be something for him to
find out that I have a side to my character which he has not dreamt of.
You may not think that I am right.  You may say that I am hard and
cruel——"

"You could never be that," Ethel murmured. "I am very fond of Arnold,
and this has been a terrible blow to me, not the least so because it has
wounded my pride.  But I don’t want to talk about myself.  I am certain
you are right, and that, in the circumstances, you could not do anything
else. But you will let me go with you to-morrow.  I know that Mr.
Westlake will accompany you, but a man is so useless in times like
these.  Besides, I have a desire to see the woman who has come in and
wrecked our paradise.  I want to judge her for myself."

"That is out of the question," Mrs. Rent decided. "But here is Mr.
Westlake."

Westlake came slowly into the room.  He could see that Mrs. Rent had
told Ethel everything, and that, therefore, he could speak freely.

"It is just as I thought," he said.  "This is the husband of the woman
who has infatuated your boy.  As you may imagine, Mr. Charlock feels the
situation acutely.  Of course, it occurred to him that you were the
mother of Arnold Rent, but he himself is here on business.  He says that
you invited him to come at the first favourable opportunity, offering
your hospitality, which a day or two ago he thankfully accepted.  In his
letter he fixed to-day, and said he should be here at the time
mentioned, unless he heard from you to the contrary.  Taking your
silence for consent, he came. And, mind you, till I told him a few
minutes ago, he had not the faintest idea of this madness between Arnold
and his wife.  I should like to save you as much pain as possible, but
you must see him."




                            *CHAPTER XVIII*

                            *CUPBOARD LOVE*


Charlock’s wife was easier in her mind.  When the start was made she
could see her way clearly. The long journey was coming to an end at
length and the period of inaction was nearly over.  Kate Charlock sat in
her seat, her eyes half-closed, smiling serenely.  Arnold Rent thought
he had never seen her smile like that before.  It seemed to him that he
was one of the most fortunate of men. Hitherto, it had never occurred to
him to ask himself a question.  He had not paused to debate whether this
woman loved him or not.  Perhaps he was afraid to face his own vanity.
He had made the suggestion on the spur of the moment, carried away by a
spontaneous outburst of love and passion, and Kate Charlock had
responded without a struggle.

Yet he could not doubt her.  It was impossible to doubt her.  No woman
with a face and smile like that could have done other than follow the
dictates of her heart.  She had placed herself in his hands, and so long
as he had health and strength she should never repent it.  No woman had
ever been loved before as he loved Kate Charlock.

And she, on the other hand, sat there with beautiful lines of
resignation on her face, looking the embodiment of all that was good,
and pure, and holy.  She seemed to be raised above the level of the
common earth.  And yet she, too, was thinking as she surveyed Rent under
the long fringe of her eyelashes.

He was a nice-looking fellow, she told herself. She regarded him with a
certain amount of good-natured contempt.  No doubt he would make a man
in time, but he would have many lessons to learn first.  He would be
easy to manage, too, despite his square chin and the resolute lines of
his mouth.  He would not be surly and self-contained, like John
Charlock.  On the whole, Kate saw a pleasant prospect before her after
the scandal was forgotten and things resumed their normal footing. She
knew exactly what the process would be. For a year or so they would be
studiously avoided by even the most frivolous of her friends.  Then
people would languidly inquire whether or not there had been some
scandal in the past, and after that others, bolder than the rest, would
be calling on Mrs. Arnold Rent.  They would come fast enough, provided
there were good dinners and entertainments worth sharing, and Arnold
Rent would have to provide all those things.  It was all very well to
talk largely of living in a quiet, frugal way and giving nine-tenths of
his income to the poor, but Kate Charlock would see to all that.  It was
the man’s obvious duty to make things smooth for her and pave the way
into the pale of Society again.  It didn’t matter much about the man,
for in these matters the man never suffers.  It is always the woman who
pays.

The prospect was alluring, and accounted for the heavenly smile which
Arnold Rent was studying so rapturously.  And yet behind it all was a
fear that Mrs. Rent might step down from her high place and shatter the
fond illusion.  Arnold Rent might say that his mother idolised him.  It
was easy to prophesy that she would come forward and welcome the
fugitive with open arms.  The elderly lady might be all that her son
claimed for her, but she was proud and prejudiced, and had all the
conventions of her class.  What if she were to put her foot down firmly?
What if she refused to see them?  The telegram she had sent to her son
did not indicate a conciliatory spirit.  Still, if once the threshold
were crossed, it would not be easy to dislodge the culprits, and Arnold
Rent as yet had not seen anything but the mere fringe of the artifices
which his companion had at her fingertips. She turned to him presently,
a little tired of her gloomy thoughts.

"What is your house like, Arnold?" she asked.

Arnold Rent’s face lighted up with pleasure.

"Oh, Alton Lee is a beautiful place," he said. "I don’t know what kind
of architecture you call it, for it has been built from time to time, as
occasion required.  Now it is one mass of ivy and creeping plants.  To
my mind, it is the most beautiful place in Devonshire.  It is so restful
and peaceful, and I don’t believe there are any roses like ours in the
world.  I suppose, too, there is not a finer collection of antique
furniture in the South of England.  I have known my grandfather
entertain a hundred visitors without the slightest inconvenience."

"How charming," Kate Charlock murmured. "But that kind of thing is very
extravagant.  I suppose that is why so many of our great families have
become so poor."

The speaker uttered the words thoughtfully, as she gazed dreamily out of
the carriage window. Rent did not notice what lay behind the simple
speech.

"Oh, we are by no means poor," he said.  "I don’t suppose the Rents have
been more mercenary than other people, but it so happens that most of
them married money.  Our tastes have been fairly simple, too, and we
have been very lucky in our advisers.  The last time I saw our
solicitor, Mr. Westlake, he told me that I should some day have the
control of an estate worth nearly a million."

Kate Charlock smiled and murmured something to the effect that money was
not everything. Nevertheless, the statement filled her with the keenest
pleasure.  In her mind’s eye, she could see the stately house rising
above the sea.  Already she was beginning to rearrange the various rooms
with their priceless furniture.  She saw herself a popular hostess,
eagerly sought after and invited everywhere.  Arnold Rent was placing
his future in her hands now, but it was only like casting his bread on
the waters, and the thing would be worth a struggle.  It would be
glorious to live the scandal down and force the people who regarded her
coldly at first to come cringing for an invitation to Alton Lee.  For
the moment Kate Charlock thought she was genuinely in love with the man
opposite.  Truly, fortune was favouring her.  She was getting her
recompense for the five dreary years which she had endured under the
roof of John Charlock.

She was quite convinced of the fact, too, that the blame was wholly
Charlock’s.  It _must_ be so, since all her friends had said so.  She
looked back now to the past five years with complacent pride and
soothing self-satisfaction.  But all that was going to be altered.
Before two years had passed there would be no more charming or popular
hostess in England than Mrs. Arnold Rent of Alton Lee.  If only Arnold’s
mother——

Ah, there was the trouble.  With a subtle instinct all her own, Kate
Charlock made no attempt to blind the issue.  It was from this quarter
the trouble was coming.  She felt certain of it.  She closed her eyes
and feigned sleep.  She was getting a trifle tired of the sound of
Arnold Rent’s voice.  She wished he were a little less boyish, a little
less certain of his ground.  Then, for a while, she sank into oblivion,
sitting up with a start when the train stopped at a small station.

"We are here," Rent explained.  "It is only a short way to the house,
and I will take you a near cut through the grounds.  Let us slip away
before the station-master comes fussing along."

It was not dark yet.  The air was full of the smell of flowers.  The
peaceful silence was restful and soothing.  But Kate Charlock was not
thinking about that.  Her mind was possessed with the reflection that
all this was her companion’s property, and that very soon she would be
mistress. She had no keen eye for the beauties of the country, but even
she was moved to admiration as the path sloped upwards and the great
sylvan landscape began to unfold itself.  She saw the wide stretch of
the park, where the deer were moving like phantoms in the dusk.  She
noted the outline of the grand old house beyond.  For the moment she was
touched and thrilled.  It was not the first time she found herself in
one of the stately English homes.  She had always envied the lot of folk
who were blessed in this way, and soon she would actually have one of
her own.

"Is it not perfect?" Rent said, with a thrill in his voice.  "Are you
surprised that I should love the place as I do?  The time will come when
you will be just as fond of Alton Lee as I am myself. Isn’t it a
paradise?"

"It is, indeed," Kate Charlock said rapturously. "But do not let us
think so much of our own happiness when there are others to consider.  I
am more concerned for your poor mother than anyone else. Do you know, I
should be almost thankful if you made up your mind to turn back, even at
this moment.  Oh, Arnold, do you think that your mother will allow me to
stay?"

Arnold Rent smiled convincingly.

"I have no doubt about it," he said.  "Of course, I don’t disguise the
fact that this will be a terrible shock to my poor mother, but, you will
see, she will make the best of it, especially when she comes to hear
your story.  I am going to leave you here till I can make you my wife.
That is one of the ways by which we can stifle the breath of scandal.
And when you become a member of this household——"

Kate Charlock quickened her footsteps.  Something like a chill passed
over her for a moment.

"Come along and let us get it over," she said. "The suspense is more
than I can bear.  And if your mother fails me in this dreadful crisis,
why——"




                             *CHAPTER XIX*

                           *UNBIDDEN GUESTS*


Meanwhile, Mrs. Rent was with Charlock in the library.  She saw before
her a tall, thick-set man, whose hard features and smileless eyes
impressed her with a fancy that he was the central figure in some dark
tragedy.  Yet there was that vague something about John Charlock that
appealed to the woman’s sympathies, for he, too, had suffered like
herself.  The same woman who had ruined Arnold Rent had brought shame
and disgrace to John Charlock.  He stood bowing gravely till Mrs. Rent
came forward and timidly held out her hand.  Then, at length, he spoke.

"This is a cruel trick that Fate has played us," he said.  "Believe me,
if I had known what had happened I should not be here this evening.  I
suppose Mr. Westlake has explained to you how the misunderstanding came
about.  And I think I know now why you did not get my letter.  I had
placed it with others on the hall table two days before.  It was the day
I lost my home.  You see, I have been in great money difficulties, due
principally to the extravagance of the woman who is my wife.  One of my
creditors stripped my house of everything, and left me nothing but the
bare walls.  I am not complaining.  I had fair warning, and the money
was honestly due to the man.  Doubtless, in the confusion of the moment,
my letters were lost sight of.  But perhaps you will think that I ought
not to stay any longer.  I daresay I can find some accommodation in the
village till the morning."

"Indeed, you cannot," Mrs. Rent exclaimed, all her hospitable instincts
on fire.  "There is no house of entertainment within some miles of this
and the few cottages around are impossible.  I appreciate the delicacy
of your feelings, but you will have to remain till the morning.  And the
thing is no fault of yours."

"My wife’s friends will tell you otherwise," Charlock said, with a
bitter smile.  "They will tell you that she is a sweet, saintly creature
who put up with my cruel indifference till human nature could bear the
strain no longer.  Indeed, your son was good enough to tell me so.  As a
friend of my wife’s, he ventured to expostulate with me, a comparative
stranger, on the way I treated her."

All the blood came flaming to Mrs. Rent’s face.

"He didn’t," she said hoarsely.  "He never went so far as that.  It is
incredible.  What did you say?"

"I said nothing.  I never say anything.  The heart knoweth its own
bitterness.  There is no man on earth who has learnt the wisdom of that
saying more than myself.  And why should I try to put the world right?
In the eyes of most people I am a boor and a brute.  I had no business
to tie a beautiful woman to a personality like mine. Why should I waste
my time in proving to the world that the world is wrong?  Why should I
proclaim from the housetops that I am a broken and disappointed man,
with nothing but my work to fall back upon?"

Charlock appeared to have forgotten himself. The words burst in a stream
from his lips as he paced up and down the room.  Never before had he
shown his heart like this to a stranger.  Yet there was something like
sorrowful sympathy in the eyes of his hostess that seemed to draw
confidences from him.

"I think I understand," Mrs. Rent said gently. "Is your wife, then, so
wonderfully prepossessing?"

"I think she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," Charlock
said, in the same tense tones.  "She is outwardly the embodiment of
womanly innocence and purity, and I gave her all the heart that a lonely
and self-contained man possesses.  How she has repaid me I leave you to
find out for yourself.  And yet, if she were to come back to me now and
place her hands upon my shoulders and ask me to forgive her, I should be
as wax in her hands.  Wait till you see the woman called Kate Charlock
before you judge your son too harshly.  But, then, you are a woman, and
do not know how we men feel when we come in contact with temptation.
Mind you, I am not defending myself.  I am going to make no defence.
When your son came to me and spoke as he did I saw that heart and soul
he was the slave of my wife. He did not know it.  He did not realise it
at the moment, but I let him chide me where ninety-nine men out of a
hundred would have kicked him out of the house.  But I was patient.  I
asked him to come four-and-twenty hours later, when I would show him
what I was going to do.  At the end of that time I knew that my home
would be no more than a name.  And then I forgot all about my scheme of
revenge.  And when the time came and my home was no more, I stood within
the bare walls and made my wife an offer.  There was to be an end of all
her shameful extravagance.  I was going into a cottage, where we should
live without a servant till my debts were paid.  My wife refused to go,
and in a fit of sullen indifference I turned away and left her in the
empty house.... It was then that your son came along....  I can say no
more.  I leave the rest for you to imagine. And now, if you will permit
me, I will seek some lodging for the night."

Gently but firmly Mrs. Rent refused to listen to the suggestion.  Till
the morning, at any rate, she would not hear of Charlock seeking
quarters elsewhere.  It would be a dull and dreary evening, but that was
inevitable in any case.  It was a quiet and somewhat strained meal from
which they all rose presently with feelings of undisguised thankfulness.
It was barely dark, and the sea shimmered in the afterglow of the
sunset.  Charlock crossed over towards the French windows and stepped
out upon the lawn, followed by Ethel.

"This is a lovely spot," he said.  "Isn’t there a wonderful walk here
through the rose gardens leading to the sea?  Would you mind showing it
to me?  I may never have another chance of seeing it.  Won’t you come?"

"We will all go," Mrs. Rent suggested.  "Anything is better than sitting
brooding in the house. Ethel, will you run upstairs and get a wrap for
me?"

They started off presently, Ethel and Charlock a little in front of the
rest.  For a time they were silent, till, at length, the perfect beauty
of the scene fell like a charm upon Charlock and he began to talk.  It
was a new thing for him to have a companion in sympathy with himself.
But the responsive look in Ethel’s deep eyes seemed to draw him to her.
It was not so much what he said as what he implied that led Ethel to
believe that he was both a miserable and a misunderstood man. The church
clock was striking the hour of ten before they turned and made their way
again towards the house.

"I believe I have been talking for a good hour," Charlock said.  "I
never remember doing such a thing before in all my life.  I hope you
will not run away with the idea that I am a loquacious man."

Westlake and Mrs. Rent drew up to the rest, and they all stood enjoying
the fragrance of the night.  Mrs. Rent turned at last with a suggestion
that it was getting chilly, and that it would be more prudent to go
indoors.

"A few minutes longer," Charlock pleaded.  "To an artist such a scene is
exceedingly attractive.  One could forget all one’s troubles in a place
like this."

Before Mrs. Rent could make any reply a servant came across the lawn and
spoke to her mistress. She seemed to be excited, and her eyes danced
with pleasure.

"What is it, Mary?" Mrs. Rent asked.

"Mr. Arnold has come back unexpectedly, madam," the maid replied.  "He
would like to see you in the library, please.  I forgot to say that
there is a lady with him."

"Say I will come," Mrs. Rent said faintly.

Now that the crisis had arrived, the unhappy mother felt like shirking
it altogether.  She had not forgotten what Charlock had said.  She was
prepared to make every allowance for her son. But, even then, she would
have to do violence to her feelings.  She only wanted to be just, to do
that which was right and proper.  And, after all, she only had John
Charlock’s word as to the way in which he had been treated.  And she was
bound to confess that he did not look in the least like a man capable of
making a woman happy.  Perhaps his wife was the injured saint she took
herself to be, and her son might be acting from the highest and purest
motives.  Such things had happened over and over again, despite the fact
that the world was cold and critical.  But the matter had to be faced,
and the sooner the better.

In a dreamy sort of way Mrs. Rent saw her son’s smiling face.  She
noticed the heightened colour on his cheeks.  Then she saw the most
beautiful woman her eyes had ever fallen upon.  Oh, it was impossible to
believe that this was a cold, scheming creature playing for her own
hand.  No one could look upon that face and think her anything but
innocent.  And Mrs. Rent thought she could vouch for her son.

As she stood there she saw the smile on Kate Charlock’s face soften
wonderfully.  The woman advanced towards her with an obvious intention
shining in her eyes.

She stepped back instinctively.

"No, no," she cried.  "The time is not ripe for that.  I cannot allow
you to kiss me—yet."




                              *CHAPTER XX*

                         *ACROSS THE THRESHOLD*


Kate was in the house at last—in the long drawing-room, where the
servants had lighted the lamps.  Though pale and agitated, she could not
resist the temptation to glance furtively about her. She had not lived
under the same roof with a great artist for five years without learning
something of the value of beautiful things.  She was not slow to
appraise the works of art.  In her eyes the place was a trifle
old-fashioned and out of date.  Already she could see her way to make an
imposing salon of the room.  Then, as she saw Rent looking eagerly
towards her, she lowered her eyelids and sighed deeply.

"I ought not to have come in with you," she murmured.  "I see that it
was a mistake.  I ought to have waited outside till you had seen your
mother and prepared her for my coming.  It would have been so much
more——"

The speaker’s voice trailed off into a murmur. She was going to say
"dramatic," but she stopped just in time.  At the same moment there were
sounds of voices outside, and the outline of dim figures could be seen
advancing across the misty lawn.  Instinctively Kate Charlock drew
closer to Rent’s side.

"My dearest, there is nothing to be frightened of," he said soothingly.
"That was my mother’s voice you heard.  See, she is coming this way.  I
can’t make out who the others are, but one of them looks to me like our
solicitor, Mr. Westlake.  If so, it is rather fortunate.  Westlake
always takes such a common-sense view of matters.  He is sure to be on
our side."

There was nothing more to be said, nothing to do but wait for the coming
of Mrs. Rent.  And she seemed in no hurry to detach herself from her
companions.  Why did she not come? Arnold wondered. Usually she was so
eager to see him.  In the selfishness of the moment it had not occurred
to Rent that the ordeal his mother was about to go through would be more
distressful than his own. And the cruel shock of finding that he was
here in defiance of her telegram was not calculated to make the mother’s
heart any the less sore and angry. Mrs. Rent stood outside, her hands
tightly clasped, looking first from one to the other for support.

"Oh, this is downright cruel," Ethel burst out. "He ought never to have
come like this.  If he came at all, it should have been alone.  My dear
aunt, sit down and collect yourself.  I know you will be brave and
steadfast when it comes to the point, or perhaps you would like Mr.
Westlake——"

"No, I must go through with it myself," Mrs. Rent said.  "This is a
burden that no one can share with me."

"I am afraid the fault is mine," Charlock said. "I ought to have gone
away when I found out whose house I had come into.  I should not have
hesitated.  It is a cruel stroke of fortune, and no one regrets it more
than myself."

"It is no fault of yours," Mrs. Rent murmured. "Will you mind talking to
Miss Hargrave while Mr. Westlake and I go into the house?  I should like
him to be near me, though I do not wish him to be present at the
interview."

Ethel and Charlock stood alone together, silent and anxious.  They
watched the others as they went slowly towards the house, then Charlock
touched his companion’s arm.

"We had better not stay here," he suggested. "We can see and hear too
much.  Do you know, I feel as if, in a measure, I have thrust this black
humiliation and disgrace upon you.  I feel hot and cold all over that I
should even be discussing the thing with one so young and innocent as
yourself."

"And why?" Ethel said.  "I am not a child. I have heard of these things
before, though I never dreamt that I should live to see the like of this
at Alton Lee."

"It is like a romance," Charlock laughed bitterly. "What puppets we are
in the hands of Fate! And I thought once that I was a strong man capable
of defying the world and shaping my own destiny.  I daresay you will say
that it is my own fault, and perhaps you will be right.  I don’t know
why I should be talking to you like this.  But the peacefulness of the
night and the look of sympathy in your eyes invite my confidence.  But I
will swear to you that if I could have foreseen that this honourable old
family would be disgraced in this fashion, I would never have let my
home go.  I would have worked all the harder to gratify my wife’s
extravagance.  I would have made it worth her while to stay.  Perhaps I
was too candid, too brutal.  Do you suppose she would have left me as
she did if she had come back the other night and found the homestead
intact?  Oh, dear, no.  With all her air of purity and sweetness, my
wife always had a shrewd sense of business and self-interest."

"Yet you loved her once," Ethel murmured.

"My dear young lady, I love her now.  She has only to say one word and
the whole past is forgotten.  It may seem strange to you, brought up as
you have been, that a man should love a woman for whom he has the
deepest contempt.  But there are many such cases in the world.  Call it
madness, call it fascination—anything you like.  It is possible for a
man to love a woman devotedly and yet not to speak to her, though she is
under the same roof as himself.  That has been my case during the last
four years.  I have despised myself for my weakness—I, who in other
matters can be so strong.  I am a self-contained man, and five years ago
I thought I had found paradise.  Then it began slowly to dawn upon me
that I had made a mistake.  There was sweetness and melancholy and
fascination in my wife’s smiling face, but no atom of sympathy behind
it.  She had no feeling for me.  She had no kind of pride in my work.
Even when she began to hang the millstone of debt about my neck she had
no concern, though on more than one occasion I was on the verge of a
breakdown.  But I don’t ask you to take all these things for granted.  I
don’t even ask you to believe me.  You will know my wife later, and it
is probable that she will convince you that I am a brute and a boor and
not fit to mix with decent people."

Ethel made no reply.  There was something in this man’s grim tones that
moved her strongly. Someone was coming from the house.  She could hear
footsteps on the gravel.  Then the light from the drawing-room windows
fell upon the face of a woman who was slowly crossing the lawn.  Her
features were serene and beautiful.  Her eyes glistened with heavy
tears.  It was only for a moment that Ethel saw the vision before it
vanished in the shadows.  The girl felt Charlock’s hand tighten on her
arm.

"My wife," he said hoarsely.  "She has come out to leave her lover and
his mother alone.  Did you see her face?"

"Indeed I did," Ethel murmured.  "The beauty of it!  And such an air and
expression of sweetness and resignation I never saw before.  It seems
impossible to believe——"

"I see you pause," Charlock said grimly.  "I know exactly what you are
going to say.  It does seem impossible.  Before God, it seems to me
sometimes that it is impossible and that I am only dreaming.  It would
go hard with me if we both stood before a jury of our countrymen and she
told her tale after I had finished mine.  But I won’t say more.  I will
leave you to judge for yourself. You have seen us both, and you must
rely upon your own instincts.  I won’t ask you to give any verdict,
because I feel sure it will be against me."

"I am very, very sorry," Ethel murmured.

"Of course you are.  But the point is, whom are you sorry for?  There is
no halfway in the business."

Ethel hesitated for a moment.  She hardly seemed to know what to say.  A
bitter smile crossed Charlock’s lips.

"Let me put it plainly to you," he said.  "And yet I don’t know why I
should worry you with this business.  I have never spoken to a living
soul like this before.  At any rate, I am going to be candid now.  Let
us assume that my wife has a genuine grievance against me.  Say that I
am too great a bully and savage for any decent woman to live with.  I am
prepared to admit that I did turn her out of doors in a brutal fashion.
It is possible she can justify her conduct in her own eyes and that she
is here with the purest and most disinterested of motives.  Mind, in her
way, she is a good woman—that is, she is highly virtuous.  She would
never forget herself.  She would never step over the border, not even
for the sake of Arnold Rent and all the fortune he is to inherit. No
doubt she has persuaded herself that she has been right in coming here,
that she has a moral claim upon Mrs. Rent’s protection.  She would argue
it all out in her own mind.  She would wait for me to commit some
blazing indiscretion, and then invoke the aid of the law to release her
from such a creature as myself.  She would think that the proper thing
to do.  And after that she would be in a position to marry Arnold Rent
and settle here as a county lady.  Whether she would keep it up or not
is another matter.  And now, after I have told you this, let me repeat
my question. You said you were sorry just now.  Is your sympathy for her
or for me?"

Ethel hesitated for a moment, and Charlock watched her with an anxiety
which surprised himself.

"I think," she said in a voice little above a whisper, "that I am the
more sorry for—you."




                             *CHAPTER XXI*

                       *THE HONOUR OF THE FAMILY*


Meanwhile, an entirely different scene was being enacted in the
drawing-room.  All her life Mrs. Rent had lived most placidly.  She had
never been confronted with a crisis like this.  Indeed, the mere
suggestion that such a cataclysm could have happened in the family would
have moved her to gentle scorn.  And now, on the spur of the moment, and
almost solely upon her own initiative, she had to decide between her
duty and her beloved son.  It had cost her an effort to speak as she had
done to Kate Charlock, and when she saw the half-wounded expression on
the woman’s face her heart smote her, and she became, for the time
being, almost infirm of purpose.

Still, the situation had to be faced.  She had a stern and rigid duty
both to her conscience and to the family whose name she bore.  There was
a curious vein of Puritanism in her blood which came to her aid now.
And it was very difficult, indeed, to stand looking at these two, to see
her son advance with outstretched hands, and yet to hold back.  He would
have taken her in his arms and kissed her, but something warned him that
the occasion was not opportune.

Under her long lashes, Kate Charlock watched him demurely.  Why was he
hesitating?  It was necessary the fortress should be taken by storm. And
Arnold Rent stood there shyly, his face downcast like that of a child
detected in some fault.

"Mother," he murmured, "have you nothing to say to me?  Have you no kind
of welcome to offer to-night?"

The words were pleading and almost passionate, but seemingly they did
not move Mrs. Rent at all.

"I am at a loss to understand why you are here," she said.

"Why I am here?" Arnold echoed.  "Where else could I go?  When you have
heard all the circumstances of the case——"

"I have heard them already.  Mr. Westlake came down on purpose to tell
me.  Come and stand here where I can see you—where the light shines full
upon your face."

Arnold Rent came obediently a step or two forward.

"Strange," the mother murmured.  "You have not altered.  To all outward
appearances you are still the man of honour and integrity you used to
be.  And yet you can commit this crime and come here to boast of it
without the shadow of remorse, even without a word of apology.  It seems
incredible."

"But what apology should I make?" Arnold demanded.  "What have I done
that you should speak to me like this?"

"You ask me what you have done!  Are you so blind as not to see the
results of your indiscretion?"

Kate Charlock raised her head suddenly.

"May I not be allowed to speak?" she pleaded. "Is it not possible that
when you come to hear my story——"

Mrs. Rent raised her hand imperiously.

"Tell her to be silent," she commanded her son. "Oh, I do not know what
to do or what to say in such a crisis.  Is it not bad enough without
bringing your partner in folly under this roof?  To think that I should
have lived to see a scene like this at Alton Lee!  To think that I
should be the instrument chosen by Providence for the punishment of my
own son!  For that is what it comes to, Arnold.  I was stunned at first.
I was unable to believe the evidence of my senses.  But I begin to see
my way clearly.  The path of duty lies plainly before me."

There was something cold and chilling in the words.  They filled Kate
Charlock with dismay. All the world seemed to be slipping from under her
feet.  If the opportunity were lost, the chance would never come again.
She darted forward and threw herself in an _abandon_ of grief on her
knees before the mistress of the house.  The ready tears were streaming
from her eyes.  Her beautiful features were almost irresistible in their
entreaty.

"Oh, won’t you listen to me?" she said.  "You are a kind, good woman;
your face tells me that. And yet, though you would be good and generous
towards the world, you decline to listen to one poor woman’s story.
Can’t you understand how one may suffer year by year until the strain
becomes too great, and, in a moment of passing madness, sacrifice
everything that a woman holds dear?  That is my case exactly.  Oh, it is
all very well for you, whose married life has been the path of
happiness, to judge humanity from your own standpoint.  But there are
others——"

The woman’s voice snapped suddenly like the breaking of a harp-string.
She covered her face with her hands, her whole frame shaking with
convulsive sobs.

Nor was it all acting.  For the time, Kate Charlock was convinced that
she was the unhappy, abandoned wife of a man who had driven her almost
to madness in one moment of divine despair.  She thrilled with
self-pity.  She saw her airy castles crumbling to the ground.  Unless
this old woman could be moved, there would be no rest for the sole of
her foot at Alton Lee.  The face that she raised once more to Mrs.
Rent’s dark eyes was stained with tears and broken with emotion.
Fighting for self-control as she was, Helen Rent was moved now as she
had seldom been moved before.

"Get up," she said, almost gently.  "It is unseemly that you should be
kneeling here.  If you have a story to tell, I may be disposed to listen
to it presently."

Slowly Kate Charlock rose to her feet and felt her way across the room
to a chair.  She had made an impression.  On that point she felt
certain.  If she could only remain here a week, or even a day, she had
no fear of the result.  Alton Lee was growing nearer.  She began to see
herself installed. She could hear the swish of the cards on the
green-topped tables.  She could imagine the rooms gay with the laughter
of friends.  But not yet, she told herself, not quite yet.

"I will say no more," she murmured.  "Indeed, when I came here I had no
intention of speaking at all.  I see now how wrong it was to come.  But
in the moment of my madness and despair——"

Once more the pleading voice ceased.  Once more the ready tears rained
down the beautiful white face.  Surely this was no abandoned creature,
Helen Rent thought.  Surely John Charlock had much to answer for.  No
woman could be bad with a face like that.  If Mrs. Rent could imagine a
saint stepping aside from the path of grace, then was Kate Charlock in
similar case.  And, in common fairness, most of the blame must fall upon
the shoulders of her own son.  A wave of madness must have come over
him, in which he had forgotten everything excepting the features of a
woman and his wild desire to sacrifice the world for her sake.  Other
men, in most respects both great and good, had fallen in like manner.  A
score of them rose before Helen Rent’s mental vision.

