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diff --git a/old/62963-0.txt b/old/62963-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fb1a2a5..0000000 --- a/old/62963-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10415 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Astonishing Adventure of Jane Smith, by -Patricia Wentworth - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Astonishing Adventure of Jane Smith - -Author: Patricia Wentworth - -Release Date: August 18, 2020 [EBook #62963] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASTONISHING ADVENTURE OF JANE SMITH *** - - - - -Produced by D A Alexander, Stephen Hutcheson, and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net -(This file was produced from images generously made -available by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - THE ASTONISHING ADVENTURE OF - JANE SMITH - - - BY - PATRICIA WENTWORTH - - Author of - “A Marriage Under the Terror,” etc. - - [Illustration: Publisher logo] - - BOSTON - SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY - PUBLISHERS - - Copyright, 1923 - By SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY - (Incorporated) - - Printed in the United States of America - - THE MURRAY PRINTING COMPANY - CAMBRIDGE, MASS. - THE BOSTON BOOKBINDING COMPANY - CAMBRIDGE, MASS. - - - - - THE ASTONISHING ADVENTURE OF JANE SMITH - - - - - CHAPTER I - - -The dining-room of Molloy’s flat had not been built to receive -twenty-five guests, but the Delegates of twenty-five affiliated -Organisations had been crowded into it. The unshaded electric light -glared down upon men of many types and nationalities. It did not flatter -them. - -The air was heavy with the smoke of bad tobacco and the fumes of a very -indifferent gas fire. There was a table in the middle of the room, and -some dozen of the men were seated at it. The rest stood in groups, or -leaned against the walls. - -Of the four who formed the Inner Council three were present. Most of the -Delegates had expected that the head of The Council, the head of the -Federated Organisations, that mysterious Number One whom they all knew -by reputation and yet had never seen in the flesh, would be present in -person to take the chair. But the Delegates who had entertained this -expectation were doomed to disappointment. Once again Number One’s -authority had been delegated to the other three members of The Council. -Of these, Number Three was Molloy, the big, handsome Irishman who rented -the flat. He sat facing the door, a fine figure of a man in the late -forties. Number Two leaned forward over the fire, warming his hands, his -pale, intellectual face expressionless, his eyes veiled. Belcovitch, who -was Number Four, was on his feet speaking. They were large, bony feet, -in boots which had most noticeably not been made for him. He spoke -fluently, but with a heavy foreign accent. - -“Propaganda,” he said, and laughed; really he had a very unpleasant -laugh—“propaganda is what you call rot, rubbish, damn nonsense. What -else have we been about for years—no, generations—and where are we -to-day?” - -Number Two drew his chair closer to the fire with an impatient jerk. -Number Four’s oratory bored him stiff. The room was cold. This gas fire -was like all gas fires. He pulled his fur coat together and spoke -sharply: - -“Molloy, this room’s most infernally cold, and where in the world does -the draught come from?” - -“Propaganda is dead,” said Number Four. He looked over his shoulder with -dislike at Number Two, and mopped his brow with a dirty handkerchief. -Molloy, just opposite him, turned a little and laughed. - -“You bring the cold with you, Number Two,” he said. “Here’s Number Four -as hot as his own speeches. You’ve got all the fire, and the door’s -shut, and a screen in front of it, so what more do you want?” - -“Propaganda is dead,” repeated Number Four. He stood with his back to -the door. Only the top panel of it showed above the black screen which -had been drawn across it. The screen had four leaves. On each leaf a -golden stork on one leg contemplated a golden water-lily. The light -shone on the golden birds and the golden flowers. - -Number Four thrust his handkerchief back into his pocket, and rapped -sharply on the table. It was covered with a red cloth which had seen -better days. Number Fourteen had upset the ink only a few moments -before, and a greenish-purple patch was still spreading amidst the -crimson. - -Belcovitch leaned forward, both his hands on the table, his raucous -voice brought to a dead level. “Instead of propaganda, what?” he said. -“Instead of building here, teaching there, what? That is what I’m here -to-night to tell you. To-morrow you all go to your own places, each to -his post; but before you go, I am authorised to prepare you for what is -to come. It will not be to-day, but it may be to-morrow, or it may not -be for many to-morrows yet. One final stage is lacking, but in -essentials The Process is complete. Propaganda is dead, because we no -longer need propaganda. Comrades”—his voice sank a little—“there are -enough of us. Every city in the world has its quota. What The Process -will effect”—he paused, looked round, caught Number Two’s slightly -sardonic expression, and struck the table with his open hand—“what The -Process will effect is this,” he cried—“in one word, Annihilation of the -whole human race! Only our organisation will be left.” - -“Now what I am instructed to tell you is this,”—he spoke evenly, -swiftly, statement following statement—never had the attention of an -audience been so fully his; and then suddenly the thread was broken. -With a loud grating sound, Number Fifteen, sitting next to Molloy, -pushed his chair back, and sprang to his feet. - -“The door!” he shouted. “The door!” Every man in the room looked where -Fifteen was looking. Above the water-lilies and the storks, where the -top panel of the door had shown, there was a dark, empty space. The door -was open. - -Number Four whipped out a revolver and dragged the screen away. The door -was open, and in the doorway stood a girl in her nightdress. Her hands -were stretched out, as if she were feeling her way. Her eyes, of a -greenish hazel in colour, were widely opened, and had a dazed -expression. Her brown hair hung in two neat plaits. Her feet were bare. -Molloy pushed forward quickly. - -“Well, there, if that wasn’t the start of our lives,” he said, “and no -reason for it when all’s said and done. It’s my daughter, Renata, -comrades, and she’s walking in her sleep. Now I’ll just take her back to -her room and be with you again.” - -“A minute, I think, Molloy,” said Number Two. He got up slowly out of -his chair, and came across to where the girl stood motionless, blinking -at the light. “I _said_ there was a most infernal draught. Will you come -in, Miss Molloy?” he added politely, and took the girl by the hand. She -yielded to his touch, and came into the room, shivering a little. Some -one shut the door. Molloy, shrugging his shoulders, pulled the crimson -cloth from the table and wrapped it about his daughter. The ink-soaked -patch came upon her bare shoulder, and she cried out, cast a wild look -at the strange and terrifying faces about her, and burst into a flood of -tears. - -Molloy, standing behind her, looked around as she had looked, and his -face darkened. Number Four had his back against the door, and his -revolver in his hand. There was only one face in the whole circle that -was not stamped with suspicion and fear, and behind the fear and the -suspicion there was something icy, something ruthless. Number Two, with -a slightly bored expression, was feeling in his waistcoat pocket. He -produced a small glass bottle, extracted from it a tiny pellet, and -proceeded to dissolve it in the glass of water which had stood neglected -at Number Four’s right hand. - -“Now, Miss Molloy,” he said, but Molloy caught him by the wrist. - -“What the devil——” he stammered, and Number Two laughed. - -“My dear Molloy,” he said, “how crude! You might know me better than -that.” - -He held the glass to Renata’s lips, and she took it and drank. When she -had set down the glass, she felt her way to a chair and leaned back with -closed eyes. The room seemed to whirl about her. A confusion of sound -was in her ears, loud, angry, with sentences that came and went. “If she -heard,”—then another—“How long was she there? Some one must have seen -the door open.” - -“Who did, then?” Then in the harshest voice of all, “I don’t care if -she’s Molloy’s daughter fifty times over, if she heard what Four said -about The Process, she must go.” Go where? - -There was something cold and wet touching her shoulder. The cold seemed -to spread all over her. Now her father was speaking. She had never heard -his voice quite like that before. And now the man in the fur coat, the -one who had given her the glass of water: - -“Yes, certainly, elimination if it is necessary. We’re all agreed about -that. But let us make sure.” His voice had quite a gentle sound, but -Renata’s heart began to beat with great thuds. - -“Miss Molloy,”—he was speaking to her now, and she opened her eyes and -looked at him. His face was of a clear, even pallor. His eyes, light -blue and without noticeable lashes, looked straight into hers. The veil -was gone from them. They held a terrifying intelligence. - -Renata sat up. The crowd of men had cleared away. She, and her father, -and the man in the fur coat were in an angle formed by the table and the -black screen, which had been drawn close around them. Her father sat -between her and the fire. His head was turned away, and he drummed -incessantly on the table with the fingers of his right hand. Beyond the -screen Renata could hear movements, and it came to her that the other -men were there, waiting. The man in the fur coat spoke to her again. His -voice was pleasant and cultivated, his manner reassuring. - -“You are better now? Please don’t be frightened. I am a doctor; your -father will tell you that. Being wakened suddenly like that gave you a -shock, but you are better now.” - -“Yes,” said Renata. She wished that her heart would stop beating so -hard, and she wished that the man in the fur coat would stop looking at -her. - -“Now, Miss Renata, I am your doctor, you know, and I want you to answer -just a few questions. You have walked in your sleep before?” - -“Yes,” said Renata—“oh yes.” - -“Often?” - -“Yes.” - -“What was the first time?” - -“I think—I think I was five years old. They found me in the garden.” - -Molloy let out a great breath of relief. If she had forgotten, if her -account had differed from his—well, well, their luck was in. - -There was a whispering from behind the screen. Number Two frowned. - -“And the last time?” - -“It was at school. I walked into another dormitory and frightened the -girls.” - -The man in the fur coat nodded. “So your father said.” And for a moment -Molloy stared over his shoulder at him. “And to-night? Do you dream on -these occasions?” - -Renata was reassured. Every moment it was more like an ordinary visit to -a doctor. She had been asked all these questions so often. Her voice no -longer trembled as she answered. “Yes, I dream. I walk in my sleep -because of the dream; now to-night....” - -“Yes, to-night?” - -“I dreamt I was back at school, and I thought I heard talking in the -next dormitory. You know we are not allowed to talk, and I am—I mean I -was a prefect. So I got up, and went to see what was the matter, and -some one pulled the screen away, and there was such a light, and such a -noise.” She put out a shaking hand, and Number Two patted it kindly. - -“Very startling for you,” he said. “So you opened the door and came in -and heard us all talking. Can you tell me what was being said?” His hand -was on Renata’s wrist, and he felt the pulses leap. She spoke a shade -too quickly: - -“I don’t know.” - -“Perhaps I can help you. Your father, you know, travels for a firm of -chemists, a firm in which I and my friends are also interested. We were -discussing a new aniline dye which, we hope, will capture the markets of -the world. Now did you hear that word—aniline—or anything like it? You -see I want to find out just what woke you. What tiresome questions we -doctors ask, don’t we?” - -He smiled, and Renata tried to collect her thoughts. They were in great -confusion. - -Aniline—annihilate—the two words kept coming and going. If her head had -been clearer she would almost certainly have fallen into the trap which -had been laid for her. Molloy stopped drumming on the table and clenched -his hand. With all his strength he was praying to the saints in whom he -no longer believed. Behind the screen twenty-three men waited in a dead -silence. Renata was not frightened any more, but she was tired—oh, so -dreadfully tired. Annihilate—aniline—the words and their similarity of -sound teased her. She turned from them with a little burst of petulance. - -“I didn’t hear anything like that. Oh, do let me go to bed! I only heard -some one call out....” - -“Yes?” said Number Two. - -“He said, ‘The door, the door!’ and then there were all those lights.” - - - - - CHAPTER II - - -Jane Smith sat on a bench in Kensington Gardens. Her entire worldly -fortune lay in her lap. It consisted of two shillings and eleven pence. -She had already counted the pennies four times, because there really -should have been three shillings. She was now engaged in making a list -in parallel columns of (_a_) those persons from whom she might seek -financial assistance, and (_b_) the excellent reasons which prevented -her from approaching them. - -Jane had a passion for making lists. Years and years and years ago Mr. -Carruthers had said to her, “My dear, you must learn to be businesslike. -I have never been businesslike myself, and it has always been a great -trouble to me.” And then and there he and Jane had, in collaboration, -embarked upon the First List. It was a thrilling list, a list of toys -for Jane’s very first Christmas tree. Since then she had made lists of -her books, lists of her clothes, shopping lists, and an annual list of -good resolutions. - -Jane stopped writing, and began to think about all those other lists. -She had always showed them to Mr. Carruthers, and he had always gazed at -them with the same vague benignness, and said how businesslike she was -getting. - -Dear Cousin James—Jane was rich instead of poor when she thought about -him. She looked across at the trees in their new mist of green, and then -suddenly the thin April sunshine dazzled in her eyes and the green swam -into a blur. Cousin James was gone, and Jane was alone in Kensington -Gardens with two-and-elevenpence and a list. - -She opened and shut her eyes very quickly once or twice, and fixed her -attention upon (_a_) and (_b_) in their parallel columns. At the top of -the list Jane had written “Cousin Louisa,” and the reason against asking -Cousin Louisa’s assistance was set down as, “Because she was a perfect -beast to my darling Jimmy, and a worse beast to me, and anyhow, she -wouldn’t.” - -In moments of irreverence the late Mr. Carruthers—_the_ Mr. Carruthers, -author of five monumental volumes on Ethnographical Differentiation—had -been addressed by his young ward and cousin as “darling Jimmy.” - -Professor Philpot came next. “A darling, but he is sitting somewhere in -Central Africa in a cage learning to talk gorilla. I do hope they -haven’t eaten him, or whatever they do do to people when they catch -them.” - -It will be observed that Miss Smith’s association with the world of -science had not succeeded in chastening her grammar. - -Jane’s pencil travelled down the list. - -“Mr. Bruce Murray. In Thibet studying Llamas.” - -“Henry”—Jane shook her head and solemnly put two thick black lines -through Henry’s name. One cannot ask for financial assistance from a -young man whose hand one has refused in marriage—“even if it was three -years ago, and he’s probably been in love with at least fifteen girls -since then.” - -“Henry’s mamma—well, the only time she ever loved me in her life was -when I refused Henry, so I should think she was an Absolute Wash Out—and -that’s the lot.” - -Jane folded up the list and put it into her handbag. Two silver -shillings and eleven copper pennies, and then the workhouse! - -It was at this moment that a stout lady with a ginger-coloured pug sat -heavily down upon the far end of Jane’s bench. The ginger-coloured pug -was on a scarlet leather lead, and after seating herself the stout lady -bent forward creaking, and lifted him to a place beside her. - -Jane wondered vaguely why a red face and a tightly curled fringe should -go with a passion for bugled bonnets and pugs. - -“Was ’ums hungry?” said the stout lady. - -The pug breathed stertorously, after the manner of pugs, and his -mistress at once produced two paper bags from a beaded reticule. From -one of them she took a macaroon, and from the other a sponge finger. The -pug chose the macaroon. - -“Precious,” cooed the stout lady, and all at once Jane felt entirely -capable of theft and murder—theft from the stout lady, and murder upon -the person of the ginger pug. For at the sight of food she realised how -very, very hungry she was. Bread and margarine for breakfast six hours -before, and the April air was keen, and Jane was young. - -The pug spat out the last mouthful of macaroon, ignored the sponge -finger, and snorted loudly. - -“Oh, naughty, naughty,” said the stout lady. She half turned towards -Jane. - -“You really wouldn’t believe how clever he is,” she observed -conversationally; “it’s a cream bun he’s asking for as plain as plain, -and yesterday when I bought them for him, he teased and teased until I -went back for macaroons; though, of course, a nice plain sponge finger -is really better for him than either. I don’t need the vet. to tell me -that. Come along, a naughty, tiresome precious then.” She lifted the pug -down from the seat, put the paper bags tidily back into her reticule, -rose ponderously to her feet, and walked away, trailing the scarlet lead -and cooing to the ginger pug. - -Jane watched her go. - -“Why don’t I laugh?” she said. “Why doesn’t she amuse me? One needn’t -lose one’s sense of humour even if one is down and out.” - -It was at this unpropitious moment that the tall young man who had sat -down unseen upon Jane’s other side, laid his hand upon hers and observed -in stirring accents: - -“Darling.” - -Jane whisked round in an icy temper. Her greenish-hazel eyes looked -through the young man in the direction of the north pole. He ought to -have stiffened to an icicle then and there, instead of which he -murmured, “Darling,” again, and then added—“but what’s the matter?” Jane -stopped looking at him or through him. He had simply ceased to exist. -She picked up her two shillings and her eleven pence, put them into her -purse, and consigned her purse to her handbag. She then closed the -handbag with a snap, and rose to her feet. - -“Renata!” exclaimed the young man in tones of consternation. - -Jane paused and allowed herself to observe him for the first time. She -saw a young man with an intellectual forehead and studious brown eyes. -He appeared to be hurt and surprised. She decided that this was not a -would-be Lothario. - -“I think you have made a mistake,” she said, and was about to pass on. - -“But, Renata, Renata, darling!” stammered the young man even more -desperately. Jane assumed what Cousin Louisa had once described as “that -absurdly grand manner.” It was quite kind, but it induced the young man -to believe that Jane was conversing with him from about the distance of -the planet Saturn. - -“I think,” she said, “that you must be taking me for my cousin, Renata -Molloy.” - -“But I’m engaged to her—no, I mean to you—oh, hang it all, Renata, -what’s the sense of a silly joke like this?” - -Jane looked at him keenly. “What is my cousin’s middle name?” she -inquired. - -“Jane. I hate it.” - -“Thank you,” said Jane. “My name is Jane Renata Smith, and I am Renata -Jane Molloy’s first cousin. Our mothers were twin sisters, and I have -always understood that we were very much alike.” - -“Alike!” gasped the young man. Words seemed to fail him. - -Jane bowed slightly and began to walk away, but, before she had gone a -dozen paces, he was beside her again. - -“If you’re really Renata’s cousin, I want to talk to you—I must talk to -you. Will you let me?” - -Jane walked as far as the next seat, and sat down with resignation. - -“I don’t even know your name.” - -“It’s Todhunter—Arnold Todhunter.” He seemed a trifle breathless. “My -sister Daphne was at school with Renata, and she came to stay with us -once in the holidays. I said we were engaged, didn’t I? Only, nobody -knows it. You won’t tell Mr. Molloy, will you?” - -“I’ve never spoken to Mr. Molloy in my life,” said Jane. “There was a -most awful row when my aunt married him, and none of us have ever met -each other since. My aunt died years and years ago. I think Mr. Molloy -is an Anarchist of some sort, isn’t he?” - -“Yes, yes, yes,” said Mr. Todhunter, with violence. He banged the back -of the iron seat with his hand. Jane reflected that he must be very much -in love if he failed to notice how hard it was. - -“Yes, yes, he is,” repeated Mr. Todhunter, “and worse; and Renata is in -the most dreadful position. I must talk to somebody, or I shall go mad.” - -“Well, you can talk to me,” said Jane soothingly. “I have always wanted -to meet Renata, and I should love to hear all about her.” - -Mr. Todhunter hesitated. - -“Miss Smith—you did say Smith, didn’t you?