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diff --git a/old/60527-0.txt b/old/60527-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c34a19d..0000000 --- a/old/60527-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7573 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Justice Maxell, by Edgar Wallace - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Mr. Justice Maxell - -Author: Edgar Wallace - -Release Date: October 19, 2019 [EBook #60527] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. JUSTICE MAXELL *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines, Cindy Beyer & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - - - - - - POPULAR NOVELS - BY - E D G A R W A L L A C E - PUBLISHED BY - WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED - In various editions - -SANDERS OF THE RIVER THE DAFFODIL MYSTERY -BONES THE NINE BEARS -BOSAMBO OF THE RIVER THE BOOK OF ALL-POWER -BONES IN LONDON MR. JUSTICE MAXELL -THE KEEPERS OF THE KING’S PEACE THE BOOKS OF BART -THE COUNCIL OF JUSTICE THE DARK EYES OF LONDON -THE DUKE IN THE SUBURBS CHICK -THE PEOPLE OF THE RIVER SANDI THE KING-MAKER -DOWN UNDER DONOVAN THE THREE OAK MYSTERY -PRIVATE SELBY THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE FROG -THE ADMIRABLE CARFEW BLUE HAND -THE MAN WHO BOUGHT LONDON GREY TIMOTHY -THE JUST MEN OF CORDOVA A DEBT DISCHARGED -THE SECRET HOUSE THOSE FOLK OF BULBORO -KATE PLUS TEN THE MAN WHO WAS NOBODY -LIEUTENANT BONES THE GREEN RUST -THE ADVENTURES OF HEINE THE FOURTH PLAGUE -JACK O’ JUDGMENT THE RIVER OF STARS - - - - - MR. JUSTICE - MAXELL - - - BY - EDGAR WALLACE - - - WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED - LONDON AND MELBOURNE - - - - - Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London - - - - - Mr. Justice Maxell - - - - - CHAPTER I - - -IT was two hours after the muezzin had called to evening prayer, and -night had canopied Tangier with a million stars. In the little Sok, the -bread-sellers sat cross-legged behind their wares, their candles burning -steadily, for there was not so much as the whisper of a wind blowing. -The monotonous strumming of a guitar from a Moorish café, the agonised -_barlak!_ of a belated donkey-driver bringing his charge down the steep -streets which lead to the big bazaar, the shuffle of bare feet on -Tangier’s cobbles, and the distant hush-hush of the rollers breaking -upon the amber shore—these were the only sounds which the night held. - -John Maxell sat outside the Continental Café, in the condition of bodily -content which a good dinner induces. Mental content should have -accompanied such a condition, but even the memory of a perfect dinner -could not wholly obliterate a certain uneasiness of mind. He had been -uneasy when he came to Tangier, and his journey through France and Spain -had been accompanied by certain apprehensions and doubts which -Cartwright had by no means dispelled. - -Rather, by his jovial evasions, his cheery optimism, and at times his -little irritable outbreaks of temper, he had given the eminent King’s -Counsel further cause for disquiet. - -Cartwright sat at the other side of the table, and was unusually quiet. -This was a circumstance which was by no means displeasing to Maxell, for -the night was not conducive to talk. There are in Northern Africa many -nights like this, when one wishes to sit in dead silence and let thought -take its own course, unchecked and untrammelled. In Morocco such nights -are common and, anyway, Maxell had always found it difficult to discuss -business matters after dinner. - -Cartwright had no temperament and his quiet was due to other causes. It -was he who broke the silence, knocking out his pipe on the iron-topped -table with a clang which jarred his more sensitive companion to the very -spine. - -“I’d stake my life and my soul on there being a reef,” he said with a -suddenness which was almost as jarring. “Why, you’ve seen the outcrop -for yourself, and isn’t it exactly the same formation as you see on the -Rand?” - -Maxell nodded. - -Though a common-law man, he had been associated in mining cases and had -made a very careful study of the whole problem of gold extraction. - -“It looks right enough to me,” he said, “but as against that we have the -fact that some clever engineers have spent a great deal of time and -money trying to locate the reef. That there is gold in Morocco everybody -knows, and I should say, Cartwright, that you are right. But where is -the reef? It would cost a fortune to bore, even though we had the other -borings to guide us.” - -The other made an impatient noise. - -“Of course, if the reef were all mapped out it would be a simple matter, -but then we shouldn’t get on to it, as we are to-day, at the cost of a -few thousands. Hang it all, Maxell, we’ve got to take a certain amount -of risk! I know it’s a gamble quite as well as you. There’s no sense in -arguing that point with me. But other things are gambles too. Law was a -gamble to you for many years, and a bigger gamble after you took silk.” - -This was a sore point with Maxell, as the other knew. A prosperous -junior, he had been called within the Bar, and taken upon himself the -function and style of King’s Counsellor in the hope that his prosperity -would still further be expanded. And, like so many other men, he had -discovered that the successful junior is not necessarily the successful -K.C. - -Fortunately for him, he had long before contested and won a seat in -Parliament, and his service to the Government of the day had to some -extent ensured his future. But, financially, he had suffered -considerably. - -“No,” he said, “silk isn’t any great catch to a man, I agree; and it was -certainly a gamble, and a losing gamble.” - -“Which reminds me,” said Cartwright, “there was a talk, before I left -London, that you would be given Cabinet rank.” - -Maxell laughed. - -“It is extremely unlikely,” he said. “Anyway, if they make me -Solicitor-General, that doesn’t carry Cabinet rank.” - -“It carries a lot of money,” said Cartwright after a pause for a moment, -“and it’s money that counts just now, Maxell.” - -Again the lawyer nodded. - -He might have added that, but for the need for money, he would long -since have dropped his association with Alfred Cartwright, though -Cartwright’s name stood very high in certain circles of the City of -London. They had been at school together, though in that period there -had been no very great friendship between them. And Cartwright was -marked out for success from the beginning. He inherited a considerable -business when his father died, and he enlarged and improved upon it. He -had taken up a hundred and one outside interests, and had made most of -them pay. A few of them did not pay, and it was whispered that the -losses upon his failures took a considerable slice of the balance that -accrued from his successes. - -They had met again when Maxell was a junior and Cartwright the defendant -in a case which, had he lost, would have made him some thirty thousand -pounds the poorer. When Maxell thought back upon that event, he had to -confess that it was not a pleasant case, being one in which Cartwright -had been charged with something which was tantamount to -misrepresentation; and, although he had won, and won brilliantly, he had -never felt any great pride in his achievement. - -“No,” he said (the pauses were frequent and long), “I should hardly -imagine that the Prime Minister loves me to that extent. In Parliament -you have to be an uncomfortable quantity to be really successful. You -must be strong enough to have a national following, and sufficiently -independent to keep the Whips guessing. I am known as a safe man, and I -hold a safe seat, which I couldn’t lose if I tried. That doesn’t make -for promotion. Of course, I could have had an Under-Secretaryship for -the asking, and that means a couple of thousand a year, but it also -means that you last out the life of the administration in a subordinate -capacity, and that, by the time you have made good, your party is in the -cold shade of opposition, and there are no jobs going.” - -He shook his head, and returned immediately to the question of the -missing reef, as though he wished to take the subject from his own -personal affairs. - -“You say that it would cost us a lot of money if the reef was proved,” -he said. “Isn’t it costing us a lot now?” - -Cartwright hesitated. - -“Yes, it is. As a matter of fact,” he confessed, “the actual reef is -costing nothing, or next to nothing, because El Mograb is helping me. In -our own business—that is to say, in the Syndicate—our expenses are -more or less small; but I am doing a little independent buying, and that -has meant the spending of money. I am taking up all the ground to the -south of the Angera—a pretty expensive business.” - -Maxell shifted uneasily in his chair. - -“That is rather worrying me, you know, Cartwright,” he said; “your -scheme is ever so much too ambitious. I was figuring it out this -afternoon as I was sitting in my room, and I came to the conclusion -that, if the scheme as you outlined it to me yesterday went through, it -would mean your finding two millions.” - -“Three,” corrected the other cheerfully, “but think what it means, -Maxell! Supposing it went through. Supposing we struck a reef, and the -reef continued, as I believe it will, through the country I am taking -up! Why, it may mean a hundred millions to me!” - -The other sighed. - -“I have reached the point where I think a hundred thousand is an -enormous sum,” he said. “However, you know your own business best, -Cartwright. But I want to be satisfied in the matter in which we are -associated together, that my liability does not exceed my power to pay. -And there is another matter.” - -Cartwright guessed the “other matter.” - -“Well?” he asked. - -“I was looking over your titles this afternoon,” said Maxell, “and I see -no reference to the old Spanish working. I remember that you told me a -Spaniard had taken up a considerable stretch of country and had -exhausted his capital trying to prove the reef—Señor Brigot, wasn’t -that his name?” - -The other nodded curtly. - -“A drunkard—and a bad lot,” he said. “He’s broke.” - -Maxell smiled. - -“His moral character doesn’t count so far as the details go; what does -matter is that if your theory is correct, the reef must run through his -property. What are you going to do about that?” - -“Buy him out,” said the other. - -He rose abruptly. - -“I’m walking up to the Sok,” he said. “Come along?” - -They tramped up the long, steep hill-street together, and they did not -speak till they had passed through the ancient gate into the unrelieved -gloom which lies outside the city. - -“I don’t understand you, Maxell—you take an old man’s view of things,” -said Cartwright irritably. “You’re comparatively young, you’re a -good-looker. Why the devil don’t you marry, and marry money?” - -Maxell laughed. - -“Have you ever tried to marry money?” he asked dryly. - -“No,” said the other after a pause, “but I should think it is pretty -simple.” - -“Try it,” said the laconic Maxell. “It is simple in books, but in real -life it is next to impossible. I go about a great deal in society of all -kinds, and I can tell you that I have never yet met an eligible spinster -with money—that is to say, large money. I agree with you,” he went on -after a while, “a man like myself should marry. And he should marry -well. I could give a woman a good position, but she’s got to be the -right kind of woman. There are some times when I’m just frantic about my -position. I am getting older—I am forty-seven next birthday—and every -day that slips past is a day lost. I ought to be married, but I can’t -afford a wife. It is a blackguardly thing to talk about money in -connection with marriage and yet somehow I can think of nothing -else—whenever the thought arises in my mind I see an imaginary beauty -sitting on a big bag of gold!” He chuckled to himself. “Let’s go back,” -he said, “the big Sok always gives me the creeps.” - -Something lumbered past him in the darkness, some big, overpowering -beast with an unpleasant smell, and a guttural voice cried in Arabic: -“Beware!” - -“Camels!” said Cartwright briefly. “They’re bringing in the stuff for -the morning market. The night’s young yet, Maxell. Let us go up to the -theatre.” - -“The theatre?” said Maxell. “I didn’t even know the theatre was open.” - -“It is called theatre by courtesy,” explained Cartwright; “the -inhabitants refer to it as the circus. It’s a big wooden place on the -sea edge——” - -“I know it, I know it,” said Maxell. “What is being played? The only -people I have ever seen there have been Spanish artistes—and pretty bad -artistes, too.” - -“Well, there’s a treat for you. It is an English company, or rather, a -variety company with a number of English turns,” said Cartwright. “We -might do worse—at least, I might,” he added ominously. - -When they reached the theatre they found it sparsely filled. Cartwright -took one of the open boxes, and his companion settled himself into a -corner to smoke. The turns were of the kind which are usually to be met -with on the Levant; a tawdrily attired lady sang a humorous song in -Spanish, the humour being frankly indecent. There were a juggler and a -man with performing dogs, and then “Miss O’Grady” was announced. - -“English,” said Cartwright, turning to the programme. - -“She may even be Irish,” said Maxell dryly. - -The wheezy little orchestra played a few bars and the girl came on. She -was pretty—there was no doubt about that—and of a prettiness which -satisfied both men. She was also British or American, for the song she -sang was in a French with which both men were familiar. - -“It is horrible to see an English girl in a place like this and in such -company,” said Maxell. - -Cartwright nodded. - -“I wonder where she’s staying,” he asked, half to himself, and a -contemptuous little smile curled Maxell’s lips. - -“Are you going to rescue her from her infamous surroundings?” he asked, -and Cartwright snapped round on him. - -“I wish to heaven you wouldn’t be sarcastic, Maxell. That’s twice this -evening——” - -“Sorry,” said the other, snicking off the ash of his cigar. “I am in a -cynical mood to-night.” - -He raised his hands to applaud the girl as she bowed herself from the -stage, and glanced round the house. Three boxes away was a small party -of men, whom he judged were the sons of prosperous members of the -Spanish colony. Their fingers flashed with diamonds, their cigarettes -burnt from jewelled holders. Cartwright followed the direction of the -other’s eyes. - -“She’s made a hit, that Miss O’Grady,” he said. “These fellows will be -tumbling over one another to present her with verbal bouquets. I wonder -where she lives!” he said again. - -Presently the young men rose in a body and left the box, and Cartwright -grinned. - -“Do you mind hanging on here whilst I go outside?” - -“Not a bit,” said the other. “Where are you off to? To find out where -she lives?” - -“There you go again,” grumbled Cartwright. “I think Tangier makes you -liverish.” - -When he had got to the promenade, the men had disappeared, but a -question directed to the head attendant revealed, as he had expected, -the objective of the little party at the stage door. - -The stage door was reached from the outside of the theatre and involved -a journey over rubble and brick heaps. Presently he came to an open -doorway, where sat a solitary half-caste smoking a pipe and reading an -old _Heraldo_. - -“Oh, _hombre_,” said Cartwright in Spanish, “have you seen my three -friends come in here?” - -“Yes, Señor,” nodded the man; “they have just entered.” - -He indicated the direction, which lay through a dark and smelly passage. - -Cartwright walked along this stuffy hallway, and, turning the corner, -came upon an interesting group gathered about a closed door, against -which one, and the least sober, of the party was hammering. Near by -stood a small, stout man in soiled evening dress, grinning his approval, -and it was clear that the visitors were at once known and welcome. - -“Open the door, my dream of joy,” hiccupped the young man, hammering at -the panel. “We have come to bring you homage and adoration—tell her to -open the door, Jose,” he addressed the manager of Tangier’s theatre, and -the small man minced forward and spoke in English. - -“It is all right, my dear. Some friends of mine wish to see you.” - -A voice inside, which Cartwright recognised, answered: - -“I will not see them. Tell them to go away.” - -“You hear?” said the manager, shrugging his shoulders. “She will not see -you. Now go back to your seats and let me persuade her.” - -“Señor!” He raised his eyebrows to the unexpected apparition of -Cartwright. “What are you doing here?” - -“I have come to see my friend,” said Cartwright, “Miss O’Grady.” - -“It is forbidden to enter the theatre through the saloon of artistes,” -said the small man pompously. “If Miss O’Grady is your friend, you must -wait for her until the performance is over.” - -Cartwright took no notice. He was a tall man of athletic build and -shouldering his way past the others with no difficulty, he tapped on the -panel. - -“Miss O’Grady,” he said, “here is an English visitor wants to see you!” - -“English?” said the voice. “Come in for the love of Mike!” - -The door was opened, and a girl with a silk kimono pulled over her stage -dress, offered him a smiling welcome. The young Spaniard who had been -hammering on the panel of the door would have followed, but Cartwright’s -arm barred him. - -“Do you want this fellow?” he asked. - -“Do I want him——” said Miss O’Grady bitterly, “do I want the scarlet -fever or measles? You bet I don’t want him. He’s been pestering me ever -since I’ve been here.” - -“Do you hear what the lady says?” said Cartwright, speaking in Spanish. -“She does not desire your acquaintance.” - -“My father owns this theatre,” said the young man loudly. - -“Then he’s got a rotten property,” replied the calm Cartwright. - -The Spaniard turned in a rage to his soiled satellite. - -“You will put this man out at once, Jose, or there will be trouble for -you.” - -The little man shrugged his helplessness. - -“Sir,” he said in English, “you see my unhappy position. The señor is -the son of my proprietor and it will be bad for me if you stay. I ask -you as a friend and caballero to go at once and spare me misfortune.” - -Cartwright looked at the girl. - -“Must you go on again in this infernal place?” he asked. - -She nodded, laughter and admiration in her eyes. - -“What happens if you chuck this infernal job?” - -“I’m fired,” said the girl. “I’ve a ten weeks’ contract with these -people.” - -“What do you get?” - -“Two hundred and fifty pesetas a week,” she said contemptuously. “It’s a -wonderful salary, isn’t it?” - -He nodded. - -“How many more weeks have you to go before your contract is finished?” - -“Another four,” she said, “we’re playing in Cadiz next week, in Seville -the week after, then Malaga, then Granada.” - -“Do you like it?” - -“Like it!” the scorn in her voice was her answer. - -“The dresses belong to the troupe, I guess,” he said. “Get into your -street clothes and I’ll wait for you.” - -“What are you going to do?” she asked, eyeing him narrowly. - -“I’ll make good your lost contract,” he said. - -“Why?” - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -“I don’t like to see an English girl——” - -“Irish,” she corrected. - -“I mean Irish,” he laughed. “I don’t like to see an Irish girl doing -this kind of thing with a lot of horrible half-breeds. You’ve talent -enough for London or Paris. What about Paris? I know any number of -people there.” - -“Could you get me a good engagement?” she asked eagerly. - -He nodded. - -“What’s your name, anyway?” she demanded. - -“Never mind about my name. Smith, Brown, Jones, Robinson—anything you -like.” - -It was the agitated little manager who interfered. - -“Sir,” he said, “you must not persuade this lady to leave the theatre. I -have her under heavy penalties. I can bring her before the judge——” - -“Now just forget that!” said Cartwright, “there is no judge in Tangier. -She is a British subject, and the most you can do is to take her before -the British Consul.” - -“When she returns to Spain——” said the little man growing apoplectic. - -“She will not return to Spain. She will go to Gibraltar if she goes -anywhere,” said Cartwright, “and from Gibraltar she will be on the sea -until she reaches a British port.” - -“I will go to the Spanish Consul,” screamed the little manager, clawing -the air. “I will not be robbed. You shall not interfere with my -business, you——” - -Much of this, thought Cartwright, was intended for the glowering young -Spaniard who stood in the background. He went outside, closed the door -and stood with his back toward it. On a whispered instruction from his -employer’s son, whose hands were now flickering fire as he gesticulated -in his excitement, Jose the manager disappeared, and returned a few -minutes later with two stalwart stage hands. - -“Will you leave this theatre at once and quietly?” demanded the foaming -manager. - -“I will not leave the theatre until I am ready,” said Cartwright, “and -if I leave otherwise, I shall certainly not leave quietly.” - -The manager stood back with a melodramatic gesture. - -“Eject the caballero,” he said finely. - -The two men hesitated. Then one came forward. - -“The señor must leave,” he said. - -“In good time, my friend,” replied Cartwright. - -A hand gripped his arm, but instantly he had shaken free, and had driven -with all his strength at the man’s jaw. The stage hand dropped like a -log. He pushed at the door behind him. - -“Put your kimono over your things,” he said quickly. “You can send the -stage kit back to-morrow. There is going to be a rough house.” - -“All right,” said a voice behind him, and the girl slipped out, still in -her kimono and carrying a bundle of clothes under her arm. - -“You know the way out? I’ll follow you. Now, Jose,” he said flippantly, -“I’m going—quietly.” - - - - - CHAPTER II - - -HE left behind him a pandemonium of sound and a scintillation of -flickering diamonds. He found the girl waiting for him in the darkness. - -“Br-r-r! It’s cold!” she shivered. - -“Where are you staying?” he asked. - -“At the little hotel opposite the British Consulate,” she said. “It -isn’t much of a place, but it was the only room I could get—at the -price.” - -“You’d better not go there,” he said. “I’ll send for your boxes in the -morning. Give me those clothes.” - -He took them from her and put them under his arm, and she fell in by his -side. - -“I am glad to be out of it,” she said breathlessly, taking his arm; -“it’s a dog’s life. I was going to quit to-morrow. Those boys have been -following me round ever since I came to Tangier. I don’t think I’d -better go back to my hotel, anyway,” she said after a moment; “they’re a -pretty tough crowd, these Spaniards, and though I don’t understand their -beastly language, I know just what kind of happy holiday they’re -planning for me.” - -They were in the town, passing up the street of the mosque, when she -asked him: - -“Where are you taking me?” - -“To the Continental,” he said. - -“Like this?” she said in dismay, and he laughed. - -“I have an office in this street,” he said; “you can go in and dress. -I’ll wait for you outside.” - -He showed her into the tiny room which served as the headquarters of the -Angera Gold Mining Syndicate, and sat on the irregular stone steps, -waiting until she was dressed. Presently she came out, a presentable and -an attractive figure. - -“I have just thought,” he said, “that you had better to go the -Central—I am staying at the Continental and it wouldn’t look nice.” - -“I’ve been thinking something of the sort myself,” she said. “What about -my broken engagement? Were you joking when you said you would pay? I -hate talking about money, but I am broke—Jose owes me a week’s salary.” - -“I’ll make good the money to-morrow,” he said. “I can give you a tenner -now.” - -“What is the idea?” she asked him again. “I’ve read a lot of books, and -I know the knight errant business backwards. You don’t strike me as -being a something-for-nothing man.” - -“I’m not,” he said coolly. “It occurred to me when I saw you on the -stage, that you might be useful. I want a person in Paris I can -trust—somebody who could look after my interests.” - -“I’m not a business woman,” she said quickly. “I hate business.” - -“Business is done by men,” said he significantly. “And there are a few -men I want you to keep track of. Do you understand that?” - -She nodded. - -“I see,” she said at last. “It is better than I thought.” - -He did not trouble to ask her what she had thought, or what she imagined -he had planned, but saw her into the hotel, arranged for a room, and -walked slowly back to the Continental. He was in the vestibule of that -hotel before he remembered that he had left an eminent King’s Counsel -and Member of Parliament smoking his cigar in a _loge_ of the Tangier -circus. - - * * * * * - -“I missed you,” said Maxell the next morning. “When you remembered and -came to pick me up, I was on my way back—we must have passed somewhere -in the little Sok. What happened last night?” - -“Nothing much,” said Cartwright airily. “I went round and saw the girl. -She was very amusing.” - -“How amusing?” asked the other curiously. - -“Oh, just amusing.” Vaguely: “I found her annoyed by the attention which -was being paid to her by a veritable Spanish hidalgo.” - -“And you sailed in and rescued her, eh?” said Maxell. “And what happened -to her after she was rescued?” - -“I saw her home to her hotel, and there the matter ended. By the way, -she leaves by the _Gibel Musa_ for Gibraltar this morning.” - -“Hm!” Maxell looked absently at the letter he had in his hand, folded it -and put it away. - -“Is the mail in?” asked Cartwright, interested, and Maxell nodded. - -“I suppose you’ve had your daily letter from your kiddie?” - -Maxell smiled. - -“Yes,” he said, “it is not a baby letter, but it is very amusing.” - -“How old is she?” asked Cartwright. - -“She must be nine or ten,” said the other. - -“I wonder if it is just coincidence, or whether it is fate,” mused -Cartwright. - -“What is a coincidence?” asked the other. - -“The fact that you’ve got a kid to look after, and I’m in a sort of way -responsible for a bright lad. Mine is less interesting than yours, I -think. Anyway, he’s a boy and a sort of cousin. He has two fool parents -who were born to slavery—the sort of people who are content to work for -somebody all their lives and regard revolt against their condition as an -act of impiety. I’ve only seen the kid once, and he struck me as the -sort who might break loose from that kind of life and take a chance. -Otherwise, I wouldn’t have interested myself in him.” - -“How far does your interest extend?” asked Maxell curiously. “You’re not -the sort of person, I should imagine, who would take up the unfortunate -poor as a hobby.” - -“Not a something-for-nothing man, in fact,” laughed Cartwright. “I’ve -been told that twice in twenty-four hours.” - -“Who was the other person—the actress?” - -Cartwright roared with laughter and slapped the other on the knee. - -“You’re a good guesser,” he said. “No, I am not a something-for-nothing -person. I’m one of those optimists who plant fir cones so that I shall -have some good firewood for my old age. I don’t know what sort of a man -Timothy will make, but, as I say, he shapes good, and anyway, you and I -are in the same boat.” - -“Except this,” said Maxell, “that from what you say, you aren’t -particularly interested in your protégé, and you don’t really care -whether he shapes good or shapes bad.” - -“That’s true,” admitted Cartwright. “He’s an experiment.” - -“My little girl is something more than that,” said Maxell quietly; -“she’s the only living thing I have any real affection for—she is my -dead brother’s child.” - -“Your niece, eh? Well, that gives you an interest which I have not. I -never had a niece and I should just hate to be called uncle, anyway.” - -Their conversation was interrupted at this point by the arrival of a -small man dressed in his best clothes. On his brow was a frown which was -intended to be terrible, but was slightly amusing. Jose Ferreira had -dressed and prepared himself for an interview which, as he had described -to his friends, could not fail to be at once “terrifying and vital.” -For, as he had said: “This man has sliced my life!” - -He began his speech to Cartwright as he had rehearsed it. - -“_Estoy indignado——_” - -But Cartwright cut him short with an expression of mock fear. -“_Horroroso!_ You are indignant, are you? Well, come, little man, and -tell me why you are indignant.” - -“Señor,” said the man solemnly, “you have put upon me a humiliation and -a shame which all my life I shall regret.” - -The conversation was in Spanish, but Maxell was an excellent Spanish -scholar. - -“What’s the trouble?” he asked, before Jose, still labouring under the -sense of his wrongs, could get going again. - -“Listen to him and discover,” mocked Cartwright. “I have taken from his -incomparable company its joy and its gem.” - -“In other words, the amiable Miss O’Grady,” said Maxell. - -“Yes, yes, señor,” broke in Jose. “For me it is ruin! The money I have -spent to make my company perfect! It is financed by one who is the -greatest man in Tangier and it is his son who tells me that, unless I -bring back this lady—for me there is the street and the gutter,” he -wept. - -Maxell looked slyly at his companion. - -“There’s another chance for you to plant a fir cone,” he said. “Can’t -you find some use for this gentleman?” - -But Cartwright was not smiling. - -“Señor Ferreira,” he said crisply, “you are, as all Spain knows, a thief -and a rogue. If you associate with bigger thieves and bigger scoundrels, -that is your business. I can only tell you that you may think yourself -lucky I did not bring this case before the Spanish Consul. I assure you, -you would never have put your foot in Tangier again after the stories I -have heard about you.” - -The little Spaniard was open-mouthed and impressed. He was also a little -frightened. Cartwright’s accusation had been at a venture, but he argued -that it was scarcely likely that, in an establishment of the description -which Mr. Ferreira controlled, there could have been no incidents which -reflected upon the manager. - -“Everything which is said about me is a lie!” said the little man -vigorously. “I have lived a life of the highest virtue! To-day I -complain to the British Consul, and we shall see!” - -“Complain,” said Cartwright. - -“This chance I will give you.” Señor Ferreira wagged a fat, stumpy -finger. “Restore to me Miss O’Grady, and the matter shall go no -farther.” - -“Miss O’Grady has left Tangier,” said the other calmly, “so it is clear -to you that I cannot restore her.” - -“She has not left,” vociferated the Spaniard. “We had a man to watch the -boat leaving for the _Gibel Musa_ and she did not leave the pier.” - -“She left the beach,” explained Cartwright patiently; “she was rowed out -by a boatman from the Cecil. At this moment she is half-way to -Gibraltar.” - -Mr. Ferreira groaned. - -“It is ruin for me,” he said. “Perhaps for you also,” he added -ominously. “I can do no less than depart for Paris to lay this matter -before my excellent patron, Señor Don——” - -Cartwright jerked his head to the door. - -“Get out,” he said, and turned his attention to the newspaper which he -had picked up from the table. - -Maxell waited until the little man had gone, still seething with his -“indignado,” then turned to Cartwright. - -“This is rather a serious matter, Cartwright; what has happened to the -girl?” - -“Didn’t you hear? I have sent her to Gibraltar,” said Cartwright. “I -wouldn’t leave a dog in that company. And from Gibraltar she goes home -by the first P. & O.,” he said briefly. - -“Hm!” said Maxell for the second time. - -“What the devil are you ‘hming’ about?” snarled his companion. “The girl -is gone. I shall not see her again. It was an act of charity. Do you -disapprove?” - -“I’m sorry,” said Maxell. “I didn’t know you felt so bad about it. No, I -think you’ve done the girl a very good turn. But in these days one -doesn’t expect——” - -“Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, Maxell,” said Cartwright -sententiously, “for he shall not be disappointed. I don’t suppose that -the proprietor, whoever he is, cares a snap of his fingers about the -matter—it is his infernal son who will fire the adorable Jose.” - - * * * * * - -That afternoon the two men had an interview on the outskirts of the town -with a very plainly dressed Moor, who came to them so cautiously that -the observers might have been pardoned if they thought he was a -criminal. In the eyes of the divine rulers of Morocco he was something -more than a criminal, because he was an emissary of El Mograb, the -Pretender. There was a price upon the messenger’s head, and his caution -was, therefore, commendable. He brought a letter from El Mograb to -Cartwright, and it was a message of cheer. - -Maxell and his friend had gone out early in the afternoon and had waited -two hours under a scorching sun for the courier to arrive. For a man of -law, the fact that he was coquetting with the Sultan’s enemy did not -distress Maxell, who knew the history of the country too well to worry -very much about Sultan or Pretender. The Sultan’s reign, marked with the -turbulence of people and the self-indulgence of monarch, was already -doomed. His uncle, El Mograb, a born leader of men and captain of seven -thousand well-armed soldiers, was but waiting the psychological moment -to strike; and Adbul, with his motor-cars and brass bedstead, his -geegaws and his frippery, would disappear into the limbo which is -especially reserved for extravagant and unstable rulers. - -The news from El Mograb was good. It reconfirmed the concession which -one of his shereefs had made on his behalf, and sent a message in -flowery Arabic—a message of thanks to the man who had supplied him with -the very necessary rifles. - -“That was news to me,” said Cartwright as they rode back to the town. “I -didn’t know you were gun-running, Maxell, or that you were so solid with -El Mograb.” - -“I like El Mograb,” said Maxell. “He’s one of the many Moors who have -impressed me. You mustn’t forget that I have been visiting Morocco since -I was a boy and most of the chiefs are known to me personally. I knew El -Mograb’s brother, who was killed at Tetuan, and when he was a favourite -in court circles he entertained me at Fez.” - -“What is his word worth?” asked Cartwright carelessly. - -“It is worth all the contracts that ever went to Somerset House for -stamping,” said the other with emphasis. “I think you can go ahead with -your scheme.” - -Cartwright nodded. - -“I’ll go back to London and raise the money,” he said. “We shall want a -couple of millions eventually, but half a million will do to go on with. -You had better be with me in the big scheme, Maxell. There is nothing to -lose for you. You’ll be in on the ground floor. What is the good of your -pottering about with your little Company—I mean the Parent Company?” - -“I have faith in that,” said Maxell. “I know just the amount of my -indebtedness.” - -“You’re a fool,” said the other shortly. “The big scheme may mean -millions to you, and I shall want your help and guidance.” - -Maxell hesitated. The lure was dazzling, the prize was immense. But it -meant risks which he was not prepared to take. He knew something of -Cartwright’s financial methods; he had seen them in their working, and -had done not a little on one occasion to save Cartwright from the -consequences of his own cleverness. Yet, as he argued, Cartwright would -have no difficulty in raising the money from the general public, and his -presence on the board would certainly be a guarantee against his -companion departing from the narrow path. - -Although it was not generally known that he was associated in any of -Cartwright’s enterprises, there had been a whisper of an inquiry in -influential quarters, and it had been hinted to him that, on the whole, -it would be better if he kept himself aloof from the gentleman who, -admirable business man as he was, had a passion for enterprises which -occasionally verged upon the illegal. But those influential quarters had -not whispered anything in the shape of a definite promise that his -welfare was entirely in their keeping and that his future would not be -overlooked. - -He was an ambitious man, but his ambitions ran in realisable directions. -The services he had rendered to the Government were such as deserved a -recognition, and the only question was what form that recognition would -take? His knowledge of languages qualified him for an important -appointment under the Foreign Office; but the Foreign Office was a close -preserve and difficult to break into. There were too many permanent -officials who regarded the service as a family affair, and were jealous -of patronage outside their own charmed circle. - -He went in to lunch that day to find Cartwright reading a telegram which -he folded up and put into his pocket upon the other’s appearance. - -“My little friend has arrived in Gibraltar,” said Cartwright. - -Maxell looked at him curiously. - -“What happens now?” he demanded. - -“Oh, I’m sending her home.” - -Cartwright’s voice was brisk and he spoke in the manner of a man -referring to a topic too unimportant to be discussed. - -“And after?” pursued Maxell, and the other shrugged his shoulders. - -“I have given her a letter of introduction to a friend of mine,” he said -carelessly. “I have one or two theatrical interests in town.” - -Maxell said nothing, and could have dismissed the matter as lightly as -his companion, for the girl’s future scarcely interested him. - -She had been but a figure on the stage; her personality, her very -appearance, left no definite impression. But if he was not interested in -the girl, he was interested in Cartwright’s private mind. Here was a man -of whom he could not know too much. And somehow he felt that he had -hardly cracked the surface of Cartwright’s character though he had known -him for years, and though they were working together to a common end. - -The way of a man with a maid is wonderful, but it is also instructive to -the cold-blooded onlooker, who discovers in that way a kind of creature -he has never met before; a new man, so entirely different from the -familiar being he had met in club or drawing-room as to be almost -unrecognisable. And he wanted to know just this side of Cartwright, -because it was the side on which he had scarcely any information. - -“I suppose you won’t see her again?” he said, playing with his knife and -looking abstractedly out of the window. - -“I shouldn’t think so,” said Cartwright, and then, with a sudden -irritation: “What the devil are you driving at, Maxell? I may see the -girl—I go to music-halls, and it is hardly likely I should miss her. -Naturally I am interested in the lady I have rescued from this kind of -thing”—he waved his hand vaguely toward Tangier Bay—“and she may be -useful. You don’t mean to say _you’re_ struck on her?” - -He tried to carry war into the enemy’s camp and failed, for Maxell’s -blue eyes met his steadily. - -“I hardly know what she looks like,” he said, “and I am not likely to -fall in love with a lady who left absolutely no impression upon me.” - - * * * * * - -He left next day on the boat for Cadiz, _en route_ to Paris and London, -and he and Cartwright had as a fellow-passenger a shabby little man -whose belongings were packed in an American-cloth suit-case inscribed in -flourishing capitals, evidently by the owner, “Jose Ferreira.” - -Mr. Ferreira spent most of his time on the ship’s deck, biting his nails -and enlarging his grievance against the unconscious Cartwright. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - -MAXELL did not stay many hours in Paris. The Sud Express landed him in -the French capital at seven in the morning. He left Paris by the midday -train for London. The Long Vacation was drawing to an end, and there -were briefs of certain importance requiring examination. There was also -a consultation with the Attorney-General on an interpretation of a -clause in the new Shipping Act, and he was also due to address his -constituents before the reassembling of Parliament. - -He might ruminate in vain to find one attractive feature of his -programme. Parliament wearied him, and the ordinary practices of the law -no longer gave him pleasure. - -There was an interest in the work he was doing for the Government, and -if he had the faintest hint of pleasure in his immediate prospects, the -cause was to be found in the vexed problems centring about this new, and -loosely drawn, shipping law. It was a measure which had been passed in a -hurry, and when the acid test of litigation had been applied, some of -its weak points had been discovered. - -The weakest of these points was one affecting the load-line. In an -action heard before a High Court Judge, the doubtful clause had been -interpreted so as to render the Act a dead letter; and there were -particular and especial Governmental reasons why the appeal which the -Government had made from the verdict of the lower Court should upset -that decision. - -There is no need to give the particulars of the great dispute, which -arose over the three words “or otherwise loaded,” and it is only -necessary to say that, before he had reached London, Mr. Maxell had -discovered a way for the Government out of their difficulty. - -It was this opinion which he delivered to a relieved Attorney-General, -and, with the new argument, the Government were able to present so -strong a case to the Court of Appeal, that a month after his return the -verdict of the lower Court was reversed. - -“And,” said the Attorney-General, “the devils can take it to the House -of Lords now and still lose—thanks to your brain wave, Maxell!” - -They were smoking in the Crown Room at the Law Courts after the decision -had been delivered. - -“Where have you been for your holiday, by the way?” asked the Attorney -suddenly. - -“Morocco,” replied the other. - -“Morocco?” The Attorney nodded thoughtfully. “Did you hear anything of -friend Cartwright?” he asked. - -“We were staying at the same hotel,” replied Maxell. - -“A weird person,” said the thoughtful Attorney. “A very curious -man—what a Chancellor that fellow would make!” - -“He never struck me that way,” smiled Maxell. - -“Do you know him well—I mean, are you a particular friend of his?” -demanded the Attorney. - -“No,” said Maxell indifferently. “I know him—so many men in the law -know him.” - -“You’re not by any chance associating with him in business now, are -you?” - -“No,” said Maxell promptly. - -It was a lie and he knew it was a lie. It was told deliberately from the -desire to stand well in the eyes of his friends. He knew Cartwright’s -reputation well enough, and just how he was regarded by the party whom -he had served for three years. Cartwright had been Member for a London -borough, but had resigned. “Pressure of business” was the excuse he -gave, but there were people who said that it was owing to the pressure -of the Party Whips, who smelt a somewhat unsavoury case coming into -Court with Cartwright figuring prominently. - -There is no way of proving or disproving the statement, because the case -in which Cartwright most decidedly was interested was withdrawn from the -list at the last moment. The uncharitable say that it cost Cartwright a -small fortune to bring about this withdrawal, and certainly one of the -ladies interested (she was a small-part actress at the Hippoceus) gave -up her stage work and had been living in affluence ever since. -Cartwright pooh-poohed the suggestion that the case held anything -sensational—but he did not enter political life again. - -“I am glad you’re not associated with him,” said the Attorney simply. -“He’s an awfully nice fellow and I suppose he is as straight and as -sound as the best man in the City. But he’s a shifty fellow—just a -little bit”—he hesitated—“a little wrong. You understand, Maxell—or -shall we say slightly shop-soiled?” - -“He is certainly a brilliant man,” said Maxell, not desirous of -defending his friend too vigorously. - -“Yes, I suppose he is,” admitted the Attorney. “All men like that are -brilliant. What a pity his genius does not run in a smooth channel, but -must follow the course of a burning cracker, here, there and everywhere, -exploding at every turn!” - -He slipped down from the table, on the edge of which he had been sitting -and pulled off his robe. - -“I’m glad to know you’re not associated with Cartwright, anyway,” he -said. - -Maxell did not attempt to probe beneath the surface of his -twice-repeated remark. - -He went back to Cavendish Square to his flat and to a tiny, solemn-eyed -little girl who had been brought up from Hindhead that day on her -monthly visit to “Uncle Max.” - -Cartwright had not accompanied his friend to England, and with good -reasons. A great deal of his work was carried out in Paris, where he had -an important financial backing. He occupied a flat overlooking the -imposing, but none too convenient, Avenue of the Grand Army. His home -was at the unfashionable end of this interminable thoroughfare, which -meant that his rooms were larger and his rent cheaper, and that he was -freer from observation than he would have been had he lived according to -his means or station in a luxurious flat nearer the Etoil. - -He had a board meeting to attend, an informal board meeting, it is true, -but none the less important. - -Cartwright was the chairman and managing director of the London and -Paris Gold Syndicate, a flourishing concern which held big blocks of -shares in various land and gold-mining companies, and controlled three -mines of its own on the West Rand. Though a Company drawing a modest -revenue from its Johannesburg property, its operations were not confined -to gold development pure and simple. It was, in fact, an outside -broker’s on a grand scale. It gambled heavily and gambled wisely. The -shareholders seldom received less than a twelve and a half per cent. -dividend, and there were years when in addition it paid a bonus equal to -its own share capital. - -It numbered its clients at one hundred and fifty thousand, the majority -being small people who preferred speculation to investment—country -parsons, doctors and the small gamblers who lived fearfully on the -fringe of high finance. The shares were at a premium and Cartwright’s -interest brought him a considerable sum annually. What probably -attracted the little speculator was the knowledge of the Company’s -reserve, which stood in the balance-sheet at a respectable figure. It -was the question of these reserves that occupied the attention of the -four quiet men who met informally in the room of a Paris hotel. - -There were three to one against Cartwright, because none of his -companions could see eye to eye with him. - -“It is too dangerous, M. Cartwright,” said Gribber, whose nationality -was suspect; “our risks are already high and we cannot afford, in my -judgment, to extend them. The money would be subscribed over and over -again if you went to the English public.” - -Cartwright frowned. - -“Why shouldn’t we make the profit?” he asked; “we could borrow from our -reserve.” - -“That we can’t touch!” interrupted the cautious Gribber, shaking his -head violently. “My faith, no, we cannot touch that! For it is certain -that the lean years will come when our clients will require their -dividends.” - -Cartwright did not pursue the subject. There were other ways of -financing his Moorish scheme. - -The Benson Syndicate, for example. - -He spoke eloquently of this new venture, which was to have its -headquarters in Paris, and would be under the eye of his sceptical -co-directors. He mentioned names glibly and easily—names that carried -weight in the financial world. The three men agreed that the Benson -Syndicate had the appearance of a safe investment. - - * * * * * - -More important was the business which brought Alfred Cartwright to the -St. Lazaire Station to meet a passenger a week later. - -She sprang from the train and looked round with doubting face, which -lighted the moment she saw the saturnine Cartwright. - -“My! I am relieved,” she said. “I was scared to think you wouldn’t be -here to meet me, and I’d only got a few pounds left.” - -“You got my wire?” he asked, and she smiled, showing two rows of pearly -teeth. - -“I’m still mystified,” she said. “What is it you want me to do in -Paris?” - -“Let us eat first and talk afterwards,” he said. “You must be hungry.” - -“I’m starving!” she laughed. - -He had a car waiting for her, and whisked her off to a little street -leading from the Boulevard des Italiens, where one of the best -restaurants in Paris is situated. The girl looked about her with an -approving air. The gaiety and luxury of the place appealed to her. - -“My word!” she said enviously; “do you come to lunch here every day?” - -“Do you know this place?” he asked. - -“I’ve seen it,” she admitted, “but a three-franc dinner at Duval’s has -been my limit so far.” - -She told him how she had come to the Continent as a dancer, and had -“starred” in a tiny little cabaret in Montmartre as one of the “dashing -Sisters Jones,” before she had been seen by the impresario who was -recruiting material for his tour through the Levant. - -Cartwright judged her to be nineteen, knew her to be extremely pretty, -and guessed that, under certain conditions, she would be presentable -even to the best of the circles in which he moved. He wondered, with a -grim smile, what Maxell, that austere and fastidious man, would say if -he knew that the girl was with him in Paris. Would Maxell accept her? He -thought not. Maxell was a thought straitlaced and in some ways was a -bore. But Maxell was necessary. He was a brilliant lawyer, and moreover -stood well with the Government, and there might come a time when Maxell -would be immensely useful. He could well afford to give the lawyer a -slice of the pickings he intended making, because Maxell’s wants were -few and his ambitions on the modest side. - -Cartwright thought in millions. Maxell was a five-figure man. If all -went well with Cartwright’s scheme, undoubtedly he could well afford the -five figures. - -“What happened to your friend?” asked the girl, as though divining his -thoughts: “The man you told me I was to keep away from. Why didn’t you -want him to see me?” - -Cartwright shrugged his shoulders. - -“Does it really matter?” he asked; “he’s in England, anyway.” - -“Who is he?” She was curious. - -“Oh, a friend of mine.” - -“And who are you?” she asked, facing him squarely. “If I’m going to see -anything of you in Paris, that Smith, Brown or Robinson business isn’t -quite good enough. You’ve been decent to me, but I want to know who I’m -working for, and what is the kind of work you want me to do.” - -Cartwright pinched his neck—a nervous little trick of his when he was -thinking. - -“I have business interests here,” he said. - -“You don’t want me for an office?” she asked suspiciously. “My education -is perfectly rotten.” - -He shook his head. - -“No, I don’t want you for an office,” he replied with a smile. “And yet -in a sense I want you to do office work. I have a little syndicate here, -which is known as the Benson Syndicate. Benson is my name——” - -“Or the name you go by,” she said quickly, and he laughed. - -“How sharp you are! Well, I don’t suppose O’Grady is your name, if it -comes to that.” - -She made no reply and he went on: - -“I want somebody in Paris I can rely upon; somebody who will receive -money, transmit it to the Benson Syndicate, and re-invest that money in -such concerns as I shall indicate.” - -“Don’t use long words,” she said. “How do you know I’m not going to rob -you? Nobody’s ever trusted me with money before.” - -He might have told her that she would not be trusted with a great deal -at a time and that she would be carefully watched. He preferred, -however, an explanation more flattering to his new assistant. And not -only was it flattering, but it contained a big grain of truth, -expressing, to an extent, Alfred Cartwright’s creed. - -“Women are more honest than men,” he said. “I should think twice before -I put a man—even my best friend—in the position I’m putting you. It -will be a simple matter, and I shall pay you well. You can live at one -of the best hotels—in fact, it is absolutely necessary that you should. -You may”—he hesitated—“you may be Madam Benson, a rich Englishwoman.” - -She looked at him from under perplexed brows. - -“What is the good of asking me to do that?” she said in a tone of -disappointment. “I thought you were going to give me a job I could do. -I’m a fool at business.” - -“You can remain a fool,” he said coolly. “There’s nothing to do except -carry out a certain routine, which I shall explain to you so that you -can’t possibly make a mistake. Here is a job which gives you plenty of -time, pays you well, gives you good clothes and an auto. Now, are you -going to be a sensible girl and take it?” - -She thought a moment, then nodded. - -“If it means lunching here every day, I’ll take it,” she said decidedly. - -Thus was formed the remarkable Benson Syndicate, about which so much has -been written, and so many theories evolved. For, if the truth be told, -the Benson Syndicate had no existence until Cartwright called it into -being in Ciro’s Restaurant. It was born of the opposition he had -received, and its creation was hastened by certain disquieting telegrams -which arrived almost every hour from London. - -Cartwright was, as has been said, a man of many interests. The -door-plate of his office in Victoria Street, London, was covered with -the names of the companies which had their headquarters in the ornate -suite which he occupied. There were two other suites of offices in the -City of London for which Mr. Cartwright paid the rent, although he did -not pay it in his own name. There were syndicates and companies -innumerable, Development Syndicates, Exploitation Companies, Financial -and Mining Companies, all duly registered and all keeping one solicitor -busy; for the Companies Acts are tricky, and Cartwright was too clever a -man to contravene minor regulations. - -And to all these companies there were shareholders; some of them -contented, some—the majority—wholly dissatisfied with their lot, and -quite a large number who were wont to show their share certificates to -their friends as curiosities, and tell them the sad story of how they -were inveigled into investment. - -Only a clever company lawyer can describe in detail the tortuous -character of Cartwright’s system of finance. It involved loans from one -company to another, very often on the security of shares in a third -company; it involved a system of over-drafts, drawn in favour of some -weakly member of his family, secured by the assets of one which could -show a bold face to the world, and was even quoted in the Stock Exchange -list; and divers other complicated transactions, which only the expert -mathematician could follow. - -Cartwright was a rich man, accounted a millionaire by his friends; but -he was that type of millionaire who was never at a loss for a thousand, -but who was generally hard up for ten thousand. He came to London much -against his will, in response to an urgent telegram, and, having cleared -the difficulties which his subordinates had found insuperable, he had a -few hours to attend to his private affairs before he took the train back -to Paris. - -His secretary produced a heap of small bills requiring settlement, and -going through these, he paused before one printed slip, and frowned. - -“That boy’s school fees weren’t paid last term,” he said. - -“No, sir,” said the secretary. “If you remember, I mentioned the matter -to you when you were in London last. I was taking upon myself the -responsibility of paying the fees, if you hadn’t returned. The boy is -coming up to-day, by the way, sir, to be measured for some clothes.” - -“Coming here?” asked Mr. Cartwright, interested. - -“Yes, sir.” - -Cartwright picked up the bill. - -“T. A. C. Anderson,” he read. “What does T. A. C. stand for—‘Take A -Chance’?” - -“I understood he was named after you—Timothy Alfred Cartwright,” said -the secretary. - -“Yes; of course,” Cartwright grinned. “Still, Take A Chance isn’t a bad -name for a kid. When is he arriving?” - -“He ought to be here now,” said the man, looking at his watch. “I’ll go -out and see.” - -He disappeared into the outer office, and presently returned. - -“The boy is here, sir,” he said. “Would you like to see him?” - -“Bring him in,” said Cartwright. “I’d like to meet this nephew, or -cousin, or whatever he is.” - -He wondered vaguely what had induced him to take upon himself the -responsibility of the small child, and with remorseless judgment -analysed the reason as being personal vanity. - -The door opened and a child strode in. “Strode” is the only word to -describe the quick, decisive movement of the bright-eyed lad who looked -with unflinching eye at Cartwright. Cartwright did not look at his -clothes, but at the grey, clear eyes, the firm mouth, extraordinarily -firm for a boy of fourteen, and the capable and not over-clean hands. - -“Sit down, son,” said Cartwright. “So you’re my nephew.” - -“Cousin, I think,” said the boy, critically examining the contents of -Cartwright’s table. “You’re Cousin Alfred, aren’t you?” - -“Oh, I’m a cousin, am I? Yes, I suppose I am,” said Cartwright, amused. - -“I say,” said the boy, “is that the school bill? The Head has been -rather baity about that.” - -“‘Baity’?” said the puzzled Cartwright. “That’s a new one on me.” - -“Shirty,” said the boy calmly. “Annoyed, I suppose, is the correct -word.” - -Cartwright chuckled. - -“What do you want to be?” he asked. - -“A financier,” said T. A. C. Anderson promptly. - -He seated himself, leant his elbow on the desk and his head on his hand, -his eyes never leaving Cartwright. - -“I think that’s a great scheme—finance,” he said. “I’m a whale at -mathematics.” - -“What particular branch of finance?” asked Cartwright with a smile. - -“Other people’s finance,” said the boy promptly; “the same business as -yours.” - -Cartwright threw back his head and laughed. - -“And do you think you’d be able to keep twenty companies in the air at -the same time?” he said. - -“In the air?” the boy frowned. “Oh, you mean going all at once? Rather! -Anyway, I’d take a chance.” - -The phrase struck Cartwright. - -“Take a chance? That’s curious. I called you Take A Chance Anderson just -before you came in.” - -“Oh, they all call me that,” said the boy indifferently. “You see, -they’re bound to stick a label on to a fellow with an initial like mine. -Some of them call me ‘Tin and Copper Anderson,’ but most of them—the -other name.” - -“You’re a rum kid,” said his cousin. “You can come to lunch with me.” - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - -MR. ALFRED CARTWRIGHT had the enviable faculty of placing outside of -his mind all subjects and persons which were unpleasant to think upon. -Possessing this power, he could as lightly dismiss the memory of -responsibilities, pleasant or unpleasant. He had scarcely left London -before he had waived Master T. A. C. Anderson into oblivion. To do him -justice, he had certainly speculated vaguely upon assuring his cousin’s -future; but his mind was so completely occupied with his own that there -was really not room for both—and Take A Chance Anderson had to go. - -He reached Paris by the evening train, and drove straight to the -apartment he had taken for his new protégé. He found her installed in a -very comfortable flat on the unfashionable side of the Seine, and was -welcomed with relief. - -Miss Sadie O’Grady had not entirely overcome her suspicions of the _bona -fides_ of her newfound acquaintance. Yet, since he had not made love to -her, but, on the contrary, had made it very clear that the part he -expected her to play in his schemes involved no loss of self-respect, -she was becoming reconciled to a relationship which, to say the least, -was a strange one. She had established herself in a third-floor office -on one of the boulevards, an uncomfortable and unaccustomed figure in an -environment which was wholly foreign to her experience, though there was -no need for her embarrassment, since she constituted the whole of the -staff, and the callers were confined to the postman and the concierge -who acted as office-cleaner. - -She was to learn, however, that a daily attendance at her “bureau” did -not constitute the whole of her duties, or fulfil all Cartwright’s -requirements. - -It was not until after dinner that night that Cartwright revealed -himself. - -“Sadie, my young friend,” he said, between puffs of his cigar, “I am -going to tell you just what I want you to do.” - -“I thought I knew,” she said, on her guard, and he laughed softly. - -“You’ll never quite know what I want you to do,” he said frankly, “until -I tell you. Now, I’m putting it to you very straight. I want nothing -from you except service. And the service I require is of a kind which -you need not hesitate to give me. You’re an actress, and I can speak to -you more plainly than I could to some unsophisticated girl.” - -She wondered what was coming, but had not long to wait. - -“I will tell you something,” he said, “which is really more important -than my name, about which you showed so much curiosity. There is a man -in this city whom I want to get at.” - -“How do you mean?” she asked suspiciously. - -“He is a man who has it in his power to ruin me—a drunken sot of a -fellow, without brain or imagination.” - -He went on to explain briefly that he himself was a company promoter, -and that he had an interest in a mine, as yet unproved, in Morocco. - -“That is why you were there?” she nodded. - -“That is exactly why,” replied Cartwright. “Unfortunately, right in the -midst of the ground which I have either bought or secured mineral rights -over, is a block of land which is the property of this man. He is a -Spaniard—do you speak Spanish?” - -“A little,” she admitted, “but it is precious little!” - -“It doesn’t matter,” Cartwright shook his head. “He speaks English very -well. Now, this land is absolutely valueless to the man, but every -attempt I have made to buy it has been unsuccessful, and it is vitally -necessary at this moment, when I am floating a company to develop the -property, that his claims should be included in my properties.” - -“What is his name?” asked the girl. - -“Brigot,” replied Cartwright. - -“Brigot?” repeated Sadie O’Grady thoughtfully. “I seem to have heard -that name before.” - -“It is pretty common in France, but not so common in Spain,” said Mr. -Cartwright. - -“And what am I to do?” asked the girl again. - -“I will get you an introduction to him,” said Cartwright; “he’s a man -with a fine eye for beauty, and in the hands of a clever girl could be -wound round her little finger.” - -The girl nodded. - -“I see what you mean,” she said, “but nothing doing!” - -“Wait!” said Cartwright. “I have told you that it is necessary for me to -acquire this property. I am taking you into my confidence, and I know -that you will respect that confidence. I am willing to pay any -reasonable sum, and I neither want you to steal it nor make any personal -sacrifice to serve my ends. I am willing to pay, and pay heavily.” - -“What do you call heavily?” asked the girl coolly. - -“For the property twenty thousand—for you ten thousand pounds,” -suggested Cartwright, and the girl nodded. - -“That’s got me,” she said. “Tell me what your plan is.” - -“My plan is this,” said Cartwright. “You will appear to Señor Brigot—I -will arrange that—as a wealthy young American lady who has been -spending the winter in Morocco. His property follows a little wooded -hill, one of the prettiest formations of its kind in the Angera country. -You must rave about that hill, never cease speaking of its beauty and -its attractiveness; and you must tell him that you would give anything -in the world if you could build a house amidst that beautiful -scenery—do you understand me?” - -The girl nodded again. - -“Brigot is a man somewhat susceptible to feminine charms,” Cartwright -went on, “and, unless I am greatly mistaken, he will in one of his -obliging moods, offer you the land at a nominal figure, particularly as -he has been bitterly disappointed in his attempt to find gold.” - -“I don’t like it,” said the girl after consideration. “You promised me -that if I came to Paris you would get me a job in one of the theatres. -That is what I am after, and the only thing I am fit for. The other -business doesn’t seem decent——” - -“Ten thousand pounds!” murmured Cartwright. - -“It is a lot,” agreed the girl, “but how am I coming out of this -business? I come out hopelessly compromised.” - -Cartwright shrugged his shoulders with a deprecating smile. - -“My dear girl——” he began. - -“Wait a moment,” she said quietly; “let’s have a clear understanding. -You don’t expect me to walk up to Señor Brigot the first time I meet -him, or even the second, and say: ‘You’ve a very nice property. What -will you sell it for?’ That is not the kind of transaction you expect me -to conduct, is it?” - -“Not exactly,” admitted Cartwright. - -“It means just a little more than you say,” said the girl; “it means -dinners and suppers and hand-holdings and stringing him along. And after -it is all over, where am I? I’ve got as much respect for my character as -you have for yours, Mr. Mysterious. I want to come out well in this -business as you do, and I don’t want to leave my name behind, or be -known in Paris—which is the world—as a decoy duck. I’d do an awful lot -to please you, because I like you and because you’ve been decent to me. -But ‘an awful lot’ does not mean making me so cheap that I am left in -the slightly-soiled basket. Do you understand what I mean?” - -“Perfectly,” said Cartwright, amazed at the girl’s cool reasoning. He -had not given her credit for any of these fine sentiments she now -enunciated, and he was piqued, and at the same time a little pleased. - -“When you said you’d give me ten thousand pounds,” said the girl, “that -sounded good. But it is not good enough. I’ve an idea in the back of my -mind that the matter is a much bigger one for you than you’ve told me.” - -“How big do you imagine?” bantered Cartwright. - -“I think it is big enough to ruin you,” said the girl calmly, “and that -you’d be willing to pay any price to get this property. Otherwise, you’d -go to the man or send your lawyer in the ordinary way. Now, I don’t want -your ten thousand pounds, but I’m going to make a proposition to you. -I’ve said I like you and that’s no more than the truth. You told me you -were a bachelor and I’ve told you that I’m man-free and heart-free. I -don’t say I love you, and I don’t flatter myself that you love me. But -if you want this thing to go through, and if you want me to go down in -the mud to get it, you’ve got to pay the price——” - -“And the price is——?” asked Cartwright curiously. - -“You’ve got to marry me,” said the girl. - -“Well, I’m——” Cartwright could only gasp his admiration; and then he -began to laugh, at first quietly, and then, as the humour of the -situation gained upon him, so loudly that the other patrons of the Café -Scribe turned to look at him. - -“It is a rum idea,” he said, “but——” - -“But?” she repeated, keeping her eyes on his. - -He nodded to her. - -“It’s a bargain!” he said. - -She looked at him as she put out her hand and took his, and slowly shook -her head. - -“My!” she said. “You want that fellow’s land pretty badly, _I_ know!” -and Cartwright began to laugh again. - - * * * * * - -Señor Brigot lived in some style for a man who was on the verge of ruin. -He had a small house at Maisons Lafitte and a flat on the Boulevard -Webber. He was a heavy, tired-looking man, with a dark moustache, -obviously dyed, and a short beard, bearing evidence of the same -attention. M. Brigot, like Mr. Cartwright, had many interests; but his -chief interests were his own tastes and predilections. It was Señor -Brigot’s boast that, although he had lived for twenty years in Paris, he -had never seen Paris between the hours of six in the morning and one in -the afternoon. His breakfast hour was two o’clock. By six o’clock in the -evening he was becoming interested in life; and at the hour when most -people retire to rest, he was in the prime of his day. - -It happened on a certain evening that M. Brigot, who usually met dinner -in an amicable frame of mind, sat down at his favourite table at the -Abbaye with a big frown, and answered the polite _maître d’hôtel’s_ -cheery “Good evening” with a snarl. - -Amongst his many enterprises and few possessions, and this Mr. -Cartwright did not know, was the proprietorship and management of a -small, ramshackle wooden theatre in the town of Tangier. He was likewise -interested in several cabarets throughout Spain. But what pained him -most at the moment was not distressing reports from any of these, but a -six-page letter received that afternoon from his son, in which the hope -of the house of Brigot had explained his reasons for discharging -immediately a very necessary servant. Therefore Señor Brigot swore under -his breath and cursed his first-born. - -Coincident with the arrival of the letter had come one Jose Ferreira, -who had been detained for a week at Madrid. Señor Brigot’s mind was -occupied with Jose Ferreira when that worthy, smirking apologetically, -as though conscious of the shabbiness of his dress-clothes, sidled into -a seat on the opposite side of the table. Señor Brigot glared at him a -moment, and Jose Ferreira shifted uneasily in his chair. - -“If you had telegraphed to me, I would have settled the matter,” said -Brigot, as though carrying on a conversation which he had broken off a -few minutes before. “Instead, like the fool you are, you come all the -way to Paris, wasting your time in Madrid, and the first I hear of the -matter is from my son.” - -“It was deplorable,” murmured Jose, “but Don Brigot——” - -“Don Brigot!” sneered the father of that worthy. “Don Brigot is a -monkey! Why did you take notice of him? Have you nothing else to do in -Tangier but to look after that flea-ridden theatre? Have you no other -duties?” - -“The young señor was emphatic,” murmured the apologetic Jose. “He -demanded that I should leave and what could I do?” - -Brigot grunted something uncomplimentary. Whether it was intended for -his son or for Ferreira, it was difficult to say. Ferreira was content -to take it to himself. - -Half-way through the dinner Brigot became more human. - -“There will always be quarrels about women, my good Jose, and it is your -business to be diplomatic,” he said. “My son is a fool; but then, all -young men are fools. Why should you neglect my interests because Emanuel -is a bigger fool than ever? Only this week I intended travelling to -Tangier with the representative of a very rich syndicate who wishes to -buy my land.” - -“The same señor as before?” asked the interested Jose, who was not only -the manager of Tangier’s theatre, but was also the representative of the -rusty little gold-mining company which Brigot had floated. - -The other nodded. - -“The same cursed Englishman,” he said. - -Quite unconscious of the fact that his master was cursing the very man -whom Jose had most recently cursed, the little man smiled -sympathetically. - -“I also have a hatred of the English,” he said. “With what insolence do -they treat one!” - -For some time M. Brigot sat in silence, but presently he wiped his mouth -on his napkin, tossed down a tumbler of red wine, and crooked his finger -at his companion, inviting closer attention. - -“In a day, or perhaps two, I shall send you back to Tangier,” he said. - -“The theatre?” began Jose. - -“The theatre—bah!” exclaimed the other scornfully. “A donkey-driver -could look after the theatre! It is the mine!” - -“The mine?” repeated the other in some astonishment. - -So long had it been since a spade had been put to the ground, so long -had those hopes of Brigot’s been apparently dead, that the very word -“mine” had ceased to be employed when referring to the property. - -“My Englishman will buy it,” said Brigot confidently. “I happen to know -that he has taken up property in the neighbourhood, and he has already -made me an offer. But such an offer! He shall pay my price, Jose,” he -said, nodding as he picked his teeth, “and it will be a big price, -because it is desirable that I should have money.” - -Jose did not ask the price, but his employer saved him the trouble. - -“Five million pesetas,” he said confidently; “for such a price the -property will be sold, always providing, my friend, that we do not -discover gold before the sale.” - -Jose smiled weakly, a circumstance which seemed to annoy his companion. - -“You are a fool,” said Brigot irritably; “you have no brains! You think -that is a preposterous sum? Wait!” - -When his subordinate’s dinner was finished, Jose was dismissed -peremptorily. Brigot had a round of calls to make, a succession of -people to be visited; and whilst he might interview the little man at -dinner without losing caste, he had no desire to take him round to his -usual haunts. - -It was at the Abbaye at that golden hour when the price of wine soars -and all that is smartest in Paris is assembled in the big saloon, that -M. Brigot, who had reached a stage of geniality, met an entrancing -vision. Brigot saw the girl and her cavalier at one of the tables, and -recognised in the latter a well-known man about town. The latter caught -his eye and walked across to him. - -“Who is your charming companion?” whispered Brigot, whose failing was, -as Cartwright accurately surmised, a weakness for pretty faces. - -“She is an American lady who has just come from Morocco,” said the other -glibly. - -Cartwright had chosen Sadie O’Grady’s companion very well. In a few -minutes Brigot had crossed to the other table and taken a seat, was -introduced, and was in that pleasant glow of mind which comes to the man -of his class who is conscious of having made an impression. - -This “American widow,” with her queer, broken French, her beautiful -eyes, and the charming distinction which goes best with good clothes, -was more lovely than any woman he had ever met—so he swore to himself, -as he had sworn before. The friendship progressed from day to day, and -so great was the impression which the girl had made, that Brigot was -seen abroad at most unusual hours. - -The patient Jose Ferreira was despatched on a mission to Madrid, partly -because Brigot was tired of seeing him hanging about, and partly because -there was some genuine business to be done in the capital. - -Sadie reported progress to her employer. - -“Oh, yes, he’s crazy enough about me,” she said complacently, “and I’m -going a little crazy myself. How long is this to go on?” - -“Another week?” suggested Cartwright, smiling approvingly at the gloom -on the pretty face. “Have you mentioned the fact that you’ve taken a -fancy to his land?” - -She nodded. - -“He wanted to give it to me there and then,” she said, “but you know -what these Spaniards are. If I had accepted, there would have been -nothing for me but the front door.” - -“Quite right,” agreed Cartwright. “He is the kind of fish you must play. -Did he say anything about other offers he had received for the -property?” - -The girl nodded. - -“He spoke about you,” she said; “he called you Benson—is that your real -name?” - -“It is good enough,” said Cartwright. - -“It is queer,” mused the girl, looking at him thoughtfully, “that I -never meet any of your friends in Paris, and that nobody knows you—by -name. I went down to your flat on the Avenue of the Grand Army,” she -confessed frankly, “and asked the concierge. You’re Benson there too.” - -Cartwright chuckled. - -“In my business,” he said, “it is necessary that one should be discreet. -The name which goes in London is not good enough for Paris. And _vice -versa_,” he added. - -“You’re a strange man. I suppose if you marry me in the name of Benson -it will be legal?” she asked dubiously. - -“Of course it will be legal. I’m surprised at a girl of your -intelligence asking such a question,” said Cartwright. “What is the -programme for to-night?” - -She pulled a little face. - -“The Marigny and supper at Corbets—supper in a private dining-room.” - -He nodded. - -“So it’s come to that, has it? Well, you ought to make good to-night, -Sadie. Remember, I am willing to pay up to fifty thousand pounds. It is -going to be a tough job raising that money, and it will break my heart -to pay it. But it will not only break my heart, but it will break me -everlastingly and confoundedly to pay the man’s own price—and his -property must be bought.” - -“I’ll do my best,” said the girl, “but you have no doubt in your mind -that it is going to be hard.” - -He nodded. - -At one o’clock the next morning he sat reading in his room, when a knock -came to his door and the girl came in. She was half hysterical, but the -light of triumph was in her eyes. - -“Got it,” she said. - -“Got it!” he repeated in wonder. “You don’t mean he sold?” - -She nodded. - -“For ten thousand pounds—three hundred thousand francs. What do you -think of your little Sadie?” - -“Are you serious?” he asked. - -She nodded, smiling. - -“What did he——?” he began. - -She hesitated and closed her eyes. - -“Don’t talk about it,” she said quickly. “I have to see him to-morrow at -his lawyers, and the property will be transferred to me.” - -“And after?” - -She smiled grimly. - -“The after-part will not be as pleasant as M. Brigot imagines,” she -said. “I tell you, that fellow’s crazy—stark, staring mad. But I felt -an awful beast, and I think he’ll kill me when he discovers I’ve sold -him.” - -“Don’t let that worry you,” said Cartwright easily. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - -HE saw the girl down to her waiting auto, and went back to his rooms -to think. It was curious that at that hour, when the big trouble on his -mind seemed likely to roll away, that his thoughts flew instantly to -Maxell. What would the prim Maxell say, if he knew? He was satisfied -that Maxell would not only disapprove, but would instantly and without -notice sever all connection with the adventurous company promoter. -Maxell would be outraged, appalled. Cartwright smiled at the thought. - -He was under no illusion as to his own conduct. He knew he was acting -despicably; but this view he dismissed from his mind as being too -unpleasant for contemplation. Maxell was a prig—a necessary prig, but -none the less priggish. He was necessary, at any rate, to Cartwright. -Anyway, Maxell stood to win if the scheme went through. - -Cartwright had reached nearly the end of his financial tether, and his -whole future was bound up in the success or failure of the new -promotion. He had exhausted every bit of his credit in order to take up -the Angera property which he knew was rich in gold, and offered -possibilities which no project of his had offered before. - -He had milked his other companies dry, he had played with reserves; all -except his Anglo-Parisian Finance Company, where the directors were too -strong to allow him his own way; and, although Maxell was not aware of -the fact, his “partner” had spent fabulous sums, not only in acquiring -the land itself but in purchasing other gold-mining property in the -region. It was a gamble, and a dangerous gamble. He was risking the -substance of his fortune for the shadow of unlimited wealth. - -Yet, was it a risk? he asked himself; with the properties that he could -include in his new North Morocco Gold Mining Association—that was to be -the title of the new company—there could be no doubt as to the result -of the public issue. The British public dearly love a gamble, and a -gold-mining gamble, with all its mysteries and uncertainties, more -dearly than any. - -He went to bed late, but was taking his chocolate and roll before a -little café on the boulevard before nine. At half-past nine he was -joined by the girl. - -Cartwright had been undecided as to whether he should take his _petit -déjeuner_ outside or inside the café, and had decided, since the morning -was bright and warm, to breakfast under the striped awning in full view -of the street. Such great events hang upon slight issues. - -Scarcely had the girl seated herself opposite to him, when a pedestrian, -passing on the other side of the boulevard, halted and stared. Mr. -Ferreira had sharp eyes and a wit not altogether dulled by his -monotonous occupation. - -Cartwright produced a bulky package from his pocket and laid it on the -table before the girl. - -“Put that in your bag and be careful with it,” he said; “there are three -hundred thousand francs in notes. When the property is transferred to -you, you must bring the transfer along to me.” - -“What about your promise?” she asked suspiciously. - -“That I will keep,” he said. “Don’t forget that you have the best -guarantee in the possession of the transfer. Legally, it is your -property until it is made over to me.” - -She sat looking at the package absently, and presently she said: - -“You’ve got to get me out of Paris at once. Otherwise I am due to leave -by the Sud Express—with Brigot.” - -He nodded. - -“There is a train for Havre at two-fifteen,” he said. - -He saw her into her car—another indiscretion since it brought him out -of the shadow which the awning afforded, and gave the observer on the -other side of the road an unmistakable view. - -Brigot was waiting for her—a heavy-eyed, weary-looking man, whose hand -shook whenever it rose to stroke his short, pointed beard. - -His lawyer watched him curiously as he stepped forward to meet the girl -with hands outstretched. It was not the first time that he had seen his -client overwhelmed by a pretty face. - -“Everything is ready, Nanette,” said the eager M. Brigot. (“Nanette” was -the newfound name which Sadie O’Grady employed for this adventure.) “See -here, I have all the documents ready!” - -“And I have the money,” smiled the girl as she put the package down on -the table. - -“The money!” Señor Brigot waved such sordid matters out of existence -with a magnificent flourish. “What is money?” - -“Count it,” said the girl. - -“I will do no such thing,” said the other extravagantly. “As a -caballero, it hurts me to discuss money in connection——” - -But his lawyer had no sentiment, and had slipped the string from the -package and was now busily counting the thousand-franc notes. When he -had finished, he put them on the desk. - -“Can I see you one moment, M. Brigot?” he asked. - -Brigot, holding the girl’s hand and devouring her with his eyes, turned -impatiently. - -“No, no,” he said. “The document, my friend, the document! Give me a -pen!” - -“There is one point in the deed I must discuss,” said the lawyer firmly, -“if mademoiselle will excuse us for a moment——” He opened the door of -his inner office invitingly and with a shrug M. Brigot followed him in. - -“I have told you, monsieur,” said the lawyer, “that I do not think your -action is wise. You are surrendering a property for a sum less than a -quarter of what you paid for it to a perfectly unknown woman——” - -“M. l’Avocat,” said the other gravely, “you are speaking of a lady who -to me is more precious than life!” - -The lawyer concealed a smile. - -“I have often spoken to you about ladies who have been more precious to -you than life,” he said dryly, “but in their cases, no transfer of -valuable property was involved. What do you know of this lady?” - -“I know nothing except that she is adorable,” said the reckless -Spaniard. “But for the fact that, alas! my wife most obstinately refuses -to die or divorce me, I should be honoured to make madame my wife. As it -is, what a pleasure to give her the land on which to build a beautiful -villa overlooking my gorgeous Tangier—I am moving to Tangier very soon -to look after my other property—and to know that her blessed -presence——” - -The lawyer spread out despairing hands. - -“Then there is nothing to be done,” he said. “I only tell you that you -are transferring a valuable property to a lady who is comparatively -unknown to you, and it seems to me a very indiscreet and reckless thing -to do.” - -They returned again to the outer apartment, where the girl had been -standing nervously twisting the moiré bag in her hand. - -“Here is the document, madame,” said the lawyer to her relief. “Señor -Brigot will sign here”—he indicated a line—“and you will sign there. I -will cause these signatures to be witnessed, and a copy of the document -will be forwarded for registration.” - -The girl sat down at the table, and her hand shook as she took up the -pen. It was at that moment that Jose Ferreira dashed into the room. - -He stood open-mouthed at sight of the girl at the table. He tried to -speak, but the sound died in his throat. Then he strode forward, under -the glaring eye of his employer. - -“This woman—this woman!” he gasped. - -“Ferreira,” cried Brigot in a terrible voice, “you are speaking of a -lady who is my friend!” - -“She—she”—the man pointed to her with shaking finger—“she is the -woman! She escaped! . . . The woman I told you of, who ran away with an -Englishman from Tangier!” - -Brigot stared from one to the other. - -“You’re mad,” he said. - -“She is the woman,” squeaked Ferreira, “and the man also is in Paris. I -saw them together this morning at the Café Furnos! The man who was in -Tangier, of whom I told the señor, and this woman, Sadie O’Grady!” - -Brigot looked at the girl. She had been caught off her guard, and never -once had the keen eyes of the lawyer left her. Given some warning, she -might have dissembled and carried the matter through with a high hand. -But the suddenness of the accusation, the amazingly unexpected vision of -Jose, had thrown her off her guard, and Brigot did not need to look -twice at her to know that the charges of his subordinate were justified. -She was not a born conspirator, nor was she used to intrigues of this -character. - -Brigot gripped her by the arm and pulled her from the chair. He was half -mad with rage and humiliation. - -“What is the name of this man?” he hissed. “The name of the man who took -you from Tangier and brought you here?” - -She was white as death and terribly afraid. - -“Benson,” she stammered. - -“Benson!” - -The lawyer and Brigot uttered the words together, and the Spaniard, -releasing his hold stepped back. - -“So it was Benson!” he said softly. “Our wonderful Englishman who wanted -to swindle me out of my property, eh? And I suppose he sent you, my -beautiful American widow, to purchase land for your villa! Now, you can -go back to Mr. Benson and tell him that, if my property is good enough -for him to buy, it is good enough for me to keep. You—you!” - -He made a dart at her with upraised hand, but the lawyer was before him -and gently pushed him back. - -He jerked his head to the girl and, shaking like a leaf, she stepped to -the door and went stumbling down the stairs, which she had mounted with -such confidence a few minutes before. - -Cartwright received the news with extraordinary equanimity. - -“It has saved us the bother of going out of Paris,” he said -thoughtfully. “And it was my own fault. I never connected that infernal -fellow Ferreira with Brigot’s enterprises. And anyway, we should not -have met in public. He said he saw us at the café, did he?” - -The girl nodded. - -“I did my best,” she faltered. - -“Of course you did your best,” said Cartwright, patting her hand. “It is -tough luck, but it can’t be helped.” - -“There was a long silence, then: - -“What about me?” asked the girl. “Where do I come in? I suppose you have -no further use for my services?” - -Cartwright smiled. - -“Of course I have,” he said genially. Then, after a longer pause, “Do -you know that you’re the only person in this world that I have ever -taken so completely into my confidence and shown what, for a better -expression, I will call the seamy side of my business? I’d like to tell -you a lot more, because it would be a relief to me to get it off my -chest. But I’m telling you this, that if I marry you to-day, you’ll have -to play your part to save me from everlasting ruin.” - -“Ruin?” she said, startled, and he laughed. - -“Not the kind of ruin that means you’ll go short of food,” he said, “but -the sort of ruin that may mean—well, ruin from my point of view. Now -you must understand this thing clearly, Sadie. I’m out for a big stake, -and if I don’t pull it off, it’s as likely as not that I’ll go out. -You’re a clever, useful sort of kid, and I have an idea that you may be -even more useful. But there’s to be no sentiment in this marriage, mind! -You have just to sit here and hold tight and do as you’re told, and you -haven’t got to pry into my business any further than I want you to. And -if I go away and don’t come back, you must reckon me as dead. I’ve a lot -of business in America and elsewhere, which often takes me away for -months at a time, and you’re not to get uneasy. But if you don’t hear -from me—why, you can go down to the Lafayette and buy yourself the -grandest little suit of mourning that you can afford!” - -“Shall I be able to afford it?” she asked. - -He nodded. - -“I shall put some Rentes to your credit at the Lyonnais. That will give -you a steady income in case anything happens.” - -The girl was troubled. - -“I don’t quite like this idea,” she said. “What will happen?” - -Mr. Cartwright flicked away the ash from the end of his cigar and said -cheerfully: - -“That depends entirely upon the view which is taken of a certain -prospectus issued in London this morning.” - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - -THE New Angera Syndicate was registered as a private company, and its -prospectus was not made public. Officially, the shares were not offered -to general subscription, and actually they had been subscribed—or the -first issue of five hundred thousand had—by a little group of shrewd -speculators in the City of London, who, before now, had made vast sums -from Cartwright’s promotions. The five hundred thousand shares brought -in about half that number of pounds, and nobody doubted that the -properties consolidated for the purposes of flotation included the block -of claims described in the prospectus as “lately the property of Señor -Brigot.” - -Gold had been found on the Angera reef, and gold in sufficient quantity -to make the new company a very promising speculation. That Brigot’s -property could be made to pay, had it been properly managed, was common -knowledge in the City of London. A dozen offers had been made for this -concession, but none had been quite acceptable to Señor Brigot, whose -estimate of the value of the mine varied with the passing hour. - -Probably, had it been possible to secure an interview with M. Brigot at -one o’clock in the afternoon, when he arose with a splitting head and a -dry throat, his possessions might have been acquired at the price of a -quart of sweet champagne. - -But, as the day progressed and his views of life became more charitable, -his estimate expanded until, by seven o’clock in the evening, which hour -he as a rule reserved for any business discussion, his figure was -awe-inspiring. Nobody in the City doubted for one moment that Cartwright -had purchased the property. Though his system of finance might not -commend itself to the barons and even the baronets of Capel Court, there -was no question of his honesty. - -Was it by some extraordinary fluke that Maxell, who had hitherto shared -in the profits of promotion, had kept aloof from this last and greatest -of Cartwright’s flutters? No application for shares was ever found. He -heard (he said at a subsequent inquiry) in a round-about way of the -flotation, and saw a copy of the prospectus, and was a little worried. -He knew that when he had left Cartwright in Paris, not only was the -Brigot mine outside of his friend’s control, but there was precious -little prospect of bringing the Spaniard to a reasonable frame of mind. - -Cartwright must have done his work quickly, he thought, and have paid -heavily; and this latter reflection worried him even more because he had -a fairly accurate idea as to the condition of Cartwright’s private -finances. His private thoughts on this occasion are set forth in the -report of the Attorney-General’s Committee of Investigation. - -He was eating his solitary dinner in Cavendish Square when the telephone -bell rang and the voice of Sir Gregory Fane, the Attorney-General, -saluted him. - -“I should like to see you, Maxell,” he said. “Will you come round to -Clarges Street after dinner?” - -“Certainly,” replied Maxell promptly, and hung up the receiver, -wondering what new difficulties had arisen, which called for a -consultation; for he was not on visiting terms with Mr. Attorney. - -In the tiny drawing-room of the house occupied by the Cabinet Minister, -Maxell was surprised to find another visitor waiting—no less a person -than Fenshaw, the Prime Minister’s private secretary. - -The Attorney-General came straight to the point. - -“Maxell,” he said, “we want your seat in the House of Commons.” - -“The deuce you do!” said Maxell, raising his eyebrows. - -The Attorney nodded. - -“We also want to give you some reward for the excellent services you -have rendered to the Government,” he said. “But mostly”—his eyes -twinkled—“it is necessary to find a seat for Sir Milton Boyd—the -Minister of Education has been defeated at a by-election, as you know.” - -The other nodded. The communication was a surprise to him and he -wondered exactly what position was to be offered him which would involve -his resignation from the House. For one brief, panicky moment he had -connected Cartwright and his delinquencies with this request for an -interview, but the Attorney’s speech had dispelled that momentary fear. - -“Quilland, as you know, has been raised to the Court of Appeal,” said -the Attorney, speaking of a well-known Chancery Judge, “and we are -departing from our usual practice by bringing over a man from the King’s -Bench to take his place. Now, Maxell, how does a judgeship appeal to -you?” - -The K.C. could only stare. - -Of the many things he did not expect, it was elevation to the Bench, -although he was a sound, good lawyer, and the Bench is the ambition of -every silk. - -“I would like that,” he said huskily. - -“Good!” said the brisk Attorney. “Then we will regard it as settled. The -appointment will not be announced for two or three days, so you’ve a -chance of clearing up your more urgent work and preparing a letter for -your constituents. You might say a kind word for the new candidate who -isn’t particularly popular in your part of the world.” - -One of Maxell’s first acts was to write a letter to Cartwright. All -Cartwright’s correspondence went to his London office, and was forwarded -under separate cover to Paris. It was a long letter, recapitulating -their friendly relationship, and ending: - - “This promotion, of course, means that we can no longer be - associated in business, and I have instructed my broker to sell - all the shares I possess in your and other companies forthwith. - As you know, I have very definite views about the high prestige - of the Bench; and whilst, in any circumstances, I feel that I - can go to that dignified position with clean hands, my mind will - be freer if I cut all the cords which hold me to commerce of - every shape and description.” - -Three days later the letter came to Cartwright, and he read it through -with a thoughtful expression on his face. He read it twice before he -slowly folded it and put it into his inside pocket. - -Maxell was to be made a Judge! - -He had never considered that contingency, and did not know whether to be -pleased or sorry. He was losing the service of a man who had been a -directing force in his life, greater than Maxell himself ever imagined. -It was not so much the advice which he asked and received from the -King’s Counsel, but rather Cartwright had secured help by the simple -process of making a study of the other’s moods and expressions. - -He knew the half-frown which greeted some schemes, put forward -tentatively over the dinner table, and it was that little sign of -displeasure which could squash the scheme rather than any considered -advice which Maxell might have given. He was losing a good advocate, a -very sound legal adviser. He shrugged his shoulders. Well, it did not -matter very much. Fate had put a period to an old phase of life, and -many things had come to an end coincidently. He was taking his afternoon -tea when the letter had arrived, and the new Mrs. Cartwright marked with -interest the depression which followed the arrival of the mail. - -The new period was beginning excitingly, he thought. He had found a new -method of doing business, bolder and more desperate than any he had -attempted before; and with this development he had lost a man upon whom -he placed a great deal of reliance. Incidentally, he had just been -married, but this fact did not bulk very largely in his reckoning. -Maxell might serve him yet. The memory of an old business -partnership—for in such an aspect did Cartwright interpret their -previous relationship—the memory, too, of favours done, of financial -dangers shared, might serve him well if things went wrong. Maxell had a -pull with the Government—a greater pull, since he was now a Judge of -the Supreme Court. - -Maxell a Judge! It seemed queer. Cartwright had all the properly -constituted Englishman’s reverence for the Bench. In spite of much -experience in litigation, and an acquaintance with lawyers of all kinds -and stations, he reserved his awe for the god-like creature who sat in -wig and gown, and dispensed justice evenhandedly. - -“Have you had a worrying letter?” asked the girl. - -He shook his head. - -“No, no,” he said, a little impatiently; “it is nothing.” - -She had hoped for a glimpse of the envelope, but was disappointed. -Curiously enough, she ascribed the fact that her husband passed under a -strange name and would not divulge his own, to a cause which was far -from the truth, and was a great injustice to a man who, if he had not -given her his proper name, had given her a title to whatever name he -had. That thought she revealed for the first time. - -“Do you know what I think?” she said unexpectedly. - -“I didn’t know you thought very much,” he smiled. “In what particular -department of speculation does your mind wander?” - -“Don’t be sarcastic,” she answered. She was a little afraid of sarcasm, -as are all children and immature grown-ups. “It was about your name I -was thinking.” - -He frowned. - -“Why the dickens don’t you leave my name alone?” he snapped. “I have -told you that it is all for your good that I’m called Benson and known -as Benson in this town. When we go to London you will discover my name.” - -She nodded. - -“I know why you keep it dark.” - -He looked at her sharply. - -“Why do I keep it dark?” he asked, fixing his eyes on her. - -“Because you’re married already.” - -He looked at her for a moment, and then burst into such a peal of -laughter that the girl knew her shot was wide of the mark. - -“You’re a weird person,” he said, getting up. “I’m going out to see an -old friend of ours.” - -“Of ours?” she asked suspiciously. - -“Brigot is the gentleman’s name.” - -“He won’t see you,” she said decidedly. - -“Oh, won’t he?” said the grim man. “I rather think he will.” - -M. Brigot would not willingly have received one whose name was anathema, -but Cartwright got over the difficulty of his reception by the simple -process of sending up a card inscribed with the name of Brigot’s lawyer. - -“You!” spluttered M. Brigot, rising to his feet as the other entered the -room and closed the door behind him. “This is an outrage! It is -monstrous! You will leave this house immediately, or I will send for the -police!” - -“Now, just keep quiet for a moment, Brigot,” said Cartwright, seating -himself coolly. “I have come to see you as one business man to another.” - -“I refuse to discuss any business with you,” stormed his unwilling host. -“You are a scoundrel, a conspirator—bah! why do I talk to you?” - -“Because you’re broke!” said Cartwright in calm, level tones, and he -used the Spanish word for “broke,” which is so much more expressive than -any word in English. - -The conversation was carried on in this language, for Cartwright had an -intimate knowledge of its idioms and even of its patois. - -“Your creditors in Paris are gathering round like hawks about a dead -cow. Your attempt to sell your Moorish property has been a failure.” - -“You know a great deal,” sneered Brigot. “Possibly you also know that I -am going to work the mine myself.” - -The Englishman chuckled. - -“I’ve heard that said of you for years,” said he, “but the truth is, -you’re wholly incapable of working anything. You’re one of nature’s -little spenders—now, Brigot, don’t let us quarrel. There is a time to -end feuds like ours, and this is that time. I am a business man, and so -are you. You’re as anxious to sell your property at a good price as I am -to buy it. I’ve come to make you an offer.” - -M. Brigot laughed sarcastically. - -“Ten thousand pounds?” he demanded with gentle irony. “To build a house -for a beautiful American widow, eh?” - -Cartwright accepted the gibe with a smile. - -“I’m not going to show you my hand,” he said. - -“It will be infamously dirty,” said M. Brigot, who was in his bright six -o’clock mood. - -“I know there is gold in the Angera,” the other went on, without -troubling to notice the interruption, “and I know that, properly worked, -your mine may pay big profits.” - -“I will sell out,” said M. Brigot after consideration, “but at a price. -I have told you before I will sell out—at a price.” - -“But what a price!” said Cartwright, raising his eyebrows and with a -gesture of extravagant despair. “It is all the money in the world!” - -“Nevertheless, it is the price,” said M. Brigot comfortably. - -“I’ll tell you what I am willing to do.” Cartwright stroked his chin as -though the solution had just occurred to him. “I will float your -property in London, tacking on a number of other properties which I have -bought in the neighbourhood. I am willing to pay you two hundred -thousand pounds—that is to say, six million francs.” - -M. Brigot was interested. He was so interested that, for the moment, he -could forget his animosity and private grievances. It was true that, as -Cartwright had said, his creditors were becoming noisy. - -“In cash, of course?” he said suddenly. - -Cartwright shook his head. - -“You can have a portion in cash and the rest in shares.” - -“Bah!” Brigot snapped his fingers. “I also can issue shares, my friend. -What are shares? Pieces of paper which are not worth their ink. No, no, -you deceive me. I thought you had come to me with a genuine offer. There -is no business to be done between you and me, Mr. Cartwright. Good -evening.” - -Cartwright did not move. - -“A portion in cash—say, fifteen thousand pounds,” he suggested; “that -is a lot of money.” - -“To you—yes, but not to me,” said the magnificent Brigot. “Give me -two-thirds in cash and I will take the rest in shares. That is my last -word.” - -Cartwright rose. - -“This offer is open until—when?” - -“Until to-morrow at this hour,” replied Brigot. - -As Cartwright was going, a man tapped at the door. It was Brigot’s -“secretary,” who was also his valet. He handed a telegram to the -Spaniard, and Brigot opened and read. He was a long time digesting its -contents, and Cartwright waited for a favourable opportunity to say -good-bye. All the time his mind was working, and he thought he saw -daylight. Two-thirds of the money could be raised, and he could breathe -again. - -Presently Brigot folded up the telegram and put it in his pocket, and -there was on his face a beatific smile. - -“Good night, Señor Brigot,” said Cartwright. “I will see you to-morrow -with the money.” - -“It will have to be big money, my friend,” said Brigot, and there was a -note of exultation in his voice. “To buy my little property will cost -you half a million English pounds.” - -Cartwright gasped. - -“What do you mean?” he demanded quickly. - -“Do you know Solomon Brothers, the financiers of London?” - -“I know them very well,” replied Cartwright steadily. He had good reason -to know Solomon Brothers, who had taken a large block of shares in his -new syndicate. - -“I have just had a telegram from Solomon Brothers,” said Señor Brigot, -speaking slowly, “and they ask me to give them the date when my property -was transferred to your syndicate. They tell me it is included in your -properties which you have floated. You know best, Mr. Cartwright, -whether my little mine is worth half a million English pounds to -you—especially if I put a date agreeable to you.” - -“Blackmail, eh?” said Cartwright between his teeth, and without a word -left the room. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - -HE went straight back to his flat on the Avenue of the Grand Army, and -the girl could see by his face that something had happened. - -“You might pack my bag, will you?” he said almost brusquely. “I have a -letter or two to write. I’m going to London. Important business has -arisen, and I may be gone some time.” - -Wisely she asked no questions, but carried out his instructions. When -she came back from the room with a little gripsack packed, he was -blotting the envelope of the last letter. - -“Post these after I have gone,” he said. - -“Shall I come down to the station and see you off?” - -He shook his head. - -“The less you and I are seen together, the better, I think,” he said -with a faint smile. - -He opened a drawer of his desk and took out a cash-box. From this he -extracted a thick wad of notes, and, counting them rapidly, he tossed a -respectable bundle into her lap. - -“You may want this,” he said. “You know you have a regular income, but -you must keep in touch with the Lyonnais. For the moment I should advise -you to go to”—he looked at the ceiling for inspiration—“to Nice or -Monte Carlo. Keep away from the tables,” he added humorously. - -“But—but,” said the bewildered girl, “for how long will you be gone? -Can’t I come with you?” - -“That is impossible,” he said sharply. “You must go to the South of -France, leave by to-night’s train. Give your address to nobody, and take -another name if necessary.” - -“Are things very wrong?” - -“Pretty bad,” he said. “But don’t worry. I may be gone for a year, even -more. There are plenty of things you can do, but don’t go back into the -profession yet awhile.” - -“I thought of taking up cinema work,” she said. - -He nodded. - -“You might do worse than go to America—if I am a long time gone.” - -He stuffed the remainder of the notes into his pocket, picked up his -bag, and with no other farewell than a curt nod, left her. - -She was only to see him once again in her life-time. - -He crossed the Channel by the night boat and came to London in the early -hours of the morning. He drove straight away to his hotel, had a bath -and shaved. His plan was fairly well formed. Everything depended upon -the charity which Messrs. Solomon Brothers might display towards his -strange lapse. - -At breakfast he read in _The Times_ that “Mr. Justice Maxell took his -seat upon the Bench” on the previous day, and that paragraph, for some -reason, seemed to cheer him. - -At ten o’clock he was in the City. At half-past ten he was interviewing -the senior partner of Solomon Brothers, a man with an expressionless -face, who listened courteously to the somewhat lame excuses which -Cartwright offered. - -“It was a mistake of a blundering clerk,” said Cartwright airily. “As -soon as I discovered the error, I came back to London to withdraw all -the money which had been subscribed.” - -“It is a pity you didn’t come back yesterday, Mr. Cartwright,” said -Solomon. - -“What do you mean?” - -“I mean,” said the other, “that we have already placed this matter in -the hands of our solicitors. I suggest that you had better interview -them.” - -Cartwright made a further pilgrimage to the solicitors of Solomon -Brothers, and found them most unwilling to see him. That was an ominous -sign, and he went back to his office in Victoria Street conscious that a -crisis was at hand. At any rate, the girl was out of the way; but, what -was more important, she, one of the principal witnesses in so far as -Brigot and his property were concerned, was not available for those who -might bring a charge against him. She was his wife, and her lips were -sealed, and this consequence of his marriage was one which he had not -wholly overlooked when he had contracted his strange alliance. - -What a fool he had been! The property might have been transferred and in -his hands, if he had not antagonised a wretched little Spanish -theatrical manager. But, he reflected, if he had not antagonised that -manager, he would not have possessed the instrument for extracting the -transfer from the amorous Brigot. - -At the top of a heap of letters awaiting him was one written in a firm -boyish hand, and Cartwright made a little grimace, as though for the -first time recognising his responsibility. - -“Take A Chance Anderson; my lad, you will have to take a chance,” he -said, and pushed the letter aside unopened. - -He lunched at his club, sent a brief letter to Maxell, and returned to -his office at two in the afternoon. His clerk told him that a man was -waiting for him in the inner office. Cartwright hesitated with his hand -on the door; then, setting his teeth, he stepped in. - -The stranger rose. - -“Are you Mr. Alfred Cartwright?” he asked. - -“That is my name,” replied Cartwright. - -“I am Inspector Guilbury, of the City Police,” said the stranger, “and I -shall take you into custody on charges under the Companies Act, and a -further charge of conspiracy to defraud.” - -Cartwright laughed. - -“Go ahead,” he said. - - * * * * * - -All the week preceding the trial, Cartwright’s heart was filled with -warm, gratitude to his erstwhile friend. He did not doubt, when his -solicitor told him that Mr. Justice Maxell would try his case, that -Maxell had gone a long way out of his way to get himself appointed the -Old Bailey judge. How like Maxell it was—that queer, solemn stick—and -how loyal! - -Cartwright had a feeling for Maxell which he had never had before. At -first he had feared the embarrassment which might be Maxell’s at having -to try a case in which an old friend was implicated, and had even hoped -that the new judge would have nothing to do with the trial. He did not -despair of Maxell pulling strings on his behalf, and he realised that -much could be done by judicious lobbying. - -The charge against him was a grave one. He had not realised how serious -it was until he had seen that respectful array of counsel in the Lord -Mayor’s Court, and had heard his misdemeanours reduced to cold legal -phraseology. But he did not wholly despair. Brigot had been coming to -London to give evidence, and on his journey there had occurred an -incident which suggested to the accused man that Providence was fighting -on his side. The Spaniard had had a stroke in the train to Calais, and -the doctors reported that he might not recover. Not that Brigot’s -evidence was indispensable. There was, apparently, a letter and two -telegrams in existence, in the course of which Brigot denied that he had -ever parted with his property; and the onus lay upon Cartwright to prove -that he had acted in a _bona fide_ manner—that was impossible of proof, -and nobody knew this better than Cartwright. - -And ever his mind reverted to the singular act of generosity on the part -of his old friend. He did not doubt for one moment that Maxell had -“worked” the case so that it fell to him to try it. - -It was a bright morning in May when he came up the steps of the Old -Bailey and took his place in the dock. Almost immediately after, the -Judge and the Sheriff entered from the door behind the plain oaken -bench. How well the judicial robes became Maxell, thought Cartwright. He -bowed slightly and received as slight a bow in reply. Maxell was looking -pale. His face was drawn, and there was resolution in his speech and in -his eyes. - -“Before this case proceeds,” he said, “I wish to direct attention to a -statement in one of the newspapers this morning, that I was associated -with the accused in business, and that I am in some way involved, -directly or indirectly, in the company promotion—either as a -shareholder or an indirect promoter—which is the subject of the present -charge. I wish to utter an emphatic denial to that statement.” - -He spoke clearly and slowly and looked the prisoner straight in the eye, -and Cartwright nodded. - -“I can only endorse your lordship’s statement,” he said emphatically. -“Your lordship has never had any dealings with me or any business -transactions whatsoever.” - -It was a minor sensation which provided a headline for the evening -newspapers. The case proceeded. It was not particularly involved and the -witnesses were few but vital. There were those business men who had -subscribed or promised to subscribe to the syndicate. There was Mr. -Solomon, who could give an account of his dealings with the prisoner. -But, most damning of all, was a sworn statement made by Brigot before an -English solicitor, a Commissioner of Oaths. And it was such a statement -which only documentary proof, produced by the accused man, could refute. - -Cartwright listened to the evidence untroubled of mind. He knew that his -counsel’s speech, delivered with such force, was little less than an -admission of guilt and a plea for mercy. The last word would be with the -judge. A verdict of “guilty” there must necessarily be. But he thought -that, when later his counsel pleaded for a minimum sentence, he saw a -responsive look in the Judge’s eyes. - -The stigma of imprisonment did not greatly distress Cartwright. He had -lived on the narrow border-line of illegalities too long; he had weighed -chances and penalties too nicely to bother about such ephemeral things -as “honour.” His system of finance was reviewed, and certain minor -charges arising out of the manipulation of funds were gone into. It was -late in the evening when the Judge began his summing up. - -It was a fair, if a conventional address he delivered to the jury. -Obviously, thought Cartwright, he could do nothing less than call -attention to the serious nature of the charge, the interests involved, -the betrayal of shareholders, and the like. On the whole, the summing up -did not diminish the comforting sense that the worst that lay before him -was a few months’ imprisonment and then a start in another land under -another name. He never doubted his ability to make money. The summing up -was ended, and the jury retired. They were gone twenty minutes, and when -they came back it was a foregone conclusion what their verdict would be. - -“Do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?” - -“Guilty,” was the reply. - -“And is that the verdict of you all?” - -“It is.” - -Mr. Justice Maxell was examining his notes, and presently he closed the -little book which he was consulting. - -“The charge against Alfred Cartwright,” he said, “is one of the most -serious which could be brought against a business man. The jury have -returned a verdict of guilty, and I must say that I concur in that -verdict. I am here in my place”—his voice shook a little—“to -administer and maintain the laws of England. I must do all that in me is -possible to preserve the purity of commercial life and the condition of -English commercial honesty.” - -Cartwright waited for that “but”—it did not come. - -“In view of the seriousness of the frauds and irregularities which the -accused has committed, with a cynical disregard for the happiness or -fortune of those people whose interests should have been his own, I -cannot do less than pass a sentence which will serve as an example to -all wrongdoers.” - -Cartwright gasped and gripped the edge of the dock. - -“You, Alfred Cartwright,” said Maxell, and again looked him straight in -the eye, “will be kept in penal servitude for twenty years.” - -Cartwright swallowed something. Then he leaned across the edge of the -dock. - -“You swine!” he said huskily, and then the warders dragged him away. - -Two days later there was a new sensation. The newspapers announced that -Mr. Justice Maxell had been compelled, on account of ill-health, to -resign from the Bench, and that His Majesty had been pleased to confer a -baronetcy of the United Kingdom upon the ex-Judge. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - -SOME nine years after the events detailed in the last chapter, a -fairly clever young actress who had drifted into the cinematograph -business, faced one of the many disappointments which had made up her -life. In many ways the disappointment was more bitter than any she had -previously experienced, because she had banked so heavily upon success. - -If there was any satisfaction to be had out of the new tragedy it was to -be found in the fact that the fault was not entirely hers. An impartial -critic might, indeed, absolve her from all responsibility. - -In this particular instance she regarded herself in the light of a -martyr to indifferent literature—not without reason. - -When the Westminster Art Film Company was tottering on its last legs, -Mr. Willie Ellsberger, chairman and chief victim, decided on one big -throw for fortune. The play decided upon does not matter, because it was -written by Willie himself, with the assistance of his advertising man, -but it contained all the stunts that had ever got by in all the photo -plays that had ever been produced, and in and out of every breathless -situation flashed Sadie O’Grady, the most amazing, the most charming, -the most romantic, the highest salaried artiste that filmland had ever -known. - -Sadie O’Grady had come to London from Honolulu, after she had inherited -her father’s considerable fortune. She came, a curious visitor, to the -studios, merely as a spectator, and had laughingly refused Mr. -Ellsberger’s first offer, that gentleman having been attracted by her -perfect face and the grace of her movements; but at last, after -extraordinary persuasion, she had agreed to star in that stupendous -production, “The Soul of Babylon,” for a fee of £25,000, which was to be -distributed amongst certain Honolulu charities in which she was -interested. - -“No,” she told a newspaper man, “this is to be my first and my last -film. I enjoy the work very much, but naturally it takes up a great deal -of my time.” - -“Are you returning to Honolulu?” asked our representative. - -“No,” replied Miss O’Grady, “I am going on to Paris. My agent has bought -me the Duc de Montpelier’s house in the Avenue d’Etoile.” - -A week after the picture was finished, Miss Sadie O’Grady waited on the -chairman by appointment. - -“Well, Sadie,” said that gentleman, leaning back in his chair, and -smiling unhappily, “it’s a flivver!” - -“You don’t say!” said Sadie aghast. - -“We ran it off for the big renter from the North, and he says it is -about as bad as it can be, and that all the good in it is so obviously -stolen, that he dare not risk the injunction which would follow the -first exhibition. Did Simmonds pay you your last week’s salary?” - -“No, Mr. Ellsberger,” said the girl. - -Ellsberger shrugged. - -“That sets me back another twenty pounds,” he said and reached for his -cheque-book. “It is tough on you, Sadie, but it’s tougher on us. I’m not -so sure that it is so tough on you, though. I spent a fortune -advertising you. There isn’t anybody in this country who hasn’t heard of -Sadie O’Grady, and,” he added grimly, “you’ve more publicity than I hope -I shall get when this business goes into the hands of the Official -Receiver.” - -“So there’s no more work?” asked the girl after a pause. - -Mr. Ellsberger’s hands said: “What can I do?” - -“You ought not to have any difficulty in getting a shop,” he said, “with -your figure.” - -“Especially when the figure’s twenty pounds a week,” she said -unsmilingly. “I was a fool ever to leave Paris. I was doing well there -and I wish I’d never heard of the cinema business.” - -Still young and pretty and slim, with a straight nose and a straighter -mouth, she had no appeal for Mr. Ellsberger, who in matters of business -had an unsympathetic nature. - -“Why don’t you go back to Paris?” he said, speaking very deliberately -and looking out of the window. “Perhaps that affair has blown over by -now.” - -“What affair?” she asked sharply. “What do you mean?” - -“I’ve friends in Paris,” said the chairman, “good, bright boys who go -around a lot, and they know most of what’s going on in town.” - -She looked at him, biting her lips thoughtfully. - -“Reggie van Rhyn—that’s the trouble you heard about?” - -Mr. Ellsberger nodded. - -“I didn’t know what happened, and I’ll never believe in a thousand years -that I stabbed him,” she said vigorously. “I’ve always been too much of -a lady for that sort of thing—I was educated at a convent.” - -Mr. Ellsberger yawned. - -“Take that to Curtis, will you,” he said. “If he can get any free -publicity for you, why, I’ll be glad. Now take my advice—stay on. I’ve -put Sadie O’Grady way up amongst the well-known products of Movieland, -and you’ll be a fool if you quit just when the public is getting -interested in you. I’m in bad, but that doesn’t affect you, Sadie, and -there ain’t a producer in England who wouldn’t jump at you and give you -twice the salary I’m paying.” - -She stood up, undecided. Ellsberger was growing weary of the interview. -He made a great show of pulling out notepaper and rang the bell for his -stenographer. - -“The publicity’s fine,” she admitted, “and I’ve felt good about the -work. Why the letters that I’ve had from people asking for my autograph -and pictures of my Honolulu estate”—she smiled a little -frostily—“people in society, too. Why, a titled man who wrote to me -from Bournemouth, Sir John Maxell——” - -“Sir John Maxell!” - -Mr. Ellsberger was interested, indeed, he was fascinated. He waved away -his stenographer. - -“Sit down, Sadie,” he said. “You’re sure it was Maxell? Sir John -Maxell?” - -She nodded. - -“That’s him,” she said. “There’s class there.” - -“And there’s money, too,” said the practical Ellsberger. “Why don’t you -get in touch with him, Sadie? A fellow like that would think nothing of -putting ten thousand into a picture if he was interested in a girl. If -you happen to be the girl, Sadie, there’ll be a thousand pound contract -for you right away.” - -Her straight lips were a trifle hard. - -“What you want is an angel, and the Judge is the best kind of angel you -could wish for.” - -“Has he got money?” she asked. - -“Money!” said the hands of Ellsberger. “What a ridiculous question to -ask!” - -“Money!” he scoffed. “Money to burn. Do you mean to say you’ve never -heard of Sir John Maxell, never heard of the man who sent his best -friend to gaol for twenty years? Why, it was the biggest sensation of -the year!” - -Sadie was not very interested in history, but momentarily, by virtue of -the very warm and well punctuated letter which reposed in her bag, she -was interested in Sir John. - -“Is he married?” asked the girl naturally. - -“He is not married,” said Ellsberger emphatically. - -“Any children?” - -“There are no children, but he has a niece—he’s got some legal -responsibility as regards her; I remember seeing it in the newspapers, -he’s her guardian or something.” - -Mr. Ellsberger looked at the girl with a speculative eye. - -“Have you his letter?” - -She nodded and produced the epistle. - -It was polite but warm. It had some reference to her “gracious talent,” -to her “unexampled beauty” which had “brought pleasure to one who was no -longer influenced by the commonplace,” and it finished up by expressing -the hope that they two would meet in the early future, and that before -leaving for Paris she would honour him by being his guest for a few -days. - -Ellsberger handed the letter back. - -“Write him,” he said, “and, Sadie, consider yourself engaged for another -week—write to him in my time. He’s fallen for all that Press stuff, and -maybe, if he’s got that passionate admiration for your genius -he’ll—say, you don’t want to stay in the picture business and finish by -marrying that kind of trouble, do you?” - -He pointed through the wide windows to a youth who was coming across -from the studio to the office, swinging a cane vigorously. - -“Observe the lavender socks and the wrist watch,” he chuckled. “But -don’t make any mistake about Timothy Anderson. He’s the toughest amateur -at his weight in this or any other state and a good boy, but he’s the -kind of fellow that women like you marry—get acquainted with the -Judge.” - -With only a preliminary knock, which he did not wait to hear answered, -the young man had swung through the door, hat in hand. - -“How do, Miss O’Grady?” he said. “I saw your picture—fine! Good acting, -but a perfectly rotten play. I suppose you wrote it, Ellsberger?” - -“I wrote it,” admitted that gentleman gloomily. - -“It bears the impression of your genius, old bird.” - -Timothy Anderson shook his head reproachfully. - -“It only wanted you as the leading man, and it would have been dead -before we put the titles in,” said Ellsberger with a grin. - -“I’m out of the movies for good,” said Timothy Anderson, sitting himself -on a table. “It is a demoralising occupation—which reminds me.” - -He slipped from the table, thrust his hand into his pocket, and -producing a roll of notes: - -“I owe you twenty-five pounds, Ellsberger,” he said. “Thank you very -much. You saved me from ruin and starvation.” - -He counted the money across, and Mr. Ellsberger was undoubtedly -surprised and made no attempt to conceal the fact. So surprised was he -that he could be jocose. - -“Fixed a big contract with Mary Pickford?” he asked. - -“N-no,” said Timothy, “but I struck a roulette game—and took a chance.” - -“Took a chance again, eh?” said Ellsberger. “One of these days you’ll -take a chance and never get better of it.” - -“Pooh!” said the other in derision. “Do you think that’s any new -experience for me? Not on your life. I went into this game with just -twelve pounds and my hotel bill three weeks in arrears. I was down to my -last half-crown, but I played it and came out with three hundred -pounds.” - -“Whose game was it?” asked Mr. Ellsberger curiously. - -“Tony Smail,” and Mr. Ellsberger whistled. - -“Why, that’s one of the toughest places in town,” he said. “It is a -wonder you came away with the money—and your life.” - -“I took a chance,” said the other carelessly, and swung his legs once -more over the edge of the desk. “There was some slight trouble when I -came out of Smail’s,” he shrugged his shoulders, “just a little -horseplay.” - -The girl had followed the conversation keenly. Any talk which circled -about finance had the effect of concentrating her attention. - -“Do you always take a chance?” she asked. - -“Always,” said the other promptly. - -This woman did not appeal to him. Timothy possessed a seventh sense -which he called his “Sorter,” and Miss Sadie O’Grady was already sorted -into the heap of folks who, had life been a veritable voyage, would have -been labelled “Not Wanted.” - -He held out his hand to Ellsberger. - -“I’m going by the next boat to New York,” he said, “then I’ll go to -California. Maybe I’ll take in Kempton on my way, for a fellow I met at -the hotel has a horse running which can catch pigeons. Good-bye, Miss -O’Grady. I wish you every kind of luck.” - -She watched him disappear, sensing his antagonism and responding -thereto. If he could judge women by intuition, she judged him by reason, -and she knew that here was a man whose mental attitude was one of -dormant hostility. - -It would be unfair to her to say that it was because she recognised the -clean mind and the healthy outlook and the high principles of this young -man that she disliked him. She was not wholly bad, because she had been -the victim of circumstances and had lately lived a two-thousand pound -life on a one-hundred pound capacity. She looked after him, biting her -lips as though she were solving a great problem. - -Presently she turned to Ellsberger. - -“I’ll write to Sir John,” she said. - -By a curious coincidence Timothy Anderson had the idea of approaching -Sir John Maxell also, though nearly a year passed before he carried his -idea into execution. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - -THE initials “T. A. C.” before young Mr. Anderson’s name stood for -Timothy Alfred Cartwright, his pious but practical parent having, by -this combination, made a bid for the protection of the saints and the -patronage of Cousin Al Cartwright, reputedly a millionaire and a -bachelor. It was hoped in this manner that his position on earth and in -heaven would be equally secure. - -What Timothy’s chances are in the hereafter the reader must decide; but -we do know that Cousin Al Cartwright proved both a weak reed and a -whited sepulchre. Timothy’s parents had departed this life two years -after Alfred Cartwright had disappeared from public view, leaving behind -him two years’ work for a committee of Investigating Accounts. - -When his surviving parent died, the boy was at school, and if he was not -a prodigy of learning he was at least brilliant in parts. - -Though it was with no great regret that he left school, he was old -enough and shrewd enough to realise that a bowing acquaintance with the -differential calculus, and the ability to conjugate the verb “avoir” did -not constitute an equipment, sufficiently comprehensive (if you will -forgive these long words), to meet and defeat such enemies to human -progress as he was likely to meet in this cruel and unsympathetic world. - -He had a small income bequeathed by his mother in a will which was -almost apologetic because she left so little, and he settled himself -down as a boarder in the house of a schoolmaster, and took up those -branches of study which interested him, and set himself to forget other -branches of education which interested him not at all. - -Because of his ineradicable passion for challenging fate it was only -natural that “T. A. C.” should bear a new significance, and since some -genius had christened him “Take A Chance” Anderson the name stuck. And -he took chances. From every throw with fate he learnt something. He had -acquired some knowledge of boxing at school, and had learnt enough of -the art to enable him to head the school. Such was his faith in himself -and his persuasive eloquence that he induced Sam Murphy, -ex-middle-weight and proprietor of the Stag’s Head, Dorking, to nominate -and support him for a ten-rounds contest with that redoubtable -feather-weight, Bill Schenk. - -“Take A Chance” Anderson took his chance. He also took the count in the -first round, and, returning to consciousness, vowed a vow—not that he -would never again enter the ring, but that he would learn something more -of the game before he did. Of course, it was very disgraceful that a man -of his antecedents should become a professional boxer—for professional -he became in the very act of failure—but that worried him not at all. - -It is a matter of history that Bill Schenk was knocked out by Kid -Muldoon, and that twelve months after his initiation into the prize ring -“T. Anderson” fought twenty rounds with the Kid and got the decision on -points. Thereafter, the ring knew “Take A Chance” Anderson no more. - -He took a chance on race-courses, backing horses that opened at tens and -closed at twenties. He backed horses that had never won before on the -assumption that they must win some time. He had sufficient money left -after this adventure to buy a book of form. He devoted his undoubted -talent to the study of other games of chance. He played cards for -matches with a broker’s clerk, who harboured secret ambitions of going -to Monte Carlo with a system; he purchased on the hire system -wonderfully cheap properties on the Isle of Thanet—and he worked. - -For all his fooling and experimenting, for all his gambling and his -chancing, Timothy never let a job of work get past him, if he could do -it, and when he wasn’t working for sordid lucre he was working for the -good of his soul. He went to the races with a volume of Molière’s plays -under his arm, and between events he read, hereby acquiring the respect -of the racing fraternity as an earnest student of form. - -So he came by violent, yet to him easy, stages to Movieland—that Mecca -which attracts all that is enterprising and romantic and restless. He -took a chance in a juvenile lead, but his method and his style of -actions were original. Producers are for ever on the look out for -novelty, but they put the bar up against novel styles of acting and -expression. Ellsberger had tried him out because he had known his -father, but more because he had won money over him when he had beaten -Kid Muldoon; but even Ellsberger was compelled to suggest that Timothy -put in two long years “atmosphering” before he essayed an individual -rôle on the screen. - -Timothy was not certain whether his train left at ten minutes to seven -or at ten minutes past seven, so he arrived in time for the ten minutes -to seven, which was characteristic of him, because he never took a -chance against the inflexible systems. - -He reached New York without misadventure, but on his way westward he -stayed over at Nevada. He intended spending a night, but met a man with -a scheme for running a mail-order business on entirely new lines, -invested his money, and by some miracle managed to make it last a year. -At the end of that time the police were after his partner, and Timothy -was travelling eastward by easy stages. - -He came back to New York with fifty-five dollars which he had won from a -Westerner on the last stage of the journey. The track ran for about -twenty miles along the side of the road, the wager between them was a -very simple one; it was whether they would pass more men than women on -the road. The Westerner chose men and Timothy chose women. For every man -they saw Timothy paid a dollar, for every woman he received a dollar. In -the agreed hour they passed fifty-five more women than they passed men -and Timothy was that many dollars richer. There were never so many women -abroad as there were that bright afternoon, and the Westerner couldn’t -understand it until he realised that it was Sunday—a fact which Timothy -had grasped before he had made his wager. - -Two months later he was back in London. How he got back he never -explained. He stayed in London only long enough to fit himself up with a -new kit before he presented himself at a solid mansion in Branksome -Park, Bournemouth. Years and years before, Sir John Maxell had written -to him, asking him to call upon him for any help he might require, and -promising to assist him in whatever difficulties he might find himself. -Timothy associated the offer with the death of his father—maybe they -were friends. - -He was shown into the sunny drawing-room bright with flowers, and he -looked round approvingly. He had lived in other people’s houses all his -life—schools, boarding-houses, hotels and the like—and an atmosphere -of home came to him like the forgotten fragrance of a garden he had -known. - -The servant came back. - -“Sir John will see you in ten minutes, sir, but you must not keep him -long, because he has to go out to meet Lady Maxell.” - -“Lady Maxell?” asked Timothy in surprise, “I didn’t know he was -married.” - -The servant smiled and said: - -“The Judge married a year ago, sir. It was in all the newspapers.” - -“I don’t read all the newspapers,” said Timothy. “I haven’t sufficient -time. Who was the lady?” - -The man looked round, as if fearing to be overheard. - -“Sir John married the cinema lady, Miss Sadie O’Grady,” he said, and the -hostility in his tone was unmistakable. - -Timothy gasped. - -“You don’t say!” he said. “Well, that beats the band! Why, I knew that -da——, that lady in London!” - -The servant inclined his head sideways. - -“Indeed, sir,” he said, and it was evident that he did not regard -Timothy as being any fitter for human association by reason of his -confession. - -A distant bell buzzed. - -“Sir John is ready, sir,” he said. “I hope you will not mention the fact -that I spoke of madam?” - -Timothy winked, and was readmitted to the confidence of the democracy. - -Sir John Maxell was standing up behind his writing table, a fine, big -man with his grey hair neatly brushed back from his forehead and his -blue eyes magnified behind rimless glasses. - -“T. A. C. Anderson,” he said, coming round the table with slow steps. -“Surely this is not the little Timothy I heard so much about years and -years ago!” - -“That is I, sir,” said Timothy. - -“Well, well,” said Maxell, “I should never have known you. Sit down, my -boy. You smoke, of course—everybody smokes nowadays, but it seems -strange that a boy I knew in short breeches should have acquired the -habit. I’ve heard about you,” he said, as Timothy lit his cigar. - -“Nothing to my discredit, I hope, sir?” - -Maxell shook his head. - -“I have heard about you,” he repeated diplomatically, “let it go at -that. Now I suppose you’ve come here because, five years ago, on the -twenty-third of December to be correct, I wrote to you, offering to give -you any help that lay in my power.” - -“I won’t swear to the date,” said Tim. - -“But I will,” smiled the other. “I never forget a date, I never forget a -letter, I never forget the exact wording of that letter. My memory is an -amazing gift. Now just tell me what I can do for you.” - -Timothy hesitated. - -“Sir John,” he said, “I have had a pretty bad time in America. I’ve been -running in a team with a crook and I’ve had to pay out every cent I had -in the world.” - -Sir John nodded slowly. - -“Then it is money you want,” he said, without enthusiasm. - -“Not exactly money, sir, but I’m going to try to start in London and I -thought, maybe, you might give me a letter of introduction to somebody.” - -“Ah, well,” said Maxell, brightening up, “I think I can do that for you. -What did you think of doing in London?” - -“I thought of getting some sort of secretarial job,” he said. “Not that -I know much about it!” - -Sir John pinched his lower lip. - -“I know a man who may help you,” he said. “We were in the House of -Commons together and he would give you a place in one of his offices, -but unfortunately for you he has made a great deal of money and spends -most of his time at Newmarket.” - -“Newmarket sounds good to me,” said Timothy “Why, I’d take a chance -there. Perhaps he’d try me out in that office?” - -The Judge permitted himself to smile. - -“In Newmarket,” he said, “our friend does very little more, I fear, than -waste his time and money on the race-course. He has half a dozen -horses—I had a letter from him this morning.” - -He walked back to his table, searched in the litter, and presently -amongst the papers pulled out a letter. - -“As a matter of fact, I had some business with him and I wrote to him -for information. The only thing he tells me is”—this with a gesture of -despair—“that Skyball and Polly Chaw—those are the names of -race-horses, I presume—will win the two big handicaps next week and -that he has a flyer named Swift Kate that can beat anything—I am -quoting his words—on legs over six furlongs.” - -He looked up over his glasses at Timothy, and on that young man’s face -was a seraphic smile. - -“Newmarket sounds real nice to me,” glowed Timothy. - -Remembering the injunctions of the servant, he was taking his adieu, -when his host asked, in a lower voice than that in which the -conversation had been carried on: - -“I suppose you have not heard from your cousin?” - -Timothy looked at him in astonishment. Had Sir John asked after the -Grand Llama of Tibet he would have been as well prepared to answer. - -“Why, no, sir—no—er—is he alive?” - -Sir John Maxell looked at him sharply. - -“Alive? Of course. I thought you might have heard from him.” - -Timothy shook his head. - -“No, sir,” he said, “he disappeared. I only met him once when I was a -kid. Was he a friend—er—an acquaintance of yours?” - -Sir John was drumming his fingers on the desk and his mind was far away. - -“Yes and no,” he said shortly. “I knew him, and at one time I was -friendly with him.” - -Suddenly he glanced at his watch, and a look of consternation came to -his face. - -“Great heavens!” he cried. “I promised to meet my wife a quarter of an -hour ago. Good-bye! Good-bye!” - -He hand-shook Timothy from the room and the young man had to find his -way downstairs without guidance, because the manservant was at that -moment heavily engaged. - -From the floor below came a shrill, unpleasant sound, and Timothy -descended to find himself in the midst of a domestic crisis. There were -two ladies in the hall—one a mere silent, contained spectator, the -other the principal actress. He recognised her at once, but she did not -see him, because her attention was directed to the red-faced servant. - -“When I ring you on the ’phone, I expect to be answered,” she was -saying. “You’ve nothing to do except to sit round and keep your ears -open, you big, lazy devil!” - -“But, my lady, I——” - -“Don’t answer me,” she stormed. “If you think I’ve nothing better to do -than to sit at a ’phone waiting till you wake up, why, you’re -mistaken—that’s all. And if Sir John doesn’t fire you——” - -“Don’t worry about Sir John firing me,” said the man with a sudden -change of manner. “I’ve just had about as much of you as I can stand. -You keep your bossing for the movies, Lady Maxell. You’re not going to -try any of that stuff with me!” - -She was incapable of further speech, nor was there any necessity for it -since the man turned on his heels and disappeared into that mysterious -region which lies at the back of every entrance hall. Then for the first -time she saw Timothy. - -“How do you do, Lady Maxell?” - -She glared round at the interrupter, and for a moment he thought she -intended venting her anger on him. She was still frowning when he took -her limp hand. - -“You’re the Anderson boy, aren’t you?” she asked a little ungraciously. - -The old sense of antagonism was revived and intensified in him at the -touch of her hand. She was unchanged, looking, if anything, more pretty -than when he had seen her last, but the hardness at her mouth was -accentuated, and she had taken on an indefinable air of superiority -which differed very little from sheer insolence. - -A gold-rimmed lorgnette came up to survey him, and he was nettled—only -women had the power to annoy him. - -“You haven’t changed a bit,” he bantered. “I’m sorry your eyesight is -not so good as it was. Studio life is pretty tough on the eyes, isn’t -it?” - -She closed her lorgnette with a snap, and turned to the girl. - -“You’d better see what Sir John is doing,” she said. “Ask him what he -thinks I am, that I should wait in the hall like a tramp.” - -It was then that the girl came out of the shadow and Timothy saw her. - -“This is the ward or niece,” he said to himself, and sighed, for never -had he seen a human creature who so satisfied his eye. There is a beauty -which is neither statuesque nor cold, nor to be confounded with -prettiness. It is a beauty which depends upon no regularity of feature -or of colour, but which has its reason in its contradictions. - -The smiling Madonna whom Leonardo drew had such contradictory quality as -this girl possessed. For she was ninety per cent. child, and carried in -her face all the bubbling joy of youth. Yet she impressed Timothy as -being strange and unnatural. Her meekness, her ready obedience to carry -out the woman’s instruction, the very dignity of her departure—these -things did not fit with the character he read in her face. Had she -turned curtly to this insolent woman and told her to carry her message -herself, or had she flown up the stairs calling for Sir John as she -went, these things would have been natural. - -Lady Maxell turned upon him. - -“And see here, Mr. What’s-your-name, if you’re a friend of Sir John, -you’ll forget that I was ever in a studio. There are enough stories -about me in Bournemouth without your adding to the collection.” - -“Mother’s little thoroughbred!” said Timothy admiringly; “spoken like a -true little lady.” - -In some respects he was wholly undisciplined, and had never learnt the -necessity of refraining from answering back. And the woman irritated -him, and irritation was a novel sensation. - -Her face was dark with rage, but it was upon Sir John, descending in -haste to meet his offended wife, that she turned the full batteries of -her anger. - -“You didn’t know the time, of course. Your watch has stopped. It is hard -enough for me to keep my end up without you helping to make me look -foolish!” - -“My dear,” protested Maxell in a flurry, “I assure you——” - -“You can spend your time with this sort of trash,” she indicated -Timothy, and Timothy bowed, “but you keep me waiting like a tailor’s -model at Sotheby’s, of all people in the world, when you know well -enough——” - -“My dear,” pleaded the lawyer wearily, “my watch has certainly -stopped——” - -“Ah! You make me tired. What are you doing with this fellow? Do you -think I want reminding of movie days? Everybody knows this fellow—a -cheap gambler, who’s been fired out of every studio in England. You -allow your servants to insult me—and now I suppose you’ve brought this -prize-fighter to keep me in my place,” and she pointed scornfully at the -amused Timothy. - -Half-way downstairs the girl stood watching the scene in silence, and it -was only when he became conscious of her presence that Timothy began to -feel a little uncomfortable. - -“Well, good-bye, Sir John,” he said. “I’m sorry I intruded.” - -“Wait,” said the woman. “John, this man has insulted me! I don’t know -what he’s come for, but I suppose he wants something. He’s one of those -shifty fellows that hang around studios begging for money to bet with. -If you raise a hand to help him, why, I’m finished with you.” - -“I assure you,” said Sir John in his most pompous manner, “that this -young man has asked for nothing more than a letter of introduction. I -have a duty——” - -“Stop!” said the woman. “You’ve a duty to me, too. Hold fast to your -money. Likely as not, you’ll do neither with ‘Take A Chance’ Anderson -floating around.” - -It was not her words, neither the contempt in her voice nor the insult -which stung him. The man who went twenty rounds with Kid Muldoon had -learnt to control his temper, but there was a new factor present—a -factor who wore a plain grey dress, and had two big, black eyes which -were now solemnly surveying him. - -“Lady Maxell,” he said, “it is pretty difficult to give the lie to any -woman, but I tell you that what you say now is utterly false. I had no -intention when I came to Bournemouth of asking for anything that would -cost Sir John a penny. As to my past, I suppose it has been a little -eccentric, but it is clean, Lady Maxell.” - -He meant no more than he said. He had no knowledge of Sadie O’Grady’s -antecedents, or he might not have emphasised the purity of his own. But -the woman went back as though she had been whipped, and Timothy had a -momentary vision of a charging fury, before she flung herself upon him, -tearing at his face, shrieking aloud in her rage. . . - - * * * * * - -“Phew!” said Timothy. - -He took off his hat and fanned himself. It was the first time he had -ever run away from trouble, but now he had almost flown. Those favoured -people who were in sight of Sir John Maxell’s handsome villa, saw the -door swung open and a young man taking the front path in four strides -and the gate in another before he sped like the wind along the street. - -“Phew!” said Timothy again. - -He went the longest way back to his hotel, to find that a telephone -message had been received from Sir John. It was short and to the point. - -“Please don’t come again.” - -Timothy read the slip and chuckled. - -“Is it likely?” he asked the page who brought the message. - -Then he remembered the girl in grey, with the dark eyes, and he fingered -his smooth chin thoughtfully. - -“I wonder if it is worth while taking a chance,” he said to himself, and -decided that, for the moment, it was not. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - -LADY MAXELL yawned and put down the magazine she was reading. She -looked at her watch. It was ten o’clock. At such an hour Paris would be -beginning to wake up. The best people would still be in the midst of -their dinner, and Marie de Montdidier (born Hopkins) would be putting -the final dabs of powder on her nose in her dressing-room at the Folies -Bergères before making her first and her final appearance. - -The boulevards would be bright with light, and there would be lines of -twinkling autos in the Bois for the late diners at the Aromonville. She -looked across at the girl sitting under a big lamp in a window recess, a -book on her knees, but her mind and eyes elsewhere. - -“Mary,” she said, and the girl, with a start, woke from her reverie. - -“Do you want me, Lady Maxell?” - -“What is the matter with Sir John? You know him better than I do.” - -The girl shook her head. - -“I hardly know, Lady Maxell——” - -“For heaven’s sake don’t call me ‘Lady Maxell,’” said the other -irritably. “I’ve told you to call me Sadie if you want to.” There was a -silence. “Evidently you don’t want,” snapped the woman. “You’re what I -call a fine, sociable family. You seem to get your manners from your new -friend.” - -The girl went red. - -“My new friend?” she asked, and Lady Maxell turned her back to her with -some resolution and resumed for a moment the reading of her magazine. - -“I don’t mind if you find any pleasure in talking to that kind of -insect,” she said, putting the periodical down again. “Why, the world’s -full of those do-nothing boys. I suppose he knows there’s money coming -to you.” - -The girl smiled. - -“Very little, Lady Maxell,” she said. - -“A little’s a lot to a man like that,” said the other. “You mustn’t -think I am prejudiced because I was—er—annoyed the other day. That is -temperament.” - -Again the girl smiled, but it was a different kind of smile, and Lady -Maxell observed it. - -“You can marry him as far as I am concerned,” she said. “These sneaking -meetings are not exactly complimentary to Sir John, that’s all.” - -The girl closed her book, walked across to the shelf and put it away -before she spoke. - -“I suppose you’re speaking of Mr. Anderson,” she said. “Yes, I have met -him, but there has been nothing furtive in the meetings. He stopped me -in the park and apologised for having been responsible for the -scene—for your temperament, you know.” - -Lady Maxell looked up sharply, but the girl met her eyes without -wavering. - -“I hope you aren’t trying to be sarcastic,” complained the older woman. -“One never knows how deep you are. But I can tell you this, that sarcasm -is wasted on me.” - -“I’m sure of that,” said the girl. - -Lady Maxell looked again, but apparently the girl was innocent of -offensive design. - -“I say I met Mr. Anderson. He was very polite and very nice. Then I met -him again—in fact, I have met him several times,” she said -thoughtfully. “So far from his being a do-nothing, Lady Maxell, I think -you are doing him an injustice. He is working at the Parade Drug Store.” - -“He will make a fine match for you,” said the woman. “Sir John will just -love having a shop-walker in the family!” - -That ended the conversation for both of them, and they sat reading for a -quarter of an hour before Lady Maxell threw her magazine on the floor -and got up. - -“Sir John had a telegram yesterday that worried him,” she said. “Do you -know what it was about?” - -“Honestly I do not know, Lady Maxell,” said the girl. “Why don’t you ask -him yourself?” - -“Because he would tell me a lie,” said the woman coolly, and the girl -winced. - -“He brought all his money and securities from the Dawlish and County -Bank to-day and put them in his safe and he had the chief constable with -him for half an hour this morning.” - -This was news to the girl, and she was interested in spite of herself. - -“Now, Mary,” said Lady Maxell, “I’m going to be frank with -you—frankness pays sometimes. They called my marriage a romance of the -screen. Every newspaper said as much and I suppose that is true. But the -most romantic part of the marriage was my estate in Honolulu, my big -house in Paris and my bank balance. Ellsberger’s publicity man put all -that stuff about, and I’ve an idea that Sir John was highly disappointed -when he found he’d married me for myself alone. That’s how it strikes -me.” - -Here was a marriage which had shocked Society and had upset the smooth -current of the girl’s life, placed in an entirely new light. - -“Aren’t you very rich?” she asked slowly, and Sadie laughed. - -“Rich! There was a tram fare between me and the workhouse the day I -married Sir John,” she said. “I don’t blame him for being disappointed. -Lots of these cinema stars are worth millions—I wasn’t one of them. I -married because I thought I was going to have a good time—lots of money -and plenty of travel—and I chose with my eyes shut.” - -The girl was silent. For once Sadie Maxell’s complaint had -justification. Sir John Maxell was not a spending man. He lived well, -but never outside the circle of necessity. - -The girl was about to speak, when there came a dramatic interruption. - -There was a “whang!” a splintering of glass and something thudded -against the wall. Lady Maxell stood up as white as death. - -“What was that?” she gasped. - -The girl was pale, but she did not lose her nerve. - -“Somebody fired a shot. Look!” - -She pulled aside the curtain. “The bullet went through the window.” - -“Keep away from the window, you fool!” screamed the woman. “Turn out the -light! Ring the bell!” - -Mary moved across the room and turned the switch. They waited in -silence, but no other shot was fired. Perhaps it was an accident. -Somebody had been firing at a target. . . . - -“Go and tell my husband!” said Sadie. “Quickly!” - -The girl passed through the lighted hall upstairs and knocked at Sir -John’s door. There was no answer. She tried the door, but found it -locked. This was not unusual. He had a separate entrance to his study, -communicating by a balcony and a flight of stairs with the garden. A -wild fear seized her. Possibly Sir John had been in the garden when the -shot was fired; it may have been intended for him. She knocked again -louder, and this time she heard his step and the door was opened. - -“Did you knock before?” he asked. “I was writing——” - -Then he saw her face. - -“What has happened?” he demanded. - -The girl told him, and he made his way downstairs slowly, as was his -wont. He entered the drawing-room, switched on the lights, and without a -glance at his wife walked to the window and examined the shattered pane. - -“I imagined I heard a noise, but thought somebody had dropped something. -When did this happen? Just before you came up?” - -The girl nodded. - -Maxell looked from one to the other. His wife was almost speechless with -terror, and Mary Maxell alone was calm. - -“It has come already,” he said musingly. “I did not think that this -would happen so soon.” - -He walked down to the hall where the telephone hung and rang through to -the police station, and the girl heard all he said. - -“Yes, it is Sir John Maxell speaking. A shot has just been fired through -my window. No, not at me—I was in my study. Apparently a rifle shot. -Yes, I was right——” - -Presently he came back. - -“The police will be here in a few moments to make a search of the -grounds,” he said, “but I doubt whether they will catch the miscreant.” - -“Is it possible that it was an accident?” asked the girl. - -“Accident?” He smiled. “I think not,” he said dryly. “That kind of -accident is liable to happen again. You had better come up to my study, -both of you, till the police arrive,” he said and led the way up the -stairs. - -He did not attempt to support his wife, though her nerve was obviously -shaken. Possibly he did not observe this fact until they were in the -room, for after a glance at her face he pushed a chair forward. - -“Sit down,” he said. - -The study was the one room to which his wife was seldom admitted. -Dominated as he was by her in other matters, he was firm on this point. -It was perhaps something of a novelty for her—a novelty which will -still the whimper of the crying child has something of the same effect -upon a nervous woman. - -The door of the safe was open and the big table was piled high with -sealed packages. The only money she saw was a thick pad of bank-notes -fastened about with a paper bandage, on which something was written. On -this she fixed her eyes. She had never seen so much money in her life, -and he must have noticed the attention this display of wealth had -created, for he took up the money and slipped it into a large envelope. - -“This is your money, Mary,” he beamed over his glasses at the girl. - -She was feeling the reaction of her experience now and was trembling in -every limb. Yet she thought she recognised in this diversion an attempt -on his part to soothe her, and she smiled and tried hard to respond. - -They had been daily companions since she was a mite of four, and between -him and his dead brother’s child there was a whole lot of understanding -and sympathy which other people never knew. - -“My money, uncle?” she asked. - -He nodded. - -“I realised your investments last week,” he said. “I happened to know -that the Corporation in which the money stood had incurred very heavy -losses through some error in insurance. It isn’t a great deal, but I -couldn’t afford to let you take any further risks. - -“There was, of course, a possibility of this shot having been fired by -accident,” he went on, reverting to the matter which would naturally be -at the back of his mind. Then he fell into thought, pacing the room in -silence. - -“I thought you were out,” he said, stopping suddenly in front of the -girl. “You told me you were going to a concert.” - -Before she could explain why she changed her mind they heard the sound -of voices in the hall. - -“Stay here,” said Sir John. “It is the police. I will go down and tell -them all there is to know.” - -When her husband had gone, Lady Maxell rose from her chair. The table, -with its sealed packages, drew her like a magnet. She fingered them one -by one, and came at last to the envelope containing Mary’s patrimony. -This she lifted in her hands, weighing it. Then, with a deep sigh, she -replaced the package on the table. - -“There’s money there,” she said, and Mary smiled. - -“Not a great deal, I’m afraid. Father was comparatively poor when he -died.” - -“There’s money,” said Lady Maxell thoughtfully; “more than I have ever -seen since I have been in this house, believe me.” - -She returned, as though fascinated, and lifted the envelope again and -peered inside. - -“Poor, was he?” she said. “I think you people don’t know what poverty -is. Do you know what all this means?” - -She held the envelope up and there was a look in her face which the girl -had never seen before. - -“It means comfort, it means freedom from worry, it means that you don’t -have to pretend and make love to men whom you loathe.” - -The girl had risen and was staring at her. - -“Lady Maxell!” she said in a shocked voice. “Why—why—I never think of -money like that.” - -“Why should you?” said the woman roughly, as she flung the package on -the table. “I’ve been after money in quantities like that all my life. -It has always been dangling in front of me and eluding me—eluding is -the word, isn’t it?” she asked carelessly. - -“What are all those pictures?” she changed the subject abruptly, -pointing to the framed photographs which covered the walls. “They’re -photographs of India, aren’t they?” - -“Morocco,” said the girl. “Sir John was born in Morocco and lived there -until he went to school. He speaks Arabic like a native. Did you know -that?” - -“Morocco,” said Lady Maxell. “That’s strange. Morocco!” - -“Do you know it?” asked the girl. - -“I’ve been there—once,” replied the other shortly. “Did Sir John go -often?” - -“Before he married, yes,” said Mary. “He had large interests there at -one time, I think.” - -Sir John came back at that moment, and Mary noticed that his first -glance was at the table. - -“Well, they’ve found nothing,” he said, “neither footprints nor the -empty shell. They’re making a search of the grounds to-morrow. Lebbitter -wanted to post a man to protect the house in view of the other matter.” - -“What other matter?” asked his wife quickly. - -“It is nothing,” he said, “nothing really which concerns you. Of course, -I would not allow the police to do that. It would make the house more -conspicuous than it is at present.” - -He looked at the two. - -“Now,” he said bluntly, “I think you had better go off to bed. I have -still a lot of work to do.” - -His wife obeyed without a word, and the girl was following her, when he -called her back. - -“Mary,” he said, laying his hand upon her shoulder, “I’m afraid I’m not -the best man that ever lived, but I’ve tried to make you happy, my dear, -in my own way. You’ve been as a daughter to me.” - -She looked up at him with shining eyes. She could not trust herself to -speak. - -“Things haven’t gone as well as they might during the past year,” he -said. “I made a colossal blunder, but I made it with my eyes open. It -hasn’t been pleasant for either of us, but there’s no sense in -regretting what you cannot mend. Mary, they tell me that you’ve been -seeing a lot of this young man Anderson?” - -She was annoyed to find herself going red when there was really no -reason for it. She need not ask who “they” were, she could guess. - -“I’ve been making inquiries about that boy,” said Sir John slowly, “and -I can tell you this, he is straight. Perhaps he has led an -unconventional life, but all that he told Sadie was true. He’s clean, -and, Mary, that counts for something in this world.” - -He seemed at a loss how to proceed. - -“Anything might happen,” he went on. “Although I’m not an old man, I -have enemies. . . .” - -“You don’t mean——” - -“I have many enemies,” he said. “Some of them are hateful, and I want to -tell you this, that if trouble ever comes and that boy is within -call—go to him. I know men, good, bad and indifferent; he’s neither bad -nor indifferent. And now, good night!” - -He kissed her on the forehead. - -“You needn’t tell your aunt what I’ve been talking about,” he said at -parting and led her to the door, closing and locking it behind her. - -He sat down in his chair for a very long time before he made a move, -then he began picking up the packages and carrying them to the safe. He -stopped half-way through and resumed his seat in the chair, waiting for -the hour to pass, by which time he judged the household would be asleep. - -At midnight he took a pair of rubber boots from a locker, pulled them -on, and went out through the door leading to the balcony, down the -covered stairway to the garden. Unerringly he walked across the lawn to -a corner of his grounds which his gardeners had never attempted to -cultivate. He stopped once and groped about in the bushes for a spade -which he had carefully planted there a few nights before. His hand -touched the rotting wood of an older spade and he smiled. For six years -the tool had remained where he had put it the last time he had visited -this No-Man’s-Land. - -Presently he came to a little hillock and began digging. The soil was -soft, and he had not gone far before the spade struck wood. He cleared a -space two feet square and drew from the earth a small crescent of wood. -It was, in fact, a part of the wooden cover of a well which had long -since gone dry but which had been covered up by its previous owner and -again covered by Maxell. - -Lying at full length on the ground, he reached down through the -aperture, and his fingers found a big rusty nail on which was suspended -a length of piano wire. At the end of the wire was attached a small -leather bag and this he drew up and unfastened, and putting the bag on -one side, let the free end of the wire fall into the well. - -He replaced the wood, covered it again with earth, all the time -exercising care, for, small as the aperture was, it was big enough for -even a man of his size to slip through. - -A cloaked figure which stood in the shadow of the bushes watching him, -which had followed him as noiselessly across the lawn, saw him lift the -bag and take it back to the house and disappear through the covered -stairway. So still a night it was, that the watcher could hear the click -of the lower door as Sir John locked it, and the soft pad of his feet as -they mounted the stairs. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - -MR. GOLDBERG, the manager and proprietor of the Parade Drug Store, was -a man who possessed neither a sense of imagination nor the spirit of -romance. He sent peremptorily for Timothy, and Timothy came with a -feeling that all was not well. - -“Mr. Anderson,” said Goldberg in his best magisterial manner, “I took -you into my shop because I was short of a man and because I understood -that you had had some business experience.” - -“I have business experience,” said Timothy carefully, “of a kind.” - -“I gave you particular instructions,” said Mr. Goldberg solemnly, “on -one very vital point. We carry a full line of all the best proprietorial -medicines, and our customers can always get them upon application. Each -of those medicines we duplicate, as you know, providing the same -constituents and charging some sixpence to a shilling less—in fact, we -are out to save the public from being robbed.” - -“I understand you,” said Timothy, “but I don’t see much difference -between robbing the public and robbing the patent medicine proprietors, -and all that just-as-good stuff never did impress me, anyway. It stands -to reason,” he said, leaning over the desk and speaking with the -earnestness of a crusader, “that the advertised article must be more -even in quality and it must be good all round. You can’t advertise a bad -article and get away with it, except on the first sale, and that doesn’t -pay the advertiser. The goods sell the goods, and the advertisement is -only to make you take the first lick.” - -“I do not want a lecture on advertising or on commercial morality,” said -Mr. Goldberg with ominous calm. “I merely want to tell you that you were -overheard by my chief assistant telling a customer not to ‘take a -chance’ on one of my own pills.” - -“That’s right,” said Timothy, nodding his head vigorously. “Guilty, my -lord. What about it?” - -“I have had a further complaint,” said Mr. Goldberg, consulting with -elaborate ceremony a little notebook. “I understand that you have -initiated the awful practice of offering to toss customers for their -change. People have written me strong letters of complaint about it.” - -“Because they lost,” said the indignant Timothy; “what’s wrong about -that, anyway, Mr. Goldberg? I don’t pocket the money, and I win twice -out of every three times. If a fellow likes to take a chance as to -whether he gets sixpence or we get a shilling, why worry?” - -The outraged Mr. Goldberg brindled. - -“That sort of thing may be all right at a country fair or even in a -country shop,” he said, “but it is not good enough for the Parade Drug -Store, Bournemouth, and I’ll dispense with your services as from this -morning.” - -“You’re losing a good man,” said Timothy solemnly, but Mr. Goldberg did -not seem to take that loss to heart. - -All “Take A Chance Anderson’s” jobs ended violently. He never conceived -of them ending in any other way, and invariably regarded the sum of -money which was received in lieu of notice, or as compensation for -breach of contract, as being something in the nature of a nest-egg which -a kindly Providence had foreordained, and he was neither cast down nor -elated by the crisis in his affairs when, by a fortunate accident, he -met Mary Maxell—the fortune was apparent, but the accident belonged to -the category which determined the hour at which trains leave stations. - -Hitherto, on the girl’s part, these meetings had been fraught with a -certain amount of apprehension, if not terror. They had begun when -Timothy had stopped her on the morning after his quarrel with Lady -Maxell, and had made bland inquiries as to that lady’s condition. Then -she had been in a panic and frantically anxious to end the interview, -and it required all her self-restraint to prevent her flying at top -speed from this wicked young man who had been so abominably rude. - -At their second meeting he had greeted her as an old friend, and she had -left him with the illusion of a life-time acquaintance. Hereafter -matters went smoothly, and they went so because Timothy Anderson was -unlike any of the other boys she had ever met. - -He paid her no compliments, he did not grow sentimental, he neither -tried to hold her hand nor kiss her, nor was he ever oppressed by that -overwhelming melancholy which is the heritage and pride of youth. - -Not once did he hint at an early decline or the possibility of his going -away to die in far lands. Instead he kept her in screams of laughter at -his interpretation of movie plays in the making. He did not ask for a -keepsake; the only request he made of her in this direction was one -which first took her breath away. Thereafter she never met him unless -she had in the bag which slung from her wrist one small box of matches; -for “Take A Chance” Anderson had never possessed or carried the means of -ignition for his cigarette for one whole hour together. - -Timothy told her most of what the proprietor of the Parade Drug Store -had told him. The girl thought it was a joke, because that was exactly -the way Timothy presented the matter. - -“But you won’t be going away soon?” she asked. - -“Not till I go abroad,” replied Timothy calmly. - -“Are you going abroad too?” she asked in surprise. - -He nodded. - -“I’m going to Paris and Monte Carlo—especially to Monte Carlo,” he -said, “and afterwards I may run across to Algeria or to Egypt.” - -She looked at him with a new respect. She was less impressed by the -great possessions which his plans betrayed than by his confident -independence, and dimly she wondered why he was working at a drug-store -for low wages and wondered, too, whether he was—— - -“What are you blushing about?” asked Timothy curiously. - -“I wasn’t blushing,” she protested; “I was just wondering whether I -could ever afford a trip like that.” - -“Of course you can,” said the young man scornfully. “If I can afford it, -you can, can’t you? If I go abroad and stay at the best hotels, and go -joy rides in the Alps and plan all this when I haven’t got fifteen -shillings over my rent——” - -“You haven’t fifteen shillings over your rent!” she repeated, aghast. -“But how can you go abroad without money?” - -Timothy was genuinely astounded that she could ask so absurd a question. - -“Why, I’d take a chance on that,” he said. “A little thing like money -doesn’t really count.” - -“I think you’re very silly,” she said. “Oh, there was something I wanted -to tell you, Mr. Anderson.” - -“You may call me Timothy,” he said. - -“I don’t want to call you Timothy,” she replied. - -He shook his head with a pained expression. - -“It’ll be ever so much more sociable if you call me Timothy and I call -you Mary.” - -“We can be very sociable without that familiarity,” she said severely. -“I was just going to tell you something.” - -They sat on the grass together, on the shadow fringe of a big oak and -the spring sunshine wove its restless arabesques on her lap. - -“Do you know,” she said after a pause, “that last night I had two queer -experiences and I was scared; oh, scared to death!” - -“Eating things at night,” said Timothy oracularly, “especially before -you go to bed——” - -“I wasn’t dreaming,” she said indignantly, “nor was it a nightmare. I -won’t tell you if you’re so horrid.” - -“I’m only speaking as an ex-chemist and druggist,” said Timothy gravely; -“but please forgive me. Tell me what it is, Mary.” - -“Miss Maxell,” she said. - -“Miss Mary Maxell,” he compromised. - -“First I’ll tell you the least worst,” she began. “It happened about one -o’clock in the morning. I had gone to bed awfully tired, but somehow I -couldn’t sleep, so I got up and walked about the room. I didn’t like -putting on the light because that meant drawing down the blinds which I -had let up when I went to bed, and the blinds make such a noise that I -thought the whole of the house would hear. So I put on my dressing-gown -and sat by the window. It was rather chilly, but my wrap was warm, and -sitting there I dozed. I don’t know how long, but it was nearly an hour, -I think. When I woke up I saw a man right in the centre of the lawn.” - -Timothy was interested. - -“What sort of a man?” - -“That is the peculiar thing about it,” she said. “He wasn’t a white -man.” - -“A coon?” he asked. - -She shook her head. - -“No, I think it must have been a Moor. He wore a long white dress that -reached down to his ankles, and over that he had a big, heavy black -cloak.” - -Timothy nodded. - -“Well?” - -“He went round the corner of the house towards uncle’s private stairway -and he was gone quite a long time. My first thought was to awaken uncle -and tell him, but then I remembered that Sir John had spent a long time -in Morocco and possibly he knew that the man was about the house. You -see, we have had Moorish visitors before, when ships have come to Poole. -Once we had a very important man, a Kaid, and Sir John made queer tea -for him in glasses with mint and stuff. So I just didn’t know what to -do. Whilst I was wondering whether I ought not at least to wake Lady -Maxell, he reappeared, walked across the lawn and went down the path -which leads to the back entrance—you’re laughing at me,” she said -suddenly. - -“What you mistake for a laugh,” said Timothy solemnly, “is merely one -large smile of pleasure at being in your confidence.” - -She was in two minds as to whether she would be angry or pleased, but -his tone changed to a more serious one. - -“I don’t like the idea of the gaudy East wandering loose under your -bedroom window in the middle of the night,” he said. “Did you tell Lady -Maxell this morning?” - -The girl shook her head. - -“No, she was up very early and has been out all day. I have not seen -her—in fact, she was not at breakfast. Now I’ll tell you the really -serious thing that happened, and I do hope, Mr. Anderson, that you won’t -be flippant.” - -“Trust me,” said Timothy. - -The girl had no reason to complain of his attitude when she had -described the shooting incident. He was aghast. - -“That is terrible!” he said vigorously. “Why, it might have hit you!” - -“Of course it might have hit me,” she said indignantly. “That’s the -whole point of my story, so far as you are concerned—I mean, so far as -I am concerned,” she added hastily. - -“So fax as I am concerned too,” said Timothy quietly. “I just hate the -idea of anything even frightening you.” - -She rose hurriedly. - -“I am going to shop now,” she said. - -“What’s the hurry?” grumbled Timothy. - -“Mr. Anderson,” she said, ignoring his question, “I don’t want you to -think that uncle is feeling badly about you because of what has happened -in the house. He spoke to me of you last night, and he spoke very -nicely. I am worried to death about Sir John. He has made enemies in his -life, and I am sure that this shooting affair is the sequel to some old -feud.” - -Timothy nodded. - -“I should say that is so,” he said. - -He looked down at the grass very thoughtfully and then: - -“Well, I’ll go home,” he said. “I had better sleep this afternoon if I -am to be up all night.” - -“Up all night?” she said in surprise. “What is happening? Is there a -ball or something?” - -“There will be something livelier than a ball,” he said grimly, “if I -find anybody in your garden to-night. And Miss Maxell, if you look out -of your window and you see a solitary figure on sentry-go don’t shoot, -because it will be me.” - -“But you mustn’t,” she gasped. “Please don’t do it, Mr. Anderson. Uncle -would be——” - -He stopped her with a gesture. - -“Possibly nobody will come to-night,” he said, “and as likely as not I -shall be pinched by the police as a suspicious character. But there’s a -chance that somebody will come, and that’s the chance I’m going to -take.” - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - -TRUE to his word, he returned to his lodgings and spent the afternoon -in slumber. He had the gift which all great men possess, of being able -to sleep at will. He was staying at a boarding-house, and occupied a -room which had originally been a side veranda, but had been walled in -and converted into an extra bedroom. It was a remarkably convenient room -for him, as he had discovered on previous occasions. He had but to open -the window and drop on to the grass to make his exit without anybody in -the house being the wiser. More to the point, he could return at any -hour by the same route without disturbing the household. - -He had his supper, and whilst it was still very light he went out to -reconnoitre Sir John’s demesne. He was able to make the circuit of the -house, which occupied a corner site and was isolated by two lanes, and -he saw nobody until, returning to the front of the house, a car drove up -and a woman alighted. - -He had no difficulty in recognising Lady Maxell, but the taxi interested -him more than the lady. It was smothered with mud and had evidently come -a long journey. - -As evidently she had hired it in some distant town and she had not as -yet finished with it, because she gave the man some directions and -money, and from the profound respect which the chauffeur showed, it was -clear that that money was merely a tip. - -Timothy stood where he could clearly be seen, but her back was toward -him all the time and she did not so much as glance in his direction when -she passed through the gate and up the garden path. - -It was curious, thought Timothy, that she did not take the car up the -drive to the house. More curious was it that she should, at this late -hour of the evening, have further use for it. - -He returned to his room, full of theories, the majority of which were -wholly wild and improbable. He lay on his bed, indulging in those dreams -which made up the happiest part of his life. Of late he had taken a new -and a more radiant pattern to the web of his fancy and—— - -“Oh, fiddlesticks!” he said in disgust, rolling over and sitting up with -a yawn. - -He heard the feet of the boarders on the gravel path outside, and once -he heard a girl say evidently to a visitor: - -“Do you see that funny room! That is Mr. Anderson’s.” - -There was still an hour or so to be passed, and he joined the party in -the parlour so restless and distrait as to attract attention and a -little mild raillery from his fellow guests. He went back to his room, -turned on the light and pulled a trunk from under the bed. - -Somehow his mind had been running all day upon that erring cousin whose -name he bore and whose disappearance from public life was such a -mystery. Possibly it was Sir John’s words which had brought Alfred -Cartwright to his mind. His mother had left him a number of family -documents, which, with the indolence of youth, he had never examined -very closely. He had the impression that they consisted in the main of -receipts, old diplomas of his father’s (who was an engineer) and sundry -other family documents which were not calculated to excite the curiosity -of the adventurous youth. - -He took out the two big envelopes in which these papers were kept and -turned them on to the bed, examining them one by one. Why his cousin -should be in his mind, why he should have taken this action at that -particular moment, the psychologist and the psychical expert alone can -explain. They may produce in explanation such esoteric phenomena as -auras, influences, and telepathies, and perhaps they are right. - -He had not searched long before he came upon a small package of -newspaper cuttings, bound about by a rubber band. He read them at first -without interest, and then without comprehension. There was one cutting, -however, which had been clipped from its context, which seemed to tell -the whole story of the rest. It ran: - - “When Cartwright stood up for sentence he did not seem to be - greatly troubled by his serious position. As the words ‘twenty - years’ passed Mr. Justice Maxell’s lips, he fell back as if he - had been shot. Then, springing to the edge of the dock, he - hurled an epithet at his lordship. Some of his business - associates suggest that the learned judge was a partner of - Cartwright’s—an astonishing and most improper suggestion to - make. In view of the statement that the prisoner made before the - trial, when suggestions had been made in a newspaper that the - judge had been connected with him in business years before, and - remembering that Cartwright’s statement was to the effect that - he had had no business transactions with the judge, it seems as - though the outburst was made in a fit of spleen at the severity - of the sentence. Sir John Maxell, after the case, took the - unusual step of informing a Press representative that he - intended placing his affairs in the hands of a committee for - investigation, and had invited the Attorney-General to appoint - that committee. ‘I insist upon this being done,’ he said, - ‘because after the prisoner’s accusation I should not feel - comfortable until an impartial committee had examined my - affairs.’ It is understood that after the investigation the - learned judge intends retiring from the Bench.” - -Timothy gasped. So that was the explanation. That was why Maxell had -written to him, that was why he made no reference at all to his father, -but to this disreputable cousin of his. Slowly he returned the package -to its envelope, dropped it into his trunk and pushed the trunk under -the bed. - -And that was the secret of Cousin Cartwright’s disappearance. He might -have guessed it; he might even have known had he troubled to look at -these papers. - -He sat on the bed, his hands clasping his knees. It was not a pleasant -reflection that he had a relative, and a relative moreover after whom he -was named, serving what might be a life sentence in a convict -establishment. But what made him think of the matter to-night? - -“Mr. Anderson! Timothy!” - -Timothy looked round with a start. The man whose face was framed in the -open window might have been forty, fifty or sixty. It was a face heavily -seamed and sparsely bearded—a hollow-eyed, hungry face, but those eyes -burnt like fire. Timothy jumped up. - -“Hullo!” he said. “Who are you ‘Timothying’?” - -“You don’t know me, eh?” the man laughed unpleasantly. “Can I come in?” - -“Yes, you can come in,” said Timothy. - -He wondered what old acquaintance this was who had come to the tramp -level, and rapidly turned over in his mind all the possible candidates -for trampdom he had met. - -“You don’t know me, eh?” said the man again. “Well, I’ve tracked you -here, and I’ve been sitting in those bushes for two hours. I heard one -of the boarders say that it was your window and I waited till it was -dark before I came out.” - -“All this is highly interesting,” said Timothy, surveying the shrunken -figure without enthusiasm, “but who are you?” - -“I had a provisional pardon,” said the man, “and they put me in a -sanatorium—I’ve something the matter with one of my lungs. It was -always a trouble to me. I was supposed to stay in the sanatorium—that -was one of the terms on which I was pardoned—but I escaped.” - -Timothy stared at him with open mouth. - -“Alfred Cartwright!” he breathed. - -The man nodded. - -“That’s me,” he said. - -Timothy looked down at the edge of the black box. - -“So that is why I was thinking about you,” he said. “Well, this beats -all! Sit down, won’t you?” - -He pulled a chair up for his visitor and again gazed on him with -curiosity but without affection. Something in Timothy’s attitude annoyed -Cartwright. - -“You’re not glad to see me?” he said. - -“Not very,” admitted Timothy. “The truth is, you’ve only just come into -existence so far as I am concerned. I thought you were dead.” - -“You didn’t know?” - -Timothy shook his head. - -“Not until a few minutes ago. I was reading the cuttings about your -trial——” - -“So that was what you were reading?” said the man. “I’d like to see ’em -one of these days. Do you know what I’ve come for?” - -It was only at that moment that Sir John flashed through Timothy’s mind. - -“I guess what you’ve come after,” he said slowly. “You’re here to see -Sir John Maxell.” - -“I’m here to see Mister Justice Maxell,” said the man between his teeth. -“You’re a good guesser.” - -He took the stump of a cigar from his waistcoat pocket and lit it. - -“John Maxell and I have a score to settle, and it is going to be settled -very soon.” - -“Tide and weather permitting,” said Timothy flippantly, recovering his -self-possession. “All that vendetta stuff doesn’t go, Mr. Cartwright.” -Then he asked in a flash: “Did you shoot at him last night?” - -The man’s surprise was a convincing reply. - -“Shoot at him? I only got to this place this afternoon. It’s more likely -he’s waiting to shoot at me, for the sanatorium people will have -telegraphed to him the moment I was missing.” - -Timothy walked to the window and pulled down the blinds. - -“Now tell me, Mr. Cartwright, before we go any farther, do you still -persist in the story you told the court, that the judge was a party to -your swindle?” - -“A party to it!” said the other man furiously. “Of course he was! I was -using the money of my companies to buy concessions from the Moorish -Government, as much on his behalf as on mine. He wasn’t in the Brigot -swindle—but he held shares in the company I was financing. We located a -gold mine in the Angera country, and Maxell and I went across to Europe -every year regularly to look after our property. - -“We had to keep it quiet because we secured the concessions from the -Pretender, knowing that he’d put the Sultan out of business the moment -he got busy. If it had been known, the Sultan would have repudiated the -concession, and our Government would have upheld the repudiation. Maxell -speaks the language like a native, and I learnt enough to get on with El -Mograb, who is the biggest thing amongst the rebel tribes. El Mograb -wanted us to stay there, Maxell and I; he’d have made us shereefs or -pashas, and I’d have done it, because I knew there was going to be an -investigation sooner or later into the affairs of my companies. But -Maxell wouldn’t have it. He always pretended that, so far as he knew, my -financing was straight. You know the rest,” he said. “When I came before -Maxell, I thought I was safe.” - -“But Sir John allowed his affairs to be inspected,” said Timothy. “If he -had been engaged with you in this Morocco business, there must have been -papers to prove it.” - -Cartwright laughed harshly. - -“Of course he’d allow his affairs to be investigated,” he sneered. “Do -you think that old fox couldn’t _cache_ all the documents that put him -wrong? Papers? Why, he must have enough papers to hang him, if you could -only find ’em!” - -“What are you going to do?” asked Timothy. - -There was one thing he was determined that this man should _not_ do, and -that was to disturb the peace of mind, not of Sir John Maxell or his -wife, but of a certain goddess whose bedroom overlooked the lawn. - -“What am I going to do?” replied Cartwright. “Why, I’m going up to get -my share. And he’ll be lucky if that’s all he loses. One of the mines -was sold to a syndicate last year—I had news of it in gaol. He didn’t -get much for it because he was in a hurry to sell—I suppose his other -investments must have been going wrong twelve months ago—but I want my -share of that!” - -Timothy nodded. - -“Then you had best see Sir John in the morning. I will arrange an -interview.” - -“In the morning!” said the other contemptuously. “Suppose you make the -arrangement, what would happen? When I went up there I should find a -couple of cops waiting to pinch me. I know John! I’m going to see him -to-night.” - -“I think not,” said Timothy, and the man stared at him. - -“You think not?” he said. “What has it to do with you?” - -“Quite a lot,” said Timothy. “I merely state that you will not see him -to-night.” - -Cartwright stroked his bristly chin undecidedly and then: - -“Oh, well,” he said in a milder tone, “maybe you can fix things up for -me in the morning.” - -“Where are you sleeping to-night?” asked Timothy. “Have you any money?” - -He had money, a little; and he had arranged to sleep at the house of a -man he had known in better times. Timothy accompanied him through the -window and into the street, and walked with him to the end of the road. - -“If my gamble had come off, you’d have benefited, Anderson,” said the -man unexpectedly, breaking in upon another topic which they were -discussing. - -They parted, and Timothy watched him out of sight, then turned on and -walked in the opposite direction, to take up his self-imposed vigil. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - -THERE was something in the air that was electrical, and Mary Maxell -felt it as she sat at supper with Sir John and his wife. Maxell was -unusually silent and his wife amazingly so. She was nervous and almost -jumped when a remark was addressed to her. The old truculence which -distinguished her every word and action, her readiness to take offence, -to see a slight in the most innocent remark, and her combativeness -generally, had disappeared; she was almost meek when she replied to her -husband’s questions. - -“I just went round shopping and then decided to call on a girl I had -known a long time ago. She lives in the country, and I felt so nervous -and depressed this morning that I thought a ride in a taxi would do me -good.” - -“Why didn’t you take our car?” asked the other. - -“I didn’t decide until the last moment to go out to her, and then I went -by train one way.” - -Sir John nodded. - -“I’m glad you went into the fresh air,” he said, “it will do you good. -The country is not so beautiful as Honolulu, but it is not without its -attractions.” - -It was unusual for the Judge to be sarcastic, but it was less usual for -Lady Maxell to accept sarcasm without a retort. To Mary’s surprise she -made no reply, though a faint smile curved those straight lips of hers -for a second. - -“Do you think it was a burglar last night?” she asked suddenly. - -“Good heavens, no!” said Maxell. “Burglars do not shoot up the house -they burgle.” - -“Do you think it is safe to have all this money in the house?” she -asked. - -“Perfectly safe,” he said. “I do not think that need alarm you.” - -No further reference was made to the matter, and presently Sir John went -up to his study. Mrs. Maxell did not go to the parlour, but drew a chair -to the fire in the dining-room and read, and the girl followed her -example. Presently the elder woman left the room and was gone a quarter -of an hour before she returned. - -“Mary,” she said, so sweetly that the girl was startled, “such an -annoying thing has happened—I have lost the key of my wardrobe. You -borrowed one of Sir John’s duplicates the other day—where did you put -the ring?” - -John Maxell was a methodical and systematic man. He had a duplicate set -of all the keys in the house, and these as a rule were kept in a small -wall-safe in his own bedroom. He had never invited his wife to use that -receptacle, but she had a shrewd idea that the combination which was -denied to her had been given to the girl. - -Mary hesitated. - -“Don’t you think if you asked Uncle——” - -“My dear,” smiled the lady, “if I went to him now, he’d never forgive -me. If you know where the keys are, be an angel and get them for me.” - -The girl rose, and Lady Maxell followed her upstairs. Her own room was -next to her husband’s and communicated, but the door was invariably -locked on Maxell’s side. Presently the girl came in to her. - -“Here they are,” she said. “Please let me put them back quickly. I feel -very guilty at having taken them at all without his permission.” - -“And for goodness’ sake don’t tell him,” said Lady Maxell, examining the -keys. - -At last she found the one she wanted, but was a long time in the -process. She opened her bureau and the girl took the big key-ring from -her hand with such evident relief that Lady Maxell laughed. - -It had been easier than she thought and unless she made a blunder, the -key she had selected from the bunch while she was fumbling at the -bureau, would make just the difference—just the difference. - -It was not customary for Sir John to come down from his study to enjoy -the ladies’ company after dinner, but on this evening he made an -exception to his rule. He found his wife and ward reading, one on each -side of the fireplace. Lady Maxell looked up when her husband came in. - -“Here is a curious story, John,” she said. “I think it must be an -American story, about a woman who robbed her husband and the police -refused to arrest her.” - -“There’s nothing curious about that,” said the lawyer, “in law a wife -cannot rob her husband or a husband his wife.” - -“So that if you came to my Honolulu estate and stole my pearls,” she -said banteringly, “I could not have you arrested.” - -“Except for walking in my sleep!” he said smilingly, and they both -laughed together. - -He had never seen her so amiable, and for the first time that day—it -had been a very trying and momentous day—he had his misgivings. She, -with the memory of her good day’s work, the excellent terms she had -arranged with the skipper of the _Lord Lawrence_, due to leave -Southampton for Cadiz at daylight the next morning, had no misgivings at -all, especially when she thought of a key she had placed under her -pillow. She had had the choice of two boats, the _Lord Lawrence_ and the -_Saffi_, but the _Saffi’s_ voyage would have been a long one, and its -port of destination might hold discomfort which she had no wish to -experience. - -The household retired at eleven o’clock, and it was past midnight before -Sadie Maxell heard her husband’s door close, and half an hour later -before the click of the switch told her that his light had been -extinguished. - -He was a ready sleeper, but she gave him yet another half-hour before -she opened the door of her bedroom and stepped out into the black -corridor. She moved noiselessly towards the study, her only fear being -that the baronet had locked the door before he came out. But this fear -was not well founded, and the door yielded readily to her touch. She was -dressed, and carried only a small attaché case filled with the bare -necessities for the voyage. - -She pushed the catch of her electric lamp, located the safe and opened -it with no difficulty. She found herself surprisingly short of breath, -and her heart beat at such a furious rate that she thought it must be -audible to everybody in the house. The envelope with the money lay at -the bottom of the others, and she transferred its contents to her -attaché case in a few seconds. - -Then her heart stood still. . . . - -It was only the faintest creak she heard, but it came from a corner of -the room where the door leading to the cupboard stairway was placed. She -saw a faint grey line of light appear—the stairway had a glass roof and -admitted enough light to show her that the door was slowly opening. She -had to bite her lips to stop herself from screaming. To make her escape -or to rouse Sir John was impossible, and she opened the attaché case -again, and with trembling fingers felt for the little revolver which she -had taken from her drawer. She felt safer now, yet she had not the -courage to switch on the light. - -She saw the figure of a man silhouetted in the opening, then the door -closed, and her terror bred of itself a certain courage. - -She flashed the light full on his face. The dead silence was broken when -she whispered: - -“Oh, God! Benson!” - -“Who’s that?” he whispered, and snatched the torch from her hand. - -He looked at her long and curiously, and then: - -“I expected to find that Maxell had taken most of my possessions,” he -said, “but I never thought he would take my wife!” - -“Let us see what all this is about,” boomed the big voice of John Maxell -almost in the man’s ear, he was so close, and suddenly the room was -flooded with light. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - -THE self-appointed watcher found time pass very slowly. Twelve and one -o’clock struck from a distant church, but there was no sign of midnight -assassins, and the house, looking very solemn and quiet in the light of -a waning moon, irritated and annoyed him. From the roadway where he -paced silently to and fro—he had taken the precaution of wearing a pair -of rubber-soled shoes—he could glimpse Mary’s window, and once he -thought he saw her looking out. - -He made a point of walking entirely round the house twice in every hour, -and it was on one of these excursions that he heard a sound which -brought him to a standstill. It was a sound like two pieces of flat -board being smacked together sharply. - -“Tap . . . tap!” - -He stopped and listened, but heard nothing further. Then he retraced his -footsteps to the front of the house and waited, but there was no sound -or sign. Another half-hour passed, and then a patrolling policeman came -along on the other side of the roadway. At the sight of the young man he -crossed the road, and Jim recognised an acquaintance of his drug-store -days. Nothing was to be gained by being evasive or mysterious, and -Timothy told the policeman frankly his object. - -“I heard about the shooting last night,” said the man, “and the -inspector offered to put one of our men on duty here, but Sir John -wouldn’t hear of it.” - -He took a professional look at the house, and pointed to its dark upper -windows. - -“That house is asleep—you needn’t worry about that,” he said; “besides, -it’ll be daylight in two hours, and a burglar wants that time to get -home.” - -Timothy paused irresolutely. It seemed absurd to wait any longer, and -besides, to be consistent he must be prepared to adopt this watchman -rôle every night. - -There was no particular reason why Sir John Maxell’s enemy should choose -this night or any other. He had half expected to see Cartwright and was -agreeably disappointed that he did not loom into view. - -“I think you’re right,” he said to the policeman. “I’ll walk along down -the road with you.” - -They must have walked a quarter of a mile, and were standing chatting at -the corner of the street, when a sound, borne clearly on the night air, -made both men look back in the direction whence they had come. They saw -two glaring spots of light somewhere in the vicinity of the Judge’s -house. - -“There’s a car,” said the officer, “what is it doing there at this time -of the morning? There is nobody sick in the house, is there?” - -Timothy shook his head. Already he had begun to walk back, and the -policeman, sensing something wrong, kept him company. They had covered -half the distance which separated them from the car, when it began to -move toward them, gathering speed. It flashed past and Timothy saw -nothing save the driver, for the hood was raised and its canvas blinds -hid whatever passenger it carried. - -“It came in from the other end of the avenue,” said the policeman -unnecessarily. “Maybe Sir John is going a long journey and is starting -early.” - -“Miss Maxell would have told me,” said Timothy, troubled. “I nearly took -a chance and made a jump for that car.” - -It was one of the few chances Timothy did not take, and one that he -bitterly regretted afterwards. - -“If you had,” said the practical policeman, “I should have been looking -for the ambulance for you now.” - -Timothy was no longer satisfied to play the rôle of the silent watcher. -When he came to the house he went boldly through the gate and up the -drive, and his warrant for the intrusion was the officer who followed -him. It was then that he saw the open window of the girl’s room, and his -heart leapt into his mouth. He quickened his step, but just as he came -under the window, she appeared, and Timothy sighed his relief. - -“Is that you?” she said in a low worried voice; “is that Mr. Anderson? -Thank heaven you’ve come! Wait, I will come down and open the door for -you.” - -He walked to the entrance, and presently the door was opened and the -girl, dressed in a wrapper, appeared. She tried to keep her voice -steady, but the strain of the past half-hour had been too much for her, -and she was on the verge of tears when Timothy put his arm about her -shaking shoulders and forced her down into a chair. - -“Sit down,” he said, “and tell us what has happened.” - -She looked at the officer and tried to speak. - -“There’s a servant,” said the policeman; “perhaps he knows something.” - -A man dressed in shirt and trousers was coming down the stairs. - -“I can’t make him hear,” he said, “or Lady Maxell, either.” - -“What has happened?” asked Timothy. - -“I don’t know, sir. The young lady woke me and asked me to rouse Sir -John.” - -“Wait, wait,” said the girl. “I am sorry I am so silly. I am probably -making a lot of trouble over nothing. It happened nearly an hour ago, I -was asleep and I heard a sound; thought I was dreaming of what happened -last night. It sounded like two shots, but, whatever it was, it woke -me.” - -Timothy nodded. - -“I know. I thought I heard them too,” he said. - -“Then you were out there all the time?” she asked and put out her hand -to him. - -For that look she gave him Timothy would have stayed out the three -hundred and sixty-five nights in the year. - -“I lay for a very long time, thinking that the sound would wake my -uncle, but I heard nothing.” - -“Is your room near Sir John’s?” asked the policeman. - -“No, mine is on this side of the building; Sir John and Lady Maxell -sleep on the other side. I don’t know what it was, but something alarmed -me and filled me with terror—something that made my flesh go rough and -cold—oh, it was horrible!” she shuddered. - -“I couldn’t endure it any longer, so I got out of bed and went out into -the corridor to wake uncle. Just then I heard a sound outside my window, -but I was just too terrified to look out. Then I heard a motor-car and -footsteps on the path outside. I went to Sir John’s door and knocked, -but got no answer. Then I tried Lady Maxell’s door, but there was no -answer there either. So I went to Johnson’s room and woke him;” she -looked at Timothy, “I—I—thought that you might be there, so I came -back to the open window and looked.” - -“Show me Sir John’s room,” said the policeman to the servant, and the -three men passed up the stairs, followed by the girl. - -The door which the man indicated was locked, and even when the policeman -hammered on the panel there was no response. - -“I think the key of my door will unlock almost any of the room doors,” -said the girl suddenly. “Sir John told me once that all the room locks -were made on the same plan.” - -She went away and came back with a key. The policeman fitted it in the -lock and opened the door, feeling for and finding the electric switch as -he entered. The room was empty, and apparently the bed had not been -occupied. - -“Where does that door lead?” he asked. - -“That leads to Lady Maxell’s room,” said the girl; “there is a key on -this side.” - -This door he found was open and again they found an empty room and a bed -which had not been slept in. They looked at one another. - -“Wouldn’t Sir John be in his study till late?” asked Timothy. - -The girl nodded. - -“It is at the end of the corridor,” she said in a broken voice, for she -felt that the study held some dreadful secret. - -This door was locked too, locked from the inside. By now the policeman -was standing on no ceremony, and with a quick thrust of his shoulder he -broke the lock, and the door flew open. - -“Let us have a little light,” he said, unconsciously copying words which -had been spoken in that room an hour before. - -The room was empty, but here at any rate was evidence. The safe stood -open, the fireplace was filled with glowing ashes, and the air of the -room was pungent with the scent of burnt paper. - -“What is this?” asked Timothy, pointing to the ground. - -The floor of the study was covered with a thick, biscuit-coloured -carpet, and “this” was a round, dark stain which was still wet. The -policeman went on his knees and examined it. - -“It is blood,” he said briefly; “there’s another patch near the door. -Where does this door lead? Catch that girl, she’s fainting!” - -Timothy was just in time to slip his arm round Mary’s waist before she -collapsed. By this time the household was aroused, and a woman servant -was on the spot to take charge of Mary. When Timothy had rejoined the -policeman, that officer had discovered where the door led. - -“You go down a stairway into the garden,” he said. “It looks as if two -shots were fired here. Look, there’s the mark of both of them on the -wall.” - -“Do you suggest that two people have been killed?” - -The policeman nodded. - -“One was shot in the middle of the room, and one was probably shot on -the way to the door. What do you make of this?” and he held up a bag, -discoloured and weather-worn, with a handle to which was fastened a long -length of rusty wire. - -“It is empty,” said the officer, examining the contents of the little -grip which, up till an hour before, had held John Maxell’s most -jealously guarded secrets. - -“I’ll use this ’phone,” said the officer. “You’d better stay by, Mr. -Anderson. We shall want your evidence—it will be important. It isn’t -often we have a man watching outside a house where a murder is -committed—probably two.” - - * * * * * - -The sun had risen before the preliminary interrogation and the search of -the house and grounds had been concluded. Blewitt the detective, who had -taken charge of the case, came into the dining-room, where a worried -servant was serving coffee for the investigators, and dropped down on to -a chair. - -“There’s one clue and there’s one clue alone,” he said, and drew from -his pocket a soft hat. “Do you recognise this, Anderson?” - -Timothy nodded. - -“Yes,” he said, “that was worn last night by the man I spoke to you -about.” - -“Cartwright?” said the detective. - -“I could swear to it,” said Timothy. “Where did you find it?” - -“Outside,” said the detective; “and that is all we have to go on. There -is no sign of any body. My first theory stands.” - -“You believe that the murderer carried Sir John and Lady Maxell into the -car and drove away with them?” said Timothy; “but that pre-supposes that -the chauffeur was in the plot.” - -“He may have been and he may have been terrorised,” said the detective. -“Even a taxi-driver will be obliging if you stick a gun in his stomach.” - -“But wouldn’t Miss Maxell have heard——” began Timothy. - -“Miss Maxell heard,” said the detective, “but was afraid to look out. -She also heard two shots. My theory is that Sir John and Lady Maxell -were killed, that the murderer first locked both the bedrooms, went -through Sir John’s papers, presumably to discover something -incriminating himself, and to destroy such documents.” - -“But why not leave the bodies?” said Timothy. - -“Because without the bodies no indictment of murder could hold against -him.” - -Timothy Anderson turned as the girl came in. She was looking very tired, -but she was calmer than she had been earlier in the morning. - -“Is there any news?” she asked, and Timothy shook his head. - -“We have searched every inch of the ground,” he said. - -“Do you think——” She hesitated to ask the question. - -“I am afraid,” replied Timothy gently, “that there is very little hope.” - -“But have you searched everywhere?” insisted the girl. - -“Everywhere,” replied Timothy. - -Soon after, Timothy took the girl away to an hotel for breakfast and to -arrange for a room, and the house was left in charge of the police. -Later came the famous detective Gilborne, who made an independent -search, but he, like his predecessors, failed to discover any further -evidence, because he also knew nothing of the disused well, which lay -hidden under a rubbish heap. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - -WHO killed Sir John Maxell and his wife? - -Where had their bodies been hidden? These were the two questions which -were to agitate England for the traditional space of nine days. For one -day, at any rate, they formed the sole topic of speculation amongst the -intelligent section of fifty million people. - -The first question was easier to answer than the second. It was obvious -to the newsmen that the murderer was Cartwright, whose threats of -vengeance were recalled and whose appearance at Bournemouth had been -described at second-hand by the detective in charge of the case. -First-hand information was for the moment denied the pressmen, for -Timothy, fully dressed, lay on his bed in a sound sleep. Happily for -him, neither then nor later did any of the enterprising newspaper men -associate the “A. C.” in his name with the wanted criminal. He was at -least spared that embarrassment. - -But the story of his vigil as “a friend of Sir John’s” was in print long -before he woke up to find a small and impatient army of reporters -waiting to interview him. He answered the reporters’ interrogations as -briefly as possible, bathed and changed and made his way to the hotel -where the girl was. She was leaving as he arrived, and the warmth of her -greeting almost banished the depression which lay upon him. She put her -arm through his so naturally that he did not realise his wonderful -fortune. - -“I’ve got something to tell you,” she said, “unless you know already. -All my money has gone.” - -He stopped with a gasp. - -“You don’t mean that?” he said seriously. - -“It is true,” she replied. “I believe it was very little and my loss is -so insignificant compared with the other awful affair that I am not -worrying about it.” - -“But Sir John had money?” - -She shook her head. - -“I have just seen his lawyers,” she said, “they have been to the bank -and there is not a hundred pounds to his credit, and that amount will be -absorbed by the cheques he has drawn. He drew a very, very large sum, -including my money, from the bank two days ago. You know,” she went on, -“I think that Sir John contemplated leaving for America? He had already -given me a hint, asking me how long it would take me to pack my -belongings, and I fancy that had something to do with the telegram he -received——” - -“Announcing Cartwright’s escape,” nodded Timothy. - -“He was so kind and so gentle,” said the girl, her eyes filling with -tears, “that to me he was more like a father. Oh, it is awful, awful!” - -“But you?” asked the agitated Timothy. “What are you going to do? Good -heavens! It is dreadful!” - -“I shall have to work,” said the girl practically and with a little -smile. “I do not think that will kill me. Hundreds of thousands of girls -have to work for their living, Timothy, and I shall have to work for -mine.” - -Timothy drew a long breath. - -“Not if I can help it, you won’t,” he said. “I am sure I shall make a -lot of money. I can feel it in my bones. If a man takes a job——” - -“You mustn’t talk like that,” she said, pressing his arm, “and anyway, -how could I let you help me or keep me? That sort of thing isn’t -done—not by nice girls.” - -She laughed, but became sober again. - -“Do you know that Sir John was very much interested in you?” - -“In me?” said Timothy. - -She nodded. - -“I told you so the other day. I think he liked you, because he was -saying how uncomfortable you must be at Vermont House, living in that -queer little room of yours.” - -Timothy was startled. - -“How did he know I was living at Vermont House?” he said. - -She smiled. - -“Vermont House happens to be Sir John’s property,” she said. “In fact, I -think it is the only realisable piece of property he has, now that the -money has gone.” - -“What shall you do immediately?” asked Timothy. - -She shook her head. - -“I don’t know,” she replied. “I think the first step is to get out of -this hotel, which is much too expensive for me. I have a few pounds in -the bank, but that won’t last very long.” - -At his earnest entreaty she agreed to see a solicitor and appoint him to -save whatever was possible from the wreckage of Sir John’s estate. Two -hours passed like as many minutes, until Timothy remembered that he had -an appointment with a London reporter—one Brennan. Brennan he had known -in his cinema days, and Timothy literally fell upon his neck. - -“I’ve nothing to tell the boys that hasn’t already been told,” he said, -putting down the newspaper which Brennan handed to him. “I am as anxious -for news as you are. Have there been any developments?” - -“None,” said the reporter, “except that Sir John had no money at the -bank and no money could be found in the house.” - -Timothy nodded. - -“That I know,” he said, “all his securities were drawn out two days ago. -That was the stuff that Cartwright was after.” - -“Does Miss Maxell know——” Brennan began. - -“She does know and she took it like a brick.” - -“It was about twenty thousand pounds,” Brennan went on. “The only other -clue the police have is that the safe was opened by Maxell’s duplicate -key. The old man had two sets made, one of which he used to keep in his -combination safe in his bedroom and the other he carried around with -him. Miss Maxell told a story that the night before the murder Lady -Maxell asked her to secure possession of the keys in order to open a -bureau.” - -Timothy nodded. - -“I see. Is it suggested that Lady Maxell detached the key of the safe -and that it was she who opened it?” - -“That is one theory,” said the other, “the police have miles of ’em! -They’ve got everything except the bodies and the murderer. Now come out -with that story, Anderson! You must know a great deal more than you’ve -told, and I’m simply without a new fact that these evening papers -haven’t got, to hang my story on. Why did Cartwright come to your room, -anyway? Do you know him?” - -“He was an acquaintance of my father’s,” said Timothy diplomatically, -“and perhaps he thought I knew Maxell better than I did.” - -“That sounds pretty thin,” said the reporter. “Why should he come to -you?” - -“Suppose I am the only person he knew or knew about,” said Timothy -patiently. “Suppose he’d been all round Bournemouth trying to find a -familiar name.” - -“There’s something in that,” admitted the reporter. - -“Anyway,” said Timothy, “I was a kid when he went to gaol. You don’t -imagine I knew him at all, do you?” - -He had gone out to meet the girl, forgetting to take his watch, and now -he was looking round for it. - -“Here is a theory,” said Brennan suddenly. “Suppose Lady Maxell isn’t -dead at all.” - -“What do you mean?” asked the other. - -“Suppose Cartwright killed Maxell and Lady Maxell witnessed the murder. -Suppose this fellow had to decide whether he would kill the witness or -whether he would go away with her? You said the motor-car which came to -the house in the middle of the night was the same as that in which Lady -Maxell came home. Isn’t it likely that she should have told the -murderer, for some reason or other, that the car was coming, because -evidently she had arranged for it to come, and that they went away -together? Isn’t it likely, too, that she was in the plot, and that, so -far from being a victim, she was one of the criminals? We know her -antecedents. There was some trouble over her stabbing a young American, -Reggie van Rhyn. In fact, most of the evidence seems to incriminate her. -There is the key, for example. Who else but she could have taken the -duplicate key? Doesn’t it look as though she planned the whole thing, -and that her accomplice came in at the last moment to help her get away -and possibly to settle Sir John? - -“Take the incident of the two locked bedrooms. Obviously somebody who -lived in the house and who knew the family routine must have done that. -Both Sir John and Lady Maxell were in the habit of fastening their doors -at night, and the servants did not go into the bedrooms unless they were -rung for. It seems to me fairly clear that Lady Maxell locked the doors -so that the suspicions of the servants should not be aroused in the -morning.” - -“If I had your powers of deduction,” said the admiring Timothy, “I -should never miss a winner. Where the blazes is my watch?” - -“Try under the pillow,” said Brennan. - -“I never put it there,” replied Timothy, but nevertheless turned the -pillow over and stood gaping. - -For beneath the pillow was a long, stout envelope with a tell-tale blood -stain in one corner. - -“For heaven’s sake!” breathed Timothy, and took up the package. - -It bore no address and was sealed. - -“What on earth is this?” he asked. - -“I can tell you what those stains are,” said the practical Brennan. “Is -there any name on it?” - -Timothy shook his head. - -“Open it,” suggested the reporter, and the other obeyed. - -The contents were even more astonishing, for they consisted of a thick -pad of money. They were new Bank of England notes and were bound about -by a tight band of paper. On the band was written in Sir John’s -handwriting: - - “Proceeds of the sale of stocks held in trust for Miss Mary - Maxell. £21,300.” - - * * * * * - -The detective in charge of the case was a man of many theories. But his -new theory was an uncomfortable one for Timothy Anderson. - -“This puts a new light upon the case,” said the detective, “and I’m -being perfectly frank with you, Mr. Anderson, that the new light isn’t -very favourable to you. Here you are, outside the building when the -crime is committed. You are seen by a policeman a few minutes after the -shots are fired, and a portion of the money stolen from the house is -discovered under your pillow.” - -“Discovered by me,” said Timothy, “in the presence of a witness. And are -you suggesting that, whilst I was with your policeman, I was also -driving the car, or that I was wearing Cartwright’s cap which was found -in the grounds? Anyway, you’ve the finger-print of your man and you’re -at liberty to compare it with mine.” - -“It isn’t a finger-print anyway,” said the detective, “it is the print -of a knuckle and we do not keep a record of knuckles. No, I admit that -the motor-car conflicts a little bit with my theory. Have you any -suggestion to offer?” - -Timothy shook his head. - -“The only suggestion I can make,” he said, “is that Cartwright, in a -hurry to get away and knowing the position of my room, hid the money -there for fear he should be caught with the goods. At any rate, if I -were the criminal I would not hide a bloodstained envelope under my -pillow. I should at least have the intelligence to burn the envelope and -put the money where the servants of this house could not find it. Why, -don’t you see,” he said vigorously, “that any of the servants at this -boarding-house would have found the envelope if I hadn’t?” - -The detective scratched his head. - -“There’s something in that,” he said. “It is a very queer case.” - -“And it is being investigated by very queer people,” said Timothy -irritably. - -A little further investigation, however, relieved Timothy of all -suspicion. He had not returned to the house until ten o’clock that -morning. The maid, who had taken him a cup of tea at eight, noticing -that he had been out all night, thought it was an excellent opportunity -to straighten the room to “get it off her mind,” as she said. She did -not remake the bed, but had tidied it. Whilst sweeping she had seen the -envelope lying on the floor near the open window and had picked it up -and, for want of a better place, thinking “it was private” had slipped -it under Timothy’s pillow. - -As Timothy had not been out of sight of the police since the tragedy -until his return to his lodgings, there could be no suggestion that he -had any part in hiding the envelope. Whatever irritation he felt was -dispelled by his large and generous satisfaction when the poverty which -threatened Mary was averted. But why should Cartwright hide the money -there? Why should he stop in his headlong flight to come to the window, -as evidently he did, and throw the package into the room? There were a -hundred places where he might have left it. - -“That cousin stuff doesn’t work,” thought Timothy, “and if you think -he’s going to rely upon his relationship with me and can use me to look -after his money, he’s made one large mistake.” - -He saw the girl again at the official inquiry, and met her on the day -after. She was going to Bath where she had some distant relations, and -they had met to say good-bye. - -It was a gloomy occasion—less gloomy for Timothy than for the girl, -because he was already planning a move to the town in which she was -taking up her quarters. This cheerful view was banished, however, when -she explained that her stay in Bath was merely a temporary expedient. - -“Mrs. Renfrew has wired asking me to come—and it seems as good a place -as any for a few months. I don’t think I shall stay here any longer,” -she said. “I want a change of air and a change of scene. Timothy, I feel -that I shall never get over Sir John’s death.” - -“Never is a very long time, my dear,” said Timothy gently, and she could -only wonder at the tender kindness in his voice. - -She had little time to wonder, however, for she had a proposition to -make to him and she hardly knew how to reduce it to words. - -“Are you—are you—working?” she asked. - -Timothy’s broad smile answered her plainly that he was not. - -“The fact is,” he said airily, “I haven’t quite decided what I am going -to do. If you were going down to Bath for good, I was going down to Bath -also. Maybe I could start a druggist’s or buy a store, or run errands -for somebody. I am the most accommodating worker.” - -“Well——” she began and stopped. - -“Well?” he repeated. - -“I had an idea that maybe you would like to go on and conduct an -independent search—independent of the police, I mean—and find -something about the man who killed Sir John, and perhaps bring him to -justice. You know, I think you are clever enough,” she went on -hurriedly, “and it would be work after your own heart.” - -He was looking at her steadily. - -“Quite right, Mary,” he said quietly, “but that involves spending a -whole lot of money. What misguided person do you suggest would send me -out on that kind of job?” - -“Well, I thought——” She hesitated, and then a little incoherently, -“You see, I have the money—mainly through you—my own money, I mean. I -feel I have a duty to my poor uncle and I could trust you to do your -very best. I could afford it, Timothy”—she laid her hand on his arm and -looked up at him almost beseechingly—“indeed I can afford it. I have -more money than I shall ever spend.” - -He patted her hand softly. - -“Mary,” he said, “it is just the kind of job I should like, and with -anybody’s money but yours, why, I’d be out of the country in two shakes, -looking for Mr. Cartwright in the most expensive cities of the world. -But, my dear, I cannot accept your commission, because I know just what -lies behind it. You think I’m a restless, rather shiftless sort of -fellow, and you want to give me a good time—with your money.” - -He stopped and shook his head. - -“No, my dear,” he said, “thank you, but, no!” - -She was disappointed and for a moment a little hurt. - -“Would two hundred pounds——” she suggested timidly. - -“Not your two hundred,” he said. “That lawyer of yours should take -better care of your money, Mary. He shouldn’t allow you to make these -tempting offers to young men,” he was smiling now. “Will you go abroad?” - -“Perhaps—some day,” she said vaguely. “Sir John wanted me to go—and I -feel that I should be pleasing him. Some day, yes, Timothy.” - -He nodded. - -“Maybe I’ll go over at the same time as you,” he said. “I thought of -taking a chance in Paris for a while—you can make big money in Paris.” - -“In—a while?” she smiled. - -“In a minute,” said Timothy grimly, “if the horse and the jockey are of -the same way of thinking. I know a fellow who races pretty extensively -in France. He has a horse called Flirt——” - -She held out her hand for the second time. - -“Timothy, you’re incorrigible,” she said. - -She did not see him again for twelve months, not indeed until, after a -winter spent in Madeira, she put her foot over the gangway of the s.s. -_Tigilanes_ and met the quizzical smile of the youth who was waiting to -receive her. - -For Timothy had been in Funchal a month, seeing but unseen, since Mary -was generally in bed before the Casino woke up and play reached any -exciting level. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - -TIMOTHY sat now on an upturned trunk, his elbows on the rails of the -s.s. _Tigilanes_ and his speculative eye roving the river front of -Liverpool. - -It was the last hour of the voyage, and Timothy, who had left Funchal -with four hundred pounds in his pocket-book, had exactly three genuine -shillings and a five-milreis piece of dubious quality. - -A man strolled along the deck and fell in at his side. - -“Cleaned you out last night, didn’t they?” he asked sympathetically. - -“Eh? Oh, yes, I believe they did. That red-haired man had all the luck -and most of the cards.” - -He smiled and Timothy had a swift, happy smile that brought tired little -ridges under his eyes. He was not only good-looking and young, but he -was interesting. - -The man at his side took the cigar from his teeth and looked at it -before he spoke. - -“Of course, you know they were crooks—they work this coast line -regularly.” - -“Eh?” - -Timothy looked round, shocked and pained. - -“You don’t say? Crooks! What, that little red-haired fellow who has been -trying to pick a quarrel with me all the voyage, and the tall, -nice-looking Englishman?” - -His companion nodded. - -“Don’t you remember the Captain warned us not to play cards——” - -“They always do that to be on the safe side,” said Timothy, but he was -obviously uneasy. “Of course, if I knew they were crooks——” - -“Knew! Good lord! Anybody will tell you. Ask the purser. Anyway, you’ve -been stung and you can do nothing. The best thing to do is to grin and -bear your losses. It is experience.” - -Timothy felt the three honest shillings in his pocket and whistled -dismally. - -“Of course, if I were sure——” - -He turned abruptly away and raced down the main companion-way to the -purser’s little office under the stairs. - -“Mr. Macleod, I want to see you.” - -“Yes, sir,”—all pursers are a little suspicious,—“anything wrong with -your bill?” - -“No—not unless his name’s Bill. Shall I come in?” - -The purser opened the half-door and admitted him to the sanctuary. - -“There are two fellows aboard this packet—a red-haired fellow named -Chelwyn and a disguised duke named Brown—what do you know about ’em?” - -The purser made a face. It was intended to convey his lack of real -interest in either. - -“I’ll put it plainly,” said the patient Timothy. “Are they crooks?” - -“They play cards,” said the purser diplomatically. - -He desired at this the eleventh hour to avoid scandal, explanations, and -such other phenomena which he associated in his mind with the -confrontation of the wise men and their dupes. That sort of thing -brought the Line into disrepute, and indirectly reflected upon the -ship’s officers. Besides, the ship was making port, and, like all -pursers, he was up to his eyes in work and frantically anxious to clear -it off in a minimum time so that he could take a train to his little -villa at Lytham, where his family was established. - -“I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson, if you’ve been stung,” he said, “but the -captain gives fair warning the first night out of Cape Town and -Madeira—that’s where you came aboard, isn’t it?—and there were notices -posted up, both in the saloon and in the smoking-room. Have you lost -much?” - -He looked up with some sympathy at the tall, athletic figure with the -tired, smiling eyes. - -“I cleared up £500 at the Funchal Casino,” said Timothy, “and I reckon I -have spent £100 legitimately.” - -“The rest is gone, eh?” said the purser. “Well, Mr. Anderson, I am -afraid I can do nothing. The best thing to do is to mark it down against -‘Experience’.” - -“I’ll forgive you for being philosophical about my losses,” said -Timothy. “Will you be kind enough to tell me the number of Mr. Chelwyn’s -cabin?” - -“Two seventy-four,” said the purser. “I say, Mr. Anderson, if I were you -I’d let the matter drop.” - -“I know you would, dear old thing,” said Timothy, shaking him warmly by -the hand, “and if I were you I should let it drop too. But, as I am -me—274, I think you said?” - -“I hope you’re not going to make any trouble, Mr. Anderson,” said the -alarmed purser. “We’ve done our best to make you comfortable on the -voyage.” - -“And I did my best to pay for my ticket, so we’re quits,” and with a -wave of his hand Timothy strode out of the cabin, dodged down past the -steward carrying up the luggage to the next deck, and walked swiftly -along the carpeted corridor till he found a little number-plate bearing -the figures “274.” He knocked at the cabin door, and gruff voice said, -“Come in!” - -Chelwyn, the red-haired man, was in his shirt sleeves, fastening his -collar. Brown was sitting on the edge of his bunk, smoking a cigarette, -and Chelwyn, who had seen Timothy reflected in the mirror as he came in, -was first to recognise him. - -“Hullo, Mr. Anderson, do you want anything?” he asked politely. “Sorry -you’ve had such bad luck—what the devil are you doing?” - -Timothy had shut the door and slipped the bolt. - -“Yes, I want something,” he said. “I want four hundred pounds.” - -“You want——” - -“Listen. I thought you were playing straight, you fellows, or I wouldn’t -have played with you. I’m willing to take a chance, for that’s my motto -in life, dear lads, but there isn’t a chance to take when you’re playing -with crooks.” - -“Look here,” said the red-haired man, walking over to him and -emphasising his words with his forefinger against Timothy’s chest, “that -kind of stuff doesn’t amuse me. If you lose your money, lose it like a -sportsman and a gentleman, and don’t squeal.” - -Timothy grinned. - -“Boys,” he said, “I want four hundred pounds from you, so step lively.” - -The suave Mr. Brown, who had been watching the scene with bored eyes, -stroking his drooping moustache the while, made a gentle entrance into -the conversation. - -“I’m rather surprised, in fact, I am shocked, Mr. Anderson, that you -should take this line,” he said. “You’ve lost your money fairly and -squarely——” - -“That’s where you’re lying,” said Timothy pleasantly. “Now, I’m telling -you this. We’re very near the shore. Somewhere at the back of those -warehouses there’s certain to be a police organisation and a well-paid -magistrate. You are going to have a grand opportunity of appearing in -the respectable part of the court as a prosecutor, for I’m going to beat -you up—first you,” he pointed to the red-haired Chelwyn, “and then -you.” - -“You’re going to beat me up, are you?” said the red-haired man and made -a quick dive. - -It was not pretty to watch, unless you took an interest in fighting. -They closed for a second and something jolted twice under Chelwyn’s jaw. -He fell back against the cabin partition. He leapt again, but Timothy’s -fist met him half-way, and he never really felt what hit him. - -“I’ve won this fight,” said Timothy, “and I award myself a purse of four -hundred pounds. Do you take any interest in these proceedings. Brown?” - -The other man had not moved from his bunk, but now he rose and lifted -his dazed companion to his feet. - -“We’d better pay this fellow.” - -“I’ll see him——” mumbled the other, but Brown was apparently the -brains of the organisation and had merely mentioned his intention of -paying out of sheer politeness to his companion. - -He took a thick pocket-book from his hip pocket and counted out the -notes, and Timothy picked them up. - -“I’ll fix you for this,” said Chelwyn, mopping his bleeding lip. “You’ve -taken this from me—not him.” - -“Don’t frighten me,” said Timothy as he unbolted the door and stepped -out. - -“Some day I’ll get you,” said the livid man, and the finger he pointed -at Timothy was shaking with anger. - -“I’ll take a chance on that,” said Timothy. - -He ascended the companion-way feeling remarkably cheerful, and met the -purser coming down. That officer regarded him even more suspiciously -than ever. But as there were no signs of the fray upon him, the purser -went to his cabin relieved, and Timothy passed out to relieve his -feelings by the side of the rail. So he sat whilst the big liner was -brought alongside the wharf, and then he heard his name spoken and -jumped up, hat in hand. - -“I just wanted to tell you, Timothy, in case I did not see you on the -train,” she remarked, “that Mrs. Renfrew has decided not to go back to -Bath but to go on to Paris almost immediately.” - -“Good for Mrs. Renfrew,” said Timothy. “Bath or Paris will find me -hanging around. I nearly came down to you just now to borrow my fare to -Bath.” - -“Timothy,” she said in a shocked voice, “did you lose all the money you -won in Funchal?” - -Timothy rubbed his nose. - -“I didn’t exactly lose it,” he said. “I lent it and it has just been -repaid.” - -“Mrs. Renfrew doesn’t think it proper your travelling on the same boat. -She thinks you ought not to have come to Madeira after me—us.” - -There was mischief in Mary’s eyes, in spite of the solemnity of her -tone. - -“I shouldn’t worry about what Mrs. Renfrew thinks,” said Timothy. “Why, -you’re almost as badly off for cousins as I am.” - -“As you are?” she said in surprise. “Have you any cousins?” - -“Hundreds of ’em,” said Timothy glibly. - -“Who are they?” she asked, interested. - -She had reached a stage in their friendship when his relatives were -immensely interesting. - -“I don’t know their names,” lied Timothy. “I don’t give ’em names but -numbers—one, two, three, four, etc.—just at that moment I was thinking -of number seventy-nine—good morning, Mrs. Renfrew.” - -Mrs. Renfrew was severe and thin, with a yellow face and hooked nose. -She was a member of one of the best, if not the best, families in Bath, -and it was an unfailing source of pride that she did not know the people -that other people knew. - -Mary watched the encounter with dancing eyes. - -“Shall I have the pleasure of your company to London?” asked Mrs. -Renfrew. - -She invariably made a point of leaving Mary out, and indeed sustained -the pleasant fiction that Mary had no existence on board the ship. - -“The pleasure will be mine,” said Timothy. “I am not travelling with you -to London.” - -He said this so innocently that Mrs. Renfrew was in the middle of her -next observation before she had any idea that the remark had an -offensive interpretation. - -“You seem to have had a very unfortunate experience—what do you mean?” - -Happily a very hot-looking steward made his appearance at that moment -and called Mrs. Renfrew away. She gathered up her charge and with a -withering glance at Timothy departed. - -“Take A Chance” Anderson, feeling particularly happy, was one of the -first to land and strolled along the quay-side waiting within view of -the gangway for Mary to disembark. Immediately above him towered the -high decks of the _Tigilanes_—a fact of which he was reminded when, -with a crash, a heavy wooden bucket dropped so close to his head that it -grazed his shoulder. It was a large bucket, and, dropped from that -height, might have caused him considerable physical distress. - -He looked up. - -The two card-players with whom he had had some argument were lolling -over the rail, their faces turned in quite another direction and talking -earnestly. - -“Hi!” said Timothy. - -They were deaf, it appeared, for they still continued their discussion. -A deck hand was passing with a crate load of oranges; one fell out and -Timothy picked it up. The attention of Messrs. Chelwyn and Brown was -still directed elsewhere, and with a little swing of his arm Timothy -sent the orange upon its swift and unerring course. It caught the -red-haired man square in the side of the face and burst, and he jumped -round with an oath. - -“You’ve dropped your bucket,” said Timothy sweetly. “Shall I throw it at -you or will you come down and get it?” - -The man said something violent, but his companion pulled him away, and -Timothy went to look for a seat with peace in his heart. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - -THE train was crowded, but he secured a corner seat in one of the -cell-like compartments. It was empty when he entered, but immediately -after, to his surprise, Brown and Chelwyn followed him in and deposited -their goods upon three seats that they might in the manner of all -experienced travellers, occupy breathing space for three at the cost of -two tickets. - -They took no notice of Timothy until the train drew out and he wondered -what their game was. It was hardly likely that they would start any -rough work with him after their experience of the morning and less -likely because these boat trains were well policed. - -Clear of the Riverside Station the smooth Englishman leant forward. - -“I hope, Mr. Anderson,” he said, “that you will forget and forgive.” - -“Surely,” said Timothy, “I have nothing to forgive.” - -“My friend,” said Mr. Brown with a smile, “is very precipitate—which -means hasty,” he explained. - -“Thank you,” said Timothy, “I thought it meant crooked.” - -A spasm contorted the features of Mr. Chelwyn, but he said nothing. As -for Brown, he laughed. He laughed heartily but spuriously. - -“That’s not a bad joke,” he said, “but to tell you the truth, we mistook -you for—one of us, and my friend and I thought it would be a good joke -to get the better of you.” - -“And was it?” asked Timothy. - -“It was and it wasn’t,” said Mr. Brown, not easily nonplussed. “Of -course, we intended restoring the money to you before you left the -ship.” - -“Naturally,” said Timothy. “I never thought you would do anything else.” - -“Only you know you rather spoilt our little _esprit_.” - -“If the conversation is to develop in a foreign language,” said Timothy, -“I would only remark: _Honi soit qui mal y pense_,” and the polite Mr. -Brown laughed again. - -“You do not mind if my friend and I have a little quiet game by -ourselves, if,” he said humorously, “we swindle one another.” - -“Not at all,” said Timothy. “I have no objection to watching, but if,” -he said cheerfully, “you should suddenly draw my attention whilst your -friend’s head is turned, to the ease with which I could win a hundred -pounds by picking the lady, or discovering the little pea under the -little shell, or show me a way of getting rich from any of the other -devices which the children of the public schools find so alluring at the -country fair, I shall be under the painful necessity of slapping you -violently on the wrist.” - -Thereafter the conversation languished until the train had run through -Crewe and was approaching Rugby. It was here that Mr. Brown stopped in -the midst of a long, learned discussion on English politics to offer his -cigarette-case to Timothy. Timothy chose a cigarette and put it in his -pocket. - -“That is one of the best Egyptian brands made,” said Mr. Brown casually. - -“Best for you or best for me?” asked Timothy. - -“Bah!” It was the red-haired Chelwyn who addressed him for the first -time. “What have you to be afraid of? You’re as scared as a cat! Do you -think we want to poison you?” - -Mr. Brown produced a flask and poured a modicum of whisky into the cup -and handed it to his companion, then he drank himself. Then, without -invitation he poured a little more into the cup and offered it to -Timothy. - -“Let bygones be bygones,” he said. - -“I have no desire to be a bygone,” said Timothy, “I would much rather be -a herenow.” - -Nevertheless, he took the cup and smelt it. - -“Butyl chloride,” he said, “has a distinctive odour. I suppose you don’t -call it by its technical name, and to you it is just vulgarly ‘a -knock-out drop.’ Really,” he said, handing back the cup, “you boys are -so elementary. Where did you learn it all—from the movies?” - -The red-haired man half rose from his seat with a growl. - -“Sit down,” said Timothy sharply, and with a jerk of his hand he flung -open the carriage door. - -The men shrank back at the sight of the rapidly running line, and at the -certainty of death which awaited any who left the train on that side of -the carriage. - -“Start something,” said Timothy, “and I’ll undertake to put either one -or both of you on to the line. We’re going at about sixty miles an hour, -and a fellow that went out there wouldn’t be taking a chance. Now is -there going to be a rough house?” - -“Close the door, close the door,” said Mr. Brown nervously. “What a -stupid idea, Mr. Anderson!” - -Timothy swung the door to and the man moved up towards him. - -“Now, I’m just going to put it to you plainly,” said Brown. “We’ve made -the voyage out to the Cape and the voyage back and the only mug we met -was you. What we won from you just about paid our expenses, and I’m -putting it to you, as a sportsman and a gentleman, that you should let -us have half of that stuff back.” - -“The sportsman in me admires your nerve,” said Timothy, “but I suppose -it is the gentleman part that returns an indignant ‘No!’ to your -interesting observation.” - -Brown turned to his companion. - -“Well, that’s that, Len,” he said, “you’ll just have to let the money -go. It is a pity,” he said wistfully and his companion grunted. - -That ended the conversation so far as the journey was concerned, and -Timothy heard no more until he was in the gloomy courtyard at Euston -Station and stepping into his taxi. - -To his surprise it was the red-haired man who approached him, and -something in his manner prevented Timothy from taking the action which -he otherwise would have thought necessary. - -“Look here, young fellow,” he said, “you watch Brown—he’s wild.” - -“You’re not exactly tame,” smiled Timothy. - -“Don’t take any notice of me,” said the man a little bitterly. “I am -engaged in the rough work. I should have got two hundred out of your -money—that’s what made me so wild. Brown paid all my expenses and gives -me ten pound a week and a commission. It sounds funny to you, doesn’t -it, but it is the truth,” and somehow Timothy knew that the man was not -lying. - -“He’s finished with me—says I am a hoodoo,” said the little man. “Do -you know what I’ve got out of five weeks’ work? Look!” - -He held out his hand and disclosed two ten-pound notes. - -“Brown’s dangerous,” he warned Timothy. “Don’t you make any mistake -about that. I was only wild because I was losing my money, but he’s wild -because you’ve got fresh with him and caught him out every time. Good -night!” - -“Here, wait,” said Timothy. - -He felt in his pocket. - -“If you’re lying, it is a plausible lie and one that pleases me,” he -said. “This will salve my conscience.” - -He slipped two notes into the man’s hands. - -Chelwyn was speechless for a moment. Then he asked: - -“And where are you staying in London, Mr. Anderson?” - -“At the Brussell Hotel.” - -“At the Brussell Hotel,” repeated the other, “I’ll remember that. I -shall hear if anything is going on and I’ll ’phone you. You’re a -gentleman, Mr. Anderson.” - -“So Mr. Brown said,” remarked Timothy and drove off, feeling unusually -cheerful. - -If Timothy could be cheerful under the depressing conditions which -prevailed on the night of his arrival in London, he was a veritable -pattern of cheer. A drizzling rain was falling as the taxi squeaked its -way through a labyrinth of mean streets. He had glimpses of -wretched-looking people, grotesque of shape and unreal, through the -rain-blurred window of the cab. - -Then suddenly the character of the streets changed, and he was in a -broad street twinkling with light. There was a glimpse of trees, wide -open spaces, dotted with light. The street grew busier and the traffic -thicker, then suddenly the cab turned again into semi-darkness and -pulled up before the hotel. - -A porter opened the door. - -“What do I think of Madeira?” asked Timothy of the astonished man. “I -haven’t had time to think. Will I be staying long in London? No. What -are my opinions of the political crisis which has arisen in my absence? -I would rather not say.” - -It takes a great deal to upset the equilibrium of a well-conducted hall -man. - -“Have you booked your room?” he asked. - -Timothy meekly admitted that he had. - -He woke to a London much more beautiful, to a vista of old-world -buildings such as Cruikshank loved to draw, to a green square and -glimpses of greener trees. - -Mary was staying at the Carlton, but he had arranged to meet her for -lunch. He had not arranged to meet her dragon, but he knew she would be -there. He had breakfasted, and was on the point of leaving the hotel, -when Chelwyn came. - -To say that Timothy regretted his generosity of the night before would -be to do him an injustice. Nevertheless, he had some misgivings as to -whether he had not been a little too generous. The appearance of Mr. -Chelwyn, early in the morning, looking so spruce and confident, was in -itself a suspicious happening, though events proved that the suspicion -was unfounded. - -“Can I see you alone for a moment, Mr. Anderson?” asked the red-haired -man. - -Timothy hesitated. - -“Come along to the drawing-room,” he said. - -It was the one public room which would be empty at that time of the -morning. Mr. Chelwyn deposited his hat and stick and brand-new yellow -gloves before he spoke. - -“Now, Mr. Anderson, I’ve come to tell you a few facts which will -surprise you.” - -“You haven’t had a gold brick sent to you by your Uncle George in -Alaska, have you?” asked Timothy dubiously. “Because I’m not buying that -kind of fact.” - -The man smiled and shook his head. - -“It is hardly likely I should try that stuff on you, sir,” he said. “No, -this is a much more serious matter. Before I go any farther I’ll tell -you that I am not asking for money. I am grateful to you for what you -did to me last night, Mr. Anderson. A crook has a wife and children the -same as anybody else. I have been in this funny business for ten years, -but now I’m out of it for good.” He looked round and dropped his voice, -“Mr. Anderson, I told you last night that we’ve been five or six weeks -away from England. Didn’t that sound strange to you?” - -“Not to me,” said Timothy. - -“That is because you don’t know the game,” said the man. “As a rule, -when we’re working these liners, we go out to Cape Town and come back by -the next ship that sails. What do you think we stayed at Funchal -for—there’s no money in short voyages—it’s all on the long run from -Madeira to Cape Town.” - -“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Timothy wearily. “I don’t even -remember seeing you in Funchal——” - -“We laid low,” interrupted the man. - -“That may be, but if you’ve come to tell me the interesting story of -your life, Ginger, I beg that you will cut it short—the history, I -mean, not necessarily your life.” - -“Well, I’ll tell it to you as quickly as possible,” said the man. “I -don’t always work with Brown. In fact, I’ve only worked with him about -three times before. I’m not as good a man with the broads——” - -“The broads?” said the puzzled Timothy. - -“With the cards,” corrected the man. “I say that I’m not as good a man -with the broads as some of the others. I’ve got a bit of a reputation -for scrapping. I’ve never left a pal in the lurch and I’ve always been -ready for any ‘rough house’ that came along. About two months ago Brown -sent for me—he’s got a flat off Piccadilly and lives like a lord. He -told me he was going to Madeira on a special job, that he’d been -employed by a lady in Paris—a Madame Serpilot (you’d better write that -down in your pocket-book)—to shepherd a young lady who was coming over. -Mind you, there was no harm intended to the young lady, but the general -idea was that she might be accompanied by a man, and he was the fellow -who had to be looked after.” - -“What was the lady’s name?” asked Timothy quickly. - -“Miss Maxell,” said the man without hesitation, “and you were the fellow -we were asked to put out of business. Brown’s idea was to break you; -then, when you got to London, one of his pals would have met you and -offered to lend you money. They’d have framed up a charge against you of -obtaining money by false pretences, and you would have been pinched.” - -Timothy’s eyebrows rose. - -“Was this Mrs. Serpilot’s plan?” he asked, but the man shook his head. - -“No, sir, she gave just the details to Brown. She never said what was to -be done to you, according to him, but you were to be stopped going -around with the young lady.” - -“Who is Madame Serpilot?” - -“There you’ve got me,” said Chelwyn. “I believe she’s an old widow, but -Brown never told me much about her. He got instructions from her while -he was in Paris, but I never discovered how. I went to Madeira with him -because he knew I was tough—but I wasn’t tough enough,” he added with a -dry smile. - -Timothy held out his hand. - -“Ginger,” he said solemnly, “please forgive the orange!” - -“Oh, I didn’t mind that,” said the man, “that’s all in the day’s work. -It made me a bit wild, and my eye’s feeling sore, but don’t let that -worry you. What you’ve got to do now is to look out for Brown, because -he’ll have you as sure as death.” - -“I’ll look out for Madame Serpilot, too,” said Timothy. “I think I’ll go -to Paris.” - -“She’s not in Paris now, I can tell you that,” said the man. “The wire -Brown got at Liverpool was from Monte Carlo.” - -“Monte Carlo,” said Timothy, “is even more attractive than Paris.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - -CHELWYN left Timothy with something to think about. Who was Madame -Serpilot, this old lady who had such an interest in Mary travelling -alone? And why, oh! why had she left Paris for Monte Carlo at the fag -end of the season? For he and Mary had privately decided between them -that London and Paris should only be stopping places on the route to the -Riviera. Why should Madame Serpilot have changed her plans at the same -time? There was something more than a coincidence in this. At lunch-time -he had Mary to herself, her chaperon having a headache. - -“Mary,” he said, “can you tell me why we changed our plans on the boat -and decided to go straight on to Monte Carlo instead of staying in -Paris?” - -“Yes,” she said readily. “Don’t you remember my telling you about those -beautiful books of views that I saw on the ship?” - -“Where did you see them?” asked Timothy. - -“I found them in my cabin one day. I think the steward must have left -them,” she said. “They were most wonderful productions, full of coloured -prints and photographs—didn’t I tell you about them?” - -“I remember,” said Timothy slowly. “Found them in your cabin, eh? Well, -nobody left any beautiful or attractive pictures of Monte Carlo in my -berth, but I think that won’t stop me going on to Monte Carlo.” - -It was an opportunity she had been seeking for a week and she seized it. - -“I want to ask you something, Timothy,” she said. “Mrs. Renfrew told me -the other day that they call you ‘Take A Chance’ Anderson. Why is that, -Timothy?” - -“Because I take a chance, I suppose,” he smiled. “I’ve been taking -chances all my life.” - -“You’re not a gambler, Timothy, are you?” she asked gravely. “I know you -bet and play cards, but men do that for amusement, and somehow it is all -right. But when men start out to make a living, and actually make a -living, by games of chance, they somehow belong to another life and -another people.” - -He was silent. - -“You’re just too good to go that way, Timothy,” she went on. “There are -lots of chances that a man can take in this world, in matching his -brains, his strength and his skill against other men, and when he wins -his stake is safe. He doesn’t lose it the next day or the next month, -and he’s picking winners all the time, Timothy.” - -His first inclination was to be nettled. She was wounding the tender -skin of his vanity, and he was startled to discover how tender a skin -that was. All that she said was true and less than true. She could not -guess how far his mind and inclination were from commonplace labour and -how very little work came into the calculations of his future. He looked -upon a job as a thing not to be held and developed into something -better, but as a stopgap between two successful chances. He was almost -shocked when this truth came home to him. The girl was nervous, and -painfully anxious not to hurt him, and yet well aware that she was -rubbing a sore place. - -“Timothy, for your sake, as well as for mine, for you’re a friend of -mine, I want to be proud of you, to see you past this present phase of -life. Mrs. Renfrew speaks of you as a gambler, and says your name, even -at your age, is well known as one who would rather bet than buy. That -isn’t true, Timothy, is it?” - -She put her hand on his and looked into his face. He did not meet her -eyes. - -“I think that is true, Mary,” he said steadily. “How it comes to be -true, I don’t quite know. I suppose I have drifted a little over the -line, and I’m grateful to you for pulling me up. Oh, no, I don’t regret -the past—it has all been useful—and I have made good on chances, but I -see there are other chances that a man can take than putting his money -on the pace of a horse or backing against zero. Maybe, when I get back -to London I’ll settle down into a respectable citizen and keep hens or -something.” - -He was speaking seriously, though at first she thought he was being -sarcastic. - -“And you won’t gamble again?” she asked. - -He hesitated to reply. - -“That isn’t fair,” she said quickly. “I mean it isn’t fair of me to ask -you. It is almost cruel,” she smiled, “to let you go to Monte Carlo and -ask you not to put money on the tables. But promise me, Timothy, that -when I tell you to stop playing, you will stop.” - -“Here’s my hand on it,” said Timothy, brightening up already at the -prospect of being allowed to gamble at all. “Hereafter——” He raised -his hand solemnly. “By the way,” he asked, “do you know a lady named -Madame Serpilot?” - -She shook her head. - -“No, I do not,” she said. “I have never heard the name.” - -“You have no relations or friends in France?” - -“None,” she replied immediately. - -“What made you go to France at all?” he asked. “When I heard from you, -Mary, you talked about taking a holiday in Madeira before setting up -house in Bath, and the first thing I knew of your intention to go abroad -again was the letter you sent me just before I started for Madeira.” - -“I wanted to go a year ago, after Sir John’s death,” she said; “then -Mrs. Renfrew couldn’t take the trip—one of her younger children had -measles.” - -“Has that woman children?” asked Timothy in an awed voice. - -“Don’t be absurd. Of course she has children. It was she who decided on -making the trip. She writes little articles in the _Bath County -Herald_—a local paper—on the care of children and all that sort of -thing. She’s not really a journalist, she is literary.” - -“I know,” said Timothy, “sometimes they write poetry, sometimes recipes -for ice cream—‘take three cups of flour, a pint of cream in which an -egg has been boiled and a pinch of vanilla’——” - -The girl smiled. Evidently Timothy had hit upon the particular brand of -journalism to which Mrs. Renfrew was addicted. - -“Well,” said the girl, “there was to have been a sort of Mothers’ -Welfare Meeting in Paris next week—an International affair—and when we -were in Madeira she received an invitation to attend with a free return -ticket—wasn’t that splendid?” - -“Splendid,” said Timothy absently. “Naturally you thought it was an -excellent opportunity to go also.” - -The girl nodded. - -“And now you have arrived here you find that the Mothers’ Welfare -Meeting has been postponed for ten years?” - -She looked at him, startled. - -“How did you know that the meeting had been postponed?” she asked. - -“Oh, I guessed it,” he said airily, “such things have happened before.” - -“The truth is,” said the girl, “nobody knows anything about this -meeting, and the letter which Mrs. Renfrew sent to the Mothers’ Welfare -Society in Paris was waiting for us when we arrived at the Carlton. It -had been returned—‘Addressee Unknown.’ Mrs. Renfrew had put the Carlton -address inside.” - -Here was ample excuse for speculation of an innocuous kind. Mrs. Renfrew -had been approached because it was known by this mysterious somebody -that she would take the girl with her, and this sinister somebody had -hired two thugs to shepherd her from Madeira and to put Timothy out of -action, should he decide to accompany the party to France. The situation -was distinctly interesting. - -Three days later the party crossed the Channel. Timothy had high hopes -of adventure, which were fated to be more than fulfilled. They stayed -three days in Paris and he had the time of his life. He went to the -races at Maisons Lafitte, and came back glowing with a sense of his -virtue, for he had not made a bet. He drifted in to the baccara rooms at -Enghien, watched tens of thousands of francs change hands, and returned -to Paris that night with a halo fitted by Mary’s own hands. - -“I think you’re really wonderful, Timothy,” she said. “You know you are -allowed one final flutter.” - -“I’m saving that up for Monte Carlo,” said Timothy. - -Since his arrival in Paris he had lost the right to his name, for he was -taking no chances. If he went abroad at night he kept to the brilliantly -illuminated boulevards or the crowded cafés. He kept clear of the -crowds—especially crowds which formed quickly and for no apparent -reason. - -He was taking no chances because he felt it was not fair upon the -particular genius who presided over his destinies that he should -squander his luck in a miraculous escape from death or disablement. Only -once, when dining at the Scribe, did he think he saw the familiar face -of Mr. Brown. With an apology he left the two ladies and made his way -with difficulty through the crowded restaurant, only to find that his -man had disappeared. - -“These cafés have as many doors as a trick-scene,” he grumbled when he -came back. - -“Did you see a friend of yours?” asked the girl. - -“Not so much a friend as one who has a financial interest in me,” -replied Timothy. - -Mrs. Renfrew had thawed a little under the beneficent influences of -Paris. She was busy sending off picture-postcards and had written to -Bath her first impression of the French capital to the extent of three -columns. She had also written a poem which began: “Oh, city of light -that shines so bright,” and went on rhyming “vain” with “Seine,” “gay” -with “play,” “joy” with “alloy,” through twenty-three stanzas. - -“I rather pride myself,” said Mrs. Renfrew, “upon that description of -Paris—‘the city of light.’ Don’t you think it is very original, Mr. -Anderson?” - -“It was,” said Timothy diplomatically. “Parisians have called it the -‘Ville Lumière’ for about two hundred years.” - -“That’s almost the same, isn’t it?” said Mrs. Renfrew. “How clever the -French are!” - -Mrs. Renfrew did not speak French and took a more generous view of the -young man when she discovered that he did. It fell to Timothy’s lot to -order tickets, arrange cabs, pay bills and act as unofficial courier to -the party. He was anxious to be gone from Paris, impatient for the big -game to begin. For some reason, he did not anticipate that any harm -would come to the girl. This struck him as strange later, but at the -moment all his thoughts were centred upon the match between himself and -this old French lady who had set herself out to separate him from Mary -Maxell. - -No unpleasant incident—the crowded condition of the dining-car -excepted—marred the journey to Monte Carlo. There was the inevitable -night spent in a stuffy sleeping-berth in a car that rocked and swayed -to such an extent that Timothy expected it to jump the line, as -thousands of other passengers have expected it to do; and they came with -the morning to the Valley of the Rhone, a wide, blue, white-flecked -stream flowing between gaunt hills, past solitary châteaux and strange -walled towns, which looked as if they had been kept under glass cases -for centuries, that the modern world should be reminded of the dangers -under which our forefathers lived. So to Marseilles, and a long, hot and -slow journey to Nice. - -To the girl it was a pilgrimage of joy. She would not have missed a -single moment of that ride. The blue sea, the white villas with their -green jalousies, the banked roses over wall and pergola and the -warm-scented breeze, and above all the semi-tropical sun, placed her in -a new world, a wonder world more beautiful than imagination had painted. - -There is something about Monte Carlo which is very satisfying. It is so -orderly, so clean, so white and bright, that you have the impression -that it is carefully dusted every morning and that the villas on the -hills are taken down weekly by tender hands, polished and replaced. - -There is nothing garish about Monte Carlo, for all its stucco and -plaster. Some of the buildings, and particularly the Casino, were -compared by the irreverent Timothy to the White City, but it was a -refined White City and the Casino itself, with its glass-roofed porch, -its great, solemn hanging lamps and its decorous uniformed attendants, -had something of the air of a National Bank. - -Timothy took a room at the Hôtel de Paris, where the girl was staying, -and lost no time in seeking information. - -“Madame Serpilot?” said the concierge. “There is a madame who bears that -name, I think, but she is not staying here, monsieur.” - -“Of whom should I inquire, I pray you?” asked Timothy in the vernacular. - -“Of the Municipal Council, monsieur,” said the concierge, “or, if the -madame is a wealthy madame, of the manager of the Credit Lyonnais, who -will perhaps inform monsieur.” - -“Thanks many times,” said Timothy. - -He went first to the Credit Lyonnais, and found the manager extremely -polite but uncommunicative. It was not the practice of the bank, he -said, to disclose the addresses of their clients. He would not say that -Madame Serpilot was his client, but if she were, he could certainly not -give her address to any unauthorised person. From this Timothy gathered -that Madame Serpilot was a client. He went on to the Mairie and met with -better fortune. The Mairie had no respect for persons. It was there to -supply information and what the Mairie of Monte Carlo does not know -about Monaco, the cleverest detective force in the world would be -wasting its time trying to discover. - -Madame Serpilot lived at the Villa Condamine. The Villa Condamine was -not, as the name suggested, in the poorer part of Monte Carlo but in -that most exclusive territory, the tiny peninsula of Cap Martin. - -“Has madam been a resident long?” - -“For one hundred and twenty-nine days,” replied the official promptly. -“Madame hired the villa furnished from the agent, of the Grand Duchess -Eleana who, alas! was destroyed in that terrible revolution.” - -He gave Timothy some details of the family from which the Grand Duchess -had sprung, the amount of her income in pre-war days, and was passing to -her eccentricities when Timothy took his departure. He was not -interested in the Grand Duchess Eleana, alive or dead. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - -HE went to the house agent on the main street and from him procured -the exact position of Madame Serpilot’s residence. - -“An old madame?” said the agent. “No, monsieur, I cannot say that she is -old. And I cannot say that she is young.” - -He thought a moment, as though endeavouring to find some reason for this -reticence on the subject of her age, and then added: - -“I have not seen her. Madame is a widow,” he went on. “Alas! there are -so many in France as the result of the terrible war.” - -“Then she is young,” said Timothy. “They didn’t send old men to the -front.” - -“She may be young,” replied the agent, “or she may be old. One does not -know.” - -He called the assistant who had shown the lady the house and had taken -the documents for her to sign. The assistant was aged sixteen, and at -the age of sixteen most people above twenty are listed amongst the aged. -He was certain she was a widow and very feeble, because she walked with -a stick. She always wore a heavy black veil, even when she was in the -garden. - -“Is it not natural,” said the house agent romantically, “that the madame -who has lost all that makes life worth living should no longer desire -the world to look upon her face?” - -“It may be natural in Monte Carlo,” said Timothy, “but it is not natural -in London.” - -He located the house on a large plan which the obliging agent produced, -and went back to the hotel, firmly resolved to take the first -opportunity of calling on Madame Serpilot and discovering what object -she had in view when she arranged to endanger his young life. - -Mary was waiting for him, a little impatiently for one who had such a -horror of gambling. - -“We have to get tickets at the Bureau,” she said, “and the concierge -says we must have special membership cards for the Cercle Privée.” - -The tickets were easy to procure, and they passed into the great saloon -where, around five tables, stood silent ovals of humanity. The scene was -a weird one to Timothy and fascinating too. Besides this, all the other -gambling games in the world, all the roulette tables and baccara -outfits, were crude and amateurish. The eight croupiers who sat at each -table in their black frock coats and their black ties, solemn visaged, -unemotional, might have been deacons in committee. The click of rakes -against chips, the whirr of the twirling ball, the monotonous sing-song -announcement of the chief croupier—it was a ritual and a business at -one and the same time. - -It was amazing to reflect that, year in and year out, from ten o’clock -in the morning until ten o’clock at night (until midnight in the Cercle -Privée) these black-coated men sat at their tables, twirling their -rakes, watching without error every note or counter that fell on the -table, separating notes from chips with a deftness that was amazing, -doing this in such an atmosphere of respectability that the most rabid -anti-gambler watching the scene must come in time to believe that -roulette was a legitimate business exercise. - -Through the years this fringe of people about the table would remain, -though units would go out, and as units went out new units would replace -them, and everlastingly would sit shabby old men and women with their -cryptic notebooks, making their tableaux with red and black pencils, -religiously recording the result of every coup, staking now and again -their five-franc pieces, and watching them raked to the croupier with -stony despair or drawing with trembling hands the few poor francs which -fortune had sent them. - -Timothy was very silent when they passed the portals of the Cercle -Privée, into that wonderful interior which, viewed from the entrance -room, had the appearance of some rich cathedral. - -“What do you think of them?” asked Mary. - -He did not answer at once. - -“What did you think of the people?” she demanded again. “Did you see -that quaint old woman—taking a chance? I’m sorry,” she said quickly, “I -really didn’t mean to be——” - -“I know you didn’t,” said Timothy, and sighed. - -The roulette table did not attract him. He strolled off to watch the -players at _trente et quarante_. Here the procedure was more -complicated. One of the officials dealt two lines of cards, ending each -when the pips added to something over thirty. The top line stood for -black, the lower line for red, and that which was nearest to thirty won. -After mastering this, the process was simple; you could either back the -red or the black, or you could bet that the first card that was dealt -was identical with the colour that won, or was the reverse. - -The game interested him. It had certain features which in a way were -fascinating. He noticed that the croupier never spoke of the black. The -black might have had no existence at the _trente et quarante_ table; -either “red won” or “red lost.” He staked a louis and won twice. He -staked another and lost it. Then he won three coups of a louis and -looked around uncertainly, almost guiltily, for Mary. - -She was watching the roulette players, and Timothy took a wad of bills -from his pocket and counted out six milles. That was another thing he -was to discover: there were three classes of players—those who punted -in one or five louis pieces, those who bet handsomely in milles (a -thousand-franc note is a “mille” and has no other name), and those who -went the maximum of twelve thousand francs on each coup. - -Money had no value. He threw six thousand down to the croupier and -received in exchange six oblong plaques like thin cakes of blue soap. He -put a thousand francs on the black and lost it. He looked round -apprehensively for Mary, but she was still intent upon the roulette -players. He ventured another thousand, and lost that too. A young -Englishman sitting at the table looked up with a smile. - -“You’re betting against the tableau,” he said. “The table is running red -to-night. Look!” He showed a little notebook ruled into divisions, and -long lines of dots, one under the other. “You see,” he said, “all these -are reds. The table has only swung across to black twice for any run, -and then it was only a run of four. If you bet against the table you’ll -go broke.” - -At any other place than at the tables at Monte Carlo advice of this -character, and intimate references to financial possibilities, would be -resented. But the Rooms, like the grave, level all the players, who are -a great family banded together in an unrecognised brotherhood for the -destruction of a common enemy. - -“I’ll take a chance against the table,” said Timothy, “and I shall go -broke, anyway.” - -The Englishman laughed. - -The four thousand francs he had left went the same way as their friends -and Timothy changed another six thousand and threw two on the black. -Then, acting on the impulse of the moment, he threw down the remaining -four. - -“Timothy!” - -He turned at the shocked voice and Mary was standing behind him. - -“Do you gamble like that?” she asked. - -He tried to smile, but produced a grimace. - -“Why, it is nothing,” he said, “it is only francs, and francs aren’t -real money, anyway.” - -She turned and walked away and he followed. The Englishman, twisting -round in his chair, said something. Timothy thought he was asking -whether he should look after his money and answered “Certainly.” - -The girl walked to one of the padded benches by the wall and sat down. -There was such real trouble in her face that Timothy’s heart sank. - -“I’m sorry, Mary,” he said, “but this is my last fling and you told me I -could have it. After to-night I cut out everything that doesn’t qualify -for the ‘earned income’ column of the tax-surveyor.” - -“You frighten me,” she said. “It isn’t the amount of money you were -venturing, but there was something in your face which made me feel—why! -I just felt sick,” she said. - -“Mary!” he said in surprise. - -“I know I’m being unreasonable,” she interrupted, “but Timothy, I—I -just don’t want to think of you like this.” - -She looked into his dejected face and the softest light that ever shone -in woman’s eyes was in hers. - -“Poor Timothy!” she said, half in jest, “you’re paying the penalty for -having a girl friend.” - -“I’m paying the penalty for being a loafer,” he said huskily. “I think -there must be some bad blood in us. Mary, I know what I’m losing,” he -said, and took one of her hands. “I’m losing the right to love you, -dearest.” - -It was a queer place for such a confession, and in her wildest dreams -the girl never imagined that the first word of love spoken to her by any -man would come in a gambling saloon at Monte Carlo. Above her where she -sat was the great canvas of the Florentine Graces; half nude reliefs on -the ceiling dangled glittering chains of light and over all sounded the -monotonous voice of the croupier: - -“Rouge perd—et couleur.” - -The young Englishman at the table turned round with an inquiring lift of -his eyebrows, and Timothy nodded. - -“He wants to know if I’m finished, I suppose,” he said, “and honestly -Mary, I am. I’m going back to London when this trip’s over, and I’m -going to start at the bottom and work up.” - -“Poor Timothy!” she said again. - -“I’m not going to lie to you, or pretend any longer. I just love you, -Mary, and if you’ll wait for me, I’ll make good. I have been a gambler,” -he said, “a poor, low gambler, and all the time I’ve thought I’ve been -clever! I’ve been going round puffed up with my own self-importance, and -my head’s been so much in the air that I haven’t seen just where my feet -were leading me,” he laughed. “This sounds like the sort of thing you -get at the Salvation Army penitent form,” he said, “but I’m straight and -sincere.” - -“I know you are, Timothy, but you needn’t start at the bottom. I have my -money——” - -“Stop where you are, Mary,” he said quietly. “Not a penny would I take -from you, darling.” - -“What did they ring that bell for?” she asked. - -It was the second time the tinkle of sound had come from the croupier at -the _trente et quarante_ table. - -“Heaven knows!” said Timothy. “Maybe it is to call the other -worshippers.” - -Again the young Englishman looked round and said something. - -“What did he say?” asked Timothy. - -“He said seventeen,” said the girl. “Was that the number you backed?” - -Timothy smiled. - -“There are no numbers on that table except No. 1—and No. 1 is the fat -man with the rake—he gets it coming and going. Mary, I’m going to ask -you one question: If I make good will you marry me?” - -She was silent and again the voice of the croupier came: - -“Rouge perd—couleur gagne.” - -“What does ‘rouge perd’ mean?” she asked. “He has said that ever so many -times.” - -“It means ‘black wins,’” said Timothy. - -“Does black always win?” she asked. - -“Not always,” said Timothy gently. “Maybe he’s only saying that to lure -me back to the table. Mary, what do you say?” - -“I say yes,” she said, and to the scandal of the one attendant who was -watching them he bent forward and kissed her. - -A terrible act this, for the gold-laced and liveried footman, who came -with slow, majestic steps to where they sat. - -“Monsieur,” he said, “this is not done.” - -Timothy looked up at him. - -“_Chassez-vous_,” he said firmly. - -It was startling French, but it was the nearest he could get at the -moment to “chase yourself.” - -Again the bell tinkled, and the young Englishman rose, thrust a small -packet of money into his pocket and came toward them, bearing what -looked to be a large book without covers. His face was a little haggard -and the perspiration stood upon his forehead. - -“This is getting on my nerves, old man. You had better play yourself,” -he said, and he handed the book to Timothy, and Timothy looked vaguely -from his hands to the hot Englishman. - -“What’s this?” he croaked. - -“A run of twenty-eight on the black,” said the Englishman. “It is -phenomenal! You wanted me to go on, didn’t you? I asked you whether I -should play your thousand francs. The bank bust four times—didn’t you -hear them ring for more money?” - -Timothy nodded. He had no words. - -“Well, your six went to twelve and I left the maximum run,” the -Englishman said. “I asked you if that was right and you nodded.” - -“Yes, I nodded,” said Timothy mechanically. - -“You’ve won twenty-seven and a half maximums.” - -Timothy looked at the money in his hand, looked up at the ceiling and -gulped something down. - -“Thank you,” he gasped. “I am obliged to you.” - -It was inadequate, but it was all that he could say. - -“Not at all,” said the Englishman. “I won a lot of money myself.” - -“I’m not a great hand at arithmetic,” said Timothy, “will you tell me -how many pounds twenty-seven and a half maximums make?” - -It was a remarkable situation. Somebody should have laughed, but they -were all too serious, the girl as serious as Timothy, and the young -Englishman scrawling calculations on a loose page of his notebook. - -“Thirty-five francs to a pound,” he said, “makes £340 a coup. -Twenty-seven and a half is about——” - -“Thank you!” said Timothy, and he gripped the other’s hand and wrung it. -“Thank you, fairy godmother—I don’t know your other name.” - -They stood together watching his lanky figure, as he, wholly unconscious -of the providential part he had played, moved down to the roulette -table, eyeing the game with the air of superiority which every player of -_trente et quarante_ has for a game with a paltry maximum of six -thousand francs. - -“Timothy,” whispered the girl, “isn’t it wonderful?” - -He put the money into his pocket and it bulged untidily. - -“What are you going to do with it?” she asked. - -“Give it to the poor,” said Timothy, taking her arm. - -“To the poor?” - -She was wondering whether his fortune had driven him mad. - -“The poor,” he said firmly, “money won by gambling——” - -“Nonsense,” she broke in, “to what poor are you giving it?” - -“To poor Timothy,” said he. “Let us dash madly to the bar and drink -orangeade.” - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - -THE band was playing one of de Courville’s new revue tunes, and the -Café de Paris was crowded out. There had been a big influx of visitors -from Nice, and Monte Carlo presented an appearance comparable with the -height of the season. Mrs. Renfrew had motored up to La Turbie, and a -bank of cloud having descended upon the mountain made the road -dangerous. (Those who have journeyed from the Corniche to Monte Carlo by -night will appreciate just how dangerous is that road.) She had, -therefore, elected to spend the night at the hotel on the top of the -hill. - -This information she had telephoned to the girl on the night following -Timothy’s great win, and had added that she could see “the twinkling -lights of Monte Carlo” and that “the misty spaces of ocean filled her -with strange unrest,” which observation had been repeated to the -unsympathetic Timothy. - -“It must be awful to have a mind like that,” he said, and then, “Mary, -I’ve been a long time waiting to exchange confidences about cousins.” - -“I have no confidences to give you about Mrs. Renfrew,” said Mary with a -smile, “but you have been on the point of telling me about your cousin -so often that I feel a little curious.” - -The story he had to tell was not a nice one. It meant opening old wounds -and reviving sad memories, but it had to be done. She was not so shocked -as he had expected. - -“You have not told me anything new,” she said quietly. “You see, all -along I have known that the ‘A.C.’ in your name stood for ‘Alfred -Cartwright,’ and once uncle told me that he had known a relative of -yours, and I guessed.” - -Suddenly she demanded: - -“Do you think Cartwright is in Europe?” - -Timothy nodded. - -“I am certain. That is, if Morocco is in Europe,” he said. “I have had -it in the back of my mind ever since the crime was committed that that -is the place he would make for. You see, in the few minutes I had with -him he told me, perhaps not the whole of the story, but at any rate his -version. He knows Morocco and has been there before. He spoke about a -Moorish chief named El Mograb, who wanted him to stay with the tribe, -and he told me he was sorry he had not followed the Moor’s advice.” - -“Did you tell the police that?” she asked. - -He shook his head. - -“I did not tell the police very much about that visit. Cartwright -revived his accusations against Sir John. It meant digging up these -charges, and that is what I did not wish to do, for—for——” - -“For my sake?” she said quietly. - -“That’s about the size of it,” replied Timothy. - -A little stream of diners were leaving the restaurant, moving slowly -down the narrow aisle between the tables, and Timothy stopped talking as -they passed and eyed them with a bored interest usual to the -circumstances. - -It was after the interruption had ended, and the last of the little -stream had departed, that he saw the card on the table. It was near his -place and it had not been there before. He picked it up and on the -uppermost side was written: “Do not let your friend see this.” - -“Well, I’m——” he began, and turned the card over. - -It was not written but printed in capital letters: - - “IF YOU DO NOT HEAR FROM ME BY THE TWENTY-NINTH, I BEG OF YOU - THAT YOU WILL GO TO TANGIER AND ENQUIRE AT THE CONTINENTAL HOTEL - FOR A MAN CALLED RAHBAT—A MOOR, WHO WILL LEAD YOU TO ME. I BEG - YOU FOR THE SAKE OF OUR RELATIONSHIP TO COME. DID YOU GET THE - MONEY?” - -Timothy laid the card down and stared at the girl. - -“What is it?” she asked and reached out her hand. - -“I—it is nothing,” he said hurriedly. - -“Nonsense, Timothy. What is it? Let me see it, please.” - -Without a word he handed the card to the girl, who read it through in -silence. - -“Who is that from?” she asked, “Cartwright?” - -He nodded. - -“Obviously,” he said, “the reference to the money and the appeal to our -relationship—but how did it get there?” - -He called the head waiter. - -“Who were those people who went out just now?” he asked. - -“They are very well known,” explained the head waiter. “There was a -monsieur, a London theatrical manager, and a madame who was his wife. -There was another monsieur, an American writer, and an English monsieur -who was in the employment as secretary to a madame who lives at Cap -Martin.” - -“Madame Serpilot?” asked Timothy quickly. - -“Yes, that is the name. She is a widow, _hélas_! but immensely rich!” - -Timothy put the card into his pocket. He had said nothing to the girl -about Madame Serpilot since they had left London, and for the first time -he had some misgivings as to her safety. Yet in truth that sixth sense -of his, which had hitherto worked so to his advantage, offered him no -warning that the girl’s happiness was threatened. He was sure that -whatever danger the situation held was danger to him personally. He had -not seen the English monsieur who was secretary to Madame Serpilot, but -then his back had been toward the far end of the room from whence the -man came and he had presented no other view than the back of his head. - -“It is a message from Cartwright,” he said, “and I am going to get to -the bottom of this story if I stay in Monte Carlo for the rest of my -life.” - -He saw Mary back to her hotel, went to his room and changed, and just as -the Casino was disgorging its tired clients, he walked through the -palm-shaded avenue that led to the main road and began his tramp to Cap -Martin. To discover a house in this area by daylight, with the aid of a -plan, might have been a simple matter—by night it presented almost -insuperable difficulties. - -Cap Martin is a promontory of hill and pine and wild flower. Its roads -run at the will of its wealthy residents, and there are lanes and paths -and broad roads which are not really broad roads at all, but the private -entrances to the wonderful villas in which the district abounds, and the -grey light was in the eastern sky when Timothy finally located the Villa -Condamine. - -It stood on the edge of the sea, surrounded on the land side by a high -wall, though if its owner sought seclusion the woods which surrounded -the villa were sufficient. - -Timothy worked round a little bay until he commanded a view of the place -from the sea. A zig-zag path led down from the house to the seashore, -terminating in a little concrete quay. Presently he heard the sound of -footsteps and a Monogasque workman, in blue overalls, came slouching -along the shore path, pipe in mouth. - -He bade the young man a cheery good morning and stopped, in the friendly -way of the Monogasques, to talk. He was a gardener on his way to the -villa. He could be on his way to nowhere else, for the rough path on -which Timothy stood led straight to a door in the high wall. It was a -good job, but he wished he lived nearer. But then, none of madame’s -servants slept in the house, and—— - -“Ah! _voilà!_ It is the Moor!” and he pointed out to sea. - -A tiny steam yacht was coming slowly to land—Timothy had seen its -lights for an hour—and was steaming now to its anchorage, leaving the -line of its wake on the smooth surface of the water. - -“The Moor!” said Timothy quickly, and then carelessly, “Has any Moor a -villa here?” - -“No, monsieur,” said the man, “but this is a great Moor who sometimes -comes here from Morocco. A long journey, monsieur. It is five days’ -voyage from the Moorish coast——” - -“Does he come to the Villa Condamine?” asked Timothy. - -“But yes,” said the man. “He is a friend of the madame, and twice has he -been there in three months.” - -There was a little splash of water under the bow of the yacht, when the -anchor was dropped, and presently a boat drew away and in the stern -sheets was a figure muffled in a white jellab. - -Timothy looked after the retreating figure of the gardener, who was -leisurely pursuing his way, and, turning, followed him. It was unlikely -that the mysterious madame would allow a humble workman to have the key -of the garden gate, yet to his surprise this was the case. The man -opened the gate and waited, looking round as if he expected somebody. -Timothy guessed that there were two or more workmen and that this -particular man had the key and admitted the lot. In this surmise he -proved to be right. Presently yet another blue-bloused gardener -appeared, and the two stood together waiting for a third. He made no -appearance, and the two men passed through the door and pulled it close -behind them. - -Timothy quickened his pace. As he had thought, the door was left ajar -for the third man. He pushed it open gently, but saw nothing but the end -of a twisting path, which disappeared between high hedges of lilac. - -If ever there was a time to take a chance it was now; and he was through -the gate, gingerly treading the path, before he realised what he had -done. He heard voices and moved with caution. Then, after about five -minutes, he heard the garden gate behind him bang. The third workman had -arrived and the exit was closed. He made his way through the pines which -served to screen the house from observation. There was nobody in sight, -and the voices had died away. He could walk more boldly now and came at -last to the edge of the wood in full view of the villa. Between him and -the house was about fifty yards of clear space. He took a chance and -crossed it, his objective being a ground-floor window which was open. - -The entrance was not so easily effected as he had expected. The sill of -the window was just above the level of his head, and offered no grip to -his hands. He made a tour of reconnaissance, but failed to find any -other entrance. Behind the sill, he thought, must be a window frame, and -stepping back two paces he made a leap and gripped the frame. Quickly he -pulled himself up and dropped into the room. - -He was conscious of a sweet, fragrant perfume the moment his head became -level with the window, and now he saw the explanation. The bare floor -was covered three inches thick with rose petals. Evidently the owner -made her own perfumery, and this hobby explained the open window. There -was no furniture in the room, which was apparently given up to the -purpose of drying the petals. The door was unfastened, and he passed -into a stone corridor. The structure of the house puzzled him. He did -not expect to find himself in the basement; then he remembered that the -villa was built on sloping ground, and that the main entrance must be on -a higher floor. - -A flight of stone steps led to the upper level, and he went up -cautiously, a step at a time, and found his exit barred by a door which -was fastened on the other side with padlock and staple. It was a -primitive method of locking up a cellar, and Timothy, remembering that -he had passed a recess filled with garden tools, went back to find the -means to remove this obstruction. A long chisel prised the staples from -the door with ridiculous ease. - -He heard voices speaking in low, guarded tones and moved along the -carpeted hall on tiptoe. He listened at the door of the room from which -the voices proceeded, and was in two minds as to what his next step -should be. The door was one of two let in the same wall. He stopped and -brought his ear to the keyhole of the second and there was no sound. -Turning the handle, he looked in. - -As he expected, it was separated from the other room by a pair of -folding doors which were closed. The voices were more distinct but still -indistinguishable. He was now in a small drawing-room, well but not -luxuriously furnished. Tall French windows led to a loggia, and, what -was more important, on either side of these hung long velvet curtains, -which might serve, in case of necessity, as a place of concealment. - -He heard the door of the next room open, and the voices proceeded along -the passage. Then the handle of his own door turned. He had just time to -slip behind the curtains before somebody entered. It was a woman, and at -the sound of her voice he nearly jumped. She was speaking to somebody in -the passage. - -“He has gone to his room,” she said. “Have your breakfast. He will want -you to go into Monte Carlo this morning.” - -“By daylight?” said the person to whom she spoke, and again Timothy -recognised the voice. - -“He would not know you with those spectacles. Besides, you had a -moustache when you saw him before.” - -The man in the passage mumbled something, and Timothy heard the door of -the room close. There was a desk, he had noticed, against the blank wall -of the room, and it was to this she made her way. He heard the -scratching of her pen on paper, then he walked from his place of -concealment. Her back was to him and she did not hear him until his -shadow fell across the table. Then, with a little cry, she leapt up. - -“Good morning, Lady Maxell,” said Timothy. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - -SADIE MAXELL was as white as the paper on which she had been writing. - -“How did you get in here?” - -Timothy did not answer. He stepped round so that he was between the -woman and the door. - -“Where is Cartwright?” - -“Cartwright?” she repeated. “What do you want to know of him?” - -“Lower your voice, if you please,” said Timothy sharply. “What is -Cartwright to you?” - -She licked her dry lips before she spoke. Then: - -“I married Cartwright or Benson in Paris—years ago,” she said. - -Timothy took a step back. - -“You married Cartwright,” he said incredulously. “That explains why you -came away?” - -She was looking at him steadily. - -“If it wanted any explanation—yes,” she said. “What are you going to -do?” - -“I’m going after the man you have upstairs, the fake Moor, who came into -this house half an hour ago, and I’m going to hand him to justice.” - -Before he knew what had happened, she gripped him by his coat with both -hands. - -“You are not going to do anything of the kind, Mr. ‘Take A Chance’ -Anderson,” she said between her teeth, and her voice trembled with -passion. “I hated him once, but that was before I knew him. I would -sooner see you dead as the other man died than that you should bring him -more trouble.” - -“Let me go,” said Timothy, trying to press loose her hands. - -“You’ll leave this house and forget that you were ever here. Oh, you -fool, you fool!” - -He had wrenched himself clear of her and flung her backward. - -“I have a few words to say to your friend,” he said, “and I think you’d -better stay here whilst I’m saying them. I hate having family quarrels -in public, anyway.” - -He had not heard the door open behind him and it was the “swish” of the -loaded cane which warned him. It did not strike him fair on the head, as -was intended, but caught him a glancing blow and he fell on his knees, -turning his face to his attacker. He knew it was Brown even before the -blow fell. - -“Shall I settle him?” said a voice as the stick went up again. - -“No, no!” cried the woman, “for God’s sake, no!” - -It was at that moment that Timothy low-tackled his assailant. Brown -tried to strike, but he was too late and went crashing to the floor, his -head against the wall. He made one effort to rise, and then with a groan -collapsed. - -Timothy rose, shaking himself and rubbing his bruised shoulder. Without -a word, and with only a look at the woman, he made for the door and -banged it in her face. His head was swimming as he made his way up the -stairs, swaying at every step. From the broad landing at the top led -three doors, only one of which was closed. He turned the handle and went -in. - -A man was standing by the window, which overlooked the calm expanse of -ocean, glittering in the light of the rising sun. From shoulder to heel -he was clad in a long white mantle and a dark blue turban encircled his -head. - -“Now, Cartwright,” said Timothy, “you and I will settle accounts.” - -The man had not moved at the sound of the voice, but when Timothy had -finished he turned. - -“My God!” cried Timothy. “Sir John Maxell.” - - - - - CHAPTER THE LAST - - -“TIMOTHY,” said Mary, “I was just thinking about that beautiful house -you took me to see at Cap Martin.” - -“Were you, dear?” said Timothy without any show of interest. - -They were on the cross-Channel boat and Boulogne was astern. - -“Yes,” said the girl. “Do you know, I had a feeling that you had taken -me there to show me to somebody, some friend of yours perhaps. All the -time I was walking about the garden I had a sense of being watched. It -is not an uncomfortable sensation, but just that overlooked feeling one -has sometimes. I love Monte Carlo. Do you think we shall go back there -after—after——” - -“It is likely,” said Timothy. - -The girl rose and went forward along the deck to get a view of a passing -destroyer. Timothy took a letter from his pocket and read it for about -the twentieth time. It was undated and began: - - “MY DEAR ANDERSON,—I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you - for your kindness and for the big, generous sympathy you have - shown me. Especially am I glad that you brought Mary so that I - could see her again, for I just hungered for a sight of the - child. Won’t you please forgive Sadie? She acted without my - knowledge but in my interests, as she thought, in trying to keep - you away from Monte Carlo after she had planned to bring the - girl so that I could see her. - - “Yes, I killed Cartwright, but I shot him in self-defence. His - body lies at the bottom of a disused well in the garden of my - house. It is perfectly true that I had been associated in - business with him and that I was in his Moorish syndicate and - heavily involved. I was so very deeply involved at one time, and - so near to ruin that, deceived by some statement which had been - made to Sadie’s fortune, I made her acquaintance and married - her. During the past year I have never ceased to thank God that - I did so, for she had been the most loyal companion and friend - that a man could desire. - - “It was I who fired the shot through my own window. I - contemplated flight from Cartwright, and was manufacturing - evidence against him in advance—God forgive me. Sadie guessed, - and when she watched me drawing from the well the bag containing - proof that Cartwright’s charge was not wholly false, she knew - the end was near. - - “I am perfectly happy, and spend most of my time developing my - property in Morocco, under the protection of El Mograb, an old - Moorish friend of mine, and the supreme protection of the - Sultan, who, as the Pretender, received considerable help from - me. I am six months of the year with Sadie, for Sadie either - lives on the Riviera or at Cadiz and is easily reachable in my - hired yacht. - - “I think it best for all concerned, and especially for our dear - Mary, that I remain as dead. Some day the whole story may be - told, but no useful purpose would be served by publishing it - to-day. The card with the message was intended for her, but I am - glad that it fell into your hands. As you guessed, it was I who - flung Mary’s money into your room—I dared not post it to her - for fear I was betrayed by my writing, and I knew that you were - safe. God bless you both and bring you happiness and prosperity, - to which I hope this property of mine will one day contribute.” - -Timothy folded the letter and was putting it in his pocket, then changed -his mind and took it out. He read it again, then tore it into pieces and -flung it over the side of the ship. - -Then he too went forward to the wife he had married in Paris—much -against the wishes of a scandalised Mrs. Renfrew—who nevertheless -termed it “a pretty romance” in the article she wrote for the _Bath -County Herald_. - - THE END - - - - - - - _WARD, LOCK & CO.'S NEW FICTION_ - - - A Wonder for - Wise Men - By - Wallace B. Nichols - - THOUGH an historical romance, this book is much more than - that, for its theme touches present-day ideas in a remarkable - manner, especially as concerns the hideous uselessness of war. - It is set in the reign of Henry VII and deals with the aftermath - of the Wars of the Roses. The principal character becomes one of - the King’s most trusted instruments in the founding of modern - England, and the story marches to an emotional and uplifting - close. This is an historical novel where the characters are not - puppets of impossible romance, but living human beings as real - as the people about us every day. - - _By the same Author_: - - SECRET MARKET - - “This is a first novel by one of our younger poets, and it is a - novel which equally plainly shows him to be an artist. The plot - is cleverly developed, and the story ends at once dramatically - and artistically.”—_The Glasgow Herald._ - - BRITTLE GLORY - - “Wallace B. Nichols deserves congratulation. He has demonstrated - a capacity for expression, in terms of strength, beauty and - sincerity, through two mediums. It is an uncommon book with an - outstanding quality: it never ceases to be readable.”—_The - Observer._ - -⁂ “Mr. Nichols has all the gifts of a great novelist: an unerring sense - of character, and a distinguished literary style.”—_The Referee._ - - - - - Mr. Fortune - Explains - By - H. C. Bailey - - “MR. FORTUNE” has long since established himself as one of the - brightest stars in the galaxy of modern crime detectives. He - works on the friendliest terms with Scotland Yard, but his - methods—and incidentally his manners—are peculiarly his own. - Here we have a series of the most widely divergent mysteries - successively solved by a bland, imperturbable middle-aged - gentleman whose sole concern in life appears to be that he shall - not miss his lunch or any other comfort that is due to him. No - one who has read other “Mr. Fortune” volumes will on any account - miss this, while those who have yet to make the dear man’s - acquaintance are to be envied for the joy that awaits them. - - _Other popular volumes by Mr. H. C. Bailey_: - - Call Mr. Fortune Mr. Fortune’s Trials - Mr. Fortune, Please Karl of Erbach - Mr. Fortune’s Practice The Master of Gray - Mr. Fortune Speaking My Lady of Orange, etc. - -⁂ Mr. H. C. Bailey is not only a master in the realm of historic - romance, but in that of the mystery story as well: in fact, he is - easily one of the best and most logical of all the many writers of - the detective story to-day. - - - - - The Subway - Mystery - By - Ben Bolt - - ONE would think it impossible for anybody to walk down into - the crowded new Piccadilly Circus Tube Station and there be - swiftly murdered without immediate discovery of the assassin. - But from the slenderest of clues the whole failure of a great - vengeance is discovered, and Mr. Ben Bolt has provided in his - new story a series of situations and adventures that would keep - the sleepiest reader agog for the end. - - _By the same Author_: - The Mystery of Belvoir Mansions - The Sword of Fortune - Captain Lucifer - Jewels of Sin - The Badge - The Buccaneer’s Bride - The Other Three - -⁂ This story reveals the author as one of the best among modern writers - of mystery. - - - - - Gambler’s - Hope - By - J. J. Bell - - ADMIRERS of “Wee Macgreegor” and kindred works will be - interested to see what the talented author makes of a more - ambitious theme. Subtle characterization is here combined with - the thrills of an Armada treasure hunt, complicated by the - misunderstandings and perplexities of three widely divergent - love affairs. The scenes are laid partly in Spain, partly in the - Western Isles, and what with bloodstained daggers, mysterious - scraps of parchment, buried caskets, plotting priests, - mysterious garden-haunting strangers, and speedy motor-boats, - the reader is kept constantly guessing. - -⁂ “From the simplest and most ordinary of ingredients J. J. Bell can - manufacture page after page of chuckles.”—_The Glasgow Record._ - “Mr. Bell’s fine powers of characterization are very evident in his - work. There are few who can so happily suggest the Scot as he.”—_The - Notts. Journal._ - - - - - TRANSCRIBER NOTES - - -Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. 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