Yet she must be firm.  She must keep her head throughout this ordeal.
Her white lips moved rapidly in prayer for strength and endurance.  Kate
Charlock noted the flutter of those white lips, and her subtle instinct
told her what was passing through the other woman’s mind.  As a child
she had seen her mother at a crisis of her life praying in like fashion.
The scene rose curiously before her mind.  She could see it all as clear
as if it had happened only yesterday.

"It seems to me that we are wasting time," Mrs. Rent said, presently.
"I cannot ask you both to leave the house to-night, because that would
be impossible, and there is nowhere else to go.  But to-morrow will be
different.  I have made up my mind what I am going to do in your case."

"What is that, mother?" Arnold asked.

"That I will tell you when we are alone.  It only concerns our two
selves.  If you will come with me——"

"No," Kate Charlock cried.  "Let it be here and now.  As for myself, I
wish to be alone for a time in the open air."

Without waiting for remonstrance on the part of either, she crossed the
drawing-room and threw back the windows.  She stood there with her face
turned up to the purple glory of the summer sky. She saw the golden
pageant of the stars; the flower-laden breath of the evening was
infinitely cool and refreshing.  Here were the wide, trim lawns with
their well-ordered flower-beds.  Here was the noble sweep of the stone
terrace, and beyond it the dim vista of the park, with the trees
floating in a mist like ships on a peaceful sea.

And all this was likely to be hers if she had but the skill and patience
to play for it.  There was no regret in her heart for John Charlock.  He
had gone his own way.  He had left her free to choose her own path.  And
there was always the chance of renewing the battle again on the morrow.

There were many cards to play, too, and if the worst came to the worst,
Kate Charlock would play the great card of self-renunciation.  She would
offer Arnold back to his mother.  She would go out into the world alone,
hopeless and penniless, to work out her own salvation.  Not in vain had
she been studying Helen Rent’s features, under the long fringe of her
eyelashes.

"I wonder how he will manage it?" she murmured to herself.  "I can stand
here and listen, and if my presence becomes necessary, well, then, I
shall be at hand."




                             *CHAPTER XXII*

                            *BREAD AND SALT*


Helen Rent thought she should have been conscious of a great feeling of
relief when the room was free of the presence of the woman who had
brought about her son’s delirium.  But such a sense was not experienced,
nor even suggested.

"Now tell me how this happened," she said.

"Mother, I really cannot tell you," Arnold responded.  "The truth is, I
do not know.  It was all so spontaneous.  It seemed so natural and
inevitable at the time.  Here was one of the most beautiful women in the
world, a good and true and pure woman, mind you, neglected by her
husband in a manner that was positively shocking.  Don’t forget that
there are some natures to which neglect or hard words are worse than any
physical cruelty. Kate Charlock’s case is one in point.  She was being
slowly driven mad by the creature to whom she was tied.  She was forced
to go into frivolous society, or she would assuredly have lost her
reason.  It was at the house of one of these Society women that I met
her.  Even among a gathering like that she was looked up to and
respected as none of the rest was.  I saw her most cruelly insulted by
her own husband in a house where I was spending the evening; in fact,
the thing was so brutal that I ventured to expostulate.  Perhaps I went
too far, but Charlock did not seem to mind. I implored him to treat his
wife differently, and it seemed to me that I had made some impression.
Then he asked me to call upon him at a certain time in the evening, when
he would give me a practical reply.  And what did I find when I got
there?—the house stripped of everything, and the woman alone, with no
better home to go to than a labourer’s cottage, where she would not even
be allowed the use of a servant.  That is how Charlock treated so
perfect a woman as his wife.  And then, I don’t know how, but the whole
rest happened on the spur of the moment, and I am here to-night to tell
you this strange story.  I could not say more."

"It sounds amazing," Mrs. Rent murmured. "Let me put another point to
you.  Suppose Mr. Charlock had no alternative but to part with his home!
Suppose that his wife’s extravagance had brought him to the verge of
ruin!  Suppose that a creditor had removed everything to pay his debt!
Do you think, in these circumstances, that the woman was justified in
refusing to share the cottage which the man had to offer her?  Don’t you
think it was her bounden duty to make every sacrifice until those debts
were paid?"

Arnold Rent waved the question impatiently aside.

"I don’t know where you get your information," he said, "though I am
prepared to admit, for the sake of argument, that what you say is true.
At present other things trouble me.  For better or worse, I have cast
the die.  You will admit that I cannot change my course now."

"I should be the last to suggest it," Mrs. Rent said mournfully.  "What
are you going to do in the meantime?  Your friends will turn their backs
upon you.  You will have to abandon your career. But I will not dwell
upon that.  I will confine myself to the moment.  What are your plans?"

"My plans are simple enough, mother," Rent replied.  "For the present I
shall continue my scientific work.  Nothing could interfere with that.
And from now, until Charlock makes up his mind what to do, I do not
intend to see Kate.  You will acknowledge I want to prevent all the
scandal I can, and in that respect I am looking forward to your
assistance.  If you will allow Mrs. Charlock to stay here and give her
your moral support, I am certain——"

"Oh, the boy is mad," Mrs. Rent exclaimed. "That woman’s beauty has
intoxicated you.  I see now what a mistake I made when I regarded you as
unspotted by the world.  My friends were right when they said I should
have sent you to a public school and university.  Do you suppose for a
single moment that I could dream of having that woman here?  Do you
suppose that I could allow her to come in contact with Ethel Hargrave?"

"Need Ethel know?" Rent suggested sullenly.

"She knows already.  I had to tell her.  No, you shall stay one night
here, but to-morrow you must go elsewhere.  I have thought this matter
out, and I have made up my mind what to do. Your path is plain.  You
must make this woman see her folly and return to her husband.  But did
it never occur to you to ask yourself one question before you took this
fatal step?  Do you suppose that this woman would have thrown in her lot
with you if she had not known that you are Arnold Rent of Alton Lee and
the heir to a large property?  If I call her and tell her that
everything is at my disposal, do you think she would not want time for
consideration?"

"You malign her," Arnold cried.  "I am certain she never gave the matter
a thought.  For my sake——"

"Ah, for your sake," Helen Rent said.  "That is just the point I want to
arrive at.  For your sake I am going to try that woman in the balance.
We shall see whether she is found wanting or not. From this week your
allowance ceases.  You will receive no more money from me.  You will be
thrown upon your own resources.  You will have to earn your own living,
and you will be the better man for it.  The same remark applies to Mrs.
Charlock, though not to such an extent, because, until the law settles
the differences between her and her husband, she will be entitled to an
income. Mr. Westlake told me this—I think he called it maintenance.  It
will not be much, but, at the same time, it will be enough to keep her
in a modest way with due and becoming economy.  I don’t say that my
decision is final, because if I find, say, at the expiration of five
years that there is likely to be no more of these self-indiscretions and
platonic follies, I may change my mind.  But I am not going to see Alton
Lee made an asylum for social experiments.  Had my prayers been answered
and you had asked Ethel to be your wife, I might think differently.  But
this matter is quite another story. I hope I have made my meaning plain.
I hope I have made you understand that you will have to face the world
now and work for your own living. You little realise how much it hurts a
mother to speak in this fashion.  Perhaps you will know some day.
Meanwhile, I have nothing to add to what I have said.  Do you follow
me?"

"Oh, I hear right enough," Arnold said bitterly. "I hope before long
that you will realise the cruel injustice of what you are doing.  And
you may be sure that nothing will make any difference to Kate Charlock.
She will be only too proud and pleased to have the opportunity of
showing the stuff she is made of.  I suppose I have to thank Mr.
Westlake for all this."

"Indeed, you are absolutely and entirely wrong," Mrs. Rent exclaimed.
"The idea is wholly mine. Of my own feelings I have said nothing.  I
have not alluded to the terrible grief and disappointment that this
thing has been to me.  To think that a son of mine could so far forget
himself—but it is useless to go into that.  I am tired and worn out, and
this interview has tried me more than I thought.  And there is another
element in the drama of which as yet you know nothing.  It may surprise
you to hear that Mr. John Charlock himself is under this roof."

"He came to see you?" Arnold cried.

"Yes, but under the impression that your folly had ceased.  You can
imagine how distressing it was when the discovery was made.  And now,
how am I to get out of this dilemma?  You will agree that one of you
must go.  It only remains for you to make up your mind which it is to
be."

"I am prepared to do anything you ask," Arnold said.  "But what about
Mrs. Charlock?  What can we do with her?"

Mrs. Rent could only look at her son with troubled eyes.

"It is very strange how perverse women are," Arnold went on.  "One would
almost think you are wilfully misunderstanding me.  Do you realise how
much the woman sacrifices, and how little the man gives in return?  It
has always been a fancy of yours to regard me as a saint.  Let me tell
you now that I am nothing of the sort.  When I first saw Mrs. Charlock,
when I first understood how unhappy she was in her domestic life, when I
found what that woman really was, it was a revelation to me, and from
that moment I laid aside all my selfish aims and ambitions, and I was
prepared to make any sacrifice to save her from trouble and affliction.
She is good and pure as Ethel Hargrave, and I want you to befriend her
for her own sake, if not for mine.  To all intents and purposes,
Charlock has deserted her.  He has been guilty of legal cruelty by
turning her out of the house and compelling her either to leave him or
to degrade herself by menial work.  His next folly will give her the
chance of appealing to the law to release her altogether.  And then I
shall be in a position to make her my wife."

"Mistress of Alton Lee?" Mrs. Rent stammered.

A gleam came into Rent’s eyes.  There was something almost threatening
in his attitude.

"Ay, I mean that," he murmured.  "Nothing less.  And the sooner you
understand it the better."




                            *CHAPTER XXIII*

                           *BEHIND THE VEIL*


In the purple stillness of the night, Kate Charlock could hear all that
was taking place in the drawing-room.  It did not occur to Arnold or his
mother that there was any chance of the cause of all the trouble playing
the eavesdropper.  Indeed, the whole situation was so strange, so full
of dramatic surprises, that it was impossible to think of anything but
the word and the moment.

Kate Charlock had come back to herself with a start as her husband’s
name was flung at her, so to speak, from the drawing-room.  Thitherto
she had been listening in a vague sort of way, her mind too full of
plans for the future to take much heed. Even now she had not given
everything up for lost. She followed with satisfaction Mrs. Rent’s
declaration of what might happen if only the object of Arnold’s
infatuation proved to be anything like the woman he declared her to be.
It would not be difficult to break down this wall of opposition when she
was Arnold’s wife.  On the whole, it was worth while to take the risk.
The struggle might be a long one.  On the other hand, Kate Charlock
remembered that perpetual dropping wears away the stone.  It would be no
fault of hers if she were not mistress of Alton Lee at the end of a
year.  Doubtless she would eat the hard bread of adversity in the
interval.  But the milk and honey to come would make up for all that.
Surely a place like Alton Lee was cheaply bought at the price of a
year’s poverty.

Then the edifice suddenly crumbled and broke as John Charlock’s name was
mentioned.  There was no mistaking the significance of Mrs. Rent’s
words. At that very moment Charlock was under the same roof as his wife.
But why had he come?  What scheme lay at the back of his mind?  It
seemed impossible he had come to fetch her away.  For a moment it
flashed across the woman’s mind that Charlock had journeyed to
Devonshire hot-foot for revenge.  He was just the kind of man to shoot
Arnold Rent and then take his own life.  He would probably leave a long
statement behind him detailing his troubles from his own point of
view—the sort of statement that the press glories in and publishes in
prominent type.  If that happened, then, indeed, would she be a marked
woman for the remainder of her days.  The rest of her years would be
spent like those of the heroine of the _Scarlet Letter_.

But it was not for long that these distracting thoughts gripped Kate
Charlock.  Then she smiled at her own folly.  Charlock was a guest.  He
had partaken of Mrs. Rent’s hospitality.  No, there must be something
deeper and more subtle in his movements than this.  And there were other
things to think about.  It was impossible that she and Arnold Rent and
her husband could all sleep at Alton Lee that night.  One or two of them
would have to go.  The air would have to be cleared.

Here was a situation that the turning of a hair might transform into
farce or hideous tragedy. The elements of both were strongly in
evidence. Something would have to be done, and that swiftly. But if John
Charlock was in the house, where was he?  Most of the windows of the
living-rooms were open.  The lamps were lighted, so that it was possible
to pass along the terrace in the darkness and examine the various
apartments without being seen.  Here were the billiard-room, and the
dining-room, the library and the morning-room, but all were empty.  It
was rather disappointing, because Kate Charlock was missing that
fascinating conversation in the drawing-room, without any compensating
advantage in return.  She stepped back swiftly behind a clump of azaleas
as two figures came up the steps leading from the rose garden and paused
close to her.  One was the tall, slender figure of a girl, whom Kate
Charlock knew instinctively must be Ethel Hargrave.  The other she saw,
with a sudden thrill, was her own husband. It was not too dark for her
to make out his features.  She saw John Charlock hold out his hand,
which the girl took reluctantly.

"It seems a pity," the latter murmured, "but, as you say, there is
nothing else to be done."

"Of course there isn’t," Charlock said in his grim, level tones.
"Believe me, had I known what was going to happen, I should never have
come near Alton Lee.  But who could picture anything so repulsive as
this?"

"It is very, very dreadful," the girl murmured. "But what are you going
to do?  I see you have made up your mind not to stay here a moment
longer, but it is impossible for you to sleep out of doors, even on a
night like this."

"Sleep!" John Charlock said bitterly.  "I feel that I shall never want
to sleep again.  When I am thinking out a new picture I often walk for
hours at a time.  I cannot rest.  But now that I am thinking out a new
life, it is infinitely more serious.  Believe me, it would be torture to
shut me up in four walls to-night.  When I leave here I shall walk as
far as Exeter.  I shall probably reach there to-morrow evening, by which
time my plans will be made.  But I am sorry that circumstances have
prevented me from painting your portrait.  I never saw a face that
appealed to me so much before."

Kate Charlock drew a deep breath of relief. Now she understood for the
first time what had brought her husband at this perilous moment to
Devonshire.  He had come to execute a commission, ignorant of the fact
that matters with Arnold Rent had gone so far.  The thing was a cruel
coincidence, but John Charlock was doing his best to clear the
situation.

"You will say good-bye to your aunt for me," he said.  "I thought at
first that I would see her and give her my decision.  But, on the whole,
it would be much kinder simply to disappear.  I will write and let you
know where to send my things. And now I will say good-bye.  And when, in
the future, you come to take the woman’s part, as you inevitably will,
try to look upon me as not altogether a monster.  Try to think the best
of me."

"I shall always do that," Ethel murmured.  "You have not said much, but
I know you are a man who has been deeply wronged.  I am certain that I
shall never take any other view."

"Oh, yes, you will," Charlock said grimly.  "You have no idea what a
subtle force you will have to contend with.  Beauty and tears are more
efficient weapons than strength and courage.  You heard what Mrs. Rent
said to-night.  She would be strong and resolute.  She was going to put
the woman who had humbled her pride and broken her heart through an
ordeal of fire.  She meant what she said, honestly meant every word of
it.  But within a year from now Arnold Rent and his wife will be master
and mistress of Alton Lee as sure as I am speaking to you at this
moment.  The thing is inevitable.  And then I will ask you to think of
me and my prophecy.  As for me, I will know how to act."

Charlock lifted Ethel’s fingers to his lips and turned away abruptly.
The girl called to him softly as he strode down the terrace, but he gave
no heed.  Ethel stood there, quiet and thoughtful, until the last echo
of Charlock’s footsteps died away.  Then she turned towards the house.
She would have entered one of the open windows leading to the
morning-room had not Kate Charlock stepped out from her hiding-place and
laid a detaining hand upon the girl’s arm.  She started back violently
and a wave of colour rushed over her cheeks as she saw the woman.  There
was an involuntary shrinking, a dislike and loathing in her eyes that
brought a corresponding glow into the face of Kate Charlock.  The
lamplight streaming through the open windows picked out the features of
each so that there was no disguise.

With all her hatred and repugnance for the author of this mischief,
Ethel could not deny the sweetness and beauty and purity of the woman’s
face.  It was the face of an angel, pleading, timid and humble; the
tears in her eyes heightened their loveliness and stole like diamonds
down her cheeks. Her whole attitude was one of supplication, of appeal
to womanliness and pity, and yet so natural and spontaneous that there
was not the slightest suggestion of acting.

"You know who I am?" the woman whispered.

"I can guess," Ethel said, still studiously cold. "You are Mrs.
Charlock.  Is there anything that I can do for you?"

"Ah, there are many things that you can do for me," Kate Charlock
whispered.  "Oh, my child, I know how you feel.  My feelings would be
just the same if our positions were reversed.  It is always the rich man
who is hardest upon the want of honesty in his poorer brother.  It is
always the woman who has never known trouble or temptation who most
reviles her sister who has fallen in the gutter.  You think I am wrong.
Well, perhaps I am, but I wish I could tell you of my life. I wish I
could make you understand how the torment of a whole existence can be
crammed into the space of a single month.  If I had only had one friend
like yourself——"

The voice broke and trembled.  The long, slim hands were pressed to the
streaming eyes.  The ice round Ethel’s heart melted suddenly.
Impulsively she came forward and held out her hands.




                             *CHAPTER XXIV*

                         *MISTRESS OF HERSELF*


Without looking up, Kate felt the girl coming. The capitulation had been
even more swift than she had expected.  She knew now that she had made a
powerful friend in Mrs. Rent’s household. In those brief moments the
recollection of John Charlock’s trouble and the words that he had spoken
were wiped clean from Ethel Hargrave’s memory.  This was not in the
least like the picture she had conjured up of Mrs. Charlock.  Beauty and
grace she had expected, but either the hard, cold beauty of the
calculating woman, or the sensuous loveliness of the Circe.  And here
was a very woman, broken and bent by trouble, who had fallen into dire
folly because she could stand the strain no longer.  And, after all, it
was only natural that any woman should give her heart to Arnold Rent.

"I hope I did not appear to be hard," Ethel murmured.  "But, you see,
this is really a dreadful business.  Nothing of the kind has ever come
to Alton Lee before.  We never dreamt that Arnold would do anything that
was not right and proper. Perhaps we are a little old-fashioned and
inclined to take an exaggerated view of the situation.  I daresay, in
time, when we come to know you better——"

"Please don’t say any more," Kate Charlock replied.  "It is enough for
me that I have your sympathy.  You are acquainted with my husband;
indeed, I saw you together just now.  Perhaps a little knowledge of him
would be the best excuse I could have.  It was unfortunate he should
have come here at this time, but I will do him the justice to say that
he could not have known——"

"Oh, he didn’t," Ethel cried.  "And he has gone.  He could not remain at
Alton Lee——"

"No, no, I understand.  And therefore he has gone.  We may leave him out
of our reckoning for the present.  But that does not make things any the
easier for me.  I begin to see that it was wrong for me to come here at
all.  I started on the spur of the moment, not realising till just a
short time ago that my presence under this roof is little less than an
outrage.  Indeed, Mrs. Rent as good as told me so.  I could fall at your
feet and die of shame when I think how indelicate this must seem to you.
And as I stood here just now I could not help overhearing certain words
which passed between Arnold and his mother.  Her dictates of hospitality
are too fine for her to turn us out to-night.  But one of us will have
to go, and that one must be me."

Ethel murmured something sympathetic.  She saw the speaker’s point and
liked her all the better for it.

"Of course, it must be Arnold," she said.  "Indeed, there is no other
alternative.  There is no accommodation for you in the village.  You are
a stranger here.  Won’t you come into the drawing-room with me? and I
will do my best to set matters straight."

Kate Charlock shuddered and shrank back as if the mere idea were
abhorrent to her.  Tears were still in her eyes.

"I think not," she said.  "I have been too sorely tried to-night to be
able to stand any more, and Mrs. Rent doubts me.  Do you know what she
is going to do?  From to-morrow Arnold practically ceases to be her son.
She turns him out into the world to shift for himself.  We are to face
the future as best we can.  Perhaps at the expiration of four or five
years, when I have proved my single-mindedness and sincerity, we may be
taken back to the fold again.  Just as if there were need for doubt, as
if the love of a man like Arnold were not enough for any woman."

The words were spoken with sincerity and passion, but they cut into
Ethel’s heart like a knife.

"I must be loyal to my dear aunt," she said.  "It seems to me that she
has done quite right, though I am sure it will be a bitter wrench, for
she is acting against every impulse of her kindly nature. And if you can
show her that she is wrong, why, then, it will be a great triumph for
you.  It will go far to bring the happiness back to Alton Lee again.
And now, if you will come with me into the drawing-room——"

"No, no," Kate cried.  "Let me know how you have settled it, and then
perhaps you will be so kind as to find me somewhere to sleep, for I am
weary and worn out.  Let me go into the library and wait till you come
back."

There was no more to be said.  Kate Charlock flung herself back in an
armchair and closed her eyes.  When she opened them again she was alone.
Her tears had vanished.  The fatigue she had spoken of seemed to fall
from her like a garment. She crossed rapidly over to the writing-table,
and in her clear, bold hand began a letter.  It was a fairly long
letter, but it was finished at length and addressed to Mrs. Rent.  Kate
proceeded to put it in a conspicuous place and very quietly passed into
the hall and took down her hat and long travelling wrap.  A few moments
later she was walking rapidly down the avenue in the direction of the
road.  Her face was clear and bright.  There was something like a smile
in her starry eyes; her heart was free from fear.

Meanwhile, the conference in the drawing-room was finished.  Arnold was
standing pale and stern by the side of his mother as Ethel entered.  He
hardly appeared to notice her at all, beyond a sullen nod which brought
the blood flaming to the girl’s face.  Very quietly she made her
explanation.

"Oh, we have settled that," Arnold laughed bitterly.  "It is I who am
going away.  I can walk as far as the station and stay in the
waiting-room for the early express.  Then, to-morrow, Mrs. Charlock must
do as she pleases.  I am certain that she will lose no time in ridding
you of her detestable presence."

"I do not like to hear you speak like that," Mrs. Rent said.  "Ethel,
will you go and ask the lady if she will come this way for a moment?  I
should like her to feel——"

There was an uncomfortable pause for a few moments till Ethel came back
with a letter in her hand.

"I cannot understand it at all," she said. "Mrs. Charlock has
disappeared.  Her wraps have vanished from the hall, too.  She seems to
have left this letter behind, which is addressed to you, aunt. After the
way she spoke to me just now I am not surprised to find that she has not
felt equal to the ordeal of staying here even for a single night."

"It was a fatal mistake," Arnold said hoarsely. "I see it all now.  Only
it is too late to rectify matters."

Mrs. Rent reached for the letter and slowly broke the seal.  She read
aloud so that the others could hear:

"All I can say is, forgive me.  It was wrong to come, and I can stay no
longer.  Though I am without friends, I am not without resources, for I
have a little to assist me.  And yet I am glad to have seen you all,
even if it has been only to convince you that I am not the hard, brazen,
calculating creature you took me to be.  I am going away till I am free.
I shall not look upon any of you again till I am ready to send for
Arnold.  I want no money or favour now, nor in the future.  I want to
show that I have given my heart to one who will be able to support me
without help from anyone.  To be in receipt of your favours would ruin
the whole romance of the situation.  Perhaps later, when I have proved
myself, it may be possible—but I can write no more."

The paper slipped from Mrs. Rent’s fingers and lay upon the carpet.  The
eyes that she turned upon her son were troubled and haggard.  He turned
away with a passionate gesture.

"Ah, yes," he murmured hoarsely, "she was right to go.  All the same,
mother, you have done a cruel thing."

After all, Mrs. Rent was a woman.  She had lived long enough as My Lady
Bountiful in that quiet country village to have become imbued with the
idea that hospitality and generosity were two of the leading virtues
which led directly to the reward of heaven.  She had never before
listened unmoved to a tale of distress.  She had never refused food or
shelter to the most undeserving object.  And now she had more or less
deliberately turned a human being out of her own house to face the
night, unaided and alone.  And, to make things worse, she had acted with
studied cruelty to a woman who, whatever her faults might be, was
defenceless.

"I could not have expected this," she murmured. "To confess freely, I
had not looked for such pride and independence of spirit.  You are
right, Arnold."

"Of course I am," Rent said grimly.  "But perhaps you will tell me what
is to be done."

"You must try to find her," Mrs. Rent went on. "Bring her back here and
do your best to induce her to see that I have a point of view as well as
herself.  There will be plenty of time in the morning to decide as to
the future; indeed, it is always well to sleep upon troubles like
these."

Arnold Rent waited no more.  He strode from the room and out into the
darkness of the night, leaving his mother to commune with her own
anxious thoughts.  She was distracted and torn this way and that.  A
thousand doubts assailed her.

"What could I have done else?" she murmured. "What other way was there
out of this bitter trouble?"




                             *CHAPTER XXV*

                        *A PLAUSIBLE SCOUNDREL*


We left Ephraim Bark on the landing-stage at Cowes expressing his joy at
his good fortune in meeting Tanza once more.  But, despite his
appearance of engaging candour, the little man seemed to have some
difficulty in swallowing a large lump which had risen at the back of his
throat.  His muddy features had turned pale.  He glanced about him as if
looking for some avenue of escape, presenting at the same time a
ludicrous resemblance to a jackdaw recently encaged.  On the other hand,
Tanza appeared to be enjoying the interview.  His features beamed with
good-nature.  There was a kindly smile upon his face. But, as a great
many criminals had discovered to their cost, this was just one of the
moments when the Italian was most dangerous.

"You fill me with pleasure," he said.  "It is always a happy thing to
find an old acquaintance so ready to resume friendship.  But come along,
we are wasting time.  We shall be much more comfortable and sociable on
board the yacht."

Bark protested that there was nothing he would like better.
Nevertheless, his bluster was forced, his air dejected, and, for the
time being, he had lost all his swagger.  Even when he found himself
seated in a luxurious cabin chair, with a famous brand of cigar in his
mouth and a well-filled glass by his side, he presented the same
apologetic appearance.  There was very little resemblance to the man who
had accosted Malcolm Grey so shortly before.  Tanza beamed on his guest.

"Now we are going to be really happy and comfortable," he said.  "Let us
talk about old times. Have you been in Paris lately?  And, if so, how
are the old people?  The last time I was in Paris a most extraordinary
thing happened.  It chanced that one night, as I was walking along——"

"Oh, drop it," Bark broke out suddenly.  "Never was a gentleman like
you.  You play and play with a chap, and just when he thinks everything
is nice and snug you drop down upon him and he doesn’t know where he is.
Reminds me of a boy with a cockchafer on a pin, it does.  I’ve never
done you any harm, and I am ready to answer any questions you like.  But
don’t sit there smiling in that friendly way just as if you’ve got
nothing on your mind. I can stand punishment, but I like to know where
it is coming from.  Just say what you want to say and get it over."

"That’s candid, at any rate," Tanza smiled. "Very well.  If you are
ready to take it lying down, we’ll come to the point at once.  There are
certain matters going on here that interest me greatly, and on those
matters I am sure you can throw some light.  I shouldn’t have identified
you with the business, only my friend Mr. Grey told me that he met you
at Mr. Rent’s office.  Just now Mr. Rent and his doings fascinate me.
How long have you known him?"

"I’ll tell you everything," Bark said.  "On and off, I’ve known him for
the last five years.  And, between ourselves, he isn’t a bit better than
he ought to be.  A regular mixture of a man, I call him.  One day he is
going to give up the world and go into a monastery, and the next day you
find him enjoying himself in some fast set as if he had been accustomed
to it all his life.  I never knew a man who was more guided by the
feelings of the moment.  But this last game of his beats all.  Fancy a
man who has ten or fifteen thousand a year before him running the risk
of losing the lot simply for a woman who cares no more for him than the
cigar I’ve got in my hand."

"You are speaking of Mrs. Charlock," Tanza said quietly.

"That’s right enough.  Not that it is any business of mine, but there
are ways and means of doing things which even I don’t approve of.  Rent
is a clever fellow, but no man can manage to make love to two women at
the same time without getting into trouble."

Tanza’s eyes gleamed.

"Ah, now you are speaking about that French maid?" he exclaimed.  "I
mean the poor woman who was called Hortense."

Bark glanced at the speaker with unfeigned admiration.  It was not for
him to know that Tanza’s quick mind had grasped the point like a flash
of lightning, but, for aught he could tell, Tanza might have been
working on the problem for some time.

"Quite right," he said.  "Between ourselves, Rent is a bit of a
blackguard.  He has never put his foot into it because there never has
been any occasion.  He has always had more money than he needed, or you
may be sure that he would have gone to the dogs long ago.  But he is not
a bad fellow as men go.  He would stick at nothing as far as his
interests were concerned.  A clever chap, too, and one who, with any
luck, will make his mark in the world of science.  But he is cruel and
vindictive.  He is making a fool of himself over Mrs. Charlock now.  He
has got a rare handful to deal with there.  Still, it is a brazen thing
to be making love to the mistress and the maid at the same time.  That’s
what he was up to."

"Oh, ho," Tanza said gently.  "We are getting along.  I suppose this is
where you come in.  What do you know about this lady’s maid?"

"She was my sister," was the unexpected reply. "You see, we are as much
French as English. Hortense spoke the language like a native.  She was a
Parisienne to her finger-tips.  That is why she called herself Hortense
and passed herself off as a Frenchwoman.  French maids are much more
sought after than English ones and get much more money."

"No doubt.  Now, how long had your unfortunate sister been in Mrs.
Charlock’s employ before she met with her accident?"

"I suppose about two years," Bark explained. "But why?"

"Oh, we shall come to that presently.  Perhaps you can tell me who put
it into your sister’s head to steal her mistress’s jewels?  That is the
point I want cleared up."