—it’s so difficult to begin. -You’ll probably think I’m mad, or trying it on, but it’s like this: I’ve -just qualified as an engineer, and I’ve got a job in South America. -Naturally I wanted to see Mr. Molloy. Renata wouldn’t let me. She hardly -knows her father, and she’s most awfully scared of him. We used to meet -in the Park. Then one day she didn’t come. She went on not coming, and I -nearly went mad. At last I went to Molloy’s flat and asked to see her. -They said she had left town, but it was a lie. Just before the door -shut, I heard her voice.” Mr. Todhunter paused. “Look here, you won’t -give any of this away, will you? You know, it’s awfully confusing for -me, your being so like Renata. It makes my head go round.” - -“Go on,” said Jane. - -“Well, the bit I don’t want you to tell any one is this—I mean to say, -it’s confidential, absolutely confidential: when I was at the -Engineering School, I knew a chap who had got mixed up with Molloy’s -lot. He didn’t get deep in, you’ll understand. They scared him, and he -backed out. Well, I remembered a yarn he had told me. He was in Molloy’s -flat one night, and it was raided. And I remembered that he said a lot -of them got away down the fire-escape into a yard, and then out through -some mews at the back. Well, I went and nosed about until I found that -fire-escape, and I got up it, and I found Renata’s room and talked to -her through the window. It’s not so dangerous as it sounds, because they -lock her in the flat at night, and go out. And she’s in a frightful -position—oh, Miss Smith, you simply have no idea of what a frightful -position she’s in!” - -“I might have, if you would tell me what it is,” said Jane dryly. She -found Mr. Todhunter diffuse. - -“Well, she’s a prisoner, to start with. They keep her locked in her -room.” - -“Who’s they?” interrupted Jane. - -Mr. Todhunter rumpled his hair. “She doesn’t even know their names,” he -said distractedly. His voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s the most -appalling criminal organisation, Miss Smith. Molloy’s one of them, but -they won’t even let Molloy see her alone now. You see, they think she -overheard something. They don’t know whether she did or not. If they -were sure that she did, they would kill her.” - -“Well, did she?” said Jane. - -“I don’t know,” said Mr. Todhunter gloomily. “She cried such a lot, and -we were both rather confused, and she’s most awfully frightened, you -know.” He glared at Jane as if she had something to do with Renata being -frightened. “If I’m to take up this job of mine, I have to sail in three -days’ time. I want her to marry me and come too; but she says that, if -she runs away, they’ll make sure she heard something, and, if it’s the -farthest ends of the earth, they’ll find her and kill her. It seems -Molloy told her that. And if she stays here and they bully her again, -she doesn’t know what she may give away. It’s a frightful position, -isn’t it?” - -“Why don’t you go to the police?” said Jane. - -“I thought of that, but they’d laugh at me. I haven’t heard anything, -and I don’t know anything. Molloy would only say that Renata was under -age, and that he had locked her in to prevent her running away with me. -Then they’d kill her.” - -“I see,” said Jane. Then—“What do you want me to do?” she asked. - -All the time that Mr. Todhunter had been glooming and groaning, running -his fingers through his hair and depicting Renata’s appalling position, -the Great Idea had been slowly forming itself in his mind. Every time -that he looked at Jane, her likeness to Renata made him feel quite -giddy. The Great Idea intoxicated him. He began to decant it. - -“Miss Smith, if you would—you see, if we could only get a clear -start—what I mean to say is, South America’s a long way off——” - -“Quite a distance,” Jane agreed. - -“And if they thought that you were Renata, they wouldn’t look for -her—and once we were clear away——” - -“My _dear_ Mr. Todhunter!” said Jane. - -“I could take you up the fire-escape,” said Mr. Todhunter, in low, -thrilling accents. “It would be quite easy. They would never know that -Renata was not there. You do see what I mean, don’t you?” - -“Oh yes,” said Jane in rather an odd voice. “You’ve made it beautifully -clear. Renata is in a position of deadly peril—I think that’s what you -called it—and the simple way out is for Renata to elope with you to -South America, and for me to be in the position of deadly peril instead. -It’s a beautiful plan.” - -“Then you’ll do it?” exclaimed the oblivious Mr. Todhunter. - -Jane looked away. Immediately in front of her was a strip of gravelled -path. Beyond that there was green grass, and a bed of pale blue -hyacinths, and budding daffodils. Two-and-elevenpence, and then the -workhouse—the ascent of a fire-escape in the April darkness, and at the -top of the fire-escape a position of deadly peril. - -“Of course,” said Jane, speaking to herself in her own mind. “I might -try to be a housemaid, but one has to have a character, and I don’t -believe Cousin Louisa would give me one.” - -She turned back to the chafing Mr. Todhunter. - -“Let’s talk,” she said briefly. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - -Jane took down the telephone directory, opened it, and began to run her -finger along the column of “M’s.” As she did so, she wondered why the -light in public call offices is so arranged as to strike the top of the -occupant’s head, and never by any chance to illumine the directory. - -“Marbot”—“Marbottle”—“March, The Rev. Aloysius”—“March, George William -Adolphus”—“March, Mrs. de Luttrelle.” - -Jane made a mark opposite the number. - -When Rosa Mortimer married Henry Luttrell March, she thought, and often -said, how much nicer the Luttrell would look if it were written de -Luttrelle. If her husband had died six months earlier than he actually -did, the name in this improved form would most certainly have been -inflicted upon an infant Henry. As it was, the child was baptized and -registered as Henry Luttrell, and ten years later took up the struggle -over the name where his father had left it. Eventually, a compromise was -effected, Mrs. March flaunting her de Luttrelle, and Henry tending to -suppress his Luttrell under an initial. His mother never ceased to -bemoan his stubbornness. - -“Any one would think that Henry was not proud of his family, and he may -say what he likes, but there were de Luttrelles for hundreds of years -before any one ever heard of a Luttrell. And Luttrell Marches is bound -to come to him, or practically bound to, because, whatever Henry may -say, I am quite sure that Tony will never turn up again.” - -The very sound of the aggrieved voice was in Jane’s ears as she unhung -the receiver and gave the number. She supposed that Henry still lived -with his mother, and that Mrs. March would still keep an indignant -bridge table waiting whilst she discoursed upon Henry—his faults, his -foibles, his ailments, and his prospects of inheriting Luttrell Marches. - -At that moment Henry, appropriately enough, was gazing at a photograph -of Jane. It must not be imagined that this was a habit of his. Three -years ago was three years ago, and Jane had receded into the distance -with a great many other pleasant things. But to-night he had been -looking through some old snapshots, and all of a sudden there was that -three-years-old Cornish holiday, and Jane. Henry sat frowning at the -photograph. - -Jane—why was one fond of Jane? He wondered where she was. It was only -last week that some one had mentioned old Carruthers, and had seemed -surprised that Henry did not know how long he had been dead. - -The telephone bell rang, and Henry jumped up with relief. - -“Hullo!” said a voice—and “Hullo!” said Henry. - -“Is that Captain March?” - -“Speaking,” said Henry. - -“It’s Jane Smith,” said the voice, and Henry very nearly dropped the -receiver. There was a pause, and then Jane said: - -“I want to come and see you on business. Can you spare the time?” - -“Er—my mother’s out,” said Henry, and he heard her say, “Thank -goodness,” with much sincerity. The next moment she was apologising. - -“Oh, I say, Henry, that sounded awfully rude, but I really do want to -see you about something very important. No, you can’t come and see me. -I’m one of the great unemployed, and I’m not living anywhere at present. -No, I won’t meet you at a restaurant either. Just tell me your nearest -Tube Station, and I’ll come along. All right then; I won’t be more than -ten minutes.” - -Henry turned away, feeling a little dazed. Being a methodical young man, -he proceeded to put away the photographs with which the table was -littered. A little snapshot of Jane he kept to the last, and ended by -not putting it away at all. After he had looked at it for some time, he -put it on the mantelpiece behind the clock. The hands pointed to nine -o’clock precisely. Then he looked at himself in the glass that was over -the mantel, and straightened his tie. - -Henry’s mother naturally considered him the most beautiful of created -beings. Without going quite as far as this, Henry certainly approved of -his own looks. Having approved of himself, he proceeded to move the -clock back half an inch, and to alter the position of the twisted -candlesticks on either side of it. Then he poked the fire. Then he began -to walk up and down the room. And then the bell rang. - -Henry went out into the hall and opened the door of the flat, and there -on the threshold stood Jane in a shabby blue serge coat and skirt, with -an old black felt hat. Not pretty, not smart—just Jane. She walked in -and gave him her hand. - -“Hullo, Henry!” she said. Then she laughed. “Or, do I call you Captain -March?” - -“You call me Henry,” said Henry, and he shut the door. - -“I expect you’d like to come into the drawing-room”—this came hurriedly -after a moment’s pause. He moved across the hall, switched on the light, -and stood aside for her to pass. Jane looked in and saw more pink -cushions and pink lamp-shades than she would have believed it possible -to get into one small room. There were also a great many pink roses, and -the air was heavy with scent. - -“I’m sure that’s not where you see people on business,” said Jane, and -Henry led the way into the dining-room. - -“This is my room,” he said, and Jane sat down on a straight, high-backed -chair and leaned her elbows on the table. - -“Now, Henry,” she said, “I’ve come here to tell you a story, and I want -you to sit down and listen to it; and please forget that you are you, -and that I am I. Just listen.” - -Henry sat down obediently. It was so good to see Jane again that, if she -liked to sit there and talk till midnight, he had no objection. - -“Now attend,” said Jane, and she began her story. - -“Once upon a time there were twin sisters, and they were called Renata -and Jane Carruthers. They had a cousin James—you remember him—my darling -Jimmy? Jimmy wanted to marry Renata, but she refused him and married -John Smith, my father, and when I was five years old she and my father -both died, and Jimmy adopted me. Now we come to the other twin. Her name -was Jane, and she ran away to America with a sort of anarchist Irishman -named Molloy. She died young, and she left one daughter, whom she called -Renata Jane. I, by the bye, am Jane Renata. The twin sisters were so -much alike that no one ever knew them apart. Jimmy had photographs of -them, and even he could never tell me which was my mother and which was -my Aunt Jane. Now, Henry, listen to this. My Cousin Renata is in London, -and it seems that she and I are just as much alike as our mothers were. -In fact, it’s because Renata’s young man took me for Renata this -afternoon that I am here, asking your advice, at the present moment.” - -Henry smiled a somewhat puzzled smile. “Have you asked my advice?” he -said; but Jane did not smile. Instead, she leaned forward a little. - -“Are you still at Scotland Yard, Henry?” - -He nodded. - -“Criminal Investigation Department?” - -He nodded again. - -“Then listen. Renata is in what her young man calls ‘a position of -deadly peril.’ In more ordinary language, she’s in a nasty hole. Do you -know anything about Cornelius Molloy? That’s the Anarchist Uncle, -Renata’s father, you know.” - -“There aren’t any anarchists nowadays,” said Henry meditatively. - -“I was brought up on anarchists, and I don’t see that it matters what -you call them,” said Jane. “‘A’ for Anarchist, ‘B’ for Bolshevik, and so -on. The point is, do you know anything about Molloy?” - -“I’ve heard of him,” Henry admitted. - -“Nothing good?” - -“We don’t hear much that’s good about people—officially, you know.” - -“Well, Arnold Todhunter says that Renata is supposed to have overheard -something—something that her father’s associates think so important that -they’re keeping her under lock and key, and seriously contemplating -putting her out of the way altogether.” - -“Did she overhear anything?” asked Henry, just as Jane had done. - -“No one knows except Renata, and she won’t tell. Molloy goes back to the -States to-morrow. They won’t let him take Renata with him, and Arnold -Todhunter wants to marry her and carry her off to Bolivia, where he’s -got an engineering job.” - -“That appears to be a good scheme,” said Henry. - -“Yes, but you see they’ll never let her go so long as they are not sure -how much she knows. Arnold says she was walking in her sleep, and -blundered in on about twenty-five of them, all talking the most deadly -secrets. And they don’t know when she woke or what she heard. -And”—Jane’s eyes began to dance a little—“Arnold has a perfectly -splendid idea. He takes Renata to Bolivia, and I take Renata’s place. -Nobody knows she has gone, so nobody looks for her.” - -“What nonsense,” said Henry; then—“What’s this Todhunter like?” - -“A mug,” said Jane briefly. She paused, and then went on in a different -voice: - -“Henry, who is at Luttrell Marches now? Did your Cousin Tony ever turn -up?” - -Henry stared at her. - -“Why do you ask that?” - -“Because,” said Jane, with perfect simplicity, “Renata is to be sent -down to Luttrell Marches to-morrow, and somebody there—somebody, -Henry—will decide whether she is to be eliminated or not.” - -Henry sat perfectly silent. He stared at Jane, and she stared at him. It -seemed as if the silence in the room were growing heavier and heavier, -like water that gathers behind some unseen dam. All of a sudden Henry -sprang to his feet. - -“Is this a hoax?” he asked, in tones of such anger that Jane hardly -recognised them. - -Jane got up too. The hand that she rested upon the table was not quite -steady. - -“Henry, how dare you?” and her voice shook a little too. - -Henry swung round. - -“No, no—I beg your pardon, Jane, for the Lord’s sake don’t look at me -like that. It’s, it’s—well, it’s pretty staggering to have you come here -and say....” He paused. “What was it you wanted to know?” - -“I asked you who is living at Luttrell Marches.” - -Henry was silent. He walked to the end of the room and back. Jane’s eyes -followed him. Where had this sudden wave of emotion come from? It seemed -to be eddying about them, filling the confined space. Jane made herself -look away from Henry, forced herself to notice the room, the furniture, -the pictures—anything that was commonplace and ordinary. This was -decidedly Henry’s room and not his mother’s, from the worn leather -chairs and plain oak table to the neutral coloured walls with their -half-dozen Meissonier engravings. Not a flower, not a trifle of any -sort, and one wall all books from ceiling to floor. Exactly opposite to -Jane there was a fine print of “The Generals in the Snow.” The lowering, -thunderous sky, heavy with snow and black with the omens of Napoleon’s -fall, dominated the picture, the room. Jane looked at it, and looked -away with a shiver, and as she did so, Henry was speaking: - -“Jane, I don’t want to answer that question for a minute or two. I want -to think. I want a little time to turn things over in my mind. Look -here, come round to the fire and sit down comfortably. Let’s talk about -something else for a bit. I want all your news, for one thing. Tell me -what you’ve been doing with yourself.” - -Jane came slowly to the fireside. After all, it was pleasant just to put -everything on one side, and be comfortable. Henry’s chair was very -comfortable, and the day seemed to have lasted for weeks, and weeks, and -weeks. She put out her hands to the fire, and then, because she noticed -that they were still trembling a little, she folded them in her lap. -Henry leaned against the mantelpiece and looked down at her. - -“Where have you been?” he asked. - -“Well, that summer at Upwater—you know we were lodging with the woman -who had the post office—Jimmy and I stayed on after all the other -visitors were gone. I expect it was rather irregular, but I used to help -her. You see her son didn’t get back until eighteen months after the -armistice, and she wasn’t really up to the work. In the end, you may say -I ran that post office. I did it very well, too. It was something to do, -especially after Jimmy died.” - -“Yes, I heard. I wondered where you were.” - -“I stayed on until the son came home, and then I couldn’t. He was awful, -and she thought him quite perfect, poor old soul. I came to London and -got a job in an office, and a month ago I lost it. The firm was cutting -down expenses, like everybody else. And then—well, I looked for another -job, and couldn’t find one, and this morning my landlady locked the door -in my face and kept my box. And that, Henry, is why I am thinking -seriously of changing places with my Cousin Renata, who, at least, has a -roof over her head and enough to eat.” - -“Jane,” said Henry furiously, “you don’t mean to say—so that’s why -you’re looking such a white rag!” - -Jane was horrified to find that her eyes had filled with tears. She -laughed, but the laugh was not a very convincing one. - -“I did have a cup of coffee and two penny buns,” she began; and then -Henry was fetching sandwiches from the sideboard and pressing a cup of -hot chocolate into her not unwilling hands. - -“They leave this awful stuff over a spirit lamp for my mother, and she -always has sandwiches when she comes in. It’s better than nothing,” he -added in tones of wrath. - -“It’s not awful,” protested Jane; but Henry was not mollified. - -“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why are you so hard up? Didn’t Mr. -Carruthers provide for you?” - -Jane’s colour rose. - -“He hadn’t much, and what he had was an annuity. You know what Jimmy -was, and how he forgot things. I am really quite sure that he had -forgotten about its being an annuity, and that he thought that I should -be quite comfortable.” - -Henry swallowed his opinion of Mr. Carruthers. - -“Was he your only relation?” - -“Well,” said Jane, who was beginning to feel better, “you can’t really -count Cousin Louisa; she was only Jimmy’s half-sister, and that makes -her a sort of third half-cousin of my mother’s. Besides, she always -simply loathed me.” - -“And you’ve no other relations at all?” - -“Only the Anarchist Uncle,” said Jane brightly. She gave him her cup and -plate. “Your mother has simply lovely sandwiches, Henry. Thank you ever -so much for them, but what will she do when she comes home and finds I -have eaten them all?” - -“I don’t know, I’m sure.” Henry’s tone was very short. “Look here, Jane, -you must let—er, er, I mean, won’t you let....” He stuck, and Jane -looked at him very kindly. - -“Nothing doing, Henry,” she said, “but it’s frightfully nice of you, all -the same.” - -There was a silence. When Jane thought it had lasted long enough, she -said: - -“So, you see, it all comes back again to Renata. Have you done your -thinking, Henry?” - -“Yes,” said Henry. He drew a chair to the table and sat down half turned -to the fire—half turned to Jane. Sometimes he looked at her, but oftener -his gaze dwelt intently on the rise and fall of the flames. - -“What makes you think that your cousin is to be taken to Luttrell -Marches? Did these people tell her so?” - -“No,” said Jane—“of course not. As far as I can make out from Arnold -Todhunter, Renata is locked in her room, but there’s another key and she -can get in and out. She can move about inside the flat, but she can’t -get out of it. Well, one night she crept out and listened, though you -would have thought she had had enough of listening, and she heard them -say that, as soon as her father was out of the way, they would send her -to Luttrell Marches and let ‘Number One’ decide whether she was to be -‘eliminated.’ Since then she’s been nearly off her head with terror, -poor kid. Now, Henry, it’s your turn. What about Luttrell Marches?” - -Henry’s face seemed to have grown rigid. “It’s impossible,” he said in a -low voice. - -The clock above them struck ten, and he waited till the last stroke had -died away. - -“I don’t know quite what to say to you, but whatever I say is -confidential. You’ve heard my mother talk of the Luttrells, and you may -or may not know that my uncle died a year ago. You have also probably -heard that his son, my Cousin Anthony, disappeared into the blue in -1915.” - -“Then Luttrell Marches belongs to you?” For the life of her, Jane could -not keep a little consternation out of her voice. - -“No. If Tony had been missing for seven years, I could apply for leave -to presume his death, but there’s another year to run. My mother—every -one—supposes that I am only waiting until the time is up. As a matter of -fact—Jane, I’m telling you what I haven’t told my mother—Anthony -Luttrell is alive.” - -“Where?” - -“I can’t tell you. And you must please forget what I have told -you—unless——” - -“Unless?” - -“Unless you have to remember it,” said Henry in an odd voice. “For the -rest, Luttrell Marches was let during my uncle’s lifetime to Sir William -Carr-Magnus. You know who I mean?” - -“_The_ Sir William Carr-Magnus?” said Jane, and Henry nodded. - -Jane felt absolutely dazed. Sir William Carr-Magnus, the great chemist, -great philanthropist, and Government expert! - -“He is engaged,” said Henry, “on a series of most important -investigations and experiments which he is conducting on behalf of the -Government. The extreme seclusion of Luttrell Marches, and the lonely -country all round are, of course, exactly what is required under the -circumstances.” - -Quite suddenly Jane began to laugh. - -“It’s all mad,” she said, “but I’ve quite made up my mind. Renata shall -elope, and I will go to Luttrell Marches. It will be better than the -workhouse anyhow. You know, Henry, seriously, I have a lot of -qualifications for being a sleuth. Jimmy taught me simply heaps of -languages, I’ve got eyes like gimlets, and I can do lip-reading.” - -“What?” - -“Yes, I can. Jimmy had a perfectly deaf housekeeper, and it worried him -to hear us shouting at each other, so I had her taught, and learned -myself for fun.” - -Henry crossed to the bookcase and came back with a photograph album in -his hand. Taking a loose card from between the pages, he put it down in -front of Jane, saying: - -“There you may as well make your host’s acquaintance.” - -Jane looked long at the face which was sufficiently well known to the -public. The massive head, the great brow with eyes set very deep beneath -shaggy tufts of hair, the rather hard mouth—all these were already -familiar to her, and yet she looked long. After a few moments’ -hesitation, Henry put a second photograph upon the top of the first, and -this time Jane caught her breath. It was the picture of a woman in -evening dress. The neck and shoulders were like those of a statue, -beautiful and, as it were, rigid. But it was the beauty of the face that -took Jane’s breath away—that and a certain look in the eyes. The word -hungry came into her mind and stayed there. A woman with proud lips and -hungry eyes, and the most beautiful face in the world. - -“Who is it?” she asked. - -“Raymond Carr-Magnus. She is Lady Heritage, and a widow now—Sir -William’s only child. He gave her a boy’s name and a boy’s -education—brought her up to take his place, and found himself with a -lovely woman on his hands. This was done from Amory’s portrait of her in -1915—the year of her marriage. She was at one time engaged to my Cousin -Anthony. If you do go to Luttrell Marches, you will see her, for she -makes her home with Sir William.” - -Henry’s voice was perfectly expressionless. The short sentences followed -one another with a little pause after each. Jane looked sideways, and -said very quick and low: - -“Were you very fond of her, Henry?” - -And when she had said it, her heart beat and her hands gripped one -another. - -Henry took the photograph from her lap. - -“I said she was engaged to Tony.” - -“Yes, Henry, but were you fond of her?” - -“Confound you, Jane. Yes, I was.” - -“Well, I don’t wonder.” - -Jane rose to her feet. - -“I must be going,” she said. “I have an assignation with Arnold -Todhunter, who is going to take me up a fire-escape and substitute me -for Renata.” - -Henry took out a pocket-book. - -“Will you give me Molloy’s address, please?” And when she had given it: -“You know, my good girl, there’s nothing on earth to prevent my having -that flat raided and your cousin’s deposition taken.” - -“No, of course not,” said Jane—“only then nobody will go down to -Luttrell Marches and find out what’s going on there.” - -She looked straight at Henry as she spoke. - -“I’m going, whatever you say, and whatever you do, and I only came to -you because——” - -“Because——” - -“Well, it seemed so sort of lonesome going off into situations of deadly -peril with no one taking the very slightest interest.” - -Jane’s voice shook absurdly on the last word. And in an instant Henry -had his arm round her and was saying, “Jane—Jane—you shan’t go, you -shan’t.” - -Jane stepped back. Her eyes blazed. “And why?” she said. - -She tried to say it icily, but she could not steady her voice. Henry’s -arm felt solid and comfortable. - -“Because I’m damned if I’ll let you,” said Henry very loud, and upon -that the door opened and there entered Mrs. de Luttrelle March, larger, -pinker, and more horrified than Jane had ever seen her. She, for her -part, beheld Henry, his arms about a shabby girl, and her horror reached -its climax when she recognised the girl as “that dreadfully designing -Jane Smith.” - -“Henry,” she gasped—“oh, Henry!” - -Jane released herself with a jerk, and Mrs. de Luttrelle March sat down -in the nearest chair and burst into a flood of tears. Her purple satin -opera cloak fell away, disclosing a peach-coloured garment that clung to -her plump contours and seemed calculated rather for purposes of -revelation than concealment. Large tears rolled down her powdered -cheeks, and she sought in vain for a handkerchief. - -“Henry—I didn’t think it of you—at least not here, not under my very -roof. And if you were going to break my heart like your father, it would -have been kinder to do it ten years ago, because then I should have -known what to expect, and anyhow, I should probably have been dead by -now.” - -She sniffed and made a desperate gesture. - -“Oh, Henry, I can’t find it! Haven’t you got one, or don’t you care -whether my heart’s broken? And I haven’t even got a handkerchief to cry -with.” - -Henry produced a handkerchief and gave it to her without attempting to -speak. Years of experience had taught him that to stay his mother’s -first flood of words was an impossibility. - -Jane felt rather sick. Mrs. March was so very large and pink, and the -whole affair so very undignified, that her one overmastering desire was -to get away. She heard Henry’s “This is Miss Smith, Mother. She came to -see me on business”; and then Mrs. March’s wail, “Your father always -called it business too, and I didn’t think—no, I didn’t think you’d -bring a girl in here when my back was turned.” - -Jane stood up very straight, but Henry had taken her hand again. - -“I beg your pardon,” he said, in a very low voice. “She—she had a rotten -time when she was young”; then, in a tone that cut through Mrs. March’s -sobs as an east wind cuts the rain, he said: - -“My dear mother, you are making some extra-ordinary mistake. The last -time that I saw Miss Smith was three years ago. I then asked her to -marry me, and she refused. I would go on asking her every day from now -to kingdom come if I thought that it was the slightest good. As it -isn’t, I am only anxious to be of use to her in any possible way. She -came here to-night to ask my advice on an official matter.” - -Mrs. March fixed her very large blue eyes upon her son. They were -swimming with tears, but behind the tears there was something which -suddenly went to Jane’s heart—something bewildered and hurt, and rather -ungrown-up. - -“You always were a good boy, Henry,” said Mrs. March, and Henry’s -instant rigid embarrassment had the effect of cheering Jane. She came -forward and took the limp white hand that still clutched a borrowed -handkerchief. - -“I’m sure he’ll always be a good son to you, and I wouldn’t take him -away from you for the world. He’s just a very kind friend. Good-night, -Mrs. March.” - -She went out without looking back, but Henry followed her into the hall. - -“You’re not really going to plunge into this foolish affair?” he said as -they stood for a moment by the door. It was Jane who opened it. - -“Yes, I am, Henry. You can’t stop me, and you know it.” - -Jane’s eyes looked straight into his, and Henry did know. - -“Very well, then. Read the agony column in _The Times_. If I want you to -have a message, it will be there, signed with the day of the week on -which it appears. You understand? If the message is in _The Times_ of -Wednesday, it will be signed, ‘Wednesday.’ And if there are directions -in the message, you will obey them implicitly.” - -“How _thrilling_,” said Jane. - -“Is it?” - -Henry looked very tired. - -“I don’t know if I’ve done right, but I can’t tell you any more just -now. By the way, Molloy’s flat will be watched, and I shall know whether -you go to Luttrell Marches or not. Good-bye, Jane.” - -“Good-bye, Henry.” - -Henry watched the lift disappear. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - -“This,” said Arnold Todhunter, “is the fire-escape.” His tone was that -of one who says, “This is our Rembrandt.” Proud proprietorship pervaded -his entire atmosphere. - -“Ssh!” said Jane. - -They stood together in a small back-yard. It seemed to be quite full of -things like barrows, paving-stones, old tin cans, and broken crockery. -Jane had already tripped over a meat tin and collided with two chicken -coops and a dog kennel. She reflected that this was just the sort of -back-yard Arnold would find. - -Everything was very dark. The blackest shadow of all marked the wall -that they were to climb. Here and there a lighted window showed, and -Jane could see that these windows had rounded parapets jutting out on a -level with the sill. - -Arnold, meanwhile, was tugging at something which seemed to be a short -plank. - -“What on earth?” she whispered. - -“We shall need it. I’d better go first.” - -And forthwith he began to climb, clutching the plank with one hand and -the iron ladder with the other. - -Jane let him get a good start, and followed. - -The ladder was quite easy to climb; it was only when one thought of how -immensely far away the skyline had looked, that it seemed as if it would -be very uncomfortable to look down instead of up, and to see that horrid -little yard equally far below. - -Jane did look down once, and everything was black and blurred and -shadowy. It was odd to be clinging to the side of a house, with the dark -all round one, and the steady roar of the London traffic dulled almost -to nothingness. - -The night was very still, and a little cold. Somewhere below amongst the -tin cans a cat said, “Grrrwoosh,” not loud, but on a softly inquiring -note. The inquiry was instantly answered by a long, piercing wail which -travelled rapidly over four octaves, and then dwelt with soulful -intensity upon an agonising top note. - -With a muttered exclamation, Arnold Todhunter dropped his plank. It -grazed Jane’s shoulder, and fell among the cats and crockery with a most -appalling clatter. - -Jane shut her eyes, gripped the ladder desperately, and wondered whether -she would fall first and be arrested afterwards, or the other way about. -Nothing happened. Apparently the neighbourhood was inured to the -bombardment of cats. - -After a moment Jane became aware of Arnold’s boots in close proximity to -her head. A wave of fury swept away her giddiness, and she began to -descend with a rapidity which surprised herself. - -Once more they stood in the yard. - -Once more Arnold groped for his plank. - -“I’m going up first,” said Jane, in a low tone of rage. “I won’t be -guillotined on a public fire-escape. Which floor is it?” - -“The top,” said Arnold sulkily, and without more ado Jane went up the -ladder. - -It was exactly like a rather horrid dream. The ladder was very cold and -very gritty, and you climbed, and climbed, and went on climbing without -arriving anywhere. - -Pictures of the Eiffel Tower and New York skyscrapers flitted through -Jane’s mind. She also remembered interesting paragraphs about how many -million pennies placed on end would reach to the moon. And at long, long -last the escape ended at a window-sill with a parapet-enclosed space -beneath it. - -Jane sat down on the window-sill and shut her eyes tight. She had a -horrid feeling that the building was rocking a little. After a moment -Arnold crawled over the edge of the coping, dragging his plank. He was -panting. - -“This,” he said, with his mouth close to Jane’s ear—“this window only -leads to the landing where the lift shaft ends. We’ve got to get across -to the next one, which is inside Molloy’s flat. That’s what the plank is -for.” - -“You’re blowing down my neck,” said Jane. - -Arnold Todhunter felt that he had never met a girl whom he disliked so -much. Extraordinary that she should look so like Renata and be so -different. - -He knelt just inside the parapet, and pushed the board slowly out into -the dark until it rested on the parapet of the next window. - -“Will you go first, or shall I?” he whispered. - -“I will.” - -Jane felt sure that, if she had to watch Arnold balancing on that plank -miles above the ground, she would never be able to cross it herself. - -The reflection that it was Renata, and not she, who would have to make -the descent fortified her considerably. Even so, she never quite knew -how she crossed to the other window. It was an affair of clenched teeth -and a mind that shut out resolutely everything except the next groping -clutch of the hand—the next carefully taken step. - -She sank against the window-sill and heard Arnold follow her. Just at -the end he slipped; he seemed to change his feet, and then with a heavy -thud pitched down on the top of Jane. - -She thought he said “Damn!” and she was quite sure that she said -“Idiot!” - -There was an awful moment while they listened for the fall of the plank, -but it held to the coping by a bare half-inch. - -“Thank goodness I’m not Renata!” said Jane, with heartfelt sincerity. -And— - -“Thank goodness, you’re not!” returned Mr. Todhunter, with equal -fervour, and at that moment the window opened. - -There was a little sobbing gasp, and a girl was clinging to Arnold -Todhunter and whispering: - -“Darling—darling, I thought you’d never come.” - -Arnold crawled through the open window, and from the pitch-black hall -there came the sounds of demonstrative affection. - -“Good gracious me, there’s no accounting for tastes!” said Jane, under -her breath. And she too climbed down into the darkness. - -Arnold appeared to be trying to explain Jane to Renata, whilst Renata -alternated between sobs and kisses. - -Jane lost her temper, suddenly and completely. - -“For goodness’ sake, you two, come where there’s a light, and where we -can talk sense. Every minute you waste is just asking for trouble. -What’s that room with the light?” - -It is difficult to be impressive in a low whisper, but Renata did stop -kissing Arnold. - -“My bedroom,” she said—“I’m supposed to be locked in.” - -Jane groped in the dark and got Renata by the arm. - -“Come along in there and talk to me. We’ve got to talk. Arnold can wait -outside the window. I don’t want him in the least. You’re going to spend -the rest of your life with him in Bolivia, so you needn’t worry. I -simply won’t have him whilst we are talking.” - -Arnold loathed Jane a little more, but Renata allowed herself to be -detached from him with a sob. - -Inside the lighted bedroom the two girls looked at one another in an -amazed silence. - -In height and contour, feature and colouring, the likeness was without a -flaw. - -Facing them was a small wardrobe of painted wood. A narrow panel of -looking-glass formed the door. The two figures were reflected in it, and -Jane, tossing her hat on to the bed, studied them there with a long, -careful scrutiny. - -The same brown hair, growing in the same odd peak upon the forehead, the -same arch to the brow, the same greenish-hazel eyes. Renata’s face was -tear-stained, her eyelids red and swollen—“but that’s exactly how I look -when I cry,” said Jane. She set her hand by Renata’s hand, her foot by -Renata’s foot. The same to a shade. - -The other girl watched her with bewildered eyes. - -“Speak—say something,” said Jane. - -“What shall I say?” - -“Anything—the multiplication table, the days of the week—I want to hear -your voice.” - -“Oh, Jane, what an odd girl you are!” said Renata—“and don’t you think -Arnold had better come in? It must be awfully cold out there.” - -“Presently,” said Jane. “It’s very hard to tell, but I believe that our -voices are as much alike as the rest of us.” - -She opened her bag, and took out The List and a pencil. - -“Now, write something—I don’t care what.” - -Renata wrote her own name, and then, after a pause, “It is a fine day.” - -“Quite like,” said Jane, “but nearly all girls do write the same hand -now. I can manage that. Now, tell me, where were you at school?” - -“Miss Bazing’s, Ilfracombe.” - -“When did you leave?” - -“Two months ago.” - -“Have you been in America?” - -“Not since I was five.” - -“Anywhere else out of England?” - -“No.” - -“What languages do you know?” - -“French—I’m not good at it.” - -“Well, that’s that. Now, Arnold tells me you heard them say you were to -go to Luttrell Marches?” - -Renata looked terrified. - -“Yes, yes, I did.” - -“You’re not supposed to know? They haven’t told you officially?” - -“No—no, they haven’t told me anything.” - -“Your father goes away to-morrow. Have they told you that?” - -“I can’t remember,” said Renata, bursting into tears. “Oh, Jane, you -don’t know what it’s like!