Bark looked at the speaker with open-mouthed admiration.

"No use trying to keep anything from you," he said.  "But, as a matter
of fact, I don’t know.  I am telling you the truth.  Indeed, I would
have nothing to gain by lying to such a clever gentleman as yourself.
But my sister is dead, and anything I say can’t do her any harm.  She
wanted to return to Paris.  She was finding things very slow with Mrs.
Charlock, and I suppose the idea of taking her mistress’s jewels was her
own.  They were a pretty fine lot, I understand, but the trouble was to
get them away without arousing suspicion.  My sister wrote to me about
it and told me what she was going to do.  I don’t mind admitting that I
gave her the best advice I could, because I am sure you won’t use this
evidence against me.  I came over to see my sister and Mr. Rent at the
same time.  I had had a bit of bad luck lately, and I knew that Rent
would help me out.  I had only got to mention a little thing that
occurred in Paris some years ago and he was good for a hundred pounds at
least."

"Blackmail," Tanza suggested.

"Oh, blackmail be hanged!" Bark said vigorously. "I was never properly
paid for my share in the job, and Rent knows it perfectly well.  He has
been keeping out of my way lately.  But it’s only putting off the evil
day.  It is a small world, and I wasn’t surprised to find that my sister
knew Rent as well as I do.  I wasn’t long in finding out that he was
making love to her for some purpose of his own.  And perhaps it is a
good thing for him that Hortense is out of the way.  She was a fine
hater when she chose."

"We are getting wide of the point," Tanza suggested.  "What I want to
know is where your sister put those jewels."

Bark protested by all his gods that he hadn’t the faintest idea.  Tanza
did not press the point, though, from his view, Bark was lying
strenuously. But there was nothing to be gained for the moment, and
Tanza changed the conversation.  It was perhaps an hour later that Bark
left the yacht, on the whole not displeased with his visit.  He was
palpably afraid of Tanza.  He had expected to find himself closely
cross-examined as to certain dark passages in his life, and he was only
too thankful to get off so easily.  He thought he had parted with no
information of the slightest value to himself; indeed, he flattered
himself that so far as the missing jewels were concerned he had led
Tanza astray.

He might have been less easy in his mind if he could have lingered
behind and listened to what took place as soon as he had left the yacht.
Grey turned to his companion.

"You are a most extraordinary man," he said. "You don’t seem to have
learnt anything from that scamp, and yet you appear to be absolutely
satisfied.  Tell me what you are driving at."

"No, no," Tanza said good-humouredly.  "Let us keep to our bargain.  We
are both working from different points, though we both have the same
object in view.  A little time ago it was your opinion that Hortense,
Mrs. Charlock’s maid, had died from an accident.  On the other hand, I
was convinced that she was the victim of foul play.  If you have not
changed your mind——"

"I have," Grey said curtly.  "But go on."

"Perhaps I have changed my mind, too," Tanza continued.  "I begin to see
the possibilities of suicide.  It was only to-day that Fortune placed in
my hand a clue to this conclusion.  But perhaps I had better show you
what I mean.  Wait here a moment till I go and fetch it....  Now what do
you think of that?  Isn’t it strange that I should gain possession of
it?"




                             *CHAPTER XXVI*

                           *THE JEWEL CASKET*


As Tanza spoke he laid on the table a small, brass-bound, mahogany box,
the patent lock of which had been forced; indeed, the whole thing
appeared to have been so badly used that even the neatly made hinges
were out of place.  Inside were drawers and trays lined with crimson
velvet, all wet and saturated as if they had been soaked in water for
some time.

"You see what it is, then?" Tanza observed. "This is a jewel box.  On
the lid you will notice a little glass frame behind which is a sheet of
paper inscribed with a list of the articles which at one time formed the
contents of the box.  When this casket was brought to me it was empty as
you see it now; indeed, one of my men found it at low tide not very far
away from the landing-stage, half imbedded in the sand.  It is easy to
guess whom it belongs to, seeing that the owner’s monogram is on the
outside, together with an address.  Beyond question this once belonged
to Mrs. Charlock. Mind you, I haven’t heard that Mrs. Charlock was
robbed of her jewels.  I am simply deducing the thing from the condition
this casket is in at present. In the first place, you see the casket has
been forced open.  Now, nobody but a thief would do that.  In the second
place, the casket was thrown into the sea, which is also what a thief
would do. Now, who would be the most likely person to commit a crime of
this sort?  Who would be in a position to do so?  But you know that my
deductions are correct, because that rascal Bark told us who the thief
was.  Where the stones are is another matter.  That will be something
for us to find out when the mystery of the woman’s death is cleared up.
Meanwhile, we had better stick to the original mystery and do one thing
at a time.  I am bound to confess that I have slightly changed my mind,
and should not be surprised to find that this lady’s maid committed
suicide.  It is possible that Mrs. Charlock discovered her loss and
traced it home to the thief.  On the spur of the moment the latter goes
off and drowns herself in the fountain by the sundial."

"And there," Grey said emphatically, "you are wrong.  I shall be able to
prove that to you before long.  I, on my part, have not been altogether
idle. Still, we will keep to our bargain, as you say, and each go his
own way.  Clever as you are, and much as I respect your opinion, I am
prepared to back myself to get to the bottom of this mystery before you
do.  Within a week I promise not only to solve the mystery of Hortense’s
death, but also to produce the missing jewels."

"Ah, that’s all right," Tanza exclaimed.  "You are a pupil after my own
heart.  Do you mean to say you suspect the place where the jewels are
hidden?"

"I don’t suspect anything," Grey said quietly. "I know.  I could put my
hands upon the jewels within four-and-twenty hours."

Tanza nodded approvingly.  It was characteristic of the man that he
displayed no curiosity and asked no further questions.  Nor had it
occurred to him that Grey was speaking in a boastful spirit. He made no
effort to move when Grey rose from his chair, saying he had important
business on shore which might detain him to a late hour.

"All right," he said.  "I presume you are on the same business still.
You will be able to tell me what has happened in the morning.  Well,
good-night and good luck to you."

It was very late when at length Grey skirted the town and proceeded
along the shore to the small block of buildings where Rent was carrying
on his experiments.  The buildings were in darkness.  But that did not
seem to trouble Grey, who threw himself down upon a bed of sea pinks and
proceeded to light a cigarette.  He had barely finished two before a
tiny speck of light appeared in one of the windows, followed by a
brilliant illumination behind the blinds as if some one was turning on
the gas.  As a fact, it was electric light, as Grey very well knew.  He
moved forward almost immediately until he stood under the shadow of the
buildings.  The main door was slightly open, and Grey hesitated whether
he should enter or not.  There was no one about, so far as he could see,
though he could hear voices in the room where the light had been turned
on.  There was nothing to gain by timidity, so he pushed his way into
the building and felt cautiously along the corridor. The door of the
room where the light was stood ajar, and the intruder could see Swift
standing on one side of the table and Bark opposite.

"And now you have got me here," Swift was saying, "what do you want?
Why all this mystery?  Why couldn’t you have come to my lodgings like
any other man?  Instead, you drag me here as if I were a thief or
something to be ashamed of."

"What else are you?" Bark said brutally.  "And what else is that
employer of yours, for that matter, either?  Look here, my friend, I
know too much about both of you to stand any nonsense. I don’t want to
put the cat among the pigeons, but unless I have this money by midday
to-morrow somebody is going to get into trouble.  That is all I have to
say."

"But I haven’t got it," Swift said passionately. "I haven’t got a tenth
part of it.  Mr. Rent will be here to-morrow and you had better see him
for yourself.  I am sick of all this business.  I begin to wish I had
never come here at all.  And now the sooner you clear out the better."

"I’m going when I like," Bark said sullenly. "And, mind you, I won’t be
played with any more. I can say too much and I can prove too much to be
treated as if I were some tramp trying to beg a copper or two.  If you
take my advice you will leave Arnold Rent to his own resources.  No man
ever yet trusted him without repenting it afterwards.  Poor as I am, I
wouldn’t be under a favour to that man unless I was obliged to, and it
is possible that I may not have to come here to-morrow, after all.  I
have a scheme on, and if it turns out trumps you can tell your employer
that he isn’t likely to see me for a bit.  What are you up to here?
What’s the little game?"

"We came here on a purely scientific errand," Swift said coldly.  "And,
in any case, our experiments will not be of the least interest to you.
And now, as I am busy——"

"Oh, I’m off," Bark laughed.  "I don’t want to pry into your secrets;
I’ve plenty of my own to worry about.  Good-night."

Bark turned away and swaggered down the passage, so close that Grey
could have touched him as he passed.  He emerged into the road and went
off towards the town with the air of a man who has much to do before he
seeks his bed.  Grey followed him at a respectful distance until he came
to the lodge gate leading to the house recently occupied by John
Charlock.  Bark pushed through the gate and made his way along the grass
towards the lawn at the back of the house.  Here he stopped and produced
a box of matches from his pocket.  There was little or no wind, so that
the match flamed out clearly, so clearly that the watcher could see
Bark’s evil face carefully examining a piece of paper which he had in
his hand. So still was it that Grey could hear Bark’s muttered comments.

"Hang me if I can make it out.  What an awful fist she wrote, to be
sure.  Now, is it on this side or the other?  And what does she mean by
a hundred and fifty to the right?  And where the dickens is the right
supposed to begin?  I wish I had a tape measure.  Not that it would be
much use on a dark night like this.  Still, it won’t do to work with a
lantern."

The match went out and Bark’s musings came to an end.  Grey had been
gazing so steadfastly at the match that when it was extinguished
suddenly he could not see anything for the moment. Then, when his eyes
became accustomed again to the gloom, he found that Bark had vanished,
leaving not the slightest trace behind.

The incident was annoying as it was unexpected. There were trees all
about the lawn standing back in dense shadow, so that it was almost
impossible to make out in which direction Bark had gone. Grey could do
nothing but go back to the road and wait till Bark came back again.
There was, of course, a chance that his time might be wasted. But he had
gone so far now that he did not care to abandon his search.  He went
slowly and cautiously back to the road and stood by the lodge gate for
the best part of an hour.  He was thinking of giving up the adventure
when Bark came down the avenue muttering to himself and groaning as if
he were in considerable pain.  He did not appear to think it
extraordinary that Grey should be there.  On the contrary, he grinned
knowingly and inquired affectionately after Tanza’s welfare.

"You are wasting your time to-night, anyway," he said.  "So am I, for
the matter of that.  There is something wrong with this place.  Never
mind why I am here.  I stumbled over a fountain arrangement in the
garden and fell with one hand in the water.  It was only for a second,
and now look at my fingers.  Painful!  Well, rather.  But what the devil
is it?  Strike a match and look for yourself."

Bark held up a shaking hand in the light of the match.  His fingers were
shrivelled and blue, as if they had been badly scalded.  There were
blisters here and there, and Bark writhed with the pain he made no
effort to conceal.

"What do you make of it?" he groaned.  "Tell me what you make of it."




                            *CHAPTER XXVII*

                           *KATE COMES BACK*


Grey was startled, but Bark was in too great pain to notice that.  It
was some time before the former trusted himself to speak.  When he did
so, his tones were clear and distinct.

"I shouldn’t like to say," he remarked.  "Probably you are suffering
from some irritant poisoning which the water has excited.  This is
rather out of my line, and you had better go into the town at once and
see the doctor.  You really ought not to delay.  My studies of medicine
did not go far enough to enable me to deal with a case like this. But I
should like to know how you get on.  And I hope you will come aboard the
yacht to-morrow afternoon."

"I might just as well," Bark growled.  "It is evident you don’t intend
to lose sight of me.  I suppose that is why you followed me to-night."

Grey deemed it prudent to make no reply.  Without further words, Bark
turned sullenly away and walked down the road.  Grey went back to the
yacht as soon as possible.  He felt that he had not wasted his time,
though, on the whole, the events of the evening had not turned out quite
so successfully as he had hoped.  For the best part of the next day he
waited on the yacht in expectation of seeing Bark, but the latter did
not put in an appearance.  Another day of almost enforced idleness
followed, and it was not until after dinner on the next evening that
Grey received a letter from John Charlock asking him to call at the
house and favour him with a few minutes’ conversation.  He handed the
letter to Tanza, who had been out all day and had only come back in time
for dinner. The little Italian chuckled as he read.

"Now what is the meaning of this?" he said. "In the course of my
investigations I have made a few inquiries, and was under the impression
that Charlock had gone into Devonshire.  I thought Arnold Rent was in
Devonshire, too, but was surprised to see him this evening going off
towards that laboratory of his.  To make the matter even more
complicated, I had a telephone message to call at the Queen’s Hotel and
see Shiplake. Imagine my astonishment when the first person I saw was
Mrs. Charlock.  Now there is a nice problem for you.  What do you make
of it?"

"I think I understand," Grey replied.  "I believe Rent has been playing
the chivalrous fool over Mrs. Charlock.  I don’t believe he was thinking
about himself at all.  He was going to take her down to stay with his
mother till some arrangement could be made.  Now I happen to know a good
deal about Mrs. Rent.  She is a splendid woman in many respects and a
rigid Puritan at heart.  You may depend upon it that she told Rent
pretty plainly not to look to her for anything until he had got out of
the scrape he had walked into with his eyes open.  Rent, not being a
fool, had to explain to the lady, and she, not being a fool, saw the
difficulty at once.  I shouldn’t mind betting that Mrs. John Charlock
has resolved to return to her husband. At any rate, that is the only
logical explanation I can offer."

"It sounds plausible," Tanza said.  "But you will know better when you
have seen Charlock. He may want you to be present when he meets his
wife.  If he has a friend, you are probably that remarkable person."

"He is a queer man," Grey said, as he turned the letter over in his
hand, "but not to blame. However, I’ll let you know what happens."

Half an hour later Grey was walking up the drive to the deserted house.
Lights were burning in one of the windows, and behind the curtainless
casement Grey could see two candles standing on a table.  There was a
litter of papers on the table and a chair on each side.  As Grey rang
the bell the clang of the metal sounded hollow in the empty house.
Charlock came to the door.

"I am glad you have come," he said.  "I take it very kindly of you.  I
daresay you wonder why I am here and why I wrote to you.  Perhaps this
letter from my wife will explain matters.  Yes, I want you to read it.
There is no reason why you shouldn’t."

With some reluctance, Grey took the letter and read it.  It was from
Mrs. Charlock, in her own neat handwriting, written as carefully and
regularly as if it had been a serious business communication. There was
no sign that it had been written in a hurry, or that it had been
inspired in a moment of anxiety and emotion.  There was no heading to it
and nothing at the foot but the writer’s signature.  As to the body of
the letter, it might have been read by anybody.  It pointed out that
there had been a difference between husband and wife, and that perhaps
there had been faults on both sides.  The writer regretted that in a
rash moment she had been so foolish as to take a step which might have
compromised her in the eyes of the world.  But she pleaded in
extenuation that her husband’s harsh conduct had driven her to
retaliate.  On thinking the matter over, she had decided it to be her
duty to return home and place herself in her husband’s hands, only
stipulating that residence in the cottage should be restricted to a
definite period.  The writer concluded by asking an interview and
stating that she had returned to the neighbourhood for that purpose.
Grey laid the letter down with a murmur to the effect that it seemed to
him to be right and proper.

"You think so?" Charlock said, with a hoarse laugh.  "You are more
confiding than I am.  Do you know what has happened?  That woman
bewitched Rent.  For the time she made him forget his own selfish
schemes.  She wanted to pose as an injured woman, though that was not a
new _rôle_.  She wanted to get rid of me.  She wanted to force me to
some crowning folly, so that the law might release her, and then she
would have every claim to marry Arnold Rent.  Doubtless it struck her as
a fine thing to become a county lady of unlimited income.  But, then,
you see, she reckoned without another woman in the person of Rent’s
mother.  Mrs. Rent displayed a firmness which upset her calculations
altogether.  And Mrs. Rent played exactly the right card.  She told
these two platonic fools that her son had nothing to expect from her.
Perhaps in five years’ time she might hold out her hand to help them.
But they were to understand that meanwhile Arnold Rent was no better off
than any other penniless man of good education.  I know all about it,
because I was on the spot.  The irony of circumstances took me to the
house.  And when those people fully realised what was to happen, their
common sense came back to them.  Mind you, I am going on supposition
now.  But I don’t think events will prove me to be far wrong.
Otherwise, why is my wife here again?  Why has she asked me for an
interview? And why has she agreed to listen to my terms?  It suited my
mood to grant that interview at this hour of night.  It was my whim to
ask you to be present.  You will see for yourself that what I have said
is literally correct.  And now, will you be good enough to open the
front door for me? She may be here at any moment."

Grey went off obedient to Charlock’s request. He stood outside for a
moment in the stillness of the evening until Charlock joined him.  They
were quiet for a little while.  Then Charlock began to speak in the
bitterness of his heart.  But Grey did not appear to be listening.  He
raised his hand as if to impose silence.

"Hush," he said.  "Didn’t I hear a cry?"

Charlock shook his head.  He had heard nothing. A moment later the cry
was repeated, so far as Grey could judge, from the bottom of the garden.
It was not a loud cry.  It sounded as if from someone in dire pain.
Grey moved hastily forward.

"It is nothing," Charlock said, "nothing but mere fancy.  One’s nerves
get out of order sometimes."

But Grey was not to be moved.  He knew that his imagination had not
played him false.  He could hear a stifled moan again.  Almost like an
inspiration he traced the sound to its source and raced across the lawn.

"Bring one of the candles," he cried, "and follow me to the sundial.  I
am certain that is where the cry came from."

Charlock muttered something in reply, but presently Grey saw the light
twinkling across the lawn. He waited till Charlock came to his side,
then with a trembling hand snatched the candle from Charlock’s fingers.
He bent down over the clear water of the fountain and saw something
black and limp, something that seemed in parts to glow and glisten in
the flickering light of the candle.  Then, a moment later, the
mysterious something lay motionless on the grass, and Grey was wiping
his fingers as if they stung him.  But he was not thinking of the
physical pain.

"There," he said hoarsely, "I told you so.  Take the candle and hold it
down so that we can see the poor creature’s face.  Good heavens!  To
think that she should come to this!"

Charlock held the candle low.  He appeared to be singularly quiet and
self-contained.  He made no sound as the light fell upon the dead white
face.

"My wife!" he said.  "What is she doing here? Grey, what does this
mystery mean?  What curse lies on this place?"




                            *CHAPTER XXVIII*

                         *A STARTLING CONTRAST*


Mrs. Bromley-Martin’s rooms were well filled as usual, for she was
giving one of those bridge parties of which she and her set never seemed
to tire.  It seemed strange that they had not become weary of their
pursuit.  But, then, the element of gambling entered largely into their
calculations, and of this they never tired.  It was a perfect night
out-of-doors.  The long French windows leading to the lawn were
invitingly open. But probably few of the guests appreciated the beauty
of the night.  The rooms were hot and stuffy and there was a cackle of
conversation and high-pitched chatter without which no smart function is
complete.  There were a dozen tables going, and from time to time those
whose hands lay on the table were gathered together round the fireplace
discussing choice morsels of scandal.  The hostess herself, resplendent
in blue and silver, was being listened to with rapt attention, for she
had something especially fresh and piquant which she was relating to the
motley throng around her.  Her shrill voice rang through the room.

"I assure you it is perfectly true," she said.  "I saw her myself at the
station.  She came back this afternoon and went straight to the Queen’s
Hotel."

"Did you speak to her?"

Mrs. Bromley-Martin laughed.

"My dear, of course I did," she screamed.  "Did you ever know me do
anything like other people? Did you ever know me care two straws for
what folk said?  Oh, I know I ought to have walked by with my head in
the air and my skirts drawn about me as if I feared contamination from
her very touch.  But I did nothing of the kind.  Behold in me the Good
Samaritan!"

A wild cackle of laughter followed this suggestion.

"Oh, you may laugh," Mrs. Bromley-Martin went on good-temperedly.
"Besides, I was desperately curious.  And there she was, looking more
saint-like than ever; indeed, I felt quite a sinner by contrast.
Besides, she is no worse than the rest of us.  The only difference is
that she has been found out."

"But has she been found out?" a tall man asked seriously.  "Can you
mention one single thing against Mrs. Charlock?  Here is a woman married
to a boor, who is supposed to ill-treat her because he can’t have his
own way; he sells the house over her head, and says she can remain if
she please.  A woman ought to be able to get rid of a man for less than
that.  Upon my word, I think it was one of the most chivalrous things I
ever heard of.  Then there is Arnold Rent, whom we all regard as a
clever fellow, who, apart from his science, is living entirely for
himself.  I have heard it said that he has no heart and no feeling.  And
yet he makes a deliberate sacrifice for the sake of a woman who
apparently cares nothing for him. Really, in these prosaic times, for a
man to go out of his way to offer a suffering woman the shelter of his
mother’s roof is touching.  This kind of thing an author might make into
a book.  I suppose nobody has heard anything of Rent?"

"Indeed, they have," a voice interrupted.  "It is my turn now to
contribute to the harmony of the evening.  Our charming hostess has
given us the first act of the comedy.  Now I can proceed to write up the
second.  What the third act will be like is a matter for speculation.
Anyway, as I was coming here to-night, I saw Rent going along the shore
to his offices.  He wouldn’t allow me to stop him; he would hardly allow
me to speak to him.  At any rate, he is back again, and the
Charlock-Rent romance is at an end.  I am sorry to spoil sport in this
way, but I am bound to speak the truth.  It looks to me as if the story
had a commonplace ending, after all.  Probably Mrs. Rent threw a cold
douche of common sense upon her son’s argument, and Mrs. Charlock has
made the best of it by coming back to her husband.  That is my
conclusion."

"I don’t believe a word of it," Mrs. Bromley-Martin cried.  "I refuse to
have my illusions scattered in this way.  If I had only known Arnold
Rent was here I would have asked him to come round this evening.  His
appearance would have created a sensation.  And sensations in these
times——"

The speaker paused, conscious that there was something wrong.  Her back
was to the door.  She did not see that someone had come into the room.
That everything was not quite in order she could gather by the
expression on the faces of her guests. No one was sneering or smiling.
Most of them were looking blank, and one or two decidedly uncomfortable.

"What is the matter?" Mrs. Bromley-Martin asked.  "Have I said anything
so very _outré_, or have you all suddenly become——"

"It is a pure matter of conscience," a cold, clear voice said.  "You
have every right to your own opinion.  But on this occasion, gracious
lady, you are absolutely wrong, much as it grieves me to tell you so."

A little spurt of colour flamed to Mrs. Bromley-Martin’s face.  Possibly
it was the first time she had blushed for years.  She forced her voice
to a higher pitch as she recognised Rent.

"Talk of an angel and you hear his wings," she cackled.  "How dare you
stand there and listen to what I was saying!  Why, bless my soul, a set
like ours, if we all knew what our neighbours thought of us, would be
deadly enemies in a week.  Still, my dear boy, I forgive you, because it
was so thoughtful of you to come round this evening to make my party a
success.  But did you hear what I was saying?"

"Every word," Rent said gravely.

"In that case, it would be foolish of me to apologise.  We were talking
of Mrs. Charlock and yourself.  I believe it was under this roof that
you met her for the first time.  It was here that the tender romance had
its initiation.  It was here, also, that John Charlock behaved in such a
brutish way and played into the hands of his wife.  I daresay you
recollect the occasion."

"Perfectly well."

"What a sphinx it is!" Mrs. Bromley-Martin remarked, with a shrug of her
shoulders.  "Why don’t you try to help me out?  You must know what
conclusion we came to.  We all give you credit for acting the part of
the cavalier without fear and without reproach.  But when both parties
came back in this prosaic fashion, why, naturally——"

"One moment," Rent said coldly.  "Loth as I am to spoil your recreation,
I must speak.  You are all mistaken.  It is true that chance gave me the
opportunity of befriending Mrs. Charlock when she was badly in need of
advice, but there the thing begins and ends.  I might have been wrong in
offering Mrs. Charlock a temporary home with my mother; I am not
prepared to say that I had given the matter due consideration.  However,
Mrs. Charlock has thought the matter over and come to the conclusion
that she cannot do better than fall in with her husband’s wishes.  That
is why she is here, and you can guess why I have returned, also.  It
will be just as well in future to drop this subject."

There was something so cool and self-possessed in the speaker’s words
that no one in the group round the fireplace ventured even to smile.
Rent flashed a challenge from one to the other, but no one offered to
take it up.  There were one or two murmurs of approval, and Mrs.
Bromley-Martin thought it wise to change her ground.

"I am sure, I beg your pardon," she said.  "I had no idea you would take
it in this way.  You see, it is so seldom that anybody in our set is
serious that one forgets that there are real responsibilities in life.
Now let us go back to the tables and devote ourselves to the business of
the evening."

Rent bowed gravely.  Mrs. Bromley-Martin had gone as far in the way of
an apology as she was likely to go.  Before he could say anything there
was a further commotion at the door, and another man entered, apparently
bursting to relate some item of news.  Mrs. Bromley-Martin heralded the
intrusion at once as a godsend.  Here was a speedy and graceful escape
from the position she had taken up, and she hastened across the room.

"Well, colonel, what is it?  What fresh scandal is afoot?  Positively,
we are so dull here that anything, even if it is deliberately untrue,
will be welcomed."

"Oh, this is true enough," the man replied.  "I was coming past
Charlock’s house just now, and I met that fellow Grey coming out of the
gate in a hurry.  You know the man I mean—he is staying with that clever
Italian, Tanza, on his yacht.  At first, I could not make out what was
the matter with him.  It appeared he was asking me to fetch a policeman,
as something terrible had happened in Charlock’s grounds.  Mrs. Charlock
had fallen into a fountain, or something of that kind.  At any rate,
when Grey and Charlock found her she was lying there quite dead."

A sudden exclamation broke from Rent’s lips. He turned a white, set face
towards the speaker.

"In the fountain?" he asked hoarsely.  "By the sundial, do you mean?
Oh, the thing is incredible."

"All the same, it is quite true," the newcomer said.  "I saw it for
myself before I went off for the police.  And the strange part of the
whole thing is that mistress and maid perished in the same way.  There
seems to be a fatality about that sundial."




                             *CHAPTER XXIX*

                          *A LAPSE OF MEMORY*


Arnold Rent seemed to be striving for words to express his feelings.  He
pressed his hand to his throat, as if something had risen and choked
him.  There was a deadly pallor on his face, too, which some of the
guests did not fail to notice. They were quiet now, for this
_dénouement_ was calculated to suppress the frivolous spirits even of
Mrs. Bromley-Martin’s guests.

"Tell us some more," the hostess murmured.

"There is very little to say," the man who was telling the story went
on.  "I met a policeman within a few yards of Charlock’s lodge gate and
sent him off headlong to bring his inspector and a doctor.  Then I went
back to the scene of the tragedy to see if I could do anything.  I heard
voices in the garden and went down towards that now famous sundial.  I
had heard of the thing before; in fact, I remember reading a paragraph
or two in the papers when Charlock bought it.  At any rate, there it
was, looking pale and ghostly in the gloom, and by the side of it stood
Charlock and Grey bending over an object on the grass.  As a matter of
fact, they had no business to disturb the body at all.  Still, the thing
was done, and I helped to carry the poor creature into the house. I came
away as soon as I decently could, because it was no place for an
outsider."

"Dreadful!" Mrs. Bromley-Martin shuddered. "What a fate for a beautiful
creature!  And what did John Charlock say?  How did he seem to take it?"

The man who was telling the story shrugged his shoulders.

"Don’t ask me," he murmured.  "Charlock is not like other people.  You
see, he is a genius, and geniuses are allowed to express their feelings
in their own way.  So far as I could see, the discovery made not the
slightest difference to him; excepting that he lives and breathes like
most of us, he might have been carved out of stone.  There was no
expression whatever on his features, not one word escaped his lips.  I
was glad to get away."

Arnold Rent listened to this recital with the air of a man who dreams.
More than once he appeared as if desirous of asking a question.  Then he
changed his mind.  By this time it had already reached those who were
deeply immersed in cards. As the various rubbers were finished people
began to gather by the fireplace and discuss the tragedy. The first
feeling of awe had passed away and everybody was talking at once.

Rent was unnoticed.  He seemed to have fallen into the background, and
before anyone was aware of the fact, he had slipped out of the
drawing-room into the hall, where he donned his coat and hat. Then,
without the formality of saying good-night to Mrs. Bromley-Martin, he
walked down the spacious drive into the road.  He came presently to the
lodge gate of Charlock’s house, where he paused.  Now and again he
passed his handkerchief over his forehead to wipe away the beads of
moisture which had gathered.  The night was warm, but not sufficiently
so to account for the water trickling down his face.

"I’ve got to do it," he groaned.  "Lord, what a coward I am!"

The last words came with an accent of bitter self-reproach.  It seemed
as if Rent were taking hold of himself and impelling his feet
unwillingly forward.  He came at length to the house, where the lights
were still burning in the front room, where he could see John Charlock
and Grey standing facing each other across the table.  There were other
shadows in the background, but of these Rent took no notice.  He would
have liked to knock at the door and make inquiries, but even his
audacity shrank from going so far.  It was not the time to face John
Charlock.  The only thing was to wait until Grey came out.

The young scientist emerged presently and closed the door behind him.
He turned very coldly, almost offensively, to Rent when the latter
accosted him.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"I have just heard the news," Rent said hoarsely. "I had gone as far as
Mrs. Bromley-Martin’s when Colonel Suffield came in and told us.  He was
the man you sent for the police.  It seems incredible.  It seemed all
the more impossible to grasp because it was told before that frivolous
lot yonder.  I could not wait a moment.  Suffield told me you were here.
Of course, I could not ask for Charlock in the circumstances."

"That would be playing the blackguard," Grey remarked pointedly.

"You are altogether unjust," Rent murmured. "If you knew the whole story
you would not blame me in the least.  I only acted on Mrs. Charlock’s
behalf as any other man would have done.  Surely, a good and pure woman
is above scandal.  But I am not going to discuss that.  I want to know
what has happened."

"There is very little to tell you," Grey said.  "I came here by
appointment to see Mr. Charlock. He wanted me to be present because his
wife was coming back, and he deemed it best to have a third party at the
interview.  We heard a cry of distress from the bottom of the garden and
immediately proceeded in that direction.  To make a long story short, we
found Mrs. Charlock’s dead body lying in the fountain by the sundial,
precisely in the same way as her late maid’s was discovered. Beyond that
I can tell you nothing.  What more would you know?"

It appeared as if Rent could have known a great deal more, but he
restrained his feelings and walked silently down the drive by Grey’s
side.  The two parted at a turning in the road, and Rent made his way
across the foreshore to his offices.  There was no light, so far as he
could see, and this seemed to fill him with relief.

"I suppose Swift is away to-night," he muttered. "Well, perhaps it is
for the best.  And yet I told him particularly that I wanted him at
eleven.  That accursed drink again, I suppose!  I shall have to get rid
of him."

Rent struck a match and fumbled with his key in the lock.  He left the
front door open on the off-chance of Swift coming back.  Then he
proceeded to the inner office and switched on the electric lights.  From
a safe let in the wall he proceeded to take out some electrical
appliances, and with these in his hand he turned rapidly towards the
door.  Then he stepped back with an oath and a cry of vexation as he saw
someone standing there. The intruder’s face wore a wide grin, but his
dark eyes were set in stern determination.  Ephraim Bark was not
pleasant to look at.

"What the devil are you doing here?" Rent demanded.

By way of reply Bark closed the door and took a seat.  Then he produced
a cigarette, which he lighted coolly.

"What is the good of talking that rot to me?" he said.  "I have been
looking for you for the past week, and you have been keeping out of the
way because you were afraid to meet me.  Oh, it is all very well to
smile, but if you weren’t afraid, why didn’t you toe the scratch like a
man?"

"I have been away on business," Rent said, lamely enough.

"Business be hanged!  Now, look here, I am not going to waste words with
you.  After that little affair in Paris you promised me two hundred
pounds, not a penny of which I have had yet.  Why should I be walking
about on my uppers while you are rolling in money?  A rich man like
yourself——"

"I am not a rich man," Rent protested.  "As a matter of fact, I have an
allowance which is quite insufficient for me, and, apart from that, I am
dependent for every penny upon my mother, who can leave it all away from
me if she pleases.  Yes, and she would do it, too, if she knew the sort
of life I have been leading."

"I know all about that," Bark grinned.  "I make every allowance.  But
you must have something to spare.  I tell you, I am penniless, desperate
almost, and I am going to have a hundred pounds or its equivalent before
I leave you to-night."

Rent burst out into furious epithets.

"I tell you, I haven’t got it," he protested.  "I have never been so
hard up as I am now.  There are particular reasons why I cannot appeal
to my mother just now.  In the course of a fortnight or so I may be able
to accommodate you."

Bark laughed insultingly.  He made use of expressions which brought the
blood flaming to Rent’s cheeks, but he dared not retaliate openly. He
was in this man’s power, as he reflected bitterly.  A murderous instinct
rose within him.  He reached out and grasped a heavy ruler, and ere he
knew what he was doing he was holding the weapon threateningly over
Bark’s head.  There was no mistaking the gleam in his eyes.  There was
no time for further argument, as Bark saw. He closed at once with Rent.
He crooked his foot dexterously behind the latter’s heel and Rent fell
heavily to the ground.  He staggered as he fell, so that his head came
in violent contact with the corner of the iron fender of the fireplace.
He lay still and motionless, with Bark bending over him.

"Lord, I’ve done it now," the latter said ruefully. "I believe I’ve
killed the beggar.  Well, if I have——"

Bark paused suddenly and lifted up his head like a hare.  He seemed to
hear footsteps coming closer.  If he had dealt Rent a fatal blow, he had
no mind to be caught red-handed.  And no one had seen him come.  He
darted from the room like a flash and raced across the sands as if the
Powers of Darkness were after him.




                             *CHAPTER XXX*

                          *"THOU ART THE MAN"*


It was some time before Rent came to himself and sat up, wondering what
had happened.  His brain was dizzy and confused.  His head was aching
violently.  In some vague way he was haunted with an idea that he had
come down to the office on some important errand which had life or death
behind it.  But, cudgel his brain as he might, he could not recollect
what it was.  There was no mark of violence on his forehead.  He could
not remember how he got there.  He would have found it difficult,
indeed, to put a name to the man who had brought this catastrophe about.
He sank down into his chair, a profuse perspiration breaking out on his
brow.  He had utterly forgotten the past up to a few minutes ago.  Yet
all the time he was haunted with an insistent feeling that he had
something to do, that he had something to obliterate, or suffer
consequences disastrous to himself.

"I suppose it will pass off presently," he muttered.  "Let me see,
wasn’t there somebody with me?  Was Bark here, or did I dream it?  Yes,
he certainly was here.  But what happened?  Why did I come to myself
lying in the fireplace?  And what was it I had to do?  Perhaps Swift can
tell me."

But, though Rent sat there with his head in his hands for half an hour,
his treacherous memory did not come back to him.  He looked up eagerly
as he heard a step in the passage and Swift came in.  With a certain
feeling of thankfulness he recognised Swift.  But all that had taken
place during the past week was a blank complete and absolute. Swift
gazed into the face of his employer with uneasy surprise.  He had not
been drinking to-night. His faculties were clear.

"What on earth is the matter?" he asked.  "You look so white and wild.
What have you been doing?"

"Oh, I don’t know," Rent groaned.  "I came for a special purpose a
little time ago, but what brought me I haven’t the remotest idea.  I
suppose I had a fainting fit or something of that kind, for when I came
to myself I was lying in the fender, and now I can recollect nothing
that has taken place during the last few days.  I have heard of brain
lapses of that kind, but I have never believed in them before."

"Did you come alone?" Swift asked.

"That I can’t tell you.  And I don’t know how long I have been here,
either.  Oh, my head is dreadful!"

Swift shrugged his shoulders indifferently.  He had his own idea as to
what had taken place, but saw that it would be a waste of time to
cross-examine Rent further.  He glanced about him.  The man smiled
cynically as he saw the end of a cheap cigarette in a saucer on the
table.  It was not the sort of cigarette that Rent would smoke.
Possibly that kind of tobacco might appeal to a man like Bark.  Swift
did not require to be told any more. He had reconstructed the whole
scene in his mind’s eye.

"I am very sorry," he said.  "Unfortunately, I can do nothing to help
you.  If you take my advice, you will go back to your hotel without
delay and send for a doctor.  It is uncommonly awkward for a man who
leads your sort of life to forget all that happens for the best part of
a week.  An accident like that might lead to unpleasant consequences.
Now let me take you back."

Rent raised no objection.  He was too thoroughly frightened and broken
down to heed his assistant’s sarcasm.  And all the time he was filled
with a haunting dread that he was leaving some work unfinished, some
task which, if neglected, might involve him in a veritable catastrophe.
He submitted quietly to follow Swift.  No words passed as they walked
through the deserted town. Near the harbour they met Malcolm Grey on his
way to the yacht, but neither seemed to observe him, though he
recognised them plainly enough.

"I wonder what these two fellows are up to?" Grey mused.  "I would give
something to see into the back of Rent’s mind at the present moment.
But, still, I know how to act now."

When he reached the yacht he found Tanza awaiting him, the little man’s
eyes sparkling, as usual.  He appeared to be on excellent terms with
himself.

"So you have been busy?" he exclaimed.  "Well, I have not been idle,
either.  But tell me all about this extraordinary accident to Mrs.
Charlock.  You needn’t be surprised to find that I know, because, for
the last hour or so, I have been at the police station.  Is this another
case of suicide?"

"Pure accident, I should say," Grey replied. "But one can never tell.
You are going your way and I am going mine, but it is odd if we can’t
arrive at the truth between us."

"And how did Charlock take it?" Tanza asked.

"Well, he didn’t take it at all," Grey replied, "if I may put it in that
way.  For all the emotion and feeling he displayed we might have fished
a dog out of the reservoir instead of his wife.  But his feelings are so
keen and intense that he keeps an extra tight hold upon them.  I am to
see him in the morning.  I want an excuse for going over his house, and,
if I am not mistaken, I shall make a sensational discovery or two in the
course of to-day or to-morrow.  I’ll have one of your cigarettes, after
which I’ll go to bed."

There was no change in Charlock when Grey reached the house on the
following morning.  He found the artist in the same quiet,
self-contained mood.  There was nothing to show that his feelings had
been played upon, except for certain hollow rings under his eyes.

"I am glad you have come," he said.  "It is dreadful being here alone.
I have got a few things in the house and furnished a sitting-room for
the time being.  They tell me the inquest is at ten o’clock.  I shall be
glad when it is over, for the police are worrying me with all sorts of
questions more or less impertinent.  I have the greatest difficulty in
keeping my hands off some of them.  Ah, here is another.  It is the
inspector this time.  He rather wants to see you.  Meanwhile, I’ll get
out of the way till he is finished."

Charlock slipped quietly out of the room as the inspector came in.  He
was a pompous little man with a heavy manner, who appeared to think that
he had the care of the universe on his shoulders. Nevertheless, when he
began to speak his questions were very much to the point.

"I don’t want to bother you, Mr. Grey," the inspector said, "but I think
you can give me certain information.  I have been talking the matter
over with Mr. Charlock and he has shown me his wife’s letter.  It
appears that the lady came here last night at her own suggestion.  It
was Mr. Charlock’s idea that you should be present at the interview.  Of
course, we don’t want to go into the details of a domestic quarrel, but
it must be admitted that the relationship between husband and wife was
exceedingly strained.  I suppose you know that?"

"You are stating it fairly," Grey said cautiously.

"Exactly.  Mr. Charlock was inclined to be harsh, and the lady, I
understand, was terribly extravagant.  There had been a serious quarrel
before Mrs. Charlock made overtures for reconciliation. It doesn’t
matter why Mr. Charlock decided to call you in, seeing that you were
here.  Now, have you any reason to believe that Mrs. Charlock was in the
house alone with her husband before you came?  Did you see any evidence
of it?"

The question startled Grey.

"Indeed, I didn’t!" he said.  "I understood from Mr. Charlock that he
had not seen his wife. He put it plainly to me that I had been asked to
go round an hour before Mrs. Charlock was expected, so that in the first
place he could explain to me why I had been sent for.  I feel sure I am
right."

By way of reply the inspector produced a light dustcoat, which he held
out for Grey’s inspection.

"I think I shall prove that you are wrong," he said.  "I traced Mrs.
Charlock’s movements all yesterday, and I am prepared to show that the
lady was wearing this dustcoat at the very time that she left her hotel
last night.  She was seen by several people to whom she is personally
known. You will perceive for yourself that this cloak is quite dry, and
that it is not in the least stained, as it would be had it been immersed
in water.  Now, last night, after I came here at your suggestion, I went
all over the house, and in the drawing-room, by the side of one of the
French windows, I found this cloak.  The window was unfastened, so that
anybody could get in who liked, and I came to the conclusion that Mrs.
Charlock was either in the house when you came or she had been here
before. As a matter of fact, the cloak proves it."

"I am afraid it does," Grey was fain to admit.

"Thank you," the inspector said.  "But I have not done yet.  I have been
examining the lawn for footmarks, and I find traces of a pair of boots,
or rather of tennis-shoes, which go right round the side of the lawn to
the back of the sundial.  These shoes were worn by Mr. Charlock and
yield distinctly the same impressions as were given by the shoes which
marched side by side with yours when you were on your way to the
fountain last night. Now, can you explain this?"

"It is very awkward for Charlock," Grey murmured.




                             *CHAPTER XXXI*

                         *AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND*


Inspector Battley nodded his head gravely.

"I suppose I ought not to tell you these things," he said.  "But I
understand you are a friend of Mr. Charlock’s; in fact, so far as I
know, you are the only friend he has.  Of course, this may not be more
than a mere coincidence, but you might mention the matter to him, and no
doubt an explanation will be forthcoming.  I could not take any action
at present."

"Of course you couldn’t," Grey exclaimed, "especially in view of the
evidence which I have already given you myself."

"That is exactly the point," Battley said eagerly. "According to what
you say, you heard a cry of distress and hastened off at once in the
direction of the sundial.  There you found the unfortunate lady lying
dead in the fountain.  I suppose you are quite sure that it was her
voice you heard?"

"Well, that’s rather a large order," Grey said. "But, on the other hand,
if it wasn’t Mrs. Charlock, who could it have been?  I am pretty sure
that I am right, and that my evidence would convince any jury that Mr.
Charlock had nothing to do with his wife’s death."

"It is a good point," the inspector said.  "Still, the lady was in the
house before you came, beyond all doubt.  It would be a good thing if we
could ascertain what brought her here.  I hope you will recognise that I
am doing my best to help Mr. Charlock."

"Oh, I quite see that.  And as to Mrs. Charlock’s presence here before I
came, that can be easily explained.  There is no secret in the fact that
Mr. Charlock and his wife were on exceedingly bad terms, owing to the
wife’s extravagance. So far as I can gather, she did not seem to have
the least idea of the value of money.  She spent all she could get in
reckless fashion, and she did not hesitate to pledge Charlock’s credit
to the utmost capacity.  Rightly or wrongly, she became possessed of the
idea that he was merely a money-making machine, a kind of slave to
minister to her wants.  Charlock is a peculiar, self-contained man, like
most people with deep-seated feelings, and this reserve has given him
the reputation of being an unfeeling brute who did not deserve such a
wife as Mrs. Charlock.  At any rate, that is the view that most of their
friends take, and at one time, I confess, it was my opinion, too.  Of
course, it was foolish of Charlock to turn his wife out of the house——"

"Did he do that?" the inspector asked.

"Well, that is what it came to.  He had made up his mind to sacrifice
everything with a view to getting out of debt.  He had taken a small
cottage, where he intended his wife to do the domestic work, and where
he meant to remain as long as a penny was owing.  Perhaps it was natural
that Mrs. Charlock should refuse to fall in with this suggestion.
Charlock took the bull by the horns by stripping the house entirely, and
when Mrs. Charlock came back one evening she found the place as bare as
you see it now.  Two courses were open to her—either to go to her own
friends or follow her husband.  There was one more alternative, and that
was to live for the time being on the sale of her jewellery, of which
she possessed a considerable quantity.  But the jewellery had been
stolen, or, at least, so Charlock tells me.  He seemed to be under the
impression that the French maid, Hortense, had had some hand in the
robbery. My impression is that Mrs. Charlock came an hour or so before
the time appointed for the interview in order thoroughly to search the
house for the missing gems.  I think you will find that Charlock hasn’t
the slightest idea that she has been here at all."

"Oh, it is possible," Battley remarked.  "Perhaps you will be good
enough to mention this matter to Mr. Charlock.  I don’t want to allude
to it for the present.  I have been candid with you, and perhaps you
will do your best to get an explanation of this peculiar point."

Before Grey could reply, Charlock returned.  He asked impatiently how
much longer Grey would be.  He seemed to be put out about something.

"I am coming now," Grey said.  "By the way, I have had an interesting
conversation with Inspector Battley.  He wants to know why Mrs. Charlock
was here for some time before I came in response to your letter."

"Who says she was here?" Charlock demanded.

"Inspector Battley is in a position to prove it," Grey said
significantly.  "Lying on a chair yonder is the wrap she was wearing
when she left her hotel last night, and the wrap was found on a chair by
the French window, perfectly dry, so that it must have been discarded
before she found her way into the water.  You were also wearing a pair
of tennis-shoes last night, the prints of which Inspector Battley says
he traced to the back of the sundial.  Of course, the inspector doesn’t
suggest——"

Charlock burst into a hoarse laugh.

"Oh, no, he doesn’t suggest anything," he cried. "He hints all sorts of
mysterious things, which is a great deal worse.  He will be saying next
that I had a hand in removing the woman who was such a hindrance and
encumbrance to me.  Not that it in the least matters, because if he
doesn’t say so, somebody else will.  There are scores of people who
regarded my wife as an injured saint and myself as a monster of cruelty.
I didn’t see my wife last night.  If she was here, as you say, I know
nothing whatever about it.  She had her own reasons for coming, no
doubt, and her visit was made in absolute secrecy.  Possibly she was
looking for her lost jewels, of which she had a quantity.  I ought to
know, because I paid for them, like the fool that I was.  I understand
that the jewels were stolen, and I don’t mind admitting I was very
pleased they were.  They were bought at a time when I had no means of
paying for them; they were the final cause of all my trouble.  But that
doesn’t matter.  You may depend upon it, my wife came back to have
another look for the missing stones, and, for certain reasons of her
own, she didn’t want me to know it.  And now, if you have anything else
to say, perhaps you will say it to me honestly and straightforwardly."

There was something truculent in Charlock’s expression.  A gleam of
defiance lighted his eyes. The inspector reddened slightly.

"I beg your pardon," he said.  "I am bringing no accusation against you.
I merely remarked that your wife was here last night, and that you had
said nothing about the fact.  I admit now that you did not know of it.
You may regard this as a mere detail, but in our profession trifles
often turn out to be of the greatest importance.  I asked Mr. Grey to
mention this matter to you in an entirely friendly spirit.  I did not
expect that he would have done so just yet."

"There was nothing to be gained by delay," Grey said.

Battley curtly agreed, and took himself off without delay.  In his
queer, sardonic way, Charlock seemed to be amused about something, for
he chuckled to himself as he walked up and down the room.

"What foolish things clever men can do sometimes," he said.  "Now, you
see perfectly well what that fellow has got in his mind.  Nothing will
persuade him that I hadn’t a hand in my wife’s death. He is convinced
that I had an interview with her before you came into the house.  It is
lucky for me that you can give evidence to the contrary."

"Are you not a little foolish yourself?" Grey ventured.  "You might have
taken what the inspector said in a more friendly spirit, and you admit
that there are plenty of people who regard you as a most undesirable man
to marry any woman.  Of course, I know I am going rather far——"

"My dear fellow, nothing of the kind.  I know you are only too ready to
help me, and in my own way I am grateful.  Besides, I am certain that I
am right.  Let us assume for a moment that Hortense stole those jewels.
The night my wife left here on her foolish mission with Arnold Rent she
intended to take her diamonds with her.  With all her saint-like purity
and innocence, she did not forget their value.  But the diamonds were
gone.  It did not matter so very much, however, seeing that my wife was
to find an asylum with Mrs. Rent and remain under that lady’s roof till
I should generously make a fool of myself and give her the chance of
getting rid of me altogether.  But when Mrs. Rent figures as a woman of
firmness and determination the whole situation is changed.  Then it
becomes necessary to secure those gems.  That is why my wife came here.
And you needn’t be afraid about what people say of me.  What does it
matter what they say?  What does anything matter?  My life has been
blackened and ruined because I was fool enough to mistake a
cold-blooded, self-seeking creature for a good and true woman.  If they
like to say that I had a hand in her death, they can if they please.
They ought to be grateful to me for giving them something to talk
about!"

It was in vain that Grey protested, for Charlock turned a deaf ear to
him.  Then the artist walked out of the room across the grass towards
the sundial.




                            *CHAPTER XXXII*

                           *SWIFT COMES OUT*


As was only natural in the circumstances, the tragic death of Mrs. John
Charlock created a profound sensation.  The accident to the French maid
had set most people talking, but the unfortunate end of the mistress in
the same mysterious fashion bade fair to become a general topic of
conversation. The whole thing was so simple, and yet so strange and out
of the common.  A score of theories were set on foot, but not one of
them worked out in a satisfactory manner.  The police were plainly at
fault, and though Inspector Battley was reinforced by a colleague or two
from Scotland Yard, the end of the week found the authorities no nearer
the solution of the trouble than they had been at the beginning of the
inquiry.

As for Grey and Tanza, they went their own way, which was by no means
the way taken by the police.  Ephraim Bark was still in the
neighbourhood, and his movements were watched by Tanza and Grey with a
patient care which would have astonished that worthy had he only known
of it. Grey had his own theory, which he was developing slowly.  It was
an integral part of his theory that Bark could have said a great deal
more had he chosen to do so.  And there was yet another person whom Grey
was keeping a close eye upon. He had by no means forgotten the torn
photograph he had found in the French maid’s room. He did not ignore the
information as to Arnold Rent’s strange friendship with the dead
Frenchwoman. And there was another item of which, as yet, Grey had said
nothing to anyone.  He was coming to his conclusions now—conclusions so
strange and startling that he hardly dared trust himself to believe
them.  A week passed slowly, during which nothing particular had
happened, and Arnold Rent appeared to get no better.  So far as Grey
could gather, his brother scientist had had a nasty fall, which, for the
time being, had affected his intellect.  There was a good deal of
mystery about the affair, and Grey was at some pains to make the
acquaintance of the doctor who was attending Rent.  The thing was
accomplished at length through Tanza, who made some pretext for inviting
the doctor to dine aboard his yacht.  Very cautiously and patiently Grey
led up to the subject which was next his heart.  The thing was so
naturally done, and Tanza played into his hands so cleverly, that the
doctor fell into the trap at once.

"Oh, so you know Mr. Rent," he said, as he lay back in a deck-chair
smoking a cigar.  "An exceedingly clever fellow, who, unless I am much
mistaken, will make his mark in the world yet.  A strange illness that
of his, by the way."

"I was going to ask you about that," Grey murmured. "I hear he is
suffering from the effects of a severe fall.  I hope the accident won’t
leave any permanent injury."

"I don’t think so," the doctor said.  "I had a specialist down to-day
and he takes a very sanguine view of the case.  All that is wanted is
rest.  For the moment my patient has a partial lapse of memory—a sort of
hiatus of a week.  In other words, he can recollect everything perfectly
well, except that the past seven days are a complete blank to him.  And
during the last day or so before his fall he had been engaged in some
experiment, the results of which ought to be placed on record at once.
This seems to worry him terribly.  It has affected him to such an extent
that he is making himself seriously ill over it.  Imagine a man who has
some great commercial deal on and has to buy or sell at a given moment
suddenly forgetting the very thing he has to do.  That appears to be
Rent’s case.  Anybody might suppose that he had committed murder and had
forgotten to hide the clue, by the way he goes on."

A sudden exclamation broke from Grey, which he checked immediately.  The
doctor looked up inquiringly.

"A twinge of pain," he muttered.  "Nothing much to trouble about.  A
most interesting case, doctor.  And you think that in time Rent will be
quite himself again?"

"Oh, I am certain of it.  If I could only prevent him from worrying, I
should have had him right by this time.  Of course, what I am saying to
you is in strict confidence."

Grey and Tanza gave the desired assurance, and the conversation became
more general.  When the doctor left he was accompanied by Grey, who said
he had business on shore.  He left the man of medicine at the corner of
a street leading up from the quay and proceeded along the shore to
Arnold Rent’s workshop.  He stood for a long time making a mental
calculation, after which he walked several times round the building,
examining the ground carefully as if in search of something. Apparently,
nothing had rewarded his efforts, for he shook his head impatiently and
crossed over to the office, in the window of which a light was burning.
Someone inside was singing a snatch from a comic opera in a loud,
blustering voice.  An unsteady, flickering shadow crossed the blind once
or twice, and Grey’s features broke into a grim smile.

"Friend Swift has broken out again," he murmured.  "What a pity so
clever a man should be the victim of a curse like this!  Still, his
misfortune is my opportunity, and if there is anything he can tell me,
now is the time to learn it."

Without further hesitation, Grey pushed his way into the office, which
was flooded with half a dozen powerful electric lights.  The large
slate-topped table had been cleared of all kinds of electric appliances.
There were the remains of a supper at one end, flanked by two or three
empty bottles. The reserved and saturnine Swift seemed to have changed
altogether.  His dark features wore a look of reckless gaiety; his
sombre eyes were shining. He did not appear to be in the least surprised
to see Grey; in fact, he might have been expecting him.  His unsteady
gait and thick speech, however, told their tale.

"Hallo!" he exclaimed.  "So you have come to pay me a visit?  You have
come here to learn the secrets of the prison-house?  Ah, my dear fellow,
you are very clever, but your tuppenny discoveries are nothing compared
to what we are on the track of here.  For we’ve got it, my boy, we’ve
got it. You remember the dream you used to indulge in at school?"

"Intermittent electricity," Grey exclaimed.  "A wireless current.  You
don’t mean to say you have got to the bottom of that!"

Swift seemed to be sober for the moment.  A sullen, obstinate look came
over his face, but he did not appear to be half so agitated as was his
visitor.  Only for an instant did it occur to the dull brain that
secrets were being betrayed, and in the same instant Grey saw that he
had gone too far.  He changed the subject with a quickness that fogged
Swift.

"What did I say to you?" the latter asked, as he passed his hand across
his face.  "I hope I didn’t make a fool of myself?"

"Not at all," Grey hastened to say.  "Besides, I haven’t come here
to-night in the guise of a spy."

"Quite right," Swift said, with a sudden change to amiability.  "Of
course, you didn’t.  You are too much of a gentleman for that.  Now,
Arnold Rent isn’t a gentleman, for all his pretence.  He treats me like
a dog.  He uses my brains and then passes off my discoveries as his own.
He knows that no one else will employ me, that nobody else would look
twice at a man who is often drunk a week at a time.  But I can’t help
it, Grey.  Upon my word, I can’t.  I inherit it from my father. I fight
against it and fight against it till the sweat runs off my forehead and
my limbs refuse to carry me.  Then, all at once, everything grows misty
and I can’t recollect anything more till I am gloriously drunk.  That’s
why Rent puts up with me. But he is a blackguard, all the same, and he
will come to a bad end.  Don’t you trust him, Grey. Don’t you trust him,
or it will be all the worse for you.  Now come and sit down and make a
night of it with me."

Grey declined the tempting offer.

"I can’t stay many minutes," he said.  "I merely looked in to see how
Rent was getting on."

"He is bad, downright bad," Swift said, with a chuckle.  "And he has got
something on his mind. There is something he has to do, some piece of
infernal rascality to conceal, and his brain fails him, and he can’t for
the life of him think what it is. And all the time the trail is open for
anybody to pick up, and he might find himself in trouble at any moment.
That is what’s wrong with Arnold Rent, and I can’t say I’m sorry.  Do I
know what he has been doing?  No, I don’t, and I don’t care. You think
that his accident is the result of a fall. Nothing of the kind, my boy!
He and that blackguard, Ephraim Bark, had a quarrel the other night and
Bark knocked him into the fender.  How do I know that?  Well, you see, I
came in directly afterwards and Rent tried to persuade me that nobody
had been here.  Unluckily for him there was a cheap cigarette on the
table, and I guessed at once Bark had been smoking.  But why don’t you
sit down and make yourself comfortable?  You are different from me.  You
always know when to leave off—when you have had enough."

Half-defiantly, Swift helped himself to another strong glass of whisky,
and a moment or two later was lying back in an armchair, more or less
asleep. It was a good chance for Grey to get away and he seized it
promptly.

"That’s a lucky call," he muttered.  "Now I see what it was that puzzled
me.  Rent has learnt the secret of the intermittent current and he has
been using it.  It will be my turn next."




                            *CHAPTER XXXIII*

                           *A WORD IN SEASON*


Mrs. Rent might have possessed all the strength and determination for
which she gave herself credit, but she lost no time in responding to the
call of duty directly she heard that her son had met with an accident.
She had waited till nearly daybreak for Rent’s return on that eventful
night when he had gone out in search of Kate Charlock. She had waited,
too, with an anxiety which she strove in vain to conceal.  But there
came no sign of Rent until a letter reached her in a day or two saying
that he had reconsidered the whole position and had come to the
conclusion that she was right and he was altogether wrong.  The letter
was couched in terms of due filial affection, and was none the less
convincing for being a tissue of lies from beginning to end.

But Mrs. Rent read it all the more lovingly because she wanted to
believe that her son meant every word he wrote.  He told her how he had
talked the matter over with Kate Charlock and how the latter had agreed
that his mother had acted entirely for the best.  No doubt she had
appeared to be harsh and cruel, but she was only cruel to be kind.  Mrs.
Charlock was going back to her husband and she and Arnold Rent were not
likely to meet in the future.  Meanwhile, the writer would work as he
had never worked before and try to wipe out every suggestion of his
folly.

For the next two or three days life had resumed its old peacefulness at
Alton Lee.  Then came a few curt lines from Swift to the effect that
Rent had met with a nasty accident and that it would be as well if his
mother came at once.  Within twenty-four hours Mrs. Rent was installed
by her son’s bedside, with Ethel Hargrave in close attendance. It never
struck either of them that there was anything sinister about the
patient’s constant complaint that he had something to do which he could
not remember.  There were hours and almost days together when he sat in
sullen silence, taking no notice of anybody and apparently trying to
work out some problem in his clouded mind.  At such times Mrs. Rent
preferred to be alone with her son, and urged Ethel to go out of doors
as much as possible.

It was lonely for the girl, but she had not forgotten the events of the
last few days, and found herself thinking a good deal about John
Charlock. There was a romantic vein in her nature which rendered her
different from most girls, and her solitary life at Alton Lee had given
her plenty of time to think and form her own conclusions.  From the very
first she had taken a fancy to John Charlock.  His rugged austerity and
reserve did not repel her as it did most people.  She saw beneath it a
depth and sincerity of feeling with which she was in absolute sympathy.
And simultaneously with the appearance of John Charlock her idol in the
form of Arnold Rent had fallen to the ground. She had been asking
herself many questions lately, and when the first shock was over she
knew in her heart of hearts that she did not care for Arnold in the way
in which a woman should care for the man she hoped to marry.  She had
heard both sides of the question, too.  She had interviewed John
Charlock and his wife, and the more her mind dwelt upon the matter the
more convinced she was that the woman had been to blame.  Of course,
Ethel had heard of the tragic death of Kate Charlock, and now that she
was in the neighbourhood she felt herself irresistibly drawn towards the
house where Charlock had spent some of his unhappiest days.  Ethel
thought that it would be safe to stroll through the beautiful grounds,
for the house was still empty, and she had not the least idea that
Charlock was in the district.