—to be locked in here—to have them come and -ask questions until I don’t know what I’m saying—and to know, to know -all the time that if I make one slip I’m lost.” - -“Yes, yes, but it’s going to be all right,” said Jane. - -“I can’t sleep,” sobbed Renata, “and I can’t eat.” She held up her wrist -and looked at it with interest. “I’ve got ever so much thinner.” - -Jane could have slapped her. She reflected with thankfulness that -Bolivia was a good long way off. - -“Now, look here,” she said, “you talk about ‘they’—who are ‘they’?” - -“There’s a man in a fur coat,” faltered Renata—“that is to say, he -generally has on a fur coat; he always seems to be cold. He’s the worst; -I don’t know his name, but they call him Number Two. He’s English. Then -there’s Number Four. He’s a foreigner of some sort, and he’s -dreadful—dreadful. I think—I think”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“my -father is Number Three.” Then almost inaudibly, “Number One is at -Luttrell Marches. It’s Number One who will decide about me—about me. Oh, -Jane, I’m so dreadfully frightened!” - -Renata’s eyes, wide and terrified, stared past Jane into vacancy. - -“You needn’t be in the least frightened; you’re going to Bolivia,” said -Jane briskly. - -“I must tell some one,” said Renata, still in that whispering -voice—still staring. “I didn’t tell them, I wouldn’t tell them, but I -must tell some one. Jane, I must tell you what I heard.” - -Quick as lightning Jane put her hand over the other girl’s mouth. - -“Wait!” she said, and in the pause that followed two things stood out in -her mind clear and sharp. If Renata told her secret, Jane’s danger would -be doubled. If Renata did not tell it, the crime these men were planning -might ripen undisturbed. Jane had a high courage, but she hesitated. - -Her hand dropped slowly to her side. She saw Renata’s mouth open -protestingly, and there came on her a wild impulse to stave things off, -to have time, just a little time before she let that secret in. - -“We’ve got to change clothes,” she said. “Quick, give me that skirt and -take mine. Yes, put on the coat, and I’ll give you my shoes, too. My -hat’s on the bed; you’d better put it on.” - -Renata obeyed. A resentful feeling of being hustled, ordered about, -treated like a child, was upon her; but Jane moved and spoke so quickly, -and seemed so sure of herself, that there seemed no opening for protest. -She thought Jane’s blue serge shabby and old fashioned—not nearly as -nice as her own—and Jane’s shoes were terribly worn and needed mending. - -“Now, listen,” said Jane. - -“If Arnold likes to go to my rooms and pay up two weeks’ rent, he can -get my box and all my other clothes for you. There’s not very much, but -it’ll be better than nothing. I’ll write a line for him to take, and put -the address on it. And will you please remember now and from henceforth -that you are Jane Renata Smith, and not Renata Jane Molloy?” - -Jane was scribbling a couple of lines as she spoke, and as she turned -and gave the paper into Renata’s hand, she knew that she must decide -now. The moment of grace was up, and whether she bade Renata speak or be -silent, there could be no drawing back. - -“What were you going to tell me?” she said. - -Renata stood silent for a long minute. She was twisting and turning the -slip of paper which Jane had given her. She looked down at her twisting -fingers; her breath began to come more quickly. Then with great -suddenness she pushed the note into her pocket, and caught at Jane with -both hands. - -“Yes, I must tell you—I must. It will be coming nearer all the time, and -I must tell some one, or I shall go mad.” - -“Tell me, then,” said Jane. “You were walking in your sleep, and you -opened the door and heard—what did you hear?” - -Jane’s eyes were bright and steady, her face set. She had taken her -decision, and her courage rose to meet an unknown shock. - -“I was walking in my sleep,” repeated Renata, in a low, faltering voice, -“and I opened the door, and I heard——” - -“What did you hear?” - -“There was a screen in front of me, and just beyond the screen a man -talking. I heard—oh, Jane, I heard every single word he said! I can’t -forget one of them—if I could, if I only could!” - -“What did you hear?” said Jane firmly. - -Renata’s grip became desperate. She leant forward until her lips touched -Jane’s ear. In a voice that was only a breath, she gave word for word, -sentence by sentence, the speech in which Number Four had proclaimed the -death sentence of the civilised world. It was just a bald transcript -like the whisper of a phonograph record, as if the words and sentences -had been stamped on an inanimate plate by some recording machinery, to -be released again with utter regularity and correctness. - -Every vestige of colour left Jane’s face as she listened. Only her eyes -remained bright and steady. Something seemed to knock at her heart. -Renata’s last mechanical repetition died away, and with a sob of relief -she flung her arms round Jane. - -“Oh, Jane, I do hope they won’t kill you! Oh, I do hope they won’t!” - -“So do I,” said Jane. - -She detached herself from Renata, and as she did so, both girls heard -the same thing—from beyond the two closed doors the groan and grind of -the lift machinery in motion. - -“They’ve come back,” said Renata, in a whisper of terror. - -Jane’s hand was on the electric-light switch before the words had left -Renata’s lips. - -As darkness sprang upon the room she had the door open. Her grip was on -Renata’s wrist, her arm about Renata’s waist, and they were in the hall. -It seemed pitch black at first, with a gloom that pressed upon their -eyes and confused the sense of direction. - -The lift rose with a steady rumble. - -Then, as Jane stared before her, the oblong of the window sprang into -view. She took a step forward and felt Renata’s head against her -shoulder. - -“I’m going to faint,” came in a gasp. - -“Then you’ll never see Arnold again. Do you want to be caught like -this?” - -“Jane, I can’t.” - -Jane dragged her on. - -“Renata, you rabbit!—if they don’t kill you, I will. Faint in Bolivia as -much as you like, but I forbid you to do it here.” - -“Oh, Jane!” - -Jane’s arm felt the weight of a limp, sagging figure, but they had -reached the window. From the sill Arnold bent, listening anxiously. - -“Quick!” gasped Jane. - -And, as his arm relieved the strain, she pinched Renata with all her -might. There was a sob—a gasp—Arnold lifted, Jane pushed, and somehow -the thing was done. Arnold and Renata were outside, crouched down -between the parapet and the window, whilst Jane leaned panting against -the jamb. - -As the lift stopped with a jerk, her rigid fingers drew the window down -and fastened it. Now, horribly loud, the clang of the iron gate. Steps -outside—voices—the grate of a key in the lock. - -Jane knew now what Renata had felt. Easy, so easy to yield to this -paralysis of terror, and to stand rooted there until they came! With all -her might she pushed the temptation from her and roused to action. - -Thank Heaven, she had had no time to put on Renata’s shoes! - -After the first movement strength and swiftness came to her. She was -across the hall without a sound. The bedroom door closed upon her. As it -did so, the door of the flat swung wide. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - -Jane stood in the dark, her hand upon the door knob. Slowly, very -slowly, she released it. As she leaned there, her head almost touching -the panelling, she could hear two men talking in the hall beyond. They -spoke in English, but only the outer sound of the words came to her. - -With an immense effort she straightened herself, and was about to move -away when a thought struck her like a knife-blow—the key—the second -tell-tale key—if she had forgotten it! - -Her hand slid back, touched the cold key, turned and withdrew it, moving -with a steady firmness that surprised herself. - -Then she made a half-turn and tried to visualise the room as she had -seen it in the light. - -Immediately opposite, the cupboard with the looking-glass panel. The -window in the right-hand wall, and the bed between window and cupboard. -At the foot of the bed a chair, and on the same side as the window a -chest of drawers with a looking-glass upon it and Renata’s plain -schoolgirlish brush and comb. - -When she had placed everything, Jane began to move forward in the -direction of the window. Her left hand touched the rail of the bed-foot, -her right, groping, brushed the counterpane and rested on something -oddly familiar. Her heart gave a sudden jerk, for this was her own bag, -which Renata should have taken. She opened it with quick, trembling -fingers, took out her handkerchief, and then stuffed the bag right down -inside the bed. - -A couple of steps brought her to the window, and she pressed closely to -it, listening, and wished she dared to open it. There was no sound from -outside. She leaned her forehead against the glass, and wondered how -many years had passed since the morning. It seemed impossible for this -day to come to an end. - -Then quite suddenly a key turned in the lock, and the door opened, not -widely, but as one opens the door of a room where some one is asleep. A -man’s head was silhouetted against the hall light. Part of his shoulder -showed in a dark overcoat. - -He spoke, and a hint of brogue beneath a good deal of American twang -informed Jane that this was her official father. - -“Are you awake, Renata?”—and, as he asked the question, a second man -came up behind him and stood there listening. - -“Yes,” said Jane, muffling her voice with her handkerchief. - -He hesitated a moment, and then said: - -“Well, good-night to you”—and the other man, speaking over his shoulder, -said in an easy, cultivated voice without any accent at all: - -“Pleasant dreams, Miss Renata.” - -Jane’s “Good-night” was just audible and no more, but obviously it -satisfied the two men, for the door was shut, the key turned and -withdrawn, and presently the hall light went out, and the darkness was -absolute and unrelieved, except where the midnight sky showed just less -black than the interior of the room. - -After what seemed a long, long time, Jane undressed and got to bed. It -was strange to grope for and find Renata’s neatly folded nightdress. - -Presently she lay down, and presently she slept. Time ceased; the day -was over. - -She woke suddenly a few hours later. It was still dark. She came broad -awake at once, and sat up in bed as if some one had called to her. Her -mind was full of one horrifying thought. - -The plank—what had Arnold done with the plank? - -Impossible that he should have helped Renata down the fire-escape and -carried the plank as well, and somehow Jane did not see Arnold troubling -to come back for it. - -One thing was certain; if Arnold had left the plank in its compromising -position, it must be removed before daylight. - -Jane got out of bed, shivering. She went to the window, opened it, and -leaned out. The yard, mews, wall, and parapet—all were veiled in the -same thick dusk. She strained her eyes, but it was impossible to -distinguish anything. There was nothing for it but to cross that horrid -little hall again, open the window, and make sure. - -With the key in her hand, and mingled rage and terror in her heart, she -felt her way to the door, opened it noiselessly, and crossed barefoot to -the window. The hasp was stiff, it creaked, and the window stuck. - -Recklessness took possession of Jane. With a jerk she pushed it up; as -it chanced, recklessness made less noise than caution would have done. -She leaned right out, and there, sure enough, was the plank. - -Even Jane’s anger could provide her with nothing more cutting than, “How -exactly like Arnold Todhunter.” - -She stood quite still and considered. - -A bold course was the only one. Remembering the plank’s previous fall -and the perfect calm with which the neighbourhood had received it, she -decided to take the same chance again—only, she must be quick and have -it all planned in her head: first a shove to the plank, then down with -the window and latch it, five steps—no, six—across the hall, and then -her own door, and on no account must she forget the key. - -She drew a long breath, leaned out, and pushed. The board was heavier -than she had supposed—harder to move. She had to pull it in, until the -sudden weight and strain told her that it was clear of the coping upon -which the farther end had rested. Then she pushed with all her might, -and as it fell, her hands were on the window quick and steady. Next -moment she was crouching in Renata’s bed, the clothes clutched about -her, the door key cold in her palm. She pushed it far down beneath the -clothes, and sat breathless—listening. - -The crash with which the plank had landed seemed to have deafened her, -but as the vibrations died away, she heard, sharp and unmistakable, the -click of a latch and hurrying footsteps. - -The next moment her door was opened and her light switched on. Quick as -thought her hand was over her eyes and the sheet up to her chin. - -Molloy stood in the doorway, and beyond him the other. - -“What’s doing? Did you hear it?” he stammered, and then the other man -pushed him aside. - -“I’d like a look from your window if you’ll excuse me, Miss Renata,” he -said, and crossed the room. - -As he leaned out, Jane watched him from beneath her hand, and recalled -Renata’s words, “He generally wears a fur coat; they call him Number -Two.” This man wore a fur coat over pale blue silk pyjamas. When he -turned, saying, “I can’t see a thing,” she was ready with her stammered, -“What was it?” - -“You heard it, then?” said Molloy. - -“Such a fearful crash! It—it frightened me most dreadfully,”—and here -Jane spoke the literal truth. - -“I don’t know.” It was Molloy who answered again, but the other man’s -eyes travelled round the room, and a feeling of terror came over Jane. - -If she had forgotten anything, if there were one shred of incriminating -evidence, those eyes would miss nothing! She felt as if they must pierce -the bedclothes and see her bag and the hidden key, but he merely nodded -to Molloy, and they left the room, switching out the light and locking -the door. - -Jane drew a long breath of relief, turned upon her side, and in five -minutes was asleep again. - -The day came in with a thick mist. Jane opened her eyes upon it -sleepily. - -She began to think what a strange dream she had had, and then, as sleep -ebbed from her, she remembered that it was not a dream at all. She was -Renata Molloy under lock and key, and in front of her stretched a day -that might be even more crowded with adventure than yesterday. - -She jumped out of bed, and as she dressed her eyes brightened and her -courage rose. With Renata’s scissors she unpicked the initials which -marked her underclothes. This was a game at which one must not make a -single slip. Her bag worried her a little, but it was just such a plain -leather bag as any one might possess. She ransacked it carefully, and -frowned over an envelope addressed to Miss Jane Smith. What in the world -was she to do with it? - -There were no matches, so it could not be burned. After some thought she -soaked it in water, scratched the name to shreds with a hairpin, and -crumpling the wet paper into a ball, tossed it out of the window. - -By the time her door was unlocked, she was very hungry. This time, it -appeared, she was being summoned to bid the departing Mr. Molloy a fond -farewell. - -His luggage was already being carried out to the lift, and two or three -men were coming and going. The man in the fur coat stood with his back -to the window, smoking a cigarette. Obviously Molloy’s farewell was not -to be said in private. - -Jane looked at him with some curiosity—a tall man, strongly built, with -a bold air and a florid complexion. - -It was he who had opened the door, and he stood still holding the handle -and looking, not at Jane, but over her shoulder. For this she felt -grateful. - -“Well, well then, I’m off,” said Molloy. “You’ll be a good girl and do -as you’re bid, and I’ll be having you out to keep house for me in less -than no time.” - -From what she had seen of Renata, Jane fancied that a sob would meet the -occasion. She therefore sobbed, and pressed her handkerchief to her -eyes. - -“There, there,” said Molloy hastily. - -He bent and deposited an awkward kiss upon the top of her head. Then he -took his hand from the door and was gone. - -The lift gate clanged, and Jane realised that the real adventure had -begun. - -The man by the window threw the end of his cigarette into the fireplace -and came towards her. - -“Parental devotion is a beautiful thing, isn’t it, Miss Renata? Suppose -we have some breakfast.” - -A meal, a proper meal, enough to eat! As she passed into the dining-room -and beheld a ham, coffee, and boiled eggs, Jane felt as if she could -confront any one or anything. Besides, the first trick was hers. - -In the full light of day, and under those cold, pale eyes, she had -passed as Renata. - -She allowed herself to sigh and dab her eyes, and then—oh, how good was -the rather stale bread, the London egg, and the indifferent ham. - -The man watched her quizzically. - -As she finished her second cup of coffee, he remarked that she had a -good appetite, and there was something in his tone that cast a chill -upon the proceedings. - -Jane pushed back her chair. - -“I’ve finished,” she said. - -“Well, then,” said the man, “I think we must talk. Yes, sit down again, -please. I won’t keep you very long.” - -Jane did as she was told. - -“Well, Molloy’s gone,” he said. “You know what that means? He’s washed -his hands of you. Just in case—just in case, you’ve been relying on -Molloy, I would like to point out to you that his own position is none -too secure. The firm he works for has not been entirely satisfied with -him for some time. It is, therefore, quite out of the question that he -should influence any decision that may be come to with regard to -yourself. His going off like this shows that he realises the position -and accepts it. Self-preservation is Molloy’s trump suit, first, last, -and all the time. I shouldn’t advise you to count upon trifles like -parental devotion, or anything of that sort. In a word—he can’t help -you, _but I can_.” - -The man leaned forward as he spoke, and a sudden smile changed his -features. - -“Just be frank,” he went on. “Tell me what you really heard, and I’ll -see you through.” - -Jane let her eyes meet his. That smile had puzzled her; it was so -spontaneous and charming, but it did not reach his eyes. - -She looked and found them cold and opaque, and as she looked, she saw -the pupils narrow, expand, and then narrow again. - -He got up from his chair, walked to the mantelpiece, stopped for a light -to his cigarette, and came back again with a thin blue haze of smoke -about him. - -“Perhaps I haven’t been altogether frank with you,” he said. “That -little romance of mine about a firm of chemists who employ your -father—you didn’t really believe it? No, I thought not. The fact is, -that first night I took you for just a schoolgirl, and one can’t tell -schoolgirls everything. But now, now I’m talking to you as a woman. I -can’t tell you everything, even so, but I can tell you this. It’s a -Government matter, a most important one, and it is vital that I should -know just what you overheard.” - -Jane looked down. - -“I don’t understand,” she said in a low voice. “I was dreaming and I -waked up suddenly. There was a screen in front of me, and some one on -the other side of the screen called out very loud, ‘The door, the door!’ -That’s what I heard.” - -She felt the pale eyes upon her face. Then with an abrupt movement the -man came over to her. - -“Stand up,” he said. - -Jane stood up. - -“Look at me.” - -Jane looked at him. - -After what seemed like a very long time, he threw out his hand with an -impatient gesture. It struck the table edge with a sharp rap, the spring -that held his wrist watch gave, and the watch on its gold curb flew off -and fell on the floor behind Jane. - -She turned, glad of an excuse to turn, and bent to pick it up. The back -of the watch was open; her fingers caught and closed it instantly, but -not for nothing had she told Henry that she had gimlet eyes. The back of -the watch contained a photograph, and Jane had seen the photograph -before. Henry’s voice sounded in her ears. “It was done from Amory’s -portrait of her, in 1915—the year of her marriage.” - -Number Two, the man in the fur coat, Renata’s “worst of them all,” had -in the back of his watch a photograph of Lady Heritage! - -Jane laid the watch on the table without giving it a second glance. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - -As the watch slid back into its place beneath his shirt cuff, the man -spoke with an entire change of manner. - -“Well, Miss Renata, that was all very stiff and businesslike. You -mustn’t hold it up against me, because I hope we’re going to be friends. -Don’t you want to know your plans?” - -Jane looked at him with a little frown. - -“My plans?” - -“What is going to happen to you. Oh, please, don’t look so grave! It’s -nothing very dreadful. You have heard of Sir William Carr-Magnus?” - -“Yes, of course,” said Jane. She hoped that she looked innocent and -surprised. - -“Well,” said the man in the fur coat, “I happen to be his secretary, and -that reminds me, I don’t believe you know my name. Your father and his -friends use a ridiculous nickname which sticks to me like a burr ... but -let me introduce myself—Jeffrey Ember, and your friend, if you will have -me.” - -The charming smile just touched his face, and then he said in a quiet, -serious way: - -“Sir William’s daughter, Lady Heritage, has commissioned me to find her -an amanuensis—companion—no, that’s not quite right either. She doesn’t -want a trained stenographer, or a young person with a business training, -but she wants a girl in the house—some one who’ll do what she’s told, -write notes, arrange the flowers.... I dare say you can guess the sort -of thing. She is willing to give you a trial, and your father has -agreed. As a matter of fact, I’m taking you down there to-day.” - -“Oh!” said Jane, because she seemed expected to say something, and for -the life of her she could not think of anything else to say. - -“I’m afraid you’ll have to submit to certain restrictions at Luttrell -Marches. You see, Sir William is engaged upon some very important -experiments for the Government, and all the members of his household -have to conform to certain regulations. Their letters must be censored, -and they must not leave the grounds, which are, however, extremely -delightful and extensive. It isn’t much of a hardship, really.” - -“Oh no,” said Jane in her best schoolgirl manner. - -And there the interview ended. - -They made the journey to Luttrell Marches by car, but, after the manner -of Mrs. Gilpin’s post-chaise, it did not pick them up at the door. An -ordinary taxi conveyed them to Victoria Station, and it was in the -station yard that they and their luggage were picked up by the -Rolls-Royce with the Carr-Magnus crest upon the door. - -The mist was thinner, and as they came clear of London, the sun came -out. The day warmed into beauty, and the green growth of the countryside -seemed to be expanding before their eyes. So many long hedges running -into a blur, so many miles of road all slipping past. Jane fell fast -asleep, and did not know how long she slept. - -It was in the late afternoon that they came into the Marsh country—great -flat stretches of it, set with boggy tussocks and intersected by -straight lanes of water. Purple-brown and green it stretched for miles. -To the right a humped line of upland, but to the left, and as far as the -eye could see in front, nothing but marsh. Then the road rose a little; -the ground was firmer and carried a black pine or two. - -They came to a three-cross way and turned sharply to the right. The -ground rose more and more. They climbed a steep hill, zigzagging between -banked-up hedges to make the rise, and came out upon a bare upland. -Ahead of them one saw a high stone wall pierced by iron gates. The car -stopped. Mr. Ember leaned out, and after a pause the gates swung -inwards. - -For a mile the drive lay through a flat waste of springing bracken, with -here and there a group of wind-driven trees, then a second gate through -a high fencing topped with wire. An avenue of trees led up to the house, -a huge grey pile set against a sky full of little racing clouds. - -Jane felt stiff and bewildered with the long drive. She followed Mr. -Ember up a flight of granite steps and came into the great hall of -Luttrell Marches with its panelled walls and dark old portraits of -half-forgotten Luttrells. - -Exactly opposite the entrance rose the stairway which was the pride of -the house. Its beautiful proportions, the grapes and vine leaves of its -famous carvings, were lighted from beneath by the red glow of a huge -open fire, and from above by the last word in electric lighting. - -Ember walked straight across the hall and up the stair, and Jane -followed him. - -She thought she knew exactly how a puppy must feel when, blinking from -the warmth and straw of his basket, he comes for the first time into the -ordered solemnity of his new master’s house. - -And then she looked up and saw The Portrait. - -It hung on the panelling at the top of the stair where the long -corridors ran off to right and left, and it took Jane’s breath away—the -portrait of Lady Heritage. - -Amory had painted more than a beautiful woman standing on a marble -terrace: he had painted a woman Mercury. The hands held an ivory -rod—diamond wings rose from the cloudy hair. Under the bright wings the -eyes looked out, looked far—dark, splendid, hungry eyes. - -“The earth belongs to her, and she despises it,” was Jane’s thought. - -She stood staring at the portrait. Nineteen-fifteen, Henry had said—the -year when other women posed with folded linen hiding their hair and the -red cross worn like a blazon. She could think of several famous beauties -who had been painted thus. But this woman wore her diamond wings, -though, even as she wore them, Fate had done its worst to her, for -Anthony Luttrell was a name with other names in a list of missing, and -no man knew his grave. - -A sharp clang of metal upon metal startled Jane. She looked quickly to -her right, and saw that a steel gate completely barred the entrance to -the corridor on that side. It had just closed behind a curious -white-draped figure. - -“Ah, Jeffrey,” said a voice—a deep, rather husky voice—and the figure -came forward. - -Jane saw that it was a woman wearing a long white linen overall, and a -curious linen head-dress, which she was undoing and pushing back as she -walked. She pulled it off as she came up to them, saying, “It’s so hot -in there I can hardly breathe, but too fascinating to leave. You’re -early. Is this Miss Molloy?” - -She put out her hand to Jane, and Jane, with her mind full of the -portrait, looked open-eyed at its original. - -Afterwards she tried to formulate her sensations, but, at the time, she -received just that emotional shock which most people experienced when -they first met Raymond Heritage. - -Beautiful—but there are so many beautiful women. Charming? No, there was -rather something that repelled, antagonised. In her presence Jane felt -untidy, shabby, gauche. - -Lady Heritage unbuttoned her overall and slipped it off. She wore a -plain white knitted skirt and jersey. Her fingers were bare even of the -wedding ring which Jane looked for and missed. Her black hair was a -little ruffled, and above the temples, where Amory had painted diamond -wings, there were streaks of grey. - -Bewilderment came down on Jane like a thick mist, which clung about her -during the brief interchange of sentences which followed, and went with -her to her room. - -It was a queer room with a rounded wall set with three windows and to -right and left irregular of line, with a jutting corner here and a -blunted angle there. It faced west, for the sun shone level in her eyes. - -Crossing to the window, as most people do when they come into a strange -room, she looked out and caught her breath with amazement. - -The sea—why, it seemed to lie just beneath the windows! - -They had driven up from the landward side, and this was her first hint -that the sea was so near. - -There was a wide gravel terrace, a stone wall set with formal urns full -of blue hyacinths, the sharp fall of the cliff, and then the sea. - -The tide was in, the sun low, and a wide golden path seemed to stretch -almost from Jane’s feet to the far horizon. Overhead the little racing -clouds that told of a wind high up were golden too. - -The humped ridge of upland, which Jane had seen as they drove, ran out -to sea on the right hand. It ended in low, broken cliff, and a line of -jagged rocks of which only the points stood clear. - -Jane turned from all the beauty outside to the ordered comfort within. -Hot water in a brass can that she could see her face in, a towel of such -fine linen that it was a joy to touch it, this pretty white-panelled -room, the chintzes where bright butterflies hovered over roses and -sweet-peas—she stood and looked at it all, and she heard Renata’s words, -“At Luttrell Marches they will decide whether I am to be eliminated.” - -This curious dual sense remained with her during the days that followed. -Life at Luttrell Marches was simple and regular. She wrote letters, -gathered flowers, unpacked the library books, and kept out of Sir -William’s way. - -Sir William, she decided, was exactly like his photograph, only a good -deal more so; his eyebrows more tufted, his chin more jutting, and his -eyes harder. For a philanthropist he had a singularly bad temper, and -for so eminent a scientist a very frivolous taste in literature. One of -Jane’s duties was to provide him with novels. She ransacked library -lists and trembled over the results of her labours. - -Sir William did not always join the ladies after dinner, but when he did -so he would read a novel at a sitting and ask for more. - -Mr. Ember was never absent, and when Lady Heritage talked, it was to him -that her words were addressed. Sometimes she would disappear inside the -steel gate for hours. - -Jane soon learnt that the whole of the north wing was given up to Sir -William’s experiments. On each floor a steel gate shut it off from the -rest of the house. All the windows were barred from top to bottom. - -She also discovered that the high paling where the avenue began had, on -its inner side, an apron of barbed wire, and it was the upper strand of -this apron which she had seen as they approached from outside. - -Sir William’s experiments employed a considerable number of men. These, -she learned, were lodged in the stables, and neither they nor any of the -domestic staff were permitted to pass beyond the inner paling. - -On the coast side there was a high wire entanglement—electrified. - -There were moments when Jane was cold with fear, and moments when she -told herself that Renata was a little fool who had had nightmare. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - -When Jane stood at her window and looked across the sea, she saw what -might have been a picture of life at Luttrell Marches during those first -few days. Such a smooth stretch of water, pleasant to the eye, where -blue and green, amethyst, grey and silver came and went, and under the -play of colour and the shifting light and shade of day and evening, the -unchanging black of rocks which showed for an instant and then left one -guessing whether anything had really broken the beauty and the peace. - -Over the surface all was pleasant enough, but incidents, some of them -almost negligible in themselves, kept recurring to remind Jane that -there were rocks beneath the sea. - -The first incident came up suddenly whilst she was writing Lady -Heritage’s letters on the second day. - -She had beside her a little pile of correspondence, mostly about -trifles. Upon each letter there was scrawled, “Yes”—“No”—“Tell them I’ll -think it over,” or some such direction. - -Presently Jane arrived at a letter in French, upon which Lady Heritage -had written, “Make an English translation and enclose to Mrs. Blunt.” -Mrs. Blunt’s own letter lay immediately underneath. It contained -inquiries about some conditions of factory labour amongst women in -France. - -The French letter was an excellent exposition of the said conditions. - -Jane sat looking at it, and wondering whether Renata could have -translated a single line of it, and how much ignorance it would behove -her to display. - -After a moment’s thought she turned round and said timidly, “May I have -a dictionary, please?” - -Lady Heritage looked up from the papers before her. She frowned and -said: - -“A dictionary?” - -“Yes, for the French letter.” - -“You don’t know French, then?” - -Jane met the half-sarcastic look with protest. - -“Oh yes, I _do_. But, if I might have a dictionary——” - -Lady Heritage pointed to the bookcase and went back to her papers. - -An imp of mischief entered into Jane. - -She took the dictionary and spent the next half-hour in producing a -translation with just the right amount of faults in it. She put it down -in front of her employer with a feeling of triumph. - -“Please, will this do?” - -Lady Heritage looked, frowned, and tore the paper across. - -“I thought you said you knew French?” - -Jane fidgeted with her pen: - -“Of course I know I’m not _really_ good at it, but I looked out all the -words I didn’t know.” - -“There must have been a good many,” was Lady Heritage’s comment, and the -imp made Jane raise innocent eyes and say: - -“Oh, there _were_!” - -She went back to her table, and Lady Heritage spoke over her shoulder to -Mr. Ember, who appeared to be searching for a book at the far end of the -room. She spoke in French—the low, rapid French of the woman to whom one -language is the same as another. - -“What do they teach at English schools, can you tell me, Jeffrey? This -girl says she knows French, and if she can follow one word I am saying -now——” She broke off and shrugged. “Yet I dare say she went to an -expensive school. Now, I had a Bavarian maid, educated in the ordinary -village school, and she spoke English with ease, and French better than -any English schoolgirl I’ve come across. Wait whilst I try her in -something else.” - -She turned back to Jane. - -“Just send the original to Mrs. Blunt—I haven’t time to bother with -it—and make a note for me. I want it inserted after para three on the -second page of that typewritten article that came back this morning.” - -Jane supposed she might be allowed to know what a “para” was. She turned -over the leaves of the typescript and waited for the dictation. The last -sentence read, “Woman through all the ages is at the disposal and under -the autocratic rule of man, but it is not of her own volition.” - -She wondered what was to come next, and waited, keenly on the alert. - -Lady Heritage began to speak: - -“Write it in as neatly as possible, please; it’s only one sentence: ‘It -is Man who has forced “das ewig Weibliche” upon us.’” - -Jane wrote, “It is man——” and then stopped. She repeated the words aloud -and looked expectant. - -“‘Das ewig Weibliche’”—there was a slight grimness in Lady Heritage’s -tone. - -“I’m afraid—” faltered Jane. - -“Never heard the quotation?” - -“I’m so sorry.” - -“You don’t know any German, then?” - -“I’m _so_ sorry,” said Jane. - -“My dear girl, what did they teach you at that school of yours? By the -way, where was it?” - -“At Ilfracombe.” - -“English education is a disgrace,” said Lady Heritage, and went back to -her papers. - -It was next day that she turned suddenly to Jane: - -“By the way, you were at school at Ilfracombe—can you give me the name -of a china shop there? I want some of that blue Devonshire pottery for a -girls’ club I’m interested in.” - -Jane had a moment of panic. Renata’s shoes had fitted her too easily. -She had felt secure, and then to have her security shattered by a trifle -like this! - -“A china shop?” she said meditatively; then, after a pause, “It’s -awfully stupid of me—I’m afraid I’ve forgotten the name.” - -Lady Heritage stared. - -“A shop that you must have passed hundreds of times?” - -“It’s very stupid of me.” - -Lady Heritage smiled with a sudden brilliance. “Well, it is rather,” she -said. - -It was on the fourth day that Jane really caught her first glimpse of -the black rocks. - -She was writing in the library, dealing with an apparently endless -stream of begging letters, requests for interviews, invitations to speak -at meetings or to join committees. - -In four days Jane had discovered that Lady Heritage was up to her eyes -in a dozen movements relating to feminist activities, women’s labour, -and social reform. - -Newspapers, pamphlets, and reports littered a table which ran the whole -length of the room. Jane was required to open all these as they came, -and separate those which dealt with social reform and the innumerable -scientific treatises and reviews. These latter arrived in every European -language. - -Jane sat writing. The day was clear and lovely, the air sun-warmed and -yet fresh as if it had passed over snow. April has days like this, and -they fill every healthy person with a longing to be out, to stop -working, and take holiday. - -The windows of the library looked out upon the gravel terrace above the -sea. The sun was on the blue water. - -Jane put down her pen and looked at the hyacinths in the grey stone -urns. They were blue too. A yellow butterfly played round them. She sat -up and went to the window. - -Lady Heritage and Mr. Ember were walking up and down the terrace, Lady -Heritage bareheaded, all in white with not even a scarf, and Jeffrey -Ember with a muffler round his neck, and the inevitable fur coat. They -were coming towards her, and Jane stood back so that the curtains made a -screen. She watched Raymond Heritage as she had watched the sea and the -flowers, for sheer joy in her beauty. - -Raymond’s face was towards her, and she was speaking. - -Not a word reached Jane’s ears, but as she looked at those beautiful -lips, their movements spelt words to her—words and sentences. She would -have drawn back or looked away, but the first sentence that she read -riveted her attention too closely. - -“Are you satisfied about her Jeffrey?” - -Ember _must_ have spoken, but his head was turned away. Then Raymond -spoke again. - -“Nor am I—not entirely. She seems intelligent and unintelligent by -turns, unbelievably stupid in one direction and quick in another.” They -passed level with the window, and so on to the end of the terrace. Jane -went round the table to the other side of the window and waited for them -to come back. - -Ember’s face was towards her when they turned, too far away for her to -see anything. But, as they came nearer, she saw that he was speaking. -Not easy to read from, however, with those straight, thin lips that -moved so little. There was only one word she was sure of—“overheard.” - -It was too tantalising. If she had to wait until they reached the far -end of the terrace and turned again, what might she not miss? - -As the thought passed through her mind Lady Heritage stopped, walked -slowly to the grey stone wall, and sat down on it, motioning to Ember to -do the same. - -Jane could see both faces now, and Raymond was saying, “If she overheard -anything, would she have the intelligence to be dangerous?