On the third day of her visit she ventured to pass the lodge gate and
walk down the drive towards the house.  The place looked blank with its
staring windows, but there was no sign of neglect in the garden.  Here
the lawns were cut and trimmed, and there were beds luxuriant with
flowers.  Here, too, gleaming in the sunshine, was the white marble of
the sundial on the fountain, near to which those two terrible tragedies
had taken place.  It was impossible to connect so fair a spot with
mystery and horror.  As Ethel was standing almost fascinated, she heard
a step on the gravel behind her, and when she turned she saw John
Charlock watching her.

"You startled me," she said, a faint wave of colour tingeing her face.
"I am ashamed you should find me here."

"And why?" Charlock demanded in his imperious way.

"Well, it seems so unfeeling.  It suggests impertinent curiosity.
Believe me, I would not have come had I known you were here."

"Well, I am glad you didn’t know," Charlock retorted.  "You see, I have
to stay here for the present.  I am doing my best to let the house, but
so far without success.  It is possible that I may come back again.  My
wife is dead and I must say nothing about her, but I think that, seeing
I have no longer any reason to fear her extravagance, I might manage
with economy to remain here until I am free of debt.  I suppose you came
with Mrs. Rent to look after your invalid.  I hope he is progressing
favourably."

"Well, no," Ethel said.  "He doesn’t seem to get any better.  To all
appearances he is well, but he seems to be suffering in his mind.  There
is something which he has to do, but he can’t remember what it is.  Mrs.
Rent and I are taking turns nursing him.  The doctor says the cloud may
lift at any moment and then Arnold will be himself again.  What a lovely
place you have!"

"I thought so at one time," Charlock said.  "I had dreams of being happy
here, but, in fact, it is here I have passed the most miserable days of
my life.  Oh, I am not complaining.  I am not blaming the place.  But,
tell me, did you happen to see my wife after I left Alton Lee?"

Charlock asked the question in his abrupt fashion. His eyes were fixed
steadily upon his companion.

"Yes, I saw her," Ethel said.  "A beautiful woman."

"No fairer on God’s earth.  And I suppose she managed to persuade you
that she was an injured innocent and I an absolute monster.  Still, I am
glad you saw her, because it is well to hear both sides of a question.
And yet I am conceited enough to think that you cannot imagine so much
evil of me, or you would not be talking as you are at this moment."

"I am still of the same opinion," Ethel murmured.  "I think your wife
had the peculiar temperament which can sincerely make out that wrong is
right.  Certain men justify dishonourable actions in the same way.  I
might have been prejudiced.  I might have been offended by your wife’s
coming to Alton Lee at all.  But I told you that night in the garden
that I was sorry for you and I see no cause to change my opinion."

The words cost Ethel somewhat of an effort, but she uttered them
bravely.  Then she turned away as if the conversation were ended, and
Charlock sought to detain her no longer.  There was that in his silence,
a suggestion of delicacy of feeling, for which the girl was grateful.
She shook hands with him by the lodge gate, and the favourable
impression he had created in her mind was not lessened by the absence on
his part of any suggestion that they should meet again.

But all thoughts of Charlock faded from the girl’s mind when she reached
home and saw how pale and worried Mrs. Rent was.  The doctor was coming
down the stairs and was urging his patient’s mother to rest for an hour
or so.  Ethel cordially supported this suggestion.

"I ought to have been back before," she said contritely.  "Oh, surely
you can leave Arnold to me for a little while.  It isn’t the first time
that I have had him in my care."

With obvious reluctance Mrs. Rent gave way. There was little or nothing
to do, for the patient was sitting in his armchair, with his head in his
hands as usual, pondering the problem which occupied his mind to the
exclusion of everything else. He made no reply to Ethel’s question as to
how he felt.  The girl picked up a book and gradually became interested
in the story.  She was roused presently by a loud exclamation on the
part of the patient.  He was standing upright, his eyes gleaming, a
peculiar fixed smile on his face.  He crossed the room with rapid
strides and proceeded to open a cupboard door with a key which he took
from his pocket.  Somewhat alarmed, Ethel watched him with dazed
astonishment.  She saw he held in his hand a mass of india-rubber
bandages and something that looked like a pair of gloves.  From the
expression of his eyes and the way he looked over her head he seemed to
be oblivious of her presence.  Yet he held the gloves out towards her.

"Come along," he said hoarsely.  "Thank Heaven, I recollect it at last.
But we have not a moment to lose, for the secret might be discovered at
any moment.  Why are you standing there staring? Why don’t you do what I
tell you?  You have been drinking again."

Ethel sprang to the wall and rang the bell.  At the same moment Rent
dropped his burden on the floor and once more lapsed into the old sullen
state of mind.




                            *CHAPTER XXXIV*

                          *A BLACK SUSPICION*


There was no occasion for Ethel Hargrave to be afraid.  There had been
no suggestion of violence on the part of her patient, but yet, in some
unaccountable way, she felt her heart sinking and her nerves throbbing
as if the shadow of a great disgrace was hanging over her.  She had
ceased to care for Arnold Rent; indeed, she was almost grateful to him
for showing her that she had made a mistake in her estimate of his
character.  All these years she had lived so quiet a life, she had seen
so few men, that she had come to regard Arnold Rent as typical of what
was best in his sex. In this she had been encouraged by Mrs. Rent’s
pride and delight in the progress of her son.  Ethel thought she was
fortunate above women, inasmuch as she would some day become the wife of
Arnold Rent.  The whole thing had been a tacit understanding, and at
first when disillusion came the pain had been smart and keen.

But this was due to wounded vanity, though Ethel did not know it.  It
was her first contact with the meaner side of human nature and it left
its mark.  Despite the fact that Ethel had lived so long alone, she had
read a great deal and knew much of the world and its ways.  It did not
need anyone to teach her that Arnold Rent had behaved foolishly in the
matter of Mrs. Charlock, and since then one or two little things had
opened Ethel’s eyes.

She was glad the disclosure had come before it was too late.  She could
only regard Arnold Rent in the light of a friend, and found herself
contrasting him with John Charlock, much to his detriment.

And now she could not rid herself of the idea that there was something
more than mere hallucination here.  The blow which Rent had received
would be hardly accountable for his acting in this fashion.
Undoubtedly, the man had something desperate on his mind.  He had every
appearance of it in the uneasy, haunted expression of his face and the
gleam of his eyes.  Something was fearfully wrong, and Ethel felt her
heart sink as she watched the moody, disconsolate figure seated in the
chair opposite her.  What it was he had to conceal she did not know, nor
could she manage, with all the patience at her command, to find out what
was amiss.

"Is there nothing I can do for you?" she asked.

Rent shook his head sulkily.  The mass of matter which he had removed
from the safe lay on the floor, but he took no notice of it.  The cloud
had fallen again.

"Don’t bother," he said.  "It has all gone again. There was something I
had to do and I can’t for the life of me think what it was.  I had to go
somewhere.  There was a little thing——"

He broke off abruptly and smote his forehead passionately with his hand.
Ethel watched him curiously.

"Surely there is some way I can help you," she said.

"No, there isn’t.  You know nothing about it. Besides, in any case, it
is not a woman’s work. Swift will be all right.  But, then, you can’t
trust Swift, because you never know when he is going to give way to one
of his drunken bouts.  The most useful man I know is Malcolm Grey.  He
can manage it."

Rent was speaking rationally enough.  It was only the uneasy gleam in
his eyes which proved to Ethel that he was still wandering.  But she
caught at the suggestion.

"Would you like to see Mr. Grey?" she asked. "I understand that he is
here; he has called to ask about you once or twice.  He is staying with
a friend who has a yacht in the harbour."

"That’s the idea," Rent said eagerly.  "Send for Grey at once.  Well,
why don’t you go and do it?  Why do you sit looking at me in that
extraordinary way?"

Rent’s voice was harsh and hard and his face wore an angry look.  Ethel
rose from her seat, but before she could leave the room Rent sprang up
and detained her.

"You are not to go," he whispered.  "Do you hear me?  You are to stay
where you are.  What do you mean by making such a suggestion to me? Do
you want to get rid of me?  Why, if Grey so much as guessed, I should
never know a moment’s peace again."

It was hard to tell what to do in the circumstances, and Ethel could
only regard her companion with astonishment.  He dropped back in his
seat and the same sullen silence fell over him.  There was nothing to do
but to humour the patient, and, to her great relief, a little later
Ethel saw that he was asleep.  She slipped from the room into that of
Mrs. Rent, which adjoined, but that lady lay on her bed without sign or
motion.  No doubt she was asleep also.  It was with a sensation of
relief that Ethel heard the doctor coming up the stairs presently.  As
his quick glance took in the state of affairs, he crept quietly from the
room and beckoned to Ethel to follow him.

"I am glad to see that," he said.  "Whatever you do, don’t disturb him.
The more sleep he has the better."

"Mrs. Rent is sleeping, too," Ethel said.

"That is right," the doctor murmured.  "I am sure she wants it.  If we
could only induce a sleep like this on the part of the patient oftener
he would get better much the sooner.  It is impossible for him to
recover so long as he keeps on worrying his brain as he does.  And now,
at the risk of being impertinent, I am going to ask a personal question.
I understand you have known Mr. Rent for a long time.  Is that so?"

"I have known him all my life," Ethel said.

"Then you’ll be able to tell me what I want to know.  Of course, I
recognise that he is an exceedingly clever man and that he has a very
active and intelligent mind.  I am told that he sits up half the night
working out problems and fascinating experiments.  These men make the
most difficult patients when there is brain trouble.  Tell me, do you
think Mr. Rent has anything weighing heavily on his mind?"

Ethel hesitated.  She was startled to find the doctor’s train of thought
very like her own.  He put the question with a gravity which impressed
her.  But he was the doctor in charge of the case and had every right to
the information of which he was in search.

"I am afraid so," she said.  "It has been dawning upon me for the last
day or two that there is something very wrong.  Arnold Rent seems to be
full of the idea that he has left some task unfinished.  He is
dreadfully afraid lest somebody should find out certain information
which his illness prevented him from concealing.  It may be that he has
hit upon a new invention—something startling in the way of a discovery.
On the other hand, it may be that he has done something to be ashamed of
and does not want it known.  I was going to ask his assistant, Mr.
Swift, about the matter, but Mr. Rent never trusts him with anything of
importance, because the latter has a weakness for drink.  I feel pretty
sure that the secret has something to do with a scientific discovery,
because, a few minutes since, your patient was anxious to send for Mr.
Malcolm Grey, a brother scientist.  Then he suddenly changed his mind
and told me to do nothing of the kind.  I can’t make it out at all."

The doctor looked grave.

"It is a most puzzling case," he said.  "The best thing to do is to fall
in with every wish the patient expresses.  Never mind if he changes his
opinion the next moment; humour him to the top of his bent, and don’t
disturb him in any case.  The same remark applies to Mrs. Rent.  Let the
poor lady have all the rest she can get.  I will look in again later."

The time passed slowly.  It was growing late, and there was no sign of
Mrs. Rent.  Ethel sat in the sick-room waiting the advent of the doctor,
who did not come, though it was now past eleven o’clock.  Probably he
had been detained somewhere.  But, since Rent was slumbering in his
chair, it did not matter.  He moved uneasily in his sleep once or twice,
and Ethel caught the name of Grey on his lips.  Unconscious as he was,
his mind was working away at the problem which puzzled him so sorely.
Then Ethel closed her own eyes and for a little while was oblivious to
all that was going on.  When she came to herself she heard a clock
striking the half-hour after eleven, so that she knew she had been
asleep some five-and-twenty minutes.  She wondered if her patient was
awake, but was surprised to see that he was no longer seated in the
chair.  Possibly he had gone back to bed.

But the bed was empty.  The door was closed and locked on the inside.
Ethel rubbed her eyes in astonishment.  She was not yet conscious of the
full extent of the catastrophe.  Then she roused herself with an effort.
She began putting the pieces together in her mind.  The door was locked
on the inside, and yet Arnold Rent had vanished. Where had he gone to,
and how had he contrived to obliterate himself?  The window was open,
and, as Ethel looked out, she saw it was a short drop to the garden.
Beyond question, Arnold Rent had disappeared in that way.  It was the
kind of furtive exit a man with a diseased brain and perturbed mind
would make.  His clouded intellect had pointed to secrecy.  He had
deemed it prudent not to show himself in the house.  But where had he
gone?  And why?

For the moment Ethel stood thinking the puzzle out.  Then she unlocked
the door and walked quietly into Mrs. Rent’s room.  The latter still lay
on her bed fast asleep.




                             *CHAPTER XXXV*

                              *THE SEARCH*


It was a cruel dilemma for the girl, but her courage and intelligence
returned and she began to see how to act.  Nothing was to be gained by
rousing Mrs. Rent.  Possibly before she woke Arnold would be found.  But
where to look for him, and which way to turn, Ethel did not know.
Perhaps the best thing would be to go at once to Rent’s workshop on the
shore.  No doubt what was troubling him was in some way connected with
his researches, and it was an obvious inference that he had gone in that
direction.  Ethel slipped into a wrap and, without waiting to put on a
hat, walked into the darkness.

She knew which way to go, because the workshop had already been pointed
out to her.  She did not mind the dark and lonely journey.  She flew
swiftly over the broken ground and gave a gasp of relief when she saw a
light in one of the offices. Her search seemed to be finished almost
before it had begun.  Taking her courage in both hands, she opened the
door of the office and walked in.

But she did not, as she had expected, see Rent. The office was not
deserted, for Swift was present. There were strange appliances on the
table, weird-looking apparatus and receptacles which conveyed nothing to
the girl, and over one of these Swift was bending with a critical eye.
In spite of her trouble Ethel saw that his face was deadly pale. She saw
how horribly his features were twitching, and how the pupils of his eyes
were dilated.  She had never in her life before been face to face with a
man verging on _delirium tremens_.  But she instinctively recoiled,
feeling that something was very wrong.  It flashed across her mind how
Arnold Rent had said that Swift was given to prolonged bouts of
drinking.  She wondered if the repulsive aspect of his face had anything
to do with the dreadful weakness.  The girl was frightened.  She knew
there was something akin to danger here.  But it was not the time to
hang back, not the time to show the terror which set her trembling from
head to foot.  She had to find Rent. She had to forget her own risk.

"I beg your pardon," she said firmly, "but I am looking for Mr. Rent.
Has he been here?"

A queer sort of laugh came from Swift’s lips. He pushed his
curious-looking appliances aside and came a pace or two nearer to the
questioner.  She stood her ground.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" he said hoarsely, "or is this a vision that I
see before me?  Speak again, bright spirit, and let me know that I am
not dreaming.  I swear if these delusions only came in this form I would
never willingly be sober again. But you can never tell.  Sometimes it is
a swarm of bees, sometimes an army of pink rats, or an array of black
and grinning devils.  But in the shape of loveliness like this——"

The speaker paused and his features twitched horribly.  Ethel remembered
having read of such cases.  The man was on the brink of collapse, though
he had sense enough to know what was going on.  His madness might take a
dangerous form.  At any rate, it would be perilous to show fear.

"My name is Hargrave," Ethel said.  "I live with Mrs. Rent.  Mr. Rent
has disappeared and I came to see whether he was here.  I am sorry to
intrude——"

"Don’t mention it," Swift said.  "It is not often that I have a pleasure
so charming as this.  And so you have come to look for my master.
Fortunate Arnold Rent, who can command the services of so fair a friend.
I suppose that you and he——"

"Certainly not," Ethel said.  The colour flamed painfully into her
cheeks.  "Nothing of the kind. I am merely a friend of Mr. Rent’s.  I am
helping to nurse him and am concerned at his disappearance."

"I beg your pardon," Swift said, with some show of humility.  "And I
congratulate you.  Don’t have anything to do with Arnold Rent.  Keep him
at arm’s length, for, between ourselves, he is a precious scoundrel, as
a good many people have found out to their cost."

"Has he been here?" Ethel demanded.

"Oh, no, he hasn’t.  And, what is more, I don’t think he is in the least
likely to come.  I am sorry to disappoint you.  It cuts me to the heart
to see that anxious expression on a fair face.  If you want Arnold Rent,
why don’t you try John Charlock’s place?  I know it is late and the
grounds are lonely, but I am giving you good advice."

Swift accompanied this remark with a leer so malicious that Ethel
recoiled in disgust.  In spite of the man’s muddled brain and besotted
intellect, he had certain information of which Ethel was ignorant.  It
would not do to show that he filled her with disgust.

"I am greatly obliged to you," she said.  "I will go there at once.
There is no time to be lost."

"No, don’t go," Swift pleaded.  "Give me your company a little longer.
I am all right if I am not alone.  But directly I am by myself those
grinning faces peep at me out of every corner—there, can’t you see them?
Don’t you notice their ugly heads sticking out of the row of bottles
along that top shelf?  Horrible!  Horrible!  Don’t go."

The few last words rose to a wailing cry, which filled Ethel with pity,
frightened as she was.  She could stand it no longer, but turned and
made her way to the door.  She flew along the passage into the open air,
glancing over her shoulder to see if Swift were following.  It was good
to be alone, to feel the fresh breeze blowing on her face, and to know
that she had escaped that danger.  For Swift had made no attempt to
follow.  She could see his lank shadow crossing and recrossing the
blind. She could hear him singing hideously to himself.

"Poor wretch," she murmured.  "Surely, he is more to be pitied than
blamed.  And now what am I to do next?  I suppose I had better follow
his advice.  Fancy being involved in an adventure like this!  I should
have smiled at the mere suggestion a month or two ago.  Still, my duty
is plain."

It was, indeed, a strange position for a young and unprotected girl.
She found herself presently walking up the avenue to John Charlock’s
house, with no definite plan in her mind.  What she expected to see and
what she expected to gain it would have been impossible to explain.  But
Rent might be wandering in the grounds.  It occurred to Ethel in a
fantastic way that his trouble might be connected with the sundial.
Everything seemed to centre round that mysterious monument, and it was
possible that Arnold Rent’s state of mind might be due to the tragic
death of Mrs. Charlock. The notion might be illogical and absurd, but
Ethel could not get it out of her mind.  She passed round the garden
twice without any sign of the object of her search.  Then, half ashamed
of herself and her own simplicity, she turned to leave.

As she passed the house she saw, to her surprise, that a light was
burning in one of the windows upstairs.  Perhaps Rent was there.
Possibly in his madness he had elected to call upon John Charlock. Ethel
knew that the latter was camping in the empty house for the present.

Acting on the spur of the moment, she crossed the drive and rang the
bell.  Even now she was half inclined to go back, but she forced herself
to remain until a light appeared in the door and Charlock in person
answered the summons.  He held a candle, the light of which fell on
Ethel’s pale, anxious face.  He staggered.

"Miss Hargrave!" he said.  "What does this mean?"

"What must you think of me?" Ethel asked unsteadily.  "What excuse can I
have for knocking you up at this hour?  I can only plead that I am in
trouble."

"You need not say more than that," Charlock murmured.  "Now, tell me how
I can help you."

"It is Arnold Rent," Ethel stammered.  "He has disappeared from the
house.  I was looking after him while his mother was asleep, and I dozed
in my chair.  When I came to myself he had vanished.  I did not know
what to do or how to act. It seemed to me that my best course was to try
to find him before he was missed.  From something he said in his
delirium I fancy he was anxious to see Mr. Grey.  Then it struck me that
perhaps he had gone off to his workshop.  I went there and saw a man
called Swift.  I don’t know, but I think he had been drinking, for his
manner was strange and wild.  He frightened me terribly.  And I was glad
to get away.  I should not have come here, only he made a strange remark
to the effect that I could not do better than look for my patient here.
There was such an expression of cunning on Mr. Swift’s face that I felt
bound to come.  For the last quarter of an hour I have been wandering
about the grounds.  Then I saw your light and some irresistible impulse
forced me to ring the bell. I know it is much to ask, but I am sure you
will help me."

"Help you!" Charlock exclaimed.  "Of course I will.  I will do anything
in my power.  Wait a moment till I go in the house and get an overcoat."




                            *CHAPTER XXXVI*

                           *AN UNSEEN DANGER*


Somewhat later, Ethel and her companion were walking rapidly along the
road towards the town.  During part of the time Charlock had been quiet,
almost taciturn.  But now he began to speak more freely.

"I have been thinking the matter over," he explained, "and I think there
is a good deal in what that poor creature, Swift, said.  It may come
with a bad grace from me, but I have a shrewd suspicion that Arnold Rent
is no better than he should be.  I have heard rumours of certain
statements made by Swift when under the influence of drink, and they
have not impressed me favourably.  It is possible that Swift is right
and that Arnold Rent set out to-night to try to find Mr. Grey.
Frequently people, otherwise demented, display a wonderful tenacity of
purpose and clearness of mind when they have a definite object in view.
I know a man hopelessly insane who is one of the best military
tacticians in Europe.  Keep him to his hobby and he might lead an army
to victory.  But trust him in any other capacity and you will make a
fatal blunder. Now, I propose, late as it is, to go off to Dr. Tanza’s
yacht and see whether Arnold Rent has been there."

Ethel expressed her gratitude and waited in the shelter on the quay for
Charlock’s return.  He came presently, accompanied by Grey, and the
information that the yacht had seen nothing of the missing man.

"I am exceedingly sorry for you, Miss Hargrave," Grey murmured.  "It is
plucky of you to have come——"

"Won’t you say foolish?" Ethel murmured. "You don’t know how ashamed I
feel of myself. It is very thoughtless of me to give you all this
trouble for nothing."

"I beg you won’t mention it," Grey said eagerly. "I admire the way you
have behaved beyond measure. I am sure you are fearless, and it is only
consideration for other people that brings you out alone at this time of
night.  As you have proved your mettle so clearly, I am not afraid to
speak plainly.  You will have to be prepared for an unpleasant shock
before long, and if you have formed a high estimate of Mr. Rent’s
character——"

"That illusion has been dispelled lately," Ethel said quietly.  "Mr.
Rent is nothing to me except that his mother has been more than kind,
and if you have anything unpleasant to say, I implore you not to
hesitate on my account.  Let me know what it is."

"Ah, that I cannot do," Grey went on.  "It is a matter of suspicion for
the moment.  And now let us see whether we can find your patient. Mr.
Charlock has told me everything which you confided to him, and I am of
opinion that Swift is not far wrong."

"Then we are going back to my house?" Charlock asked.

"That will be best," Grey replied.  "Possibly we are on a wild goose
chase, but we ought not to neglect a single chance."

The trio turned in silence and made their way to Charlock’s residence.
Charlock invited Ethel to come inside and wait while he and Grey
searched the grounds.

"I would rather come with you," Ethel said. "I have not quite as much
bravery as you give me credit for.  I don’t think I could stay alone in
this deserted house."

"Oh, nonsense," Charlock said, with a return of his old peremptory
manner.  "Really, you must do as you are told.  We shall not be very far
away. And after what you have gone through to-night this will be a mere
trifle."

Ethel was about to demur, when she met Charlock’s steady glance.  There
was something in the look that checked the words on her lips and
summoned her fleeting courage.  From the first Charlock had fascinated
her in this way.  She seemed to know that she would be compelled to do
almost anything he asked her.  And she knew, also, that there was
nothing he would require her to do that would not bear the light of day.
She seemed to be comforted and uplifted, and a smile came to her lips.

"You are arbitrary," she said, "not to say rude. But I will be obedient.
Only don’t keep me waiting longer than you can help.  I am ashamed to
think that I have given you so much trouble."

Charlock turned upon his heel without reply. He seemed to take it for
granted that Ethel should do exactly as he asked her.  Possibly it
gratified his vanity to notice how implicitly she placed herself in his
hands.  Charlock produced a couple of candlesticks from a cupboard and
proceeded to light them and place them on the mantelshelf. There was a
solitary chair in the room, upon which he asked Ethel to be seated.

"There," he said.  "Try not to worry.  We sha’n’t be long."

Ethel smiled bravely in reply.  As a matter of fact, her courage was
oozing out rapidly again. She was not in the least anxious to be left
alone in that echoing house.  Half-ashamed of herself, she crept to the
front door to see if the two men had gone, and flung it open.  Anything
was better than that gloomy prison, where she could hear her own heart
beating, and the scratching of a mouse behind the panel sounded loud and
menacing. There were queer noises, too, here and there, as if the girl
were surrounded with unseen people who were wandering about the bare
floors.  A sudden draught of air caused a door upstairs to slam with a
noise which set the whole fabric quivering.  It was almost more than the
girl could stand.  She felt that if she remained much longer she must
cry aloud.  She tried to reproach herself with her own timidity.  She
tried to imagine that it was merely fancy which caused her to believe
that someone was creeping up the stairs with stealthy steps.

But the feeling would not be fought down.  The stealthy steps were far
too real.  It was impossible to sit there longer; she must satisfy
herself that her nerves were playing her false.  In an access of anger
she snatched a candle from the mantelpiece and rushed into the hall.

It was no fancy.  Somebody was actually creeping up the stairs.  She saw
the dim outline of a man.  She forgot herself and her prudence in the
terror of the moment.  A scream escaped her lips. The man turned and
regarded her with eyes that shone green and threatening out of the
gloom. Then the steps were retraced and Ethel was conscious that a heavy
hand was laid upon her shoulder.

"Stop that noise," the stranger said hoarsely. "Do you want to betray
me?  What brings you here, Ethel?"

At the mention of her name the girl looked up. To her intense surprise
she saw Arnold Rent.  He was fully dressed.  He carried something that
looked like a lever in his hand.  The strange, uneasy light was still in
his eyes, but there was a resolute look upon his face which spoke of
directness and determination of purpose.

"What are you doing here?" she faltered.

"Never mind," Rent whispered.  "That is no business of yours.  If you
make a fuss, if you call those men back, you will be sorry for it all
the rest of your life.  I am not doing any harm.  It isn’t as if I had
come after Mrs. Charlock’s jewels."

Ethel started at the suggestion.  What connection could there be between
Arnold Rent and the missing jewels?

"You are not a thief?" she stammered.

"Not in that way," Rent said in the same hoarse whisper.  "But there are
other things besides jewels.  There is that Frenchwoman and her papers.
I did not know at the time.  I did not guess that she had been cunning
enough.  But what am I doing?  What am I saying?  If you dare betray me
I will take you by the throat——"

Rent broke off in a whisper.  An expression of malignant fury convulsed
his face.  Ethel could stand it no longer.  With a sudden cry she burst
from Rent’s detaining clasp and fled into the garden, calling for help.
As she crossed the lawn towards the sundial she could hear Rent’s
footsteps behind her.  She was very near to the fountain now, when Rent
closed with her and, lifting her high in the air, dragged her to the
side of the lawn.

"Not there, not there," he said in the same hissing whisper.  "If you
value your life, keep away from here.  I don’t know what the danger is,
though I could have told you a day or two ago.  If my mind was only
clear I could explain.  But, as you value your future, don’t come here
any more."

The words might have meant a great deal, or they might have meant
nothing.  There was no time to inquire or explain, for out of the gloom
emerged the figures of Grey and his companion. No sooner did Rent see
them than his manner changed.  He withdrew his hand from Ethel’s arm and
darted off to the house, muttering something about papers and diaries.
Ethel would have staggered and fallen had not Charlock caught her.

"Did you see him?" she asked.

"Oh, we saw him right enough," Charlock said with unexpected tenderness.
"He has gone into the house.  And now let me take you home.  This is no
place for you."




                            *CHAPTER XXXVII*

                           *A DARK SUSPICION*


Ethel Hargrave did not appear to hear what Charlock was saying.  Her
mind had gone back to the moment when Arnold Rent had laid violent hands
upon her and spoken so harshly.  She thought there was something more
than madness here, something in the nature of overpowering fear. Rent
had cast away his peculiar vagueness of manner and appeared calm and
rational.  If he had only been an acquaintance snatching her from some
unexpected peril his words could not have rung out more truly and
sensibly.  Yet, on the face of it, it seemed absurd that there could be
any danger in simply walking on the lawn, though lately two tragedies
had occurred there.  It was small wonder, then, that Ethel trembled from
head to foot with a sense of some great impending discovery. Charlock
repeated his remark twice before the girl appeared to heed him.

"I am frightened," she whispered.  "I don’t know what to make of it.
Did you see what happened?"

There was a peculiar thrill in her voice and her eyes filled with tears.
Charlock looked slightly puzzled, but if anything could be gleaned from
the expression of Grey’s face, the mystery was no sealed book to him.

"I saw," he said curtly.  "Everything will be explained in due time.
Meanwhile, Mr. Charlock is right in saying this is no place for you.
You must go back to your lodgings."

There was almost a command in Grey’s tone, but Ethel did not offer to
move.

"But it is impossible," she persisted.  "How could I leave Arnold Rent?
What would his mother say when she heard what I had done?"

"Nevertheless, you must do exactly what I tell you," Grey went on.
"There is a mystery which must be solved, even thought it breaks Mrs.
Rent’s heart, and you suffer into the bargain.  And if you will allow
Mr. Charlock to take you quietly home, I will pledge my word that Arnold
Rent shall come to no harm.  Within an hour I will see that he is back."

Ethel would have ventured some protest, but the stern, hard expression
on the speaker’s face checked her.  She turned almost imploringly to
Charlock, as if seeking his protection.

"I don’t understand," she murmured.  "The whole thing is inexplicable.
Still, if you must have your own way, I will bow to the inevitable. Mr.
Charlock, would it be too much trouble to ask you to come as far as——"

"Not in the least," Charlock said eagerly; "it would be a pleasure.  And
I hope you won’t think Mr. Grey censorious.  He is acting for the best."

"I pledge my word to that," Grey said, with a stern ring in his voice.
"Believe me, Miss Hargrave, I am not here on pleasure bent.  But the
truth must be told, even only for the sake of innocent people.  I will
do my best not to abuse the trust you have put in me.  I promise you
that before long Arnold Rent shall be safe back in bed again.
Meanwhile, there is one thing I must ask you to do.  As you go along the
quay you might stop and tell the boatman who is waiting to row me back
to the yacht that Dr. Tanza is wanted at once.  Don’t say more than
that, for Tanza will know what I mean.  I don’t think I need say more."

Silently Charlock offered his arm to Ethel Hargrave, and they vanished
into the darkness.  No word passed between them till after they had
interviewed the sleepy boatman and sent him off on his errand.  Then
Ethel turned to her companion and faced him resolutely.

"I think you are a good man," she said, in a voice that shook a little.
"At any rate, I know you to be generous and truthful.  Now, Mr.
Charlock, kindly tell me what all this means.  What is the object of so
much mystery?  Why could not Arnold Rent have accompanied us home
instead of staying behind in that gloomy old house?  It is hardly fair
to two defenceless women to make them puppets in a game like this."

"I swear I cannot tell you," Charlock said passionately.  "I really
don’t know.  But I am sure Grey knows what he is doing and will never
rest till he gets to the bottom of the mystery."

"What is the mystery?" Ethel asked.

"Surely a superfluous question," Charlock said quietly.  "Within a few
days my wife and her maid have both met with strange deaths.  It may be
coincidence.  On the other hand, it may be crime of a terrible, if
ingenious, character.  I should not have suspected it myself, but Mr.
Grey does."

"It seems impossible," Ethel murmured.

"Oh, it does.  I agree with you.  But one never can tell.  The whole
thing is maddening.  Is there nothing mysterious, think you, in this
strange illness of Arnold Rent’s?  Mind you, I am trying to speak
without prejudice.  I am trying to think the best of that man.  But
there are moments when the most awful suspicions come into my mind, and
I have literally to expel them."

Ethel was silent for a while.  She could not forget her own haunting
suspicions.  They came back to her now with vivid force—Arnold Rent’s
violence, the unsteady terror in his voice as he snatched her from some
unseen danger.  His conduct and his manner were not consistent with
innocence and integrity.

"What do you think?" she asked timidly.

"I don’t know what to think," Charlock burst out.  "As I said before, I
have my suspicions. But I am prejudiced.  I decline to believe that
Arnold Rent is the upright, honourable man people believe him to be.
But it is hardly fair to speak of a man in this way when he is in
trouble. I think the best thing we can do is to drop the subject."

For some time the two walked side by side in silence until they reached
Mrs. Rent’s lodgings. To Ethel’s surprise, the door was open and Mrs.
Rent was standing in the hall.  There was a look of stern displeasure on
her face.  She spoke to Ethel with a harshness which she had never used
before.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "What has become of my son?
And why is Mr. Charlock here?"

"I am very, very sorry," Ethel faltered.  "I went to sleep, and when I
woke Arnold had gone. Of course, it was exceedingly careless of me to
allow myself——"

"Careless?  Is that the only word you have for it?  It seems strange
there is no one whom I can trust.  But where have you been?  Why do you
waste your time like this——"

"I assure you she had not been wasting her time," Charlock said coldly.
"You can rest easy in your mind, Mrs. Rent, for your son is found. He
will be here by-and-bye.  Meanwhile, it will be well not to make any
noise at this time of night. There is no occasion to arouse the good
people here, unless, indeed, you have already done so."

There was something so curt and incisive in Charlock’s voice that Mrs.
Rent’s manner grew quieter and more subdued.

"I am only just downstairs," she explained.  "I went into my son’s room
just now and, to my surprise, found it empty.  But if my boy is all
right there is nothing more to be said.  Perhaps I said too much to you,
Ethel, but I was speaking on the spur of the moment——"

"Oh, please don’t apologise," Ethel said.  "I feel that I am to blame.
When I discovered what had happened I went to Arnold’s workshop, and Mr.
Swift told me where I might find him.  He is coming later with Mr. Grey,
and I don’t think you will find he is any the worse for his adventure."

A faint smile passed over Mrs. Rent’s face.

"Then there is no more to be said," she murmured.  "My dear child, how
white and tired you look!  I insist upon your going to bed at once. Mr.
Charlock will perhaps keep me company till Arnold comes back."

Ethel was only too glad to be alone.  She shook hands somewhat timidly
with John Charlock and made her way upstairs.  Then Mrs. Rent turned to
Charlock and suggested that it would be better if they talked the matter
over in her sitting-room. Once inside, the lady’s manner changed.  She
grew agitated and distressed; her face was white and haggard.

"Now tell me what this means," she said.  "I implore you to be candid
with me.  I am not the first mother who has worshipped a golden idol
only to find that it has feet of clay.  This is the punishment for my
pride in my son.  It was my fancy to regard him as something better and
more upright than other men, and I begin to see different, now that he
has deceived me.  People come to see him who fill me with dread.  I know
that he is deeply in debt and that he has been deliberately deluding me.
I suppose he is afraid to tell me, lest I should stop his allowance and
perhaps leave the bulk of my money to some worthier object."

"There is nothing novel in the situation," Charlock said grimly.  "You
are by no means the first parent who has been deceived in the same way.
I have known scores of such instances."

"That does not render the discovery less bitter," Mrs. Rent said sadly.
"But I am sure that is not all.  There is something worse behind.  And
if you will tell me what it is——"

"I cannot," Charlock said, "because I do not know.  But you will need
all your courage and strength before long."




                           *CHAPTER XXXVIII*

                            *THE EMPTY ROOM*


Malcolm Grey sat himself down to wait grimly and patiently for Tanza.
From his position on the lawn he commanded a view of the front of the
house.  He had the satisfaction of knowing that Rent was safe and that
he could not leave without being seen.  In one of the rooms at the top
of the house the light flickered from time to time, so that Grey had a
fair idea of where Rent was and what he was doing.  The better part of
half an hour elapsed before Tanza appeared on the scene.  Grey hailed
him in a whisper, and he crept noiselessly across the grass.  For once
he appeared to be curious.

"What is on foot now?" he demanded.  "Why did you send for me in so
mysterious a fashion? Why is there a light at the top of the house?  Is
the problem solved?"

"To all practical purposes it is," Grey replied. "I know what took
place, and why.  But precisely how the mischief was brought about I
cannot say. Possibly before daylight the thing may be explained.  But
that depends upon luck.  At any rate, I am going to take you into my
confidence and tell you what I have discovered."

"I am glad to hear that," Tanza murmured.

Tanza inclined his head to listen, and for the next quarter of an hour
followed Grey with the most careful attention.  He was more interested
than perhaps he had ever been before in his life. The strangely tangled
web which Grey was unfolding was the most complicated of all the affairs
in which he had ever been engaged.

"Wonderful," he murmured.  "Really, a work of art.  Perhaps it is rather
cold-blooded of me to regard these puzzles in the way of a recreation.
But there is a peculiar horror about this affair which has rarely been
equalled.  So that’s the way the thing was done, eh?  Well, I suppose I
must leave the matter in your hands.  What do you propose to do next?
But, by the way, you have not yet told me who is in the bedroom
overhead."

"You will be surprised when I tell you," Grey murmured.  "The intruder
is no other than Arnold Rent."

An exclamation of genuine surprise broke from Tanza’s lips.

"Is that really a fact?" he demanded.  "But what brings him here?  What
has he come after?"

"Ah, that I can only conjecture.  I don’t think my theory is far wrong.
Although Arnold Rent is the son of a rich woman, he has by no means the
command of unlimited money.  Mrs. Rent is rather simple in her ideas and
inclined to be somewhat of a Puritan.  She is quite capable of leaving
her money elsewhere if she thinks her son will waste it.  Therefore, it
has been a necessity on Rent’s part that his mother should be deceived
as to his mode of life.  To put it plainly, he is more or less afraid of
her.  And when a man lives in a smart set, and has no control over his
expenditure, he is bound sooner or later to find himself in
difficulties.  That is the matter with Rent.  He did not know which way
to turn for money.  He did not dare to go to his mother and ask her to
set him on his feet again.  Therefore he hits upon another plan.  He
makes violent love to Bark’s sister Hortense with a view to securing her
mistress’s diamonds.  At first I don’t believe that Rent cared for Mrs.
Charlock at all.  What he meant to do was to get hold of her jewels, but
when he came to know the woman intimately she fascinated him to such an
extent that he lost his head.  He was prepared to sacrifice everything
for her sake. Witness that mad idea of his taking Mrs. Charlock to stay
with his mother.  I give the fellow credit for honesty in that respect.
I believe his affection for Mrs. Charlock was absolutely pure and
good—perhaps the only disinterested impulse he ever had in his life.
Meanwhile, he had talked Hortense over and between them they laid hands
upon Mrs. Charlock’s jewels.  You will ask what became of the jewels.
They were hidden in a place of safety, so that they might be available
when they were wanted."

"That sounds logical," Tanza said.  "Is it part of the problem to find
the jewels, or do you know where they are?"

"I know where they are," was the unexpected reply.  "They are within a
stone’s throw of us."

The little Italian whistled softly.

"Oh," he said, "I shall have to hand my mantle over to you, I see.  But
hadn’t we better secure the plunder while we have the chance?  It would
be folly to miss the opportunity."

"Oh, the gems are safe enough," Grey said, with a grim chuckle.  "You
can almost touch them with your hands.  And yet they are as safe as the
Crown Jewels in the Tower of London.  Indeed, they are safer, seeing
that an attempt on the National Regalia would only end in imprisonment,
while a determined attack upon Mrs. Charlock’s gems would end in sudden
death.  I won’t gratify your curiosity yet.  I have told you enough for
the present, and the truth, too.  The first hand that rests upon that
jewel case will be the hand of a corpse in the twinkling of an eye.  In
a day or two, perhaps, it may be safe to rifle the hiding-place. But not
yet, not yet."

Grey spoke with a thrill in his voice that had something of horror in
it.  Tanza had seen too many mysteries in his time to express anything
in the way of incredulity.  On the contrary, he nodded his head
solemnly.

"Does anybody else know?" he asked.

"Anybody besides Arnold Rent, you mean?" Grey replied.  "Well, yes, one
other person knows, and that is Ephraim Bark.  His information came to
him from his sister, who wrote and told him all about the affair when
she discovered that she had been made a tool of by Rent and that he did
not care two straws for her.  We shall know presently how Rent managed
to silence that jealous woman’s tongue and leave the field clear for
himself."

"You mean to say," Tanza began, "that Arnold Rent——"

"My dear fellow, I mean to say nothing.  I shall have a repulsive enough
task later when I am compelled to speak plainly.  Meanwhile, I have told
you pretty well all there is to know.  We had better go up and see what
Arnold Rent is doing.  You will not be surprised to hear that he is in
Hortense’s bedroom, probably looking for papers.  Oh, by the way, there
is one thing I forgot to mention. It is a photograph I found in the
French maid’s room.  It gave the clue to the greater part of my
discovery.  Perhaps I had better show it you."

"I should like to see it very much," Tanza murmured.

Grey produced the torn photograph from his pocket and, with the aid of a
match, exhibited it to his companion.  He would have liked to know who
was the other figure in the photograph.  But that did not much matter,
and it was a point which was not likely to be elucidated.  Then the two
friends crept quietly into the house.  It was not easy to grope their
way upstairs in the dark, but they managed it without noise, and
presently stood outside the room, watching Rent at work.  He seemed to
be wrapped up in his task to the exclusion of everything else.  He was
pacing round and round the room, tapping on the panels and measuring
distances with an iron lever in his hand.  He was muttering to himself,
too, but it was by no means easy to catch what he said.  A quarter of an
hour passed in the seemingly futile task, and then the searcher appeared
to come to some definite conclusion.  With a muttered exclamation he
drove the point of his lever into one of the panels, and with a
crackling, splintering sound the timber gave way.  So far as the
watchers could see, there was a space behind the panel more or less
filled with letters.  These Rent stowed away in his pockets. Beyond
question, the object of his search was satisfied, for the expression of
his face changed and a gleam of gratification sparkled in his eyes.  He
turned to the door so abruptly that Tanza and his companion had barely
time to fall back into the doorway of an empty room before Rent began to
descend the stairs.  They watched him carrying the candle till he
reached the basement of the house.

"What are you going to do now?" Tanza asked.

"Follow him," Grey said curtly.  "In point of fact, I promised to take
him home.  Practically, though behaving like a sane man, the cloud is
over his brain still, and I doubt very much if he knows what he is
doing.  Of course, there is a good deal of method in his madness.
Still, we have to deal with a man who is not altogether accountable for
his actions."

"And where do I come in?" Tanza asked.

"Oh, you’ll go back to the yacht and wait further developments.  It
won’t be very long before I am there again.  And when I do come I may
bring one if not two visitors with me.  It might be necessary to do a
little amateur kidnapping, but I am not sure about that yet.  And now
you had better leave me."

"All right," Tanza said cheerfully.  "I am content to leave matters to
you.  Good luck to you!"

Grey walked after the other figure.  He laid his hand upon Rent’s arm
and accosted him.




                            *CHAPTER XXXIX*

                              *IN THE BAR*


Morning was beginning to struggle with night when Grey turned his
footsteps from Mrs. Rent’s lodgings towards the quay.  He was more than
satisfied with his work, despite the fact that the most unpleasant and
most repulsive part of it was yet to come.  He was tired and weary by
this time, but there was something to be accomplished before he returned
to the yacht.  One or two facts had to be verified.  He turned aside for
a bit and walked along the foreshore to Rent’s workshop. But it was in
absolute darkness, and no doubt Swift had gone to his lodgings.  It was
Swift whom Grey wanted to see, and, rather than go to the yacht before
his task was altogether finished, Grey loitered about the streets till
daybreak.  He took a short cut through a series of dingy streets and
past the fish-market, where one or two public-houses flaunted their
garish lights across the pavement. Grey wondered at this infringing of
the licensing act, until it dawned upon him that these were free houses
specially retained for the benefit of the fish-dealers and hawkers and
certain crews of yachts which landed in the early morning.  It was a
survival of old times.  For the most part they seemed to be doing a
certain amount of business.

There was something inviting about the lights and the open doors.  It
suddenly occurred to Grey that it was six or seven hours since he had
partaken of food.  He turned into one of the houses, where he saw piles
of thick but appetising sandwiches laid out in plates upon the long
table.  He called for three or four of these and a small glass of
whisky-and-soda, which he proceeded to dispose of in the snug seclusion
of one of the little oak cabins which still obtain in some old-fashioned
taverns. The cabins were by no means well-lighted, so that one could sit
practically unseen in the darkness and yet see everything that was going
on in the bar. Grey had barely finished his repast and lighted a
cigarette before the swing door was thrown open and Ephraim Bark
swaggered in.  There was nothing surprising in the appearance of the
little man; in fact, this was just the kind of place that such a thirsty
soul would patronise, seeing that it was possible to obtain strong drink
at any time of the day or night.  All the same, it was a coincidence,
and Grey determined to make the best of it.

But Bark had not come solely with the intention of consuming drink.  He
asked a question of the sleepy-looking man behind the bar, then looked
at his watch impatiently.  Grey smiled grimly to see that Bark was in
possession of a watch again. Evidently he was in funds once more.  For
nearly half an hour Bark stood exchanging pungent chaff with the barman,
until the door opened and Swift came in.  No doubt this was the man for
whom Bark was waiting.  Bark scowled at the newcomer and intimated that
a few moments later and he and the public-house bar would have been
complete strangers. Swift did not appear to heed.  He swayed unsteadily
to and fro.  His face was ghastly white and twitching.  There was a
queer, fitful gleam in his eyes.

"Something to drink," he said hoarsely.  "A large glass of brandy with
nothing in it.  I’ll pay the next time I come in, upon my honour I
will."

The barman laughed contemptuously.  Evidently Swift was an old customer
and his promise carried but little weight in the eyes of the management.
Bark looked curiously at the dreadful wreck opposite him with his head
cocked on one side.

"Shall I risk it or not?" he asked.  "You are on the verge of a bad
breakdown, if ever man was, and it is a toss-up what the stuff will do
for you. It will pull your wits together and make a man of you; on the
other hand, it may send you climbing up the gaspipes under the
impression that you are a monkey.  I know all about it.  I have been
there myself."

This coarse badinage passed over Swift’s head. He pressed his hand to
his burning throat and once more asked piteously for drink.  Bark
relented.

"All right," he said.  "Let him have it.  We have all got to take risks
sometimes.  There, do you feel better now?"

Like a man dying of thirst in a desert, Swift reached out an eager,
trembling hand for the potent yellow fluid and poured it down his throat
at one fell swoop.  Then gradually but surely a little colour crept back
into his cheeks.  His hands ceased to twitch and the horrible spasmodic
jerkings of his lips left his mouth firm and straight.

"Ah, that’s better," he said, with the air of a man escaping from
physical pain.  "Now I am ready to talk.  What is it you want?  Haven’t
you done mischief enough already?  You have managed to knock Arnold Rent
out of time, and that ought to be sufficient.  What can I do for you?"

Grey started as these words fell upon his ears. He knew now how the
latter’s state of mind had been brought about.  He saw Bark and his
companion cross the bar and take their places in one of the cabins
higher up the room.  Bark called for more refreshment, but he was
careful to specify the exact quantity which Swift was to consume, with
the promise of more when their business was concluded.  There was a
certain amount of risk attached to it, but Grey felt he must establish
himself in the next cabin so that he might hear what was going on.
While the barman’s back was turned, Grey crept noiselessly across the
floor and disappeared in the cabin next to that occupied by Bark and his
companion.  The little man apparently was bent on business only, for the
first words he uttered took him straight to the point.

"Oh, you know what I want," he said.  "I want you to tell me how that
affair was managed.  It doesn’t matter so long as I can get about
without any danger.  Now, you needn’t look at me like that, pretending
to be innocent, because you know where the jewels are hidden."

"What jewels?" Swift asked.  "What do you mean?"

"Mean!" Bark echoed.  "Why, what I say."

"There seems to be some misunderstanding," Swift murmured.  "I give you
my word, I don’t know anything about any jewels.  This is the first time
that I have heard them mentioned.  Oh, I am all right now.  My head is
as clear as yours. But, so far as any gems are concerned, you are
talking clean over my head."

Bark hesitated for a moment, then laughed with the air of a man who is
rather pleased with himself.

"So much the better," he said.  "Sometimes a little knowledge is a
dangerous thing.  I believe what you say, and, seeing that you don’t
know, I am not going to enlighten you.  And now we come to another
matter.  You are a scientist and so is Arnold Rent.  It wouldn’t be any
exaggeration to say that you are two of the cleverest of the new school
of investigators in England.  If you kept off the drink and Arnold Rent
had not been an extravagant fool you might have startled Europe before
now.  You could have made Edison look like an ignorant schoolboy.  But I
didn’t bring you here for the purposes of flattery.  I mean to ask you
questions and see that you answer them. Question number one—did you ever
hear of intermittent electricity, and what does it mean?"

A sharp exclamation broke from Swift.

"You don’t know what you are talking about," he cried.

"Ah, well, that’s just why I am asking questions, my friend," Bark
sneered.  "But, as it happens, I have dabbled in science and am not
quite such a fool as I look.  I know you can send messages by wireless
telegraphy, and before very long wireless telephones will be a back
number.  This being so, why shouldn’t we have wireless electricity?
Suppose you put a battery of five hundred volts over yonder where the
barman is——  Oh, by the way, would five hundred volts cause a fatal
shock to anybody who came in contact with the current?"

A choking sort of sound proceeded from Swift. Evidently he had some
difficulty in getting out his words.  Grey, listening behind the
partition, understood him to say that the shock of five hundred volts
would be fatal in certain conditions.

"Well, I know that," Bark said impatiently. "What conditions would the
force be fatal under?"

"Some people might suffer with impunity," Swift said hoarsely.  "On the
other hand, it would simply shrivel up others, and, in any case, no one
could withstand it if they stood——"

Swift paused.  It seemed almost impossible for him to speak further.
Bark laughed in a sneering manner.

"Well, go on," he said encouragingly.  "Don’t be afraid.  I suppose what
you mean to infer is that the dose would be absolutely fatal if any one
was wet or stood on wet ground?"

"That’s it," Swift replied.  "Quite correct."

"Very good," Bark replied.  "We are getting on.  Now listen to me and
answer me carefully. On your oath, have you discovered the secret of
wireless electricity or not?"




                              *CHAPTER XL*

                         *"INFIRM OF PURPOSE"*


The affair was getting interesting.  The conversation was proceeding,
too, on lines more or less as Grey had expected.  He had thought the
whole matter out, weighing up the pros and cons of the situation, but
the more he debated the thing in his mind the more sure was he that he
was on the right track.  But for a miscalculation on the part of certain
people the mystery of the sundial might have sunk into eternal oblivion.
By the irony of fate the very man who could piece together the tangled
sections of the puzzle was at hand to do so.  For the most part, people
regarded the tragedy which had involved the lives of mistress and maid
as little more than coincidence.  But there were others who, from the
first, had insisted that there was mystery calling for solution.  Grey
was now in possession of information calculated to startle the public,
and plenty of newspapers would have been only too pleased to pay a fancy
price for what he had to sell.  There was one flaw, and only one, in his
line of argument, but that for the present was absolutely fatal—he was
still in the dark as to how the thing had been brought about.

As to the main issue, he was clear enough in his mind.  He knew that to
all intents and purposes his information was not of the kind which would
have been likely to satisfy a judge and jury.  But it seemed that he was
about to pick up the missing link, and he listened all the more eagerly
to what was going on in the next compartment.  Bark put his strange
question again.  He still appeared to be anxious to know if there was
such a thing as intermittent electricity.  And still Swift preserved the
same strange silence.  But Bark was not to be put off by the sullen
reticence of his companion.

"Take your time, my buck," he said.  "Don’t hurry.  Don’t commit
yourself to anything likely to be used in evidence against you
afterwards."

"Why do you want to know?" Swift demanded fiercely.

Bark laughed in a wholly good-natured manner. He appeared to be
exceedingly sure of his ground.

"Well, let us say that I am a humble seeker after knowledge," he said.
"Because I am a wanderer on the face of the earth it doesn’t follow that
I lack scientific yearnings.  If I had been caught young enough I should
have been an eminent scientist myself before now.  I have worked out
many clever little things which would astonish you if you knew.  But
ever since Marconi invented wireless telegraphy and the other man hit
upon telephones without lines I have been dreaming of wireless
electricity.  Mind you, it is bound to come sooner or later, and it is
all the more likely to arrive because it is so impossible."

"Then why worry about it?" Swift murmured.

"My dear fellow, you have answered your own question.  Because the thing
is impossible, it is so easy.  I don’t mind admitting that I have tried
a few experiments myself, but hitherto without success.  Still, it won’t
be so very long before the whole world is lighted with a fluid which
will supply burners without wires.  Sounds fascinating, doesn’t it?  At
any rate, it fascinated me to the exclusion of everything else.  I tried
to puzzle it out in the same way that Marconi puzzled out his invention.
In my mind’s eye, I could see a big fire station, say where my glass is,
and a big factory where yours stands.  By the use of powerful induction
coils it seemed to me that I could force the power into the factory
lamps without the aid of wires.  Isn’t that the way they propose to work
telephones?"

"I don’t know anything about it," Swift said sullenly.

"Oh, yes, you do," Bark said, with sudden impatience.  "You know all
about it.  And, what’s more, a successful attempt has been made within a
mile or so of this very spot.  More than once, when I was trying my
experiments, it occurred to me to come to England to discuss the matter
with Arnold Rent.  I didn’t do so for reasons which I will not go into
now.  But when business compelled me to come to this country and see
Rent, I wasn’t surprised to find that he was working on precisely the
same thing.  But you know that just as well as I do.  What is the good
of pretending you don’t?"

"It pleases you to say so," Swift murmured.

"Yes, and it will please me to prove it before long, if you take that
line.  Mind you, I should not have known it if it hadn’t been for a mere
accident.  Perhaps you will deny that there is any connection between
what we are talking about and the mysterious death of my sister, to say
nothing of Mrs. Charlock?"

A sudden exclamation broke from Swift.  He seemed to be startled and
alarmed.  From his hiding-place Grey could almost imagine the satisfied
grin on Bark’s face.

"Take your time," the latter said playfully.  "I won’t hurry you, for we
sha’n’t part till I get to the bottom of this business.  I asked you a
plain question and I mean to have a plain answer.  Have you or has
Arnold Rent made any startling discovery in the direction of
intermittent electricity? Is the thing within the range of practical
politics?"

It was a long time before Swift replied.  Grey could hear him playing
with his glass.  He could hear the uneasy shuffle of the unfortunate
man’s body.  When the electrician did speak his voice was both timid and
hesitating.

"You have no business to ask me this," he said. "If we have made the
discovery you speak of, it lies entirely between Arnold Rent and myself.
A discovery like that means a huge fortune to the author.  The richest
man in the world would be a pauper alongside the man who could reduce
such a discovery to practical uses."

"What a chap it is to talk!" Bark said impatiently. "Why don’t you come
to the point?  You know perfectly well that you dare not refuse the
information I am after."

"We won’t go into that," said Swift, with some attempt at dignity.  "You
will, perhaps, be disappointed to hear that I know nothing about
intermittent electricity.  If there has been a discovery in that
direction, it is Rent’s and not mine.  He is a far cleverer man than I
am.  I am a child compared with him."

"Not if you kept off the drink," Bark said impatiently.

"Well, I didn’t keep off the drink.  What’s more, I never shall.  And
eventually it will be the death of me," Swift said, with a snarl.  "For
a long time past I have known that my employer was on the verge of a
fresh and startling plunge into the sea of discovery.  To some extent
Rent confided in me, but exactly what he was after he kept to himself.
But by piecing one or two little bits of information together I arrived
at the conclusion that wireless electricity was the goal.  I could tell
that from certain new pieces of machinery which were set up in the
office.  Of course, I said nothing. I knew it was useless to ask
questions.  And, besides, I felt that sooner or later I should be taken
into my employer’s confidence.  I gathered that things were progressing
in a satisfactory manner, when, all at once, the whole scheme of
experiments was abandoned and the machinery was destroyed. And now you
know pretty well as much as I can tell you."

Bark chuckled unpleasantly.

"I don’t think so," he replied.  "Still, I am going to take your word
for it as far as it goes.  I should like to know the exact date that the
machinery was destroyed."

"How could I tell you that?" Swift demanded. "It happened some time
ago."

"I have no doubt," Bark went on, in the same sardonic way.  "That I am
quite prepared to believe.  But let me refresh your memory.  Isn’t it a
fact that the machinery was destroyed and the experiments came to an
abrupt conclusion on the day following my sister’s death?  Didn’t Arnold
Rent come down to the office that same day and break up all his
machinery, with the excuse that he had made a mistake in his
calculations and would have to begin all over again?  I don’t say that
those were the precise words, though I am prepared to swear that that
was the purport of them."

"Rent told you himself, then," Swift exclaimed.

"No, he didn’t," Bark chuckled.  "But you have just done so.  Come,
don’t pretend you are ignorant of what I am driving at.  Tell me all I
want to know, and it will be the best day’s work you ever did in your
life.  If you will make a clean breast of the whole thing I will put a
thousand pounds in your pocket.  A little later I’ll pay you double that
sum.  Think what that will mean to you!  You could set up for yourself.
You could go off to America and make a fortune.  All you have to do is
to keep straight and you’ll be a millionaire in five years.  That is the
prospect, on the one hand.  But there is another point of view which I
want to present to your notice.  Which would you rather have—the career
I have indicated, or find yourself laid by the heels, charged with being
accessory before and after the fact to a deliberate and cold-blooded
murder?  I don’t want to speak more plainly."

A strange, inarticulate cry rose from the compartment; there was a
sudden rush on the part of Swift, and a moment later he blundered
headlong through the door into the darkness.

"That’s all right," Bark said, _sotto voce_.  "I think I’ve touched him
on the raw.  The next time we meet he will tell me everything.  He will
be like wax in my hands in future."




                             *CHAPTER XLI*

                            *DAMNING PROOFS*


Morning had come at length, and, so far as Ethel Hargrave could judge,
Arnold Rent appeared to be none the worse for his adventure.  He had
been brought back the night before by Grey, who did not wait to afford
any information, but merely said that he had found the sick man
wandering at large.  Mrs. Rent was satisfied with this explanation,
being only too glad to have her son back again.  It would be a lesson to
Ethel in future.  As to the rest, the unfortunate lady decided that she
would look after her son, at any rate, between the hour of his return
and daybreak.  All through the night Arnold Rent slept with the fatigue
of a man who is physically exhausted.  When he awoke he did not appear
to have the smallest idea of the commotion he had caused on the previous
evening.  Ethel crept into the room, anxious to see what she could do to
wipe out her failure of the night before.  Mrs. Rent smiled at her
indulgently.

"I think I can leave him to you," she whispered. "I don’t suppose you’ll
be so careless again."

"Indeed I won’t," Ethel said earnestly.  "You can trust me, I am sure.
Go downstairs and get some breakfast and then lie down.  Does he seem to
be any better?"

Mrs. Rent shook her head sadly.

"Not in the least," she murmured.  "He is in the same sullen mood.  He
seems still anxious over some trouble worrying him.  My dear child, we
made a great mistake in coming here at all.  At any rate, we ought to
have left at once and taken Arnold with us.  He would have been far
better at our quiet house in Devonshire.  All I can hope and pray for
now is that his memory will be quickly restored.  And yet there are
moments when it seems to me that we are better off as we are.  I begin
to dread the future.  I am in hourly fear of some shocking exposure.  I
do not know what it is, but I am sure that we are all going to suffer
before many days pass."