—that is what -I ask myself.” - -Ember’s lips just moved, but the movements made no sense. - -“Perhaps you’re right,” said Lady Heritage; “despise not thine enemy.” - -She changed her position, leaned forward, displaying a statuesque -profile, and appeared to be speaking fast and earnestly. Then Jane saw -her lips again, and they were saying, “Anything but Formula ‘A.’” - -Jane gripped the curtain which she held until the gold galon which -bordered it marked her hand with its acorn pattern. - -“Formula ‘A’!” everything swam round her while she heard Renata’s -gasping voice: - -“He said ‘With Formula “A” you have the key. When Formula “B” is also -complete, you will have the lock for that key to fit; then the treasures -of the world are yours.’” - -The mist cleared from her eyes; she looked again. - -Raymond Heritage had risen to her feet. Ember and she looked out to sea -for a moment, then crossed the gravel towards the house. They were -talking of the sunshine and the spring air. - -“My bulbs have done well,” Lady Heritage said. - -They passed out of sight. - -Two days later Jane, coming down the corridor to the library, was aware -of voices in conversation. She opened the door and saw Jeffrey Ember -with his back to her. He had pulled a deep leather chair close to the -fire, and was bending forward to warm his hands. Lady Heritage stood a -yard or two away. She had a large bunch of violets in one hand; with the -other she leaned against the black marble mantel. - -She and Ember were talking in German. Both glanced round, and Raymond -asked: - -“What is it?” - -“The letters for the post,” said Jane. - -They went on talking whilst she sorted and stamped the letters. - -“Which of us is the better judge of character, it comes to that.” -Speaking German, Lady Heritage’s deep voice sounded deeper than ever. - -“Do we take different sides then?” - -“I don’t know. I thought your verdict was inclined to be ‘Guilty, but -recommended to mercy,’ whereas mine——” She hesitated—stopped rather—for -there was no hesitation in her manner. - -Ember made a gesture with the hand that held his cigarette. - -“Expound.” - -“I doubt the guilt. But if I did not doubt, I should have no mercy at -all.” - -Jane went out with the letters, and when she was in the corridor again -she put out her hand and leaned against the wall. It would be horrible -enough, she thought, to be tried in an open court upon some capital -count, but how far less horrible than a secret judgment where whispered -words made unknown charges, where the trial went on beneath the surface -of one’s pleasant daily life, and every word, every look, a turn of the -head, an unguarded sigh, a word too little, or a glance too much might -tip the scale and send the balance swinging down to—what? - -Next day Lady Heritage was deep in her correspondence, when she suddenly -flashed into anger. Pushing back her chair, she got up and began to pace -the room. There was a letter in her hand, and as she walked she tore it -across and across, flung the fragments into the fire, and pushed a -blazing log down upon them with her foot. - -Jane and Ember watched her—the former with some surprise and a good deal -of admiration, the latter with that odd something which her presence -always called out. She swung round, met his eyes, and burst into speech. - -“It’s Alington—to think that I ever called that man my friend! I wonder -if there’s a single man on this earth who would translate professions of -devotion to one woman, into bare decent justice to all women.” - -“What has Lord Alington done?” asked Mr. Ember, with a slight drawl. - -Jane, with a thrill, identified the President of the Board of Trade. - -“Nothing that I might not have expected. It is only women that are -different, Jeffrey. Men are all the same.” - -“And still I don’t know what he has done,” said Jeffrey Ember. - -“Oh, it’s a long story! I’ve been pressing for women inspectors in -various directions. It seems inconceivable that any one should cavil at -a woman inspector wherever women are employed. You have no idea of what -some of the conditions are. Stewardesses, for instance; I’ve a letter -there from a woman who has been working on one of the largest liners—not -a tramp steamer, mind you, but one of the biggest liners afloat. All the -passengers’ trays, all the cabin meals had to be carried up a -perpendicular iron stair like a fire-escape—not a permanent stair, you -understand, but a ladder that is let up and down. Those wretched women -had to go up and down it all day with heavy trays. They said they -couldn’t do it, and were told they had to. And that’s a little thing -compared to some of the other conditions. I want an inspector for them.” - -“And Alington?” - -Lady Heritage came to a halt by the long, piled-up table. She struck it -with her open hand. “Lord Alington is just a man,” she said. “He stands -for what men have always stood for, the sacred right of the vested -interest. What man ever wants to alter anything? And why should he when -the existing order gives him all he wants? It doesn’t matter where you -turn, what you do, how hard you try, the vested interest blocks the way; -you are up against the Established Order of what has always been. My -God, how I’d like to smash it all, the whole thing, the whole smug sham -which we call civilisation!” - -Jane stared at her open-eyed. She had never dreamed that the statue -could wake into such vivid life as this. The colour burned in Raymond’s -cheeks, the sombre eyes were sombre still, but they held sparks as if -from inward fire. - -Ember touched the hand that was clenched at the table’s edge. A sort of -tremor passed over her from head to foot. The colour died, the fire was -gone. With a complete change of manner she said: - -“Alington was hardly worth all that, was he?” Then without a change of -key, but in German: - -“Thank you, Jeffrey, the child’s eyes were nearly falling out of her -head. It was stupid of me; I forgot. These things carry me away.” - -The door opened on her last words, and Sir William came in. He was -frowning, and appeared to be in a great hurry. - -“Ridiculous business, ridiculous waste of time. These damned departments -appear to think I’ve nothing to do with my time except to answer their -infernal inquiries, and entertain any interfering jackanapes that they -choose to let loose on me.” - -“What is it Father?” said Lady Heritage—“Government inspection?” - -“Nonsense,” said Sir William slowly. “Henry March wants to come down for -the night.” - -Jane bent forward over her papers. No one was looking at her, no one was -thinking of her, but she had felt her cheeks grow hot, and was glad of -an excuse to hide them. - -She did not know whether she was very much afraid or very glad. A -feeling unfamiliar but overwhelming seemed to shake her to the depths. -She was quite unconscious of what was passing behind her. - -At Henry’s name, Raymond Heritage uttered a sharp, “Oh no!” She came -quickly forward as she spoke and caught the letter from Sir William’s -hand. - -“He can’t come—I can’t have him here—put him off, Father; you can make -some excuse!” - -“Nonsense!” said Sir William again. “It’s a nuisance, of course—it’s an -infernal nuisance—but he’ll have to come, confound him!” - -Then, as she made a half-articulate protest, he went on with increasing -loss of temper: - -“Good heavens! I can’t very well tell the man I won’t have him in what -is practically his own house.” - -It was Ember, not her father, who saw how frightfully pale Raymond -became. In a very low voice she said: - -“No, I suppose not.” - -Sir William was fidgeting. He looked at Jane’s back. - -“Of course, he’s coming down on business.” - -Then he broke off and stared at Jane again. - -Lady Heritage nodded. - -“Miss Molloy,” she said. “You can take half an hour off.” - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - -Henry arrived on the following day and was shown straight into Sir -William’s study. - -Half an hour later Sir William rang the bell and sent for Lady Heritage. -He hardly gave her time to shake hands before he burst out: - -“I said you must be told. I take all responsibility for your being told. -After all, if I am conducting these experiments, something is due to me, -though the Government appear to think otherwise. But I take all -responsibility; I insist on your being told.” - -He sat at his littered table, and all the time that he was speaking his -hands were lifting and shuffling the papers on it. At his elbow stood a -tray with tantalus and glasses and a syphon. Only one glass had been -used. - -“What is it?” said Raymond. - -Her eyes went from her father to Henry. - -Sir William’s hand was shaking. Henry wore a look of grave concern. - -“What is it?” she repeated. - -“It’s Formula ‘A’”—Sir William’s voice was just a deep growl. “He comes -here, and he tells me that Formula ‘A’ has been stolen. I’ve told him to -his face, and I tell him again, that it’s a damned impossibility.” - -The shaking hand fell heavily upon the table and made the glasses ring. - -“Formula ‘A’?” said Raymond—“stolen? Henry, you can’t mean it?” - -“I’m afraid I do,” said Henry, at his quietest. “I’m afraid there’s no -doubt about it. We have the most indisputable evidence that Formula ‘A’ -has been offered to—well, to a foreign power.” - -The flush upon Sir William’s face deepened alarmingly. Under the -bristling grey brows his eyes were hard with anger. He began to speak, -broke off, swept his papers to one side, and, taking up the tantalus and -the used glass, poured out a third of a glass of whisky. He let a small -quantity of soda into it with a vicious jerk, and then sat with the -glass between his hands, alternately sipping from it and interjecting -sounds of angry protest. - -“The information is, I’m afraid, correct.” - -Henry’s tone, though studiously moderate, was extremely firm. “There is -undoubtedly a leak, and, in view of Formula ‘B,’ it is vital that the -leak should be found and stopped.” - -He addressed himself to Lady Heritage: - -“Sir William tells me that all employés correspond with the list in my -possession, that none of them leave the enclosure, and that all letters -are censored. By the way, who censors them?” - -“Ember,” growled Sir William. - -Lady Heritage elaborated the remark. - -“Mr. Ember—Father’s secretary.” - -She and Henry were both standing, with the corner of the writing-table -between them. She saw inquiry in Henry’s face. He said: - -“Who does leave the premises?” - -“Father, once in a blue moon, I when I have any shopping to do, and, of -course, Mr. Ember.” - -“And when you go you drive, of course? What I mean is—a chauffeur goes -too?” - -Sir William made a sound between a snort and a laugh; Lady Heritage -smiled. Both had the air of being pleased to catch Henry out. - -“The chauffeur is Lewis, who was your uncle’s coachman here for -twenty-five years. Are you going to suggest that he has been selling -Formula ‘A’ to a foreign power? I’m afraid you must think again.” - -“Who is Mr. Ember?” - -Sir William exploded. - -“Ember’s my secretary. He’s been my right hand for ten years, and if -you’re going to make insinuations about him, you can leave my house and -make them elsewhere. Why, damn it all, March!—why not accuse Raymond, or -me?” - -“I don’t accuse any one, sir.” - -There was a pause, whilst the two men looked at one another. It was Sir -William who looked away at last. He drained his glass and got up, -pushing his chair so hard that it overturned. - -“You want to see all the men to check ’em by that infernal list of -yours, do you? The sooner the better then; let’s get it over.” - -Later, as the men answered to their names in the long, bare room which -had once been the Blue Parlour, Henry was struck with the strangeness of -the scene. Here his aunt had loved to sit doing an interminable -embroidery of fruits and flowers upon canvas. Here he and Anthony had -lain prone before the fire, each with his head in a book and his heels -waving aloft. Memories of Fenimore Cooper and Henty filled the place -when for a moment he closed his eyes. Then, as they opened, there was -the room all bare, the windows barred and uncurtained, the long -stretcher tables with their paraphernalia of glass retorts, queer, -twisted apparatus, powerful electric appliances, and this row of men -answering to their names whilst he checked each from his list. - -“James Mallaby.” He called the name and glanced from the man who -answered it to the paper in his hand. A small photograph was followed by -a description: “5 feet 7 inches, grey eyes, mole on chin, fair -complexion, sandy hair.” All correct. He passed to the next. - -“Jacob Moss—5 feet 5 inches, dark complexion, black hair and eyes, no -marks....” - -“George Patterson—5 feet 10 inches, sallow complexion, brown hair and -beard, grey on temples, grey eyes, scar....” - -The man who answered to the name of George Patterson stepped forward. He -had the air of being taller than his scheduled height. His beard and -hair were unkempt, and the scar set down against him was a red seam that -ran from the left temple to the chin, where it lost itself in grizzled -hair. He stooped, and walked with a dragging step. - -Henry, who for the moment was speaking to Sir William, looked at him -casually enough. He opened his list, and in turning the page, the papers -slipped from his hand and fell. George Patterson picked them up. Henry -went on to the next name. - -Jane had keyed herself up to meeting him at teatime, but neither Henry -nor Sir William appeared. - -“Captain March is an extremely conscientious person,” said Lady -Heritage. It was not a trait which appeared to commend itself to her. “I -should think he must have interviewed the very black-beetles by now. -Have you been passed, Jeffrey?” - -“I don’t know,” said Mr. Ember, “but it hasn’t taken away my appetite -for tea.” - -In fact it had not. It was Raymond who ate nothing. - -Jane and Henry did not meet until dinner-time. As she dressed, Jane kept -looking at herself in the glass. She was pale, and she must not look -pale. She took a towel and rubbed her cheeks—that was better. Then a -little later, when she looked again, her eyes were far too bright, her -face unnaturally flushed. - -“As if any one was going to look at you at all—idiot!” she said. - -After this she kept her back to the mirror. - -In all the books that she had ever read the secretary or companion -invariably wore a dinner dress of black silk made, preferably, out of -one which had belonged to a grandmother or some even more remote -relative. In this garb she outshone all the other women and annexed the -affections of at least two of the most eligible men. - -Renata did not possess a black silk gown. - -“Thank goodness, for I should look perfectly awful in it,” was Jane’s -thought. - -With almost equal distaste she viewed the white muslin sacred to -prize-givings and school concerts. Attired in this garment Renata had -played the “Sonata Pathétique” amidst the applause of boarders and -parents. With this pale blue sash about her waist she had recited “How -they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix.” Jane tied it in a vicious -knot. Her only comfort as she went downstairs was that it was impossible -to look more like a schoolgirl and less like a conspirator. - -Sir William and Henry were in the hall—Mr. Ember too, close to the fire -as usual. - -Sir William jerked his head in Jane’s direction and grunted, “Miss -Molloy, my daughter’s secretary.” Henry bowed. Jane inclined her head. - -Next moment they all turned to watch Raymond Heritage come down the -stair. - -She wore black velvet. Her neck and arms were bare. A long rope of -pearls fell to her knee. - -Jane wondered whether the world held another woman so beautiful, then -looked quickly at Henry, and the same thought was visible upon Henry’s -face. - -Dinner was not a cheerful meal. Lady Heritage hardly opened her lips. -Sir William sat hunched forward over the table; when addressed, the -remark had to be repeated before he answered; he drank a good deal. - -Jane considered that a modest silence became her, and the conversation -was sustained with some effect of strain by Captain March and Mr. Ember. -They talked fitfully of politics, musical comedy, the weather, and the -American Exchange. - -It was a relief, to Jane at least, when she and Lady Heritage found -their way to the drawing-room. - -Henry wondered at their using this large, formal room for so small a -party. His aunt, he remembered, had kept it shut up for the most part. -The sense of space was, however, grateful to Jane. The small circle of -candlelight in the dining-room had seemed to shut them in, forcing an -intimacy for which no one of them was prepared. - -The Yellow Drawing-Room was a very stately apartment. The walls were -hung with a Chinese damask which a hundred years had not robbed of its -imperial colour. Beneath their pagoda-patterned blue linen covers Jane -knew that the chairs and sofas wore a stiff yellow satin like a secret -pride. Electric candles in elaborate sconces threw a cold, steady light -upon the scene. - -Lady Heritage sat by the fire, the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ in her hand. -Her eyes were on the page and never left it, but she was not reading. In -fifteen minutes her glance had not shifted, and the page remained -unturned. - -Then the door opened, and the two younger men came in. Lady Heritage -looked up for a moment, and then went back to her _Revue_. She made no -attempt to entertain Captain March, who, for his part, showed some -desire to be entertained. - -“You are using the big rooms, I see. Aunt Mary always said they were too -cold. You remember she always sat in the Blue Parlour, or the little oak -room at the head of the stair.” - -Raymond’s lip lifted slightly. - -“I’m afraid the Blue Parlour would not be very comfortable now,” she -said without looking up. - -Henry possessed a persevering nature. He produced, in rapid succession, -a remark about the weather, an inquiry as to the productiveness of the -kitchen garden, and a comment upon the pleasant warmth of the log fire. -The first and last of these efforts elicited no reply at all. To the -question about the garden produce Lady Heritage answered that she had no -idea. - -Mr. Ember’s habitual expression of cynicism became a trifle more marked. - -Jane had the feeling that the pressure in the atmosphere was steadily on -the increase. - -“Won’t you sing something, Raymond,” said Henry. His pleasant ease of -manner appeared quite impervious to snubs. - -Lady Heritage closed the _Revue des Deux Mondes_ and, for the first -time, looked full at Captain March. If he was startled by the furious -resentment of that gaze he did not show it. - -“And what do you expect me to sing, Henry?” she said—“the latest out of -the _Jazz Girls_?” - -“I don’t mind; whatever you like, but do sing, won’t you?” - -Raymond got up with an abrupt movement. Walking to one of the long -windows which opened upon the terrace, she drew the heavy yellow brocade -curtain back with a jerk. Beyond the glass the terrace lay in deepest -shadow, but moonlight touched the sea. She bent, drew the bolt, and -opened half the door. - -“The room is stifling,” she said. “Jeffrey, it’s your fault they pile -the fire up so. I wish you’d sometimes look at a calendar and realise -that this is April, not January.” - -Then, turning, she crossed to the piano. - -“If I sing, it will be to please myself, and I shall probably not please -any one else.” - -Ember came forward and opened the piano. He bent as he did so, and said -a few words very low. She answered him. - -Henry, left by the fireside with Jane, leaned forward conversationally, -the last _Punch_ in his hand. - -“This is a good cartoon,” he said. “Have you seen it, Miss Molloy?” - -And as she bent to look at the page, he added in that low, effaced tone -which does not carry a yard: - -“Which room have they given you?” - -“I like the line,” said Jane in her clear voice, “and that very black -shadow.” Then, in an almost soundless breath—“The end room, south wing.” - -“Don’t go to bed,” said Henry. “Wonderful how they keep it up, week -after week. I mean to say, it must put you off your stroke like -anything, knowing you’ve got to come right up to time like that.” - -“Your department doesn’t work by the calendar, then? You don’t have to -bother about results?” - -Ember strolled back to his favourite place by the fire as he spoke, and -Lady Heritage broke into a resounding chord. She played what Henry -afterwards described as “an infernal pandemonium of a thing.” It -appeared to be in several keys at once, and marched from one riot of -discord to another until it ended with a strident crash which set up a -humming jangle of vibrations. - -“Like that, Henry?” said