Ethel said nothing.  She was not without the same dread herself.  And,
moreover, she had information of which Mrs. Rent knew nothing.  It was
impossible to hide from herself that the shadow of disgrace hung heavily
over the house of Rent.  With a vivid recollection of last night’s
scenes she could not delude herself with the feeling that all was going
right.  What had Rent been doing in that silent and secretive way under
the roof of the man upon whom he had inflicted such a deadly injury?
Possibly he had not intended to do John Charlock the slightest harm.  He
may have been actuated by the highest and most honourable intentions.
But the facts pointed in another direction.  Moreover, why had he gone
off in his madness to the house of the man who should be his worst
enemy?  It might be argued that the whole thing had happened in a moment
of frenzy, but there was no getting away from the fact that there was a
good deal of method behind it.  And it was impossible, also, to pretend
that Arnold Rent’s present mode and manner did not lack a shadow of
guilt or a suggestion of fear.  The man was palpably frightened about
something.  He acted very like a criminal who expects at any moment to
feel the grip of the law upon his shoulder.  Ethel tried to put these
gloomy thoughts out of her mind.  She spoke cheerfully to her patient,
who was already dressed and seated in an armchair, looking into the
fire.

"Do you feel better this morning?"

"There is nothing whatever the matter with me," Rent said moodily.  "I
feel as well and fit for work as you do.  Since I have been up I have
thought out a whole train of new experiments.  I remember all that
happened to a certain point, and then for a few days everything is
blank.  There is something I ought to do, something that I have left
undone which I dare not neglect any longer. If I could only think of it!
Oh, if I could only think of it, what a relief it would be!"

The words came from Rent in a tone of positive anguish.  He paced up and
down the room with his hands locked behind his back.  Ethel could see
how drawn and contracted his brows were.  Beads of perspiration stood on
his forehead, his lips quivered, his whole body shook.

"You must try to put it out of your mind," the girl said.  "You cannot
hope to get better as long as you distress yourself in this fashion.
And, besides, I don’t suppose it is of any importance.  If it is
business, somebody is bound to remind you sooner or later."

Rent laughed in a hollow fashion.

"Oh, it isn’t business," he explained.  "It is worse than that.  It is
something that I am desperately afraid of, though I can’t tell why.  Do
you know what I feel like?"

The speaker paused abruptly in his walk and came to a standstill in
front of Ethel.  He grasped her hands in his and pressed them with a
certain passion which filled her with pain.

"I feel like a man who has committed murder," he said.  "I am like one
who has made away with a fellow-creature and hidden the body hurriedly
till I could find time to dispose of it.  It is like some hideous
nightmare, some chapter from a weird novel.  Imagine a man who has
killed a fellow-creature.  Imagine that nobody knows who this
fellow-creature is.  Try to think of a person who, once got rid of, no
one would be any the wiser for the loss.  You may say the woman came to
my house late at night, if you like, after everybody had gone to bed....
And then she dies and is laid in a quiet spot, which is not so quiet but
that people go there sometimes.  The murderer dare not proceed further
at present, but in the morning he promises himself that he will sink the
body in a deep pool and then he will have no more anxiety on the matter.
And when he wakes up on the morrow he has forgotten what he has done
with the body.  Don’t laugh at me."

"I am not," Ethel said, trembling from head to foot with a fear she
could not repress.  "I swear I am not laughing at you.  But why let your
mind dwell upon such morbid subjects?  You are the last man in the world
who is likely to be mixed up in a terrible thing like that.  Try to
compose yourself."

But Rent was not to be turned so lightly aside.

"I don’t know," he said.  "There are thousands of cases on record of
sudden lapses of memory. Haven’t you read of people whose minds suddenly
become blank as they are walking along the street? Why, I am a case in
point.  What is the meaning of this extraordinary lapse?  And why do I
feel this hideous impulse to go out and hide something? Why am I haunted
by the terror that I have brought myself within reach of the law?  Oh,
the whole thing is ghastly, almost unbearable."

Rent broke off suddenly and flung himself headlong into his chair.
There was a change to sullenness in his manner.  He waved Ethel aside
with the curt intimation that he wanted to be alone. Involuntarily he
had placed his hand in the breast-pocket of his coat and drawn thence
what appeared to be a packet of letters tied up with string.  The packet
seemed to start some train of thought, for a bright light shone in his
eyes now, and he seemed on the point of grasping something which had
eluded him.

"Can I do anything for you?" Ethel asked.

"Leave me alone," Rent said hoarsely.  "Where did I get these things?
How did they come into my possession?  I thought they had been destroyed
long ago.  Now, why don’t you do as I tell you? Why are you standing
there gaping?  I beg your pardon if I seem to be rude.  But I am hardly
accountable for what I am saying.  Now please go."

There was nothing for it but to obey, and Ethel went off to her own
room, the door of which she left open.  Nothing unusual could happen so
long as she kept watch and ward and listened to what was taking place in
the opposite room.  She had plenty to occupy her thoughts.  She felt
incapable of sitting down to read or write.  She could not forget what
Rent had been saying.  She could not dismiss his burning words.  She
began to wonder if he were mad, after all, or if, perhaps, there was
some dreadful chapter in his life which was still left unfinished and
which might sooner or later bring him into some serious trouble. And he
had not spoken like a madman, either, but rather like one who was
consumed with remorse, terror and anxiety.  For the moment it seemed as
if he had torn aside the veil and allowed Ethel a glimpse into the past.
For a long time the girl sat deep in her own troubled thoughts and
anxious speculations.

An hour or two passed, then she felt the need of society, the necessity
for human companionship. Probably Mrs. Rent was down by this time.  She
looked into Arnold’s room as she passed.  She saw that he was lying back
in his chair, fast asleep.  He had untied the bundle of letters, which
seemed to have slipped off his knee and had fallen in a heap on the
floor.  Mechanically, Ethel stooped to pick them up, her action dictated
simply by love of tidiness.  Then a word or two caught her eye, and
before she knew what she was doing she was reading the letters....  When
she crept down the stairs, presently, her face was pale, her eyes were
dazed as if the light were too strong for them. She did not go into Mrs.
Rent’s sitting-room.  On the contrary, she put on her hat and jacket
mechanically and turned out of the house towards John Charlock’s
residence.




                             *CHAPTER XLII*

                               *THE FIRE*


Late as it was, Malcolm Grey found Tanza still awake when he reached the
yacht.  The little doctor was seated in his cabin smoking a strong cigar
and reading a scientific treatise, which he put aside directly Grey came
in.  There was a gleam of pleased expectation in the Italian’s eyes as
if he were looking forward to something in the way of information.

"Well," he said, "you are very late.  It is daylight, and yet all this
time I have been sitting up for you.  Something told me that it would be
worth the trouble, so I refrained from going to bed.  Now, tell me what
you have been doing and what adventures have you had."

"Oh, they were exciting enough," Grey laughed. "And now that I have
taken you into my confidence I might as well finish my confession.  I
have been passing an hour or so in the company of that engaging rascal
Bark and the unfortunate Swift."

"The three of you together?" Tanza asked.

"Not exactly together.  I have been playing the part of eavesdropper.
It isn’t a pleasant recreation, but ’needs must when the devil drives.’
Nor was my occupation without meet reward, because the discourse was a
most interesting one.  Try to guess what they were talking about!"

The Italian’s eyes twinkled brightly.

"You must give me a lead or two first," he said. "You must tell me
whether I am hot or cold, as the children used to do in the game we
played when I was a boy.  In the first place, did they meet by
appointment, and did the meeting take place in a public-house?  On
consideration, I am sure it took place in a public-house."

"Right," Grey smiled.  "An old-fashioned public-house, with the bar
divided into compartments, where one can listen comfortably.  Bark was
waiting for his victim, who came more or less unwillingly; in fact, I
don’t think he would have come at all, except that he was desperately
hard up and in urgent need of liquid refreshment.  He appeared to be on
the verge of an attack of _delirium tremens_, but was in possession of
his faculties.  And now I think I have told you enough.  You may be able
to guess what they were talking about."

Once more Tanza’s eyes twinkled brilliantly.

"Well, perhaps they were discussing Arnold Rent," he ventured.  "I don’t
suppose his name was mentioned, but no doubt he was the chief topic of
conversation."

"You are getting warm," Grey laughed.  "Go on."

"You encourage me to proceed," the Italian said.  "Of course, Bark
wanted information.  Like the child in the story, he wanted to see the
works of the watch.  He was very desirous to know exactly how certain
things were brought about.  I suppose he wanted the very latest
information on the subject of electricity."

"Wonderful man!" Grey murmured.  "You have hit it exactly.  That is
precisely what he did want.  Not that he got much information out of
Swift.  On the whole, I should say that Bark found him very
disappointing.  It appears that some time ago Arnold Rent began a series
of experiments in electricity——"

"Intermittent electricity," Tanza interrupted.

"Once more, wonderful man!" Grey laughed. "That is what Bark was driving
at.  He wants to know all about those experiments, and no doubt it was
exceedingly exasperating to discover that Rent had abandoned his
researches and broken up his machinery.  By a singular coincidence—at
least, you and I will call it a singular coincidence—that machinery was
broken up on the very day that the French maid’s body was found in the
fountain by the sundial.  Let me tell you that it was Bark who elicited
this information; in fact, he fished for it.  From our point of view,
this is a most important discovery, as you know.  Still, it is
practically the only real point that Bark made, and it turned his head
to such an extent that he made the mistake of frightening his man.  A
moment or two later Swift bolted like a hare, and Bark remarked, _sotto
voce_, that next time they met his man would be as wax in his hands.
But if we play our cards correctly, the next time Swift has an interview
with anybody it will be with us two and not with Bark.  I know that
Swift always works from eight till ten o’clock at night, and it struck
me that the best thing we could do would be to call to-morrow night and
have it out with him."

"A good idea," Tanza said.  "But suppose the same idea occurs to Bark.
He knows as well as we do what Swift’s habits are, and there is nothing
to prevent him from turning up at the interview. Wouldn’t that be rather
awkward?"

"Oh, it might," Grey admitted.  "But I have a plan for dealing with Mr.
Bark.  Leave him to me.  We can afford to take it easy to-morrow, and
after dinner we will go as far as Rent’s offices and get to the bottom
of this business.  We can see Rent’s place from our anchorage as soon as
the office is lighted up.  We can go then and interview him.  If you
don’t mind, I should like to turn in between the sheets for an hour or
two, for I am dead-tired."

The two friends dined comfortably, then lingered for half an hour over a
cigar, until the twilight began to fall and the houses and shops along
the sea-front were picked out picturesquely with tiny points of flame.
It was possible to discern the outline of Rent’s workshop from the deck
of the yacht, and presently Grey’s quick eyes made out the square of
flame which burnt so brilliantly in the office window.  Swift was at
work, and there was no occasion to waste further time.  Tanza rose to
his feet and tossed the end of his cigar into the water.  He seemed
alert and vigorous.

"Now I am ready if you are," he said.  "I suppose there are no
preparations to make.  Shall we order the men to wait for us, or shall
we leave it and take a shore boat back?"

"I think the men had better wait for us," Grey said.  "And, if you don’t
mind, we’ll pull round the bay and land opposite the workshop.  Your
boatmen may have a burden to bring back with them, so I shall be glad if
you will choose two who are devoted to your interests and are not too
fond of asking superfluous questions.  I don’t think there will be any
risk in the matter, but I will take a small bottle of chloroform."

Tanza asked no questions.  He gave Grey credit for knowing what he was
talking about.  He picked out two of the most discreet of his crew, who,
he declared, were ready to commit every crime in the Decalogue, and ask
no questions, if only he ordered them to do so.  The boat set off
presently, and was moored at length on a spit of sand opposite the low
block of buildings which formed Rent’s workshop.  The two friends stole
over the sands and made their way into the buildings.  It seemed to them
that there was more than one person inside, for they could hear the
sound of voices, which, however, presently resolved themselves into the
voice of Swift, who was singing wild snatches of incoherent verse.  Grey
looked at his companion significantly.  Then Tanza suddenly paused and
complained of the closeness of the atmosphere.  A moment later a puff of
acrid smoke filled the corridor, and there came the snapping sound which
speaks unmistakably of fire.

"The madman!" Grey explained.  "He has set the place ablaze.  Come,
there is no time to lose."

They burst into the main workshop, which was now full of smoke and
flame.  There was a heap of highly inflammable materials on the floor,
round which Swift was dancing wildly, singing jubilantly as he leapt.
The light of insanity blazed in his eyes.  Evidently he was no longer
responsible for his actions.  Seizing a heavy ruler, Tanza proceeded to
beat down the flames, which Grey finally extinguished with a bucket of
water which he discovered under a tap in a corner of the room.  Then the
windows were flung open, and it was possible to breathe freely again.
Swift glanced vacantly at the intruders.  He did not seem to have the
least idea whom he was addressing.  He continued to journey round the
smouldering ashes, singing and shouting in the same meaningless way.

"Burn the whole place down," he screamed. "Destroy it and wipe it out
altogether, then you will be safe.  But not till then, not till then.
Burn it down, I say!"

"What is to be done with him?" Grey whispered.

"Bromide and strychnine," Tanza said curtly. "Get him on board the
yacht, and I’ll guarantee to put him right in twenty-four hours.  But if
I were you——"

Tanza paused and the door opened, and Bark came staggering in.  He
appeared disconcerted at the sight of strangers.  He would have turned
and vanished again, but Grey was on him like a flash. There was a slight
struggle between the two men, and then, before Bark could realise what
had happened, a saturated handkerchief was pressed to his nostrils and
he sank placidly to the floor in a state of blissful unconsciousness.
As if nothing had happened, Swift still revolved round the charred
ashes, singing his weird, incoherent song.  Tanza glanced at his
companion.

"It is all right," Grey said.  "Help me to carry Bark to the boat and
we’ll send him on board. Then they can come back for this poor fellow.
When you bring him to his senses I shall be able to tell you how we can
put our hands upon Mrs. Charlock’s jewels.  That will be something
gained."




                            *CHAPTER XLIII*

                         *A ONE-SIDED CONTEST*


Tanza’s eyes gleamed.  The little man was enjoying himself immensely.
He was beginning to grasp the situation.  Already he knew more of what
had transpired than Grey gave him credit for.  Nevertheless, there was
warm admiration in his glance as he looked towards his younger
companion.

"You appear to be in charge of the expedition," he said.  "I should like
to know what you propose to do next.  Taking one consideration with
another, this is, perhaps, the most interesting case I have ever been
connected with.  I never had a clever set of antagonists.  But isn’t
there something more important than spending half the night in regaining
possession of Mrs. Charlock’s jewels? Surely, that is a minor point in
comparison with bringing the criminals to justice."

"We shall bring the criminals to justice before long," Grey replied.
"One event follows the other.  In all probability, if there had been no
jewels there would have been no crime.  At least, that is my view of
it."

"And what about the French maid?" Tanza asked.

"You really are a wonderful man," Grey exclaimed.  "I believe you know
as much about the thing as I do."

"I have been putting two and two together," Tanza said modestly.
"Besides, you have given me such an excellent clue to work upon.  But it
is a sad business, Grey, and I am almost sorry I ever touched it.  If
those innocent women were not mixed up in the affair I should not mind
so much. Just think what a terrible shock it will be to Mrs. Rent when
she learns the truth.  And either you or I must tell her."

A shadow crossed Grey’s face.

"I have not forgotten it," he said.  "Meanwhile, we are wasting time.
But we must wait till the boat comes and then take the unfortunate Swift
along with us.  He will be safe in your hands.  If there is one man
living who can put him right, you are the man.  You see, it will be
necessary to confront Swift and Bark before we get to the root of
things.  I shouldn’t wonder if Bark showed fight."

"Action for damages and that kind of thing, I suppose," Tanza chuckled.
"Forcible abduction of an honest British citizen.  Heavy damages,
presumably.  Oh, I have no doubt we shall have trouble of that kind, but
if you leave Bark to me I think I can find a way to reduce him to
reason. Give me a few hints when we get back, for when I talk to Bark I
wish to let him know that I am well posted in what has taken place.
Practically, I could write a history of the whole transaction, though I
am in the dark as to the way in which this business has been
engineered."

"Electrically engineered, I suppose?" Grey asked.

"That’s it," Tanza said eagerly.  "That is the point on which I am
somewhat dubious.  If you enlighten me I can tackle Bark efficiently.
It had best come through me."

"It shall," Grey said curtly.  "Here is the boat and we have Swift to
deal with."

In the inner office Swift was still walking round the charred remains of
the fire, muttering to himself and quite oblivious that he was no longer
alone. He stared vacantly at his companions.  It seemed impossible to
beat anything like sense into his head. He was palpably on the verge of
a breakdown. What he needed was a powerful drug and sleep, which,
evidently, he had been without for some time.  Tanza shook his head
gravely as he watched the unhappy man.

"A bad case," he muttered.  "Look at the pupils of his eyes.  If that
man doesn’t sleep before long he will be a raving maniac.  But it is not
too late to save him if he is properly looked after.  I don’t envy his
feelings when he comes to himself.  What a pity it was you didn’t warn
me about this, so that I could have brought my drugs with me."

"I am sorry," Grey murmured.  "But what are we going to do?  There is
little to be gained by hanging about like this."

There was nothing for it but strong measures. And, despite his struggles
and protestations, Swift was carried to the boat, shouting and singing
as he went.  Fortunately, it was a quiet spot, and there was not much
chance of attracting the attention of the passers-by.  But Grey drew a
deep breath of relief when the boat touched the yacht side and Swift was
hauled unceremoniously aboard.  A few minutes later Tanza got to work
with his drugs and hypodermic syringe, and gradually Swift’s cries and
protestations died away.  The dilation of his pupils narrowed and
lessened.  The wild look on his face gave place to a more placid
expression, then by degrees his breathing grew more regular, his head
fell forward on his breast, and he slept.  Tanza watched him with
satisfaction.

"That’s all right," he said.  "Now let us get the poor fellow to bed.
He is not likely to wake for eight or ten hours, and when he does so I
don’t envy his feelings.  I daresay I can keep him in hand with a
judicious application of drugs.  But the pity of it, my dear fellow, the
pity of it! Fancy talent like that being frittered away in this foolish
fashion.  Upon my word, I had a great mind to devote the best part of
six months to Swift’s mental regeneration.  I think it would be worth
the trouble, and he could repay me by initiating me into those
scientific mysteries so essential to the pursuit of my hobby."

"I wish you would," Grey murmured.  "I am sure that Swift would do you
credit.  It isn’t as if the poor chap had a natural weakness for drink;
but he has no friends and he has drifted into this terrible habit.  It
is a good thing you have a crew you can rely upon.  Otherwise we should
have been hard put to it to carry this daring scheme into execution.
Now let us get this fellow to bed and send for Bark."

Swift was put to bed at once and Bark fetched. A grinning sailor came up
in response to Tanza’s summons with the information that Bark was in a
state of furious indignation and demanded to be released without delay.

"He seems to be annoyed, then?" Tanza asked pleasantly.

"Carrying on something awful, sir," the grinning sailor responded.
"But, seeing as the orders were yours, we just let him talk and took no
notice. Do you want him here, sir?  Certainly, sir."

The sailor vanished, and a moment later a pair of unseen hands pushed
Bark violently into the cabin.  He came in staggering and rolling,
making, however, some attempt at dignity, which was lost upon his
captors.  Tanza closed the door and turned the key in the lock.  Then he
wheeled round and faced the infuriated Bark, who stammered and stuttered
with rage.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Why this outrage?  Why
couldn’t you have sent for me as a gentleman would have done?  Am I a
free British subject, or am I not?"

Tanza smiled.

"I will answer your questions one at a time," he said coolly.  "You ask
me why this outrage.  Now, I put it to you as a far-seeing man with more
than the ordinary share of brains—would you have preferred us to bring
you on board the yacht, or would you rather have had the thing done
through the medium of a policeman?"

"You are talking rubbish," Bark blustered.

"My good Bark, I am not in the habit of talking rubbish, as you very
well know.  It suits Mr. Grey and myself to work this matter out in our
own way, without fuss or bother.  Besides, we wanted to remove you
beyond reach of temptation. So long as you were free to go your own way
there was always the danger of Mrs. Charlock’s jewels falling into your
hands.  And we objected to that. You will stay here just as long as we
like, and, if I am anything of a prophet, you will be thanking us before
long for the interest we have taken in your welfare."

"I am a free British subject," Bark cried.

"No, I beg your pardon, you are nothing of the sort.  You are a prisoner
on board this yacht, and here you are likely to remain for the present.
Besides, how long would you be free if you once got ashore?  I have only
to mention one or two matters which we know of to the police and your
boasted freedom would come to a speedy end.  You may as well take it
quietly.  You will gain nothing by bluster, and you can’t frighten my
crew.  If I were to put you in irons and take you a voyage round the
world, not one of my men would interfere.  But you need not be alarmed.
I have not the least desire for your company on a voyage of
circumnavigation, and that, singularly enough, is why you are here
to-night.  I know the remark sounds illogical, but you will see how
sensible it is before long."

"Go on," Bark said theatrically.  "Keep it up. I see that you are
enjoying yourself."

"I am," Tanza said crisply.  "Nothing gives me such pleasure as the
elucidation of a crime.  It is a positive joy to me to bring a scoundrel
to book. And yet I am really the best friend you have, because I am
saving you later from being charged with the murder of Mrs. John
Charlock!"




                             *CHAPTER XLIV*

                           *BROUGHT TO BOOK*


Bark quailed visibly before the eyes of his companion.  He ceased to
stand upright.  His back was bowed and bent, his head was buried in his
shoulders.  His jaunty air vanished.  The cynical smile faded from his
lips.  The pallor of his face and a shadow of fear in his eyes told
their story.

"I swear I don’t know what you mean," he said hoarsely.  "For God’s
sake, don’t talk like that, doctor.  Oh, I am a bad lot, and I own it.
Call me a scamp if you like, and I’ll not deny it.  You know all about
me, doctor.  But I am not as bad as all that.  It had never occurred to
me—no, not for all the money in the world—to do violence to a
fellow-creature.  I am innocent of bloodshed, if this is the last word
that I am ever allowed to speak."

"Ah, now you are coming to your senses," Tanza said.  "It is one thing
to feel sure of a man’s innocence, but it is another thing to prove it.
Now, let us regard this matter from the point of view of the Crown
Prosecutor who is opening the case against you.  You have a sister who
was Mrs. John Charlock’s maid.  This sister was carrying on an intrigue
with a celebrated chemist whom we will call—but why make a parable of
it?  Let us call him by his proper name of Arnold Rent.  This Rent was
simply making a tool of your sister, because he wished to get her
mistress’s jewels.  He is a far-seeing young man and, to use a common
expression, has a pretty good notion of his own interest.  Like many a
clever young man before him, he has gone a bit too far.  He is up to his
eyes in debt and difficulty and dare not tell his mother, who is a bit
of a fanatic in her way and quite capable of leaving her money elsewhere
if she thinks her son is likely to make a bad use of it. Therefore he
conceives the idea of getting hold of Mrs. Charlock’s jewels.  We won’t
go into the love affair, because that does not concern either of us,
though it has a bearing on the story.  Your sister Hortense acts as this
man’s tool and robs her mistress of her diamonds.  For the present the
stones are hidden in a secure place, which is known only to the thief
and to Arnold Rent.  It is just at this time that the thief discovers
that she is merely a pawn in the game; it is her mistress who is the
object of Rent’s affections.  The girl is beside herself with jealousy,
though Rent manages to soothe her to a certain extent.  For her own
protection, however, she writes a letter to her brother, telling him how
he can find the jewels in case anything happens to her.  She is not too
explicit as to the hiding-place, and this brother has to exercise his
ingenuity as to the way in which the stones may be brought to light.  At
this point a tragedy occurs, and the girl is found dead in the fountain
by the sundial in her employer’s garden.  Appearances point to suicide
or accident.  Nobody guesses that the poor woman is the victim of foul
play, and I don’t suppose they ever would if, perchance, I had not come
here in my yacht for a little change and the thing happened to come to
my ears.  Rightly or wrongly, I concluded there was something wrong and
sent for my friend Mr. Grey.  To make a long story short, we discovered
that I was absolutely right, and in a few hours we shall be able to
prove that your sister was deliberately murdered. Whether Mrs. Charlock
met with the same fate or not, we are not able at present to say.  And
now, Bark, are you going to deny your conviction, or stick to the fable
that your sister’s death was an accident?  Didn’t you come here with the
intention of seeking out the hiding-place of those jewels? Take time to
reply.  You will gain nothing by lying.  We happen to know where the
jewels are, and we can put our hands upon them at any moment.  We are
not in the least afraid of being anticipated by you, because, even if we
gave you a plan of the hiding-place, you couldn’t touch them. If you
attempted to do so, a third victim would be added to those who have
already lost their lives in connexion with those ill-fated gems.  You
can please yourself whether you speak or not; if you like, I will unlock
the door and send you ashore at once."

But Bark did not appear anxious to accept this offer.  He sat writhing
uneasily in his chair, his face turned eagerly to Tanza, as if waiting
for the latter to continue.  But the Italian said no more. He had given
Bark his lesson and waited patiently for its effect.

"You are too many for me," Bark said presently. "You know too much.  I
might just as well tell the truth.  My sister did write to me and tell
me all about Arnold Rent, and I came here hot-foot to help her in the
matter of those jewels.  It was a shock to me to hear of her death, but
I didn’t suspect anything at the time.  She was always a hot-headed,
impulsive girl, and I naturally thought she had committed suicide.  But
when I came to inquire into the matter I formed another conclusion
altogether.  I asked myself a question or two, but I couldn’t answer
them.  It occurred to me that perhaps Arnold Rent could.  I had known
him for some years.  He is all right as men go, but put him in a tight
place and he would stick at nothing.  I thought the matter out, and at
last I began to see my way.  Hortense had been murdered. There was no
doubt about that.  But how had it been done?  There were no marks of
violence. There was nothing to show that she had met with a violent end,
except that she was lying in the fountain.  I couldn’t get rid of the
notion that Rent was in some way connected with this business, and I was
confirmed in my opinion by his keeping out of my way.  It is a pity he
isn’t able to tell us the truth.  He knows all about it."

"You should have thought about that before you assaulted him," Grey put
in quietly.  "Don’t forget that you are responsible for Rent’s present
mental condition."

A queer sort of laugh broke from Bark’s lips.

"Oh, so you know about that, too?" he exclaimed.  "It does not appear to
be much good trying to keep anything from you gentlemen. Mind you, I
didn’t mean to do him any harm, but he refused to pay me money he owed
me, and I lost my temper.  If I had waited a bit longer I could have
told him a thing or two which would have compelled him to listen to me.
I could have forced him to give me all the money I needed.  But there it
is, and the thing can’t be helped.  And I don’t think I could tell you
any more if you kept me talking till daybreak.  I’ll help you all I can.
I’ll do anything you want me to do.  I think I have sense enough to know
when I am in a tight corner."

Tanza rose and unlocked the door.

"That is all at present.  I should like to see the letter your sister
wrote you—I mean the letter about the hidden jewels, which gave you the
clue to the hiding-place.  We can put you up for the night on the yacht,
if you like; indeed, you will be well advised to stay here.  I don’t
think, after what has happened, you are likely to play us false. You
have had too severe a lesson."

Bark asserted, with many oaths, that he had no intention of doing
anything of the kind.  He evinced a not unnatural anxiety to be alone.
He was thoroughly cowed and as wax in the hands of his captors.  Grey
gave a sigh of relief as Bark vanished from the cabin.

"His room is preferable to his company," he said.  "What a pestiferous
little rascal it is!  I don’t think he is likely to give us any trouble
in the future.  And how well you handled him.  Your cross-examination
was masterly."

Tanza shrugged his shoulders modestly.

"Could I have failed," he asked, "with all the cards in my hand?  Why,
the fellow hadn’t the ghost of a chance.  But he has been useful to us,
and the only thing that remains to be done is to get this matter over as
soon as possible.  I am correct in assuming, I suppose, that Mrs.
Charlock met the same fate as her maid?"

"You mean that she was murdered?" Grey asked.

"Well, I didn’t want to put it so brutally."

"I think you are wrong," Grey went on.  "Mind, I am only theorising.  I
believe that Hortense was murdered in cold blood.  But as regards Mrs.
Charlock, I treat that more or less as an accident. The man who laid the
trap forgot to take the bait out of it, and thus unwittingly brought
about the second catastrophe.  But that we shall be able to clear up
later.  It is a ghastly business altogether, and, for my part, I am
sorry I was ever brought into it.  Not that I have the least sympathy
with the guilty parties.  But I am grieved for the innocent people who
are bound to suffer.  It will be hard upon Mrs. Rent."

Tanza nodded gravely.  He was about to reply, when he was interrupted by
the sound of footsteps on deck overhead and the entrance of a sailor
with the information that Mr. John Charlock had just come on board and
desired to see Mr. Grey on important business.  At the same moment
Charlock thrust a haggard face into the cabin and the seaman vanished.

"What is it?" Tanza demanded.

"A terrible thing has happened," Charlock said hoarsely.  "Arnold Rent
has thrown himself out of his bedroom window.  He is not dead, but I am
told he cannot last many hours.  And, strange to say, he has been asking
for you, Mr. Grey."




                             *CHAPTER XLV*

                           *THE HIDING-PLACE*


"How did you come to know?" Grey demanded.

"Miss Hargrave told me.  I suppose she couldn’t think of anybody else,
and she could not bear to break the news herself to Mrs. Rent.  It was
just before daylight."

"Daylight!" Tanza echoed.  "Daylight, when?"

"Why, this morning," Charlock went on. "Don’t you know that it is
morning?  I suppose you have been sitting here with the blinds drawn
over the portholes, oblivious of the flight of time. At any rate, it is
nearly five o’clock.  But please allow me to go on with my story.  As
far as I could gather from Miss Hargrave, she went into Rent’s room
yesterday afternoon and found him fast asleep.  He had apparently been
reading a bundle of letters, for they had fallen from his knee and lay
in a mass on the carpet.  Quite mechanically the poor girl picked the
letters up, and a word in one of them caught her eye and she began to
read.  She was so shocked and upset by what she saw that she came to me
at once and told me about it.  But you shall read for yourself, for the
letters are in my possession."

"I don’t think you need worry about that," Grey said.  "Unless I am
greatly mistaken, I know pretty well what those letters contain.  They
had been written by Rent to the French maid, Hortense; in fact, they are
the very letters which Rent obtained from your house on the night that
Miss Hargrave came inquiring for Rent.  But, of course, I have forgotten
that you know nothing about that, because you left me to see Miss
Hargrave home. But don’t let me interrupt you.  I only want you to know
that we are not quite so ignorant as you think us.  I suppose I am right
as to the gist of those letters?"

"Absolutely," Charlock went on.  "You can imagine Miss Hargrave’s state
of mind.  I was touched to see how she confided in me and promised to do
all I could to help her.  There were passages in those letters which
throw a lurid light upon many things that have happened lately, and that
was why I implored Miss Hargrave to do nothing rash.  You see, I wanted
to save Mrs. Rent and herself from as much trouble and scandal as
possible.  I implored the girl to go back home and say nothing whatever
about her discovery. She promised that she would do so, and when she had
regained control of herself I allowed her to go.  But I might have known
that one so ingenuous and innocent would find it impossible to carry
about so dreadful a secret.  For some time she managed to master
herself, but an hour or so ago Rent had a lucid interval and guessed
something was wrong. Perhaps his seared conscience pricked him. Perhaps
he surmised that the trouble had something to do with himself, for he
insisted upon the girl telling him everything.  She did so, with the
result that you already know.  So far as I could gather, when Miss
Hargrave came to me just now in a state of mind bordering on
distraction, Rent affected to take the matter quite calmly.  He rose
from his seat and talked on indifferent topics for several minutes.
Then he lighted a cigarette and stood by the open window of his bedroom
admiring the beauty of the morning.  A minute or two later he flung
himself over the balcony on to the stones below, and was picked up by a
labourer in a dying condition.  They carried him into his room and sent
for the doctor.  I am told the poor fellow suffers only occasionally,
but they say that he cannot recover from the shock and that death is not
far off.  He has fits of insensibility, followed by periods of lucidity,
during which time his mind is clear.  Strange to say, the blank in his
memory has been filled up, and, from what he told Miss Hargrave, he
knows everything that has taken place during the past fortnight.  As
yet, his mother has not been told; indeed, she was asleep when I came
from the house."

There was a long pause when Charlock had finished. Tanza and Grey
regarded one another significantly.

"It is a shocking thing," the latter said presently. "But it has all
happened for the best.  Of course, I will see Rent if he wants me.  I
shall be here all day and you have only to send a messenger over."

"That is very good of you," Charlock murmured. "If you don’t mind, I
will go back at once. There are many ways in which I can be useful.
Directly Rent gains consciousness again I will not fail to send."

Charlock went on his way back to the darkened household.  It was not too
late to snatch an hour or two in bed, and, despite the startling events
of the evening before, Grey slept soundly directly he reached his cabin.
When he woke the sun was shining brightly and Tanza was standing by his
side.  Grey sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.

"Anything fresh?" he asked.  "I suppose you have had no messages yet
from Charlock?"

"Not a word," Tanza said.  "I have allowed Bark to go away under a
promise that he will remain at hand and come here whenever he is wanted.
I have not the least fear that he will play us false after what has
happened.  Meanwhile, for the last hour or so I have been bestowing my
attention upon Swift."

"I hope he is better," Grey murmured.

"Well, he is clear and sensible, if that is what you mean.  He is in a
terribly shaken state and hasn’t the smallest idea what took place last
night. I have been reminding him about one or two things and you will
find him ready to answer questions.  I have given him a soothing
draught, and I don’t think he is likely to trouble us for some time, at
any rate.  After breakfast you can interview him."

Grey found Swift a white and pitiable object, propped up by pillows,
doing his best to coax down a little food.  There was a half-pleading,
half-defiant look in his eyes as Grey seated himself on the bed.

"You needn’t be afraid of me," Grey said.  "I only want you to give me a
little information.  My dear fellow, if you only knew it, Tanza and
myself are the best friends you have.  Tanza has announced his intention
of devoting himself to your case, and if you only play the man, he will
set you on your feet again.  I cannot understand how one of your ability
should sink so low.  Surely, if we hold out a helping hand——"

"That is all I want," Swift interposed eagerly. "I am a double-dyed
fool, Grey, and no one knows it better than myself.  When I started to
go down hill my friends began to turn their backs upon me, and I went on
drinking out of sheer bravado.  For the last two years I have been alone
in the world; but, low as I have fallen, I would make a big effort to
pull myself together if I could find a congenial friend.  If Tanza would
take me in his employ it would be a godsend to me.  I could make a
struggle under a man like that.  But, there, you did not come here to
talk about myself.  What have you discovered?  And what can I do for
you?"

"Practically, we have discovered everything," Grey said gravely.  "We
have made certain of what we have hitherto regarded only as suspicion.
You are weak and ill, and I don’t want to bother you unnecessarily.
Tell me in a word, has Arnold Rent discovered intermittent electricity
or not?"

Swift nodded his head vigorously.

"That will do," Grey went on.  "You need not say any more.  There will
be plenty of time to go in for explanations when you are well enough.
All I want to know now is the exact position of the underground dynamo
which was established some time ago within a few hundred yards of Rent’s
offices.  I don’t suppose he told you about it, but I am sure you know
where the thing is to be found."

By way of reply, Swift reached for his coat, which was lying across the
back of his bunk, and took from the breast-pocket a sheet of
tracing-paper, which he handed over to Grey.  The latter glanced at it
and smiled.  When he turned to Swift again the patient was lying with
closed eyes as if on the verge of sleep.  Grey stole from the cabin to
the deck where Tanza was seated.

"Come along," he said.  "I have it at my fingers’ ends.  I’ll just get a
pair of india-rubber gloves and shoes and a mat and we can set out at
once."

They came at length to a spot some little way from the workshop, where
Grey proceeded to make a close examination of the turf.  He lifted a
sheet of sod presently and disclosed a small grating underneath.
Kneeling on the india-rubber mat and carefully shielding his hands with
gloves of the same material, he proceeded to pull out a switch or two
and cut through a cable which led into the tiny manhole.  Then, without
a further word to Tanza, he strode right on until he came to the lawn of
Charlock’s house, pausing at length in front of the fountain which
surrounded the sundial.  With the gloves still upon his hands, and the
long rubber boots upon his feet, he waded through the water until he
stood by the side of the sundial.  He raised the cap and threw it aside.
Then from the cavity below he produced a small box.

"There!" he said, with an air of subdued triumph.  "Will you please
examine the contents? I will forfeit my reputation if Mrs. Charlock’s
jewels are not inside."




                             *CHAPTER XLVI*

                         *THE PRICE OF A CRIME*


Tanza unfastened the box and removed a sheet of cotton wool which lay on
the top.  The sun gleamed on a heap of stones of various sizes, diamonds
for the most part, which streamed and twinkled as if they had been
running water.  Then he laid out the rings and necklaces and the various
odds and ends, which went to make up a collection of stones worth a
considerable amount.  The Italian knew something about jewels, and in
his estimation at least ten thousand pounds’ worth of jewels lay on
their bed of cotton wool.

"Mrs. Charlock appeared to have a pretty taste in this respect," Tanza
remarked.  "These things might have belonged to the wife of a
millionaire. So this is the end of our search.  Well, those stones have
done mischief, goodness knows.  I suppose you can tell me how they
managed to get there?"

"All in good time," Grey replied.  "We had better return to the yacht
and talk the matter over. Besides, Rent may send for me at any moment,
and I should not like to be out of the way when his message comes.  It
has been an exciting venture on the whole, and, to a certain extent, I
have enjoyed it.  But I would give half of what I possess not to have to
face Mrs. Rent, as I shall be compelled to do presently."

Tanza nodded sympathetically.  He understood what Grey was alluding to.
The latter replaced the capstone on the sundial and proceeded to strip
off his rubber boots and gloves.  Tanza touched these articles lightly
with his finger-tips.

"Did you really need these?" he asked.  "Was there actual danger?  I saw
you were taking no risks."

"It was a necessary precaution," Grey explained. "Of course, you know
that in handling high-volted coils and cables there is always danger.
Anything beyond five hundred volts needs great caution.  You are well
aware, also, that a voltage which is almost harmless when one is dry or
standing on dry ground becomes dangerous in the presence of moisture.
The perfect safeguard is in using india-rubber gloves and boots.  With
these one can handle cables carrying practically any power."

Tanza nodded his approval.

"I know all that," he said.  "But what first put the idea of electricity
into your head?  As you know, from the very first I suspected foul play.
I felt certain the Frenchwoman met her death by some new and ingenious
method of manslaughter. In thinking the matter over, electricity
suggested itself to my mind, but I could not for the life of me see how
it was worked.  That is why I called you in.  You seem to have known
from the start what to do and what to look for.  Isn’t that a fact?"

"Well, I had luck on my side," Grey admitted. "You remember bringing me
to have a look round the place and giving me a minute account of the way
in which Hortense met her death.  You will recollect telling me that her
dress was more or less singed, which seemed remarkable, seeing that she
had apparently met her death by water.  There were no marks of violence
on the body, either, which was another thing that aroused one’s
suspicions.  I was still asking myself a few questions in this direction
when I had the good luck to pick up a thumb torn from an india-rubber
glove.  Now, you know india-rubber gloves are worn almost entirely by
electrical engineers; indeed, I know no other use for them.  I am aware
that burglars have adopted the same precaution to prevent any
identification of finger-marks.  But, then, your average burglar does
not give as much as two guineas a pair for india-rubber gloves, which is
somewhere about the price of those from which the thumb was torn. As
soon as that evidence came into my hands I knew that somebody connected
with electricity had been near the sundial.  But the mere presence of a
fountain disposed of the suggestion that anything like the usual
electrical business had been contemplated by the owner of the property.
I dropped a hint to Charlock, and he knew nothing about it. Now, why had
this mysterious individual been here?  And what was he doing in the
neighbourhood of the fountain?  A little farther up the lawn I
discovered a small piece of cable properly insulated, and then I became
more or less certain of my facts.  Somebody had laid a wire from the
sundial to a power station in the neighbourhood. It puzzled me why this
had been done till I began to put things together, and I suddenly
recollected what you told me about Hortense’s clothing being scorched.
It seemed fair to assume that the sundial and the fountain were charged
for some reason with a dangerous load of electricity, and that directly
the woman came into contact with the water she was killed instantly.
Doubtless she fell forward into the fountain, which would account for
the scar upon her forehead.  You see, the current might have been
powerful enough to cause instant death without unduly injuring the body.
Before I left these premises that day I knew beyond the shadow of a
doubt how the French maid had met her death.  You follow me?"

"Absolutely," Tanza said.  "It is quite logical."

"Of course it is," Grey went on.  "There is no other way of accounting
for it.  Then I began to ask myself what the woman was doing near the
fountain.  Until I could get to the bottom of that I was more or less
groping in the dark.  But, then, as you know now, I had an opportunity
of examining Hortense’s bedroom, where, in the fireplace, I found a torn
photograph of two men, one of whom was Rent.  Who the other man is
probably we shall never know, and, in any case, it doesn’t matter.  At
any rate, we have the fact that Hortense was in the possession of Rent’s
photograph, which she had torn across the middle, no doubt in a moment
of petulance and passion.  I may be wrong, but that is the
interpretation I put upon it.  It was more or less natural to conclude
that tender passages had passed between Hortense and himself. I could
not guess why for the moment, but it became clear later.  But this is
not all the evidence I discovered.  In the grate were fragments of a
letter which pointed to the fact that some secret was on foot connected
with the sundial.  It was not till after I heard that Mrs. Charlock had
lost her jewels that I began to wonder if the gems had been hidden in
the sundial.  I had to speculate upon this for a day or two, until I
caught Bark loafing about the lawn, and then I felt sure my supposition
was correct.  When I saw that Bark had severely burnt his fingers in the
waters of the fountain I became certain of my ground.  It was lucky for
him that the night was fine and the grass dry, or he would have shared
the fate of his sister. By this time my suspicions were growing pretty
strong.  I could not come to any other conclusion but that Rent was at
the bottom of the whole business.  Where else could the power station
which supplied the electricity be except in Rent’s own workshop?  And
who besides himself was interested in getting Hortense out of the way?
Beyond a doubt she had found out how she had been fooled and had
threatened revenge.  Therefore he determined to get rid of her by this
diabolically ingenious means, which it would be impossible to trace. He
had only to let the girl know where the jewels were hidden, and she was
certain to try to steal them.  To a man who has discovered the secret of
intermittent electricity the thing was easy.  You know in how small a
compass an electrical plant goes and how easy it is to manipulate.
Suppose a hole is cut in the ground by the fountain and a wire inserted
into the water.  Then, a quarter of a mile away, another apparatus is
hidden underground, the current turned on from the works, and without
intermediate wires a contact is made between one pole and another.  Of
course, I know it sounds very extraordinary, but if you can telegraph
and telephone without wires, why shouldn’t you transmit an ordinary
electrical current?  At any rate, Rent succeeded in doing so, as Swift
more or less intimated to me; in fact, he found out what was going on
and gave me a plan of the direction in which the apparatus ran.  I
shouldn’t be surprised if Swift knows as much as we do, and no doubt his
guilty knowledge has driven him to drink.  I have proved how this thing
was done and how the French girl was sent to her death."

"You think she was murdered?" Tanza asked.

"Most emphatically I do.  Otherwise, why should Rent go to the trouble
of all these elaborate preparations?  He was afraid that Hortense would
betray him to her mistress.  He was so infatuated with Mrs. Charlock
that he was prepared to run any risk to retain her good opinion.  I feel
convinced that Hortense was sent deliberately to her death, and if you
and I had not happened to be in the neighbourhood the thing would have
been forgotten and nobody been any the wiser.  Why, apart from such
proofs as I have given you just now, there are other people who could
support my assertions.  Don’t you suppose that that blackguard Bark
knows all about it?  And he was prepared to keep his mouth shut and
leave his sister’s death unpunished if only he could get possession of
the jewels. It is a ghastly business altogether.  And now you understand
why I am not anxious to face Mrs. Rent. And you will see that the matter
cannot be allowed to rest here.  What a sensation there will be when it
all comes out!"




                            *CHAPTER XLVII*

                              *ABSOLUTION*


Tanza shook his head slowly and sorrowfully. "Terrible!" he murmured.
"I wish we could find some way of keeping Mrs. Rent and Miss Hargrave
out of this matter. But after what has taken place the thing is
impossible.  Mrs. Rent will have to give evidence, and so will Miss
Hargrave.  One is naturally loth to interfere with the course of
justice. But if ever there was a case where a policy of silence would be
pardonable, this assuredly is that case.  Only in one contingency the
world need know nothing of this miserable affair."

"And what may that be?" Grey asked.

"Why, the death of Arnold Rent, of course.  If he would considerately
die, we should be perfectly justified in keeping our own counsel.  Why
should the thing be dragged to light?  Why should the whole painful
story be made public when the culprit is beyond the reach of the law?  I
think you will agree with me."

"Oh, I do," Grey confessed.  "But please don’t imagine that Arnold is
worse than he appears to be.  You don’t suppose that he is responsible
for the death of Mrs. Charlock as well?  That would be too dreadful."

"Is there any other conclusion?" Tanza asked.

"Well, yes, in common justice to Rent, there is. I believe that Mrs.
Charlock’s death was a sheer accident.  Let me retrace the ground, and I
will show you what I mean.  We will admit, if you like, that Rent is a
man without heart and without principle.  We will make one exception,
and that was his pure and disinterested affection for Mrs. Charlock.  He
was prepared to sacrifice his future for her sake.  Oh, yes, I know that
he stole her diamonds.  But no doubt that was in the early stage of his
infatuation.  Afterwards he must be credited with good intentions.  You
see, he had removed the French maid, and the ground appeared to be
clear.  So deeply in love is he that he takes Mrs. Charlock to stay with
his mother.  Mind you, in taking that step he knew what he was risking.
He knew how strict and rigid his mother was, and how little versed she
was in the ways of the world.  These upright and honourable people are
apt to be narrow-minded.  And religion and charity are not always the
same thing.  I say that when Rent took Mrs. Charlock into Devonshire he
was running the risk of losing every penny of his expectations.  Of
course, there was the hope of conciliating his mother, but that was what
one might call a sporting chance.  As you know, the scheme was a
failure, and Mrs. Charlock went away, posing as a martyr, prepared to
accept any sacrifice rather than injure the prospects of the man who had
befriended her.  Anyway, there was an end of her so far as the home in
Devonshire was concerned.  Now, if my theory is correct, there was a
subsequent interview between Mrs. Charlock and Rent, in which the
situation was reviewed from a worldly point of view.  You see, they were
bound to face the situation sooner or later; in sporting parlance, the
thing wasn’t good enough for Mrs. Charlock, and she probably let Rent
know it in her sweet, unsophisticated way.  No doubt he had time to
think the matter over and began to grasp what he was sacrificing.
Whether they parted in friendly fashion or not doesn’t matter.  They
_did_ part, and Mrs. Charlock came back to her husband.  Before she
started, Rent doubtless did the fair thing and told her where her jewels
were hidden.  But there was one thing he forgot—he neglected to turn off
those switches, and left the fountain in the same dangerous condition as
when Hortense met with her dreadful death.  Either that or Swift had
been experimenting with the apparatus.  But the fact remains that the
charge had not been drawn from the mine, and when Mrs. Charlock went to
regain possession of her jewels she went to certain death.  That is my
rendering of the matter, though I may be wrong."

"I should think it exceedingly probable you are right," Tanza said.
"You have given me a sensible and logical account of what has happened,
and I fail to see any flaw in your argument.  We had better return to
the yacht now, and later I will hand these stones to Charlock.  There
ought to be enough here to free him from all his difficulties and enable
him to come back to his own house. Unless I am mistaken, he will be glad
to resume possession once more."

"Why should he be?" Grey asked.

"Because he is in love with Ethel Hargrave," Tanza said.  "One can see
that with half an eye. And what is more, the girl is in love with him.
But these things are in the air at present.  So far as I am concerned, I
should be disposed to keep our discovery a profound secret.  That rascal
Bark will not dare to say anything, and I flatter myself I can find a
way to keep Swift’s mouth closed. Unfortunately, Miss Hargrave has made
some discoveries, but we may be able to convince her that she has made a
mistake.  If Arnold Rent dies, which seems more than probable, we may
save the scandal altogether.  Charlock we can trust."

They were back at the yacht again presently, still discussing the
tragedy in which they were both profoundly interested.  There was no
sign of Bark, and Swift seemed to be decidedly better.  After luncheon
Tanza had a long talk with him, and left him in appreciably higher
spirits.  Just as the Italian arrived on deck again an urgent message
came for Grey, saying that Mr. Rent desired to see him immediately.

Grey found Rent sitting in bed, propped up with pillows.  It needed no
practised eye to see that the end was near.  Mrs. Rent and Ethel were
with the sufferer, and at a sign from him they left him and Grey
together.  Rent was very weak and low, yet there was a resolute look in
his eyes, and he lost no time in coming directly to the point.

"You know why I sent for you?" he demanded.

"I can give a fair guess," Grey murmured.

"Ah, I am glad of that, because it will save me a deal of talking, and
time is precious.  Tell me in a few words what you have discovered.  It
would be a kindness to speak frankly and openly to me."

"Perhaps it would," Grey said.  "Then I may say I have discovered
everything.  Nothing is hidden from me."

"This is what I expected," the dying man murmured.  "I have felt that
ever since you have been in the neighbourhood.  Oh, I know what Tanza
was after.  I have not been altogether blind.  But I swear to you that
so far as Mrs. Charlock was concerned I am absolutely and entirely
innocent. It was a cruel misfortune—but go on, please.  Let me hear your
story first."

"There is not much to tell," Grey said, picking up the thread.  "To
begin with, I know all about your entanglement with the French maid.  An
accident put me on the track, but it is a waste of time to go into that.
I know what happened between your workshop and the fountain.  I know how
you laid the trap which led Hortense to her death.  But perhaps I had
better tell it to you just as I told it to Tanza a little while ago."

Grey proceeded over the familiar ground, the dying man following with
rapt attention.  At the end of the recital he nodded more or less
approvingly.

"So far," he said, "you have not made a mistake. You have the thing as
clear and plain as if you had been in my place.  But you are wrong as
far as Mrs. Charlock was concerned.  I had disconnected the electrical
apparatus which communicated with the fountain; indeed, I was going to
destroy everything but for an accident which prevented me.  I call it an
accident for want of a better term.  But now I see the hand of Fate in
it. I was playing with the apparatus one night when Hortense’s brother,
Bark, came into my office.  He asked me for money, which I was not able
to give him, and one word leading to another, the whole thing culminated
in a serious quarrel.  I was knocked down and sustained an injury to my
head which, as you know, affected my brain.  In most ways I was sane
enough, but memory of the events of the past few days had been wholly
blotted out. I was haunted by the feeling that I had left something
undone, but I could not for the life of me recall what it was.  You can
imagine a murderer who has gone off and left a clue behind.  That was
the sensation that maddened me and spoilt all my rest till Ethel
Hargrave found me poring over certain letters.  It was only when she
began to speak that remembrance came back to me swiftly and
unexpectedly.  Ethel knew too much.  I knew that I could not hope to
silence her tongue.  Besides, she had already confessed all she had
discovered to John Charlock.  Then it was that a feeling of abject
despair came over me, and in the madness of the moment I threw myself
out of the window. When sense and reason returned once more everything
was wonderfully clear again.  I recalled the whole train of
circumstances.  And the more I pondered it the more hopeless my position
seemed. I tell you, I was glad to know that I must die, that I was going
to leave all this shame and misery behind me.  And it is simply because
I am dying that I sent for you to-day.  I want you, if you can, to
prevent a scandal.  I want these dreadful things kept from my mother."




                            *CHAPTER XLVIII*

                         *SEALED IN THE GRAVE*


"It can be done," Grey murmured.

The pupils of Rent’s eyes dilated strangely.

"Man, it must be concealed," he said hoarsely. "Try to conceive the
cruelty of making all these matters public when the one human being who
ought to suffer is beyond the reach of justice!  What you know and what
Tanza knows I can regard as safe.  I could die comfortably in the
knowledge that you would never speak, and I am certain that John
Charlock would remain silent for the sake of my mother and that innocent
girl who has come to think so ill of me.  Surely you need not undeceive
her!  Surely you can think of some plausible fiction!  If ever there was
a case where a lie is justified, this is the occasion.  Now promise."

"I will do all I can," Grey said freely and heartily.  "And I know that
I can speak for Tanza, too; indeed, I may go further and say that he
advocated the very course you are suggesting.  He assumed that if the
worst happened—I beg your pardon, I should not have put it as bluntly as
that."

"But that is just the way I want you to put it," Rent insisted.  "You
don’t know what a load you have taken off my mind.  And now I will ask
you to leave me.  I should like to have my mother with me for the little
time that remains——"

The speaker broke off suddenly.  Something seemed to choke his
utterance.  He dropped back on his pillow, breathing faintly.  His eyes
closed. Very gently Grey crept from the room downstairs to where the
others were waiting.  The expression of his face was quite enough for
Mrs. Rent, who hurried away, followed by Ethel.  A little while later
the girl came downstairs, her manner soft and subdued.  Grey raised his
eyebrows interrogatively.

"Yes," Ethel whispered.  "He went off peacefully. The nurse and doctor
were in the room at the time.  I don’t know whether you will mind my
bringing up the subject just now, but Mr. Charlock has mentioned the
matter to you.  There were certain letters which my relative had in his
possession——"

"I hope they are destroyed," Grey said.  "I know what you are alluding
to.  But it would be as well if those letters were burnt, because it is
probable they may lead you to a wrong conclusion. I know you have had a
rough time lately, but that mustn’t make you suspect crime.  I think Mr.
Charlock is of the same opinion as myself and deprecates your arriving
at a hasty inference.  Try to recollect that, however black a case may
look against a person, the whole complexion of the thing may lie changed
when his defence is disclosed."

A look of relief crossed the girl’s face.

"I suppose that is so," she suggested timidly.

"Indeed it is," Grey said emphatically.  "But, whatever you do, don’t
allude to anything in Mrs. Rent’s presence.  She has enough sorrow and
misery to contend with as it is.  Now, if you will excuse me, I had
better go.  This is no place for a stranger."

Grey was glad to find himself outside the house, glad to know that his
unpleasant errand had ended without more disastrous consequences.  He
went at once in search of John Charlock, whom he found disconsolately
wandering about his garden.  He looked somewhat guilty as Grey came up.

"I don’t know what you must think of me," he said, "but I find it
difficult to tear myself away from this place.  You see, all my hopes
and ambitions were centered here.  It was here that I looked forward to
a happy life.  I have just begun to see the fruition of my ambitions, to
see my reputation established.  I am a free man now and the grave
contains my one mistake.  I don’t say that I feel any regret at what has
taken place, beyond the horror that such tragedies bring.  But I don’t
want to talk about myself.  What can I do for you?"

"You can come aboard the yacht and talk matters over with Tanza," Grey
suggested.  "We have several things to discuss with you and one or two
confessions to make.  I may be a false prophet, but I am sure that the
best part of your life’s happiness is still to come.  But let us eschew
platitudes.  Come with me and let us have the matter out."

Charlock expressed himself willing, and a little later the two men were
on their way to the yacht. For the best part of an hour or more Charlock
listened to all that Tanza and his companion had to say.  Finally he
took the case of jewels which the Italian handed to him and slipped it
in his pocket.

"I am infinitely obliged to you gentlemen," he said.  "As to these
jewels, they rightly belong to me.  They have been paid for, too, and
their sale will enable me to take possession of my old house again.  I
daresay I shall be reasonably happy.  No doubt I can find some worthy
woman who will act as housekeeper and look after my servants.  But I am
afraid that my dream of a perfect home must remain a dream, for it is
never likely to be realised. I am forced to the conclusion that I am not
the sort of man to make a woman——"

"Pardon me," Grey interrupted.  "That is just where I think you are
wrong.  You have as much generous feeling and emotion as most decent
men, but you are afraid to show your real nature.  At the risk of being
considered impertinent I was going to suggest that the lady calculated
to make your home happy is not very far off.  I was thinking of Miss
Ethel Hargrave."

A deep frown knitted Charlock’s brows.  Then, in spite of himself,
something like a smile came over his face.

"Do you really think so?" he asked almost eagerly.  "But I am talking
like a fool.  She is a girl in a million, mind you.  A man like me,
rough and reserved——"

"Why belittle yourself?" Tanza said.  "You are famous.  You are on the
road to wealth. Hundreds of women would be proud to call you their
husband.  But I won’t flatter you.  I am a pretty good judge of human
nature, and if ever I saw a girl in love with a man, that girl is Ethel
Hargrave and the man is John Charlock.  You are a lucky fellow, my dear
sir, if you have sense enough to see it.  But, after this exhibition of
gratuitous impertinence on my part, I am afraid to say more. Let us
change the subject, and perhaps Grey will ask the steward to bring us
cigarettes and coffee."

John Charlock said nothing.  There was no outbreak of anger or
impatience on his part; on the contrary, he smiled with the air of a man
who is well pleased with himself.  There was something like a gleam of
happiness in his eyes.

                     *      *      *      *      *

The white wings of the yacht were folded.  She came to an anchor again
after a year’s absence on a voyage round the world.  As the boat put off
from the side for the shore, Swift, bronzed and happy-looking, shook his
head with a smile as he declined to accompany Tanza and Grey.

"I should be in the way," he said.  "Besides, they don’t want me.  I
read in the papers this morning that John Charlock and his wife had only
just come back from their honeymoon, in which case they are not likely
to require either of you."

"Oh, yes, they will," Tanza exclaimed.  "I flatter myself that they will
be agreeably surprised to see us."

The boat reached the shore, and after a few minutes’ walk Tanza and his
companion stopped in front of the house.  The windows frowned at them no
longer.  The casements were flung open.  Silk and muslin curtains
fluttered on the breeze.  The paths were trim and neat.  The lawns were
ablaze with a wild riot of colour.  On all sides were signs of
prosperity, peace and happiness.  Grey pointed to the long lawn gleaming
in the sunshine like a broad ribbon of green velvet.

"There is only one change I see," he murmured. "The old sundial has
gone.  But that is no matter for surprise."

Before Tanza could reply there came the sound of voices from behind a
belt of shrubs.  It was almost impossible to recognise the tones of John
Charlock, so full and hearty and generous with the flow of life were
they.  They could hear also the quiet ripple of laughter on the part of
his companion, and a moment later husband and wife came in sight.  There
was no doubt as to their welcome. They came forward with delighted
surprise and hands extended.  Not much was said for a little while,
until they divided into pairs, and Charlock walked down the drive, with
Grey, somewhat silent and speculative, by his side.

"What a paradise you have made here!" the latter exclaimed.

"I haven’t done it," Charlock said joyously.  "It is my wife.
Everything she touches she adorns, and I owe you and Tanza a deep debt
of gratitude for what you said to me that day on board the yacht.  It
seemed impossible that she——"

"The impossible has become the real," Grey said.

Charlock paused a moment and threw back his head.

"Indeed it has," he said in a voice just above a whisper.  "I have found
what I was looking for at last.  I have been paid for all my suffering.
But I can’t talk about such matters.  They are a bit too sacred.  Now
let us go inside.  I want to show you my ideal of an English home and an
English life."



                                THE END






*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 55006 ***