Lady Heritage. - -“No,” said Henry, monosyllabic in his turn. - -“No one ever likes to hear the truth,” said Raymond. “You all want -something pleasant, something smooth, something like this”—her fingers -slipped into the “Blue Danube” waltz. She played it exquisitely, with a -melting delicacy of touch and a beautiful sense of rhythm. After a dozen -bars or so she stopped suddenly, leaned her elbow on the keyboard, and -through the little clang of the impact said: - -“Well?” - -“That’s topping,” said Henry. He looked across at her admiringly—the -long sweep of the ebony piano, the white keyboard with the black notes -standing clear, Raymond in her velvet and pearls, and behind her the -imperial yellow of China. - -“Soothing syrup,” she said. “You’re not up to date, Henry, I’m afraid. -The moderns show us things as they are, and we don’t like it, but the -soothing syrups lose their power to soothe once you find out that they -are just ... dope.” - -“I wish you’d sing,” said Henry. - -She looked across him at Ember, and an expression difficult to define -hardened her face. - -“This isn’t modern, but will you like it?” she said, and preluded. Then -she began to sing in a deep mezzo: - - “The Worldly Hope Men set their Hearts upon - Turns Ashes—or it prospers; and anon, - Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face - Lighting its little Hour or two—is gone. - - Here in this battered Caravanserai, - Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day, - How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp - Abode his destined Hour, and went his Way.” - -The notes came heavy and tragic. In her voice there seemed to be -gathered all the tragedy, all the emotion of human life. The sound fell -almost to a whisper: - - “The Worldly Hope Men set their Hearts upon - Turns Ashes—or it prospers; and anon, - Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face - Lighting its little Hour or two—is gone.” - -Suddenly the voice rose ringing like a trumpet, a great chord crashed -out: - - “Waste not your Hour!” - -The deep octaves followed. Then she passed into modulating phrases and -began to sing again. - -“Her voice is nearly as beautiful as she is,” thought Jane, “but -somehow—she shakes one.” - - “Ah Love, could you and I with Fate conspire - To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, - Would we not shatter it to bits, and then - Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire?” - -With the last word she rose, turned from the piano and the room, and -went out to the terrace. - -Henry got up, strolled casually across the room, and followed her. She -was standing by the low parapet looking over the sea. The night was -still, the scent of hyacinths was heavy on the air, but every now and -then a breath—something not to be called a wind—came up from across the -water and brought with it cold, and a tang of salt. - -The moon was still behind the house, but near to clearing it, and though -they stood in the dusk, Henry could see Lady Heritage’s features as -though through a veil. - -Her icy mood was broken; the tears were rolling down her cheeks. She -turned on him with a flame of anger. - -“Why did you come? Why did you come? Do you know what Father said to me -yesterday? I said I wouldn’t have you here, and he said—he said, ‘Good -heaven! how can I keep the man away from what is practically his own -house?’ Is it yours now?—have you come to see your property?” - -Henry looked at her gravely. - -“No, it is not mine yet,” he said, “and I came for a very different -reason, as I think you know.” - -“And you expected me to welcome you ... as if it wasn’t enough to be -here, to live here—without——” She broke off, gripping the rough stone of -the parapet with both hands. “You ask me why I don’t use the Oak Room—do -you forget how you and I and Tony used to roast chestnuts there, and -tell ghost stories—till we were afraid to go to bed? If there were no -worse ghosts than those.... Do you know, every time you come into the -room I expect to see Anthony behind you, and when you speak I catch -myself listening for his voice?... Do you still wonder why I don’t use -the Oak Room? What are men made of?” - -“I don’t know,” said Henry. “Did I hurt you, Raymond? I’m sorry if I -did, but it wasn’t meant.” - -She sank down upon the parapet. All the vehemence went out of her. - -“You see,” she said in a whispering voice—“you see, I can’t forget. God -knows how hard I’ve tried. Every one else has forgotten, but I can’t -forget. If I could, I should sleep—but I can’t. Henry, have you ever -tried very hard to forget anything?” - -“Yes,” said Henry. - -“Will you tell me what it was?” - -“I’m afraid I can’t.” - -“Oh well, it doesn’t matter, and if you really understand, you know that -the more one tries the more vivid it all becomes.” - -“It’s Tony?” asked Henry. - -“Yes, it’s Tony,” said Raymond, in an odd voice—“but it’s not because -he’s dead—I don’t want you to think that. I could have borne that; I -could have borne anything if I could have seen him once again, or if he -had known that I cared, but he went away in anger and he never knew.” - -“I didn’t know,” said Henry—“I’m sorry.” - -Lady Heritage looked away across the sea. The moonlight showed where the -jagged line of rocks cut sharp through the sleeping water. - -“There’s a verse in the Bible—do you ever read the Bible, Henry? I -don’t, but I remember this verse; one was taught it as a child. ‘Let not -the sun go down upon your wrath.’ I let the moon rise and go down on -mine.” She spoke very, very quietly. “Anthony stood there, just by that -urn. He said, ‘You’ll have all the rest of your life to be sorry in....’ -That was the last thing he said to me. He never forgave, and he never -wrote. I didn’t think any man would let me go so easily, so I married -John Heritage to show that I didn’t care. And, whilst we were on our -honeymoon, I saw Anthony’s name in the list of missing. Now, do you -wonder that I hate you for coming here, and for being alive, and taking -Tony’s place? And do you wonder that there are times when I hate -everything so much that I’d like well enough to see this whole sorry -scheme shattered to bits—if it could be done?” - -“I’m not so keen on this shattering business, Raymond,” said Henry. -“Don’t you think there’s been about enough of it? There are a lot of -rotten things, and a lot of good things, and they’re all mixed up. If -you start shattering, the odds are you bring down everything together.” - -“Well?” said Raymond, just one word, cold and still. - -There was a little pause. Then she laughed. - -“Is Henry also among the preachers?” she said mockingly. “You should -take Orders; a surplice would be becoming.” - -Henry was annoyed to feel that he was flushing. - -“Shall I go on preaching?” he said, and as he spoke, Mr. Ember came -through the open glass door with a cloak over his arm. - -“I am a relief expedition,” he announced. “You must be frozen. Never -trust a moonlight night.” - -He put the wrap about Raymond’s shoulders, but she did not fasten it. - -“I’m coming in,” she said. - -She and Ember passed into the lighted room. Henry stood still for a -minute, listened acutely; then he followed them. - -There was a hedge of stiffly growing veronica bushes at the foot of the -terrace wall. After Henry had gone in, the man called George Patterson -came out from behind the bushes at the far end of the terrace. He walked -slowly with a dragging step, keeping in the shadow of the house, and he -made his way to the far end of the north wing. - -Inside the Yellow Drawing-Room Henry was bidding his hostess good-night, -and announcing his intention of taking a moonlight stroll. - -Presently he emerged upon the terrace, descended the steps on the right, -and made his way in the direction taken by George Patterson. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - -When Jane reached her own room, she stood a long time in front of the -glass frowning at herself. It might be safe to look so exactly like a -schoolgirl, but it was very, very humiliating. Henry had never glanced -at her once. That, of course, was all in the line of safety too. Also, -why should Henry look at her? Why should she wish him to do so? She was -not in love with him; she had, in fact, refused him—could it be that -there was a little balm in this thought? What did it matter to her how -long he looked at Raymond Heritage? - -She took off the white muslin dress and put it away. - -The worst part of being Renata was, not the risk, but having to wear -Renata’s clothes. All the things were good, horribly good, and they were -all quite extraordinarily dull. “If your shoes want mending, and your -things are threadbare, every one knows it’s because you’re poor, and not -because you like being down at heel and out at elbows. But Renata’s -things must have cost quite a lot, and, of course, every one thinks they -are my choice.” - -By some deflected line of reasoning “every one” meant Henry. - -Jane folded up the pale blue sash and shut it sharply into a drawer. -Then she put on Renata’s dressing-gown. It was made of crimson flannel, -very thick and soft, with scalloped edges to the collar and -cuffs—“exactly like one’s grandmother’s petticoat.” - -She rumpled the bedclothes and disarranged the pillows. Then she put out -the light, sat down on the window-seat, and waited. - -The blind was up; she had slipped behind the chintz curtains. The -terrace lay beneath her, only half in shadow now. There was no sound in -the house, no sound from the sea. The line of shadow moved backwards -inch by inch. - -When Jane sat down to wait, she told herself that she would not listen -and strain; she would just sit there quite peacefully, and if anything -was going to happen—well, let it happen. But as she sat there, she -became afraid against her will, aware once more of that sense of -pressure which had come upon her in the drawing-room. It was as if -something was steadily approaching not her alone, but all of them—as if -their thoughts and actions were being, at one and the same time, -dictated by an outside force and scrutinised—watched—spied upon. - -With all her might she resisted this sensation and the fear that it -suggested. But, as the night passed to midnight and beyond, a strange -feeling of being one watcher in a slumbering household detached itself -from the general confusion, and she began to long with great intensity -for something—anything—to happen. - -Once something moved in the foot-wide strip of shadow against the house. -Jane caught her breath and then saw that it was only a cat, a half-grown -kitten rather, beloved of the cook. It came out into the moonlight and -walked solemnly the entire length of the terrace with delicately taken -steps and a high waving tail. It was as soundless and black as the -shadow out of which it had come, and presently it was gone again, and -second by second, minute by minute, slow, interminable, the night -dropped away. In the hall a clock struck the quarters. The silence, -shattered for a moment, closed again. - -When the rapping came, it brought the oddest sense of interruption. Jane -sprang to her feet, stood for a moment catching at her self-control, and -then went noiselessly to the door. She listened before opening it, and -could hear nothing; and, as she listened, the knocking came again, but -from behind her. - -Bewildered, she edged the door open and looked out. A shaded light -burned far away to the left. The long, dim corridor was empty. She shut -the door. - -Some one was knocking—somewhere—but where? - -She turned and stood facing the windows. Up in the far corner a large -cupboard filled the angle and blunted it. Jane had hung her serge dress -there hours and hours ago. The knocking seemed to come from the -cupboard, just where the room was at its darkest because next the -lighted window. - -Jane crossed the floor very slowly, put both hands on the cupboard -doors, and flung them wide. For a moment everything was quite black, -then, with a most unpleasant suddenness, a narrow white ray cut the -dark, and Henry’s voice said, “It’s only me.” - -Jane’s hand went to her lips, pressing them firmly. She would not have -admitted that this action alone saved her from screaming. After a moment -she gave a little gasp, and located Henry, or rather Henry’s head, which -was almost under her feet. - -In the cupboard floor there was a square black hole, and, just above -floor-level, Henry’s face looked up at her, tilted at an odd angle, -whilst his one visible hand manipulated a small electric torch. - -“Wait,” said Jane, in a whisper. - -She went quickly to the door, locked it, removed the key, and put it in -one of the dressing-table drawers. She did not know quite what made her -do this, only suddenly when her eyes saw Henry, her mind had a vivid -impression of that long corridor with its one faintly glimmering light. - -Then she sat down on the cupboard floor, close to Henry’s head, and -breathed out: - -“Henry!—how on earth?” - -Henry, who appeared to be standing upon a ladder or something equally -vertical, came up a few steps, sat down on the edge of the hole, and -switched off his torch. - -“I had to see you,” he said. “This was my room in the old days, and Tony -and I found this passage. It leads down to another cupboard in the -garden room where they keep the tennis and croquet gear. How are -you?—all right?” - -“Yes, quite all right.” - -“That’s good. Now which of us is going to talk first?” - -“I think I had better,” said Jane. “You see, I saw Renata, and she told -me things, and I think, if you don’t mind, Henry, that I had better tell -you everything that she told me.” - -“Yes, please.” He hesitated. “One minute, Jane, I just wanted to say, -you don’t mind talking to me like this, do you? I wouldn’t have asked -you to if there had been any other way—what I mean to say is....” - -Jane gave a very small laugh, which was instantly repressed. She -reflected that it was pleasanter to suppress a laugh than a scream. - -“What you mean to say is, there aren’t any chaperons in this scene. You -needn’t apologise, Henry. Sleuths never have chaperons—it’s simply not -done; and, anyhow, I’m sure you’d make a beautiful one. Shall I go on?” - -It may be doubted whether Henry really cared about being described as a -chaperon. His tone was rather dry as he said: - -“Go on, please.” - -As for Jane, who had prodded him on purpose just to see if anything -would happen, she certainly felt a slight disappointment accompanied by -a sense of increased respect. - -“You saw Renata. What did she tell you?” - -“She told me what she overheard,” said Jane, speaking slowly. “Henry, if -I tell you what it was, will you promise me not to let any one guess -that you know? If they were certain that I knew, I shouldn’t be alive -to-morrow; and if they thought you knew the secret, you’d never get back -to London alive.” - -“Who is ‘they,’ Jane?” said Henry. - -“I want to tell you about Renata first. She really did walk in her -sleep, you know. She must have waked when she opened the door. She said -the first thing she knew was the cold feel of the hall linoleum under -her feet. The door was open, and she was standing just on the threshold. -There was a screen in front of her, and beyond the screen a man talking. -She heard every word he said, and I am sure that what she repeated to me -was just exactly what she heard. The first words that she caught were -‘Formula “A.”’” - -Henry gave a violent start. - -“Good Lord!” he said under his breath. “You’re sure?” - -“Quite. Then he went on, and this is what he said: ‘You all have Formula -“A.” You will go to your posts and from your directions you will prepare -what is needful according to that formula, carrying out to the last -detail the cipher instructions which each of you has received. As soon -as the experiments relating to Formula “B” are completed, you will -receive a summons in code. You will then assemble at the rendezvous -given, and Formula “B,” with all instructions for its employment, will -be entrusted to you. With Formula “A” you have the key. When Formula “B” -is also complete you will have the lock for that key to fit; then the -treasures of the world are yours. The annihilation of civilisation and -of the human race is within our grasp. When the key has turned in the -lock we only shall be left, and....’ Just then, Renata said, some one -else cried out, ‘The door! The door!’ They pushed the screen away and -pulled her in. She nearly fainted. When she revived a little, her father -and Mr. Ember were trying to find out what she had heard. Fortunately -for herself, she told me, at first it was all confusion. The only thing -that stood out clearly was that shout at the end, but afterwards, when -she was alone, it all came back. She said it was like a photographic -plate developing, hazy at first, and then everything getting clearer and -sharper until each detail came out. She repeated the whole thing as if -it were a lesson.” - -“Wait,” said Henry. “My head’s going round. I want to sort things out.” - -Jane waited. She had been prepared for Henry to be impressed or -incredulous. What took her by surprise was the puzzled note in his -voice. “Lord, what a mix-up!” she heard him say. - -Then he addressed her again. - -“Did you ever play ‘Russian Scandal,’ Jane?” he said. - -“Yes, of course. But if you had heard Renata—the sort of queer -mechanical way she spoke, exactly like a gramophone record—why, the -words weren’t words she’d have used, and all that about Formula ‘A’—do -you think that’s the sort of thing that a schoolgirl makes up?” - -“No,” said Henry unexpectedly. “I think it is quite possible that she -overheard something about Formula ‘A,’ and I’d give a good deal to know -just what she did hear.” - -“I’ve told you what she heard,” said Jane. “Jimmy always said I had a -photographic memory, and I said the whole thing over to myself until I -had it by heart. You see, I didn’t dare to write it down.” - -“Can you say it again?” said Henry. “I’d like to get it down in black -and white, and have a look at it. At present it makes me feel giddy.” - -“You mustn’t write it down,” said Jane breathlessly. “Oh, you mustn’t, -Henry! It’s not safe.” - -Henry turned on his torch, propped it against the wall, and produced a -notebook and a pencil. The cold, narrow beam of light showed his knee, -the white paper, a pencil with a silver ring, and Henry’s large, brown -hand. - -“He has a _horribly_ determined hand,” thought Jane. - -“Now,” said Henry, “will you start at the beginning and say it all over -again, please?” - -Jane did so meekly, but her inward feelings were not meek. Once more she -repeated, word for word, and sentence for sentence, the somewhat -flamboyant speech of Number Four. - -Henry’s hand travelled backwards and forwards in the little lane of -light, and, word for word, and sentence by sentence, he wrote it down. -When he had finished, he read over what he had written. If he had not a -photographic memory, he was, at any rate, aware that Jane in her -repetition had not varied so much as a syllable from her first -statement. - -He went on looking at what he had written. At last he said: - -“Jane, I think I must tell you something in confidence. Sir William, as -you know, is conducting important experiments for the Government. How -important you may perhaps have gathered from the extraordinary -precautions which are taken to prevent any leakage of information. These -experiments have resulted in two valuable discoveries represented, for -purposes of official correspondence, by the terms Formula ‘A’ and -Formula ‘B.’ Within the last week we have had indisputable proof that -Formula ‘A’ has been offered to a foreign power. That is the reason for -my presence here. Now these are facts. Let them sink into your mind, -then read over what I have just taken down, and tell me how you square -those facts with Renata’s statement.” - -Jane picked up the notebook, stared at the written words, set Henry’s -facts in the forefront of her mind, and remarked candidly: - -“It does make your head go round rather, doesn’t it?” - -Henry assented. They both sat silent. Then Jane put down the notebook. - -“Never mind about our heads going round,” she said. “Let me go on and -tell you the rest of it. It isn’t only what Renata heard; it’s the -things that keep happening—little things in a way, but oh, Henry, -sometimes I think they are more frightening just because they are little -things. I mean, supposing you know you’re going to be executed, you -brace yourself up, and it’s all in the day’s work, but if you are out at -a dinner-party and you suddenly find poison in the soup, or a bomb in -the middle of the table decorations, it’s ... well, it’s unexpected—and, -and _perfectly beastly_.” - -Jane’s voice broke just for an instant. - -Henry’s hand came quickly through the torchlight, and rested on both -hers. It was a satisfactorily large and heavy hand. - -She told him about her interview with Ember at the flat, and one by one -she marshalled all the small happenings which had startled and alarmed -her. - -Henry waited until she had quite finished. Then he said: - -“This lip-reading—you know, my dear girl, it’s a chancy sort of thing; -it seems to me that there are unlimited possibilities of mistake.” - -“Some people are much easier to read from than others. Lady Heritage is -very easy. I’m sure I was not mistaken; she was saying, ‘If she -overheard anything, would she have the intelligence to be dangerous? -That is what I ask myself,’ and she said, ‘Despise not thine enemy,’ and -‘Anything but Formula “A.”’ Now Mr. Ember is very difficult. I can’t -really make him out at all. His lips don’t move. It’s no use not -believing me, Henry. Look here, I’ll show you.” - -She caught up the little torch, and turned the light upon his face. - -“Say something,” she commanded. - -Henry’s lips formed the words, “Jane, I love you very much indeed”—and -Jane switched off the light. - -“Henry, you’re a perfect beast! Play fair,” she said, in a low, furious -whisper. - -“Sorry. Wasn’t it all right? Try again.” - -Jane allowed the ray to light up Henry’s mouth and chin. The hand that -held the torch was not quite steady. This may have been the result of -anger—or of some other emotion. As a result the light wavered a good -deal. - -Henry’s lips moved, and Jane read aloud, “A sleuth should never lose its -temper.” - -Henry’s hand caught the little shaking one that held the torch, and gave -it a great squeeze. - -“How frightfully clever you are, and—oh, Jane, what a goose!” - -“I’m not,” said Jane. - -“But don’t you see that, with Renata’s story in your mind, you would be -looking out for things? You couldn’t help it.” - -“What do you think, then, of Lady Heritage saying that Mr. Ember’s -verdict was inclined to be ‘Guilty, but recommended to mercy,’ whereas -she said that she herself doubted the guilt, but that if she did not, -she would have no mercy at all? Do you know, that frightened me almost -more than anything. I don’t know why. That wasn’t lip-reading; I heard -the words with my own ears.” - -“But—don’t you see——” He paused. “Let’s get back to facts: Formula ‘A’ -has been stolen and offered for sale. Renata, undoubtedly, overheard -something relating to Formula ‘A.’ Now, supposing Mr. Molloy or one of -his friends to be the person who is doing the deal, don’t you see that -the possibility of Renata having overheard something compromising would -be sufficient to account for a good deal of alarm? - -“If Molloy and his friends had stolen Formula ‘A’ and were trying to -dispose of it, it would naturally be of the highest importance to them -to find out how much Renata knew, and to take steps which would ensure -her silence. They would almost certainly try and frighten her—that’s how -it seems to me.” - -“Then where does Mr. Ember come in?” said Jane. “He was there.” - -“Are you sure?” - -“Renata described him,” said Jane. “She said he was the worst of them -all.” - -“She knew him by name?” - -“No. But ... but”—a little chill breath of doubt played on Jane’s -certainty—“she called him the man in the fur coat. The others spoke of -him as Number Two.” - -“But you don’t know that it was Ember?” - -For a moment Jane felt that she was sure of nothing; then, with a swift -revulsion, her old fears, suspicions, certainties, received vigorous -reinforcement. - -“Henry,” she said, “listen. You’re on the wrong scent—I know you are. I -can’t tell you how I know it, but I’m quite, quite sure. If you were an -anarchist, and wanted to produce some horrible thing that would smash -civilisation into atoms, how would you set about it?—where would you go? -Don’t you see that the very safest place would be somewhere like this, -somewhere where you could carry on your experiments under the cover of -real experiments? It’s like the caterpillars that pretend to be -sticks—what do you call it?—protective mimicry.” - -“Jane!” said Henry. - -“I’m sure that’s what they have done. I’m sure that there is something -dreadful going on in this house. And if you can’t square what Renata -heard with what you know of Formula ‘A,’ why, then I believe that there -must be more than one Formula ‘A.’ Don’t you see how cunning it would be -for them to take the name of a real Government invention to cover up -whatever horrible thing it is that they are working at?” - -There was a dead silence. - -“Another Formula ‘A’?” said Henry slowly. Then, with an abrupt change of -manner: - -“Leave it—all of it—and tell me some things I want to know. Sir William, -for instance—he was put out at my coming down, I know—but what is he -like as a rule? He does not always drink as much as he did to-night, -does he?” - -“I think he does. Henry, I think he takes too much—I do, really; and -he’s frightfully irritable. But that’s not what strikes me most. The -thing I notice is that he doesn’t seem to do any work. Mr. Ember is -supposed to be his secretary, but he really does all his work with Lady -Heritage. She goes on all the time. She spends hours in the -laboratories. I believe she works there till ever so late, but Sir -William just sticks in his study and broods. I thought how strange it -was from the very first day.” - -“And Lady Heritage? Put all this mysterious business on one side and -tell me what you make of her?” - -Jane hesitated. - -“She’s—she’s disturbing. I think she has too much of everything, and it -seems to upset the balance of everything she touches. She’s too -beautiful for one thing, and she has too much intellect, and too much, -far too much, emotion. I think she is dreadfully unhappy too, with the -sort of unhappiness that makes you want to hurt somebody else. You know -what she sang this evening. I think she really feels like that, and -would like to smash—everything. That’s why....” Jane broke off suddenly; -her voice dropped to the least possible thread, “Oh, what’s that—what’s -that?” - -As she spoke, her hand met Henry’s on the switch of the torch. The light -went out. Jane clung to one of the hard, strong fingers as she listened -with all her ears. She heard a footstep, light and unmistakable, and it -stopped upon the threshold. - -There were about twenty seconds of really terrifying silence, and then -the handle of the door turned slowly. Jane heard the creak of the hinge, -the minute rattle of the latch. Then the handle was released, but slowly -and with the least possible noise. There was another silence. - -Jane pinched Henry as hard as she could, and though this, of course, -relieved the strain she felt dreadfully afraid that she would scream -unless something broke through this dreadful quiet. - -Something did break through it next moment, for there came a low -knocking on the door, and with the first sound of that knocking Jane -recovered herself. With an extraordinary quickness and lightness she was -on her feet and out of the cupboard, the cupboard was shut, and Jane, -her shoes noiselessly discarded, was sitting on the side of a rumpled -bed, a fold of the sheet across her mouth, inquiring in sleepy, muffled -accents: - -“What is it? Who’s there?” - -The knocking had gone on steadily. Now it stopped, and a voice said, “It -is I, Lady Heritage. Open the door.” - -Jane threw back the bedclothes so as to cover the chair at the -bed-foot—a chair upon which there should have been a neatly folded pile -of clothes—pulled off her stockings, and took the key out of the -dressing-table drawer. - -“Oh, what is it?” she said, and fumbled at the lock. - -Next moment the door was open, and she saw Lady Heritage in her white -linen overall and head-dress, the latter pushed back and showing her -hair. - -Lady Heritage saw a startled girl in a red flannel dressing-gown. -Between the moonlight and the light from the passage there was a sort of -dusk. Lady Heritage put her hand on the switch, but did not pull it -down. Instead, she said quickly: - -“I saw a light under the door. Are you ill?” - -Jane rubbed her eyes. - -“A light?” she said. - -Raymond crossed the room quickly and felt each of the electric bulbs. - -“A light?” said Jane again. - -Lady Heritage went back to the door and turned all the lights on. - -“Do you always lock yourself in?” she said. “And why did you take the -key out of the door?” - -“Was it wrong? They say that if you lock your door and put the key away, -even if you walk in your sleep, you don’t go out of the room. I -shouldn’t like to walk in my sleep in a big house like this, and perhaps -wake up in a cellar or out on the terrace.” - -Lady Heritage did an odd thing. Something flashed across her face as -Jane was speaking, and she put both hands on the girl’s shoulders and -pulled her round so that she faced the light. - -Jane met, for a moment, a most extraordinary look. It did not seem to go -through her as Mr. Ember’s scrutiny had done, but it shook her more. She -looked down and said shakily: - -“What is it? Oh, please tell me if I have vexed you—oh, please....” - -Lady Heritage took her hands away. - -“I had forgotten you walked in your sleep,” she said. “I don’t like -locked doors as a rule, but I suppose you had better keep yours -fastened. I shouldn’t like you to walk into the sea and get drowned, or -break your neck falling off the terrace. Get back to your bed. I’m just -going to mine. I’ve been working late.” - -She went out, and it was a long, long time before Jane, who had heard -the soft footfalls die away in the distance, dared open the door and -take a hasty look along the corridor. It was quite empty. - -After another pause she went to the cupboard door and opened it. The -flooring stretched unbroken; there was no square hole, and no Henry. She -sat down on the floor, hesitated, and then knocked lightly. - -Under her very hand a board rose with a little jerk—a line of light -showed, and Henry’s voice said softly: - -“All clear?” - -“Yes, be quick, I daren’t wait.” - -“Who was it?” - -“Lady Heritage.” - -“What did she want?” - -“I don’t know. She said she saw a light. Henry, she frightens me, she -really does.” - -The board rose a little higher. - -“A sleuth who gets frightened is no earthly——” said Henry firmly. “Now -look here, Jane, I can get you out of this quite easily if you want to -come. You are the only person in the house whom I haven’t interviewed. -Mr. Ember said that of course I shouldn’t want to see you, as you did -not get here until after the leakage must have taken place. I made no -comment at the time, but it is perfectly open to me to insist on seeing -you, to say that I am not satisfied with the interview, and to take you -back to London for further interrogation.” - -Henry had opened the trap door about a foot. His face, lighted from -below, looked very odd with the chin almost resting on a board at Jane’s -feet and the trap held up by one hand and only just clearing his hair. -Jane would have wanted to laugh if his last suggestion had appalled her -less. - -“Oh, you mustn’t,” she said. “If you do that, it’s all up. Mr. Ember -would never, never, never, allow you to interview me. He’d be afraid of -what I might say, and he’d find some awful way of keeping me quiet. As -to letting me go off to London with you, well, if we started we’d -certainly never get there. And oh, Henry, please, please go away. I’m -sure they suspect something, and if she comes again, or if he comes—oh, -Henry, do go.” - -“All right,” said Henry. “Now, Jane, look here. I’m off before -breakfast, but I can make an excuse to come down at any time if you want -me. If anything is going wrong, or you get frightened, or if you want to -get out of it write for patterns of jumper wool to the Misses Kent, -Hermione Street, South Kensington. It’s a real wool shop and they’ll -send you real patterns, but Miss Kent will ring me up the minute she -gets your letter. I’ll come down straight away, and you look out for me -here.” - -“Do you mean you’ll come and stay? Won’t they suspect something?” - -“They won’t know,” said Henry. “Don’t ask me why, but send for me if you -want me, and be very sure that I shall come. Got that address all -right?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then I’ll be off.” - -“Yes, please go.” - -As a preliminary to going, Henry came up a step higher, set the torch on -the floor, and took Jane by the hand. - -“Don’t get frightened, Jane,” he said. “I hate you to be frightened.” - -“I’m not, not really.” - -Henry came up another step; the trap now rested on his shoulders. - -“Oh, Henry, _please_....” - -“I’m going,” said Henry. He continued to hold Jane’s hand and appeared -immovable. Jane could of course have taken her hand away and left the -cupboard, but this did not occur to her till afterwards. - -Quite suddenly Henry kissed her wrist, and a piece of the red flannel -cuff. The next minute he was really gone. Perhaps it had occurred to him -that he was a chaperon. - -Jane lay awake for a long time. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - -Henry went away by an early train, and Jane came down to what, as a -child, she had once described as a crumpled kind of day. She remembered -“darling Jimmy” looking at her in a vague way, and saying in his gentle, -cultivated voice: - -“Crumpled, my dear Jane? What do you mean by crumpled?” - -And Jane, frowning and direct: - -“I mean a thing that’s got crumps in it, Jimmy darling,” and when Mr. -Carruthers did not appear to find this a sufficient explanation, she had -burst into emphatic elucidation: - -“I was cross, and Nurse was cross, and you were cross. Yes, you were, -and I had only just opened the study door ever so little; and I didn’t -mean to upset the milk or to break the soap-dish; and oh, Jimmy, you -must know what a crump is, and this day has been just chock-full of -them. That’s why I said it was crumpled.” - -The day of Henry’s departure was undoubtedly a crumpled day. To start -with, a letter from Mr. Molloy awaited Jane at the breakfast table. It -began, “My dear Renata,” and was signed, “Your affectionate father, -Cornelius R. Molloy.” Mr. Ember remarked at once upon the unusual -circumstance of there being a letter for Miss Molloy, and Jane, acting -on an impulse which she afterwards regretted, replied: - -“It’s from my father. Do you want to see what he says?” - -“Thank you,” said Jeffrey Ember. He glanced casually at the bald -sentences in which Mr. Molloy hoped that his daughter was well, and -expressed dislike of the climatic conditions which he had encountered on -the voyage. His eyes rested for a moment upon the signature, and quite -suddenly he cast a bombshell at Jane. - -“What does the ‘R’ stand for?” he said. - -Jane had the worst moment of panic with which her adventure had yet -provided her. She was about to say that she did not know, and take the -consequences, when Mr. Ember saved her. - -“Is it Renatus?” he asked. Jane broke into voluble speech. - -“Oh no,” she said, “my name has nothing to do with his. I was called -Renata after an aunt, my mother’s twin sister. They were exactly alike -and devoted to each other, and I was called after my Aunt Renata, and -her only daughter was called after my mother.” Here Jane bit the tip of -her tongue and stopped, but she had not stopped in time. Mr. Ember’s -eyes had left Molloy’s signature and were fixed upon her face. - -“And your mother’s name?” he said. - -“Jane,” faltered Jane. - -“And are you and your cousin as much alike as your mothers were?” - -Jane stared at her plate. She stared so hard that the gilt rim seemed to -detach itself and float like a nimbus above a half-finished slice of -buttered toast. - -“I—I don’t know,” she replied. “I don’t remember my mother, and I never -saw my aunt.” Once again she bit her tongue, and this time very hard -indeed. She had been within an ace of saying, “My Aunt Jane——” - -“But you have seen your cousin; by the way, what is her surname?” - -“Smith—Jane Smith.” - -“You have seen your cousin, Jane Smith? Are you alike?” - -“I have only seen her once.” Jane grasped her courage, and looked -straight at Mr. Ember. He either knew something, or this was just idle -teasing. In either case being afraid would not serve her. A spice of -humour might. - -“You’re frightfully interested in my aunts and cousins,” she said. “Do -you want to find another secretary just like me for some one? But I’m -afraid my Cousin Jane isn’t available. She’s married to a man in -Bolivia.” - -At this point Lady Heritage looked over the edge of _The Times_ with a -frown, and the conversation dropped. Jane finished her buttered toast, -and admired herself because her hand did not shake. - -Lady Heritage seemed to be in a frowning mood. This, it appeared, was -not one of the days when she disappeared behind the steel grating with -Ember, leaving Jane to pursue her appointed tasks in the library. -Instead, there was a general sorting of correspondence and checking of -work already done, with the result that Jane found herself being played -upon, as it were, by a jet or spray of hot water. The temperature -varied, but the spray was continuous. A letter to which Lady Heritage -particularly wished to refer was not to be found, a package of papers -wrongly addressed had come back through the Dead Letter Office, and an -unanswered invitation was discovered in the “Answered” file. By three -o’clock that afternoon Jane had been made to feel that it was possible -that the world might contain a person duller, more inept, and less -competent than herself—possible, but not probable. - -“I think you had better go for a walk, Miss Molloy,” said Lady Heritage; -“perhaps some fresh air....” She did not finish the sentence, and Jane, -only too thankful to escape, made haste from the presence. - -Ember had been right when he said that the grounds were extensive. - -Jane skirted the house and made her way through a space of rather -formally kept garden to where a gravel path followed the edge of the -cliff. For a time it was bordered by veronica and fuchsia bushes, but -after a while these ceased and left the bare down with its rather coarse -grass, tiny growing plants, tangled brambles, and bright yellow clumps -of gorse. The path went up and down. Sometimes it almost overhung the -sea. Always a tall hedge of barbed wire straggled across the view and -spoilt it. - -The fact that a powerful electric current ran through the wire and made -it dangerous to touch added to the dislike with which she regarded it. - -It was a grey afternoon with a whipping wind from the north-west that -beat up little crests of foam on the lead-coloured waves and made Jane -clutch at her hat every now and then. She thought it cold when she -started, but by and by she began to enjoy the sense of motion, the -wind’s buffets, and the wide, clear outlook. At the farthest point of -the headland she stopped, warm and glowing. The path ran out to the edge -of the cliff. On the landward side the rock rose sharply, naked of -grass, and heaped with rough boulders. A small cave or hollow ran -inwards for perhaps four feet. In front of it, in fact almost within it, -stood a stone bench pleasantly sheltered by the overhanging rock and -curving sides of the hollow. Jane felt no need of shelter. Instead of -sitting down, she climbed upon the back of the bench and, steadying -herself against a rock, looked out over the wire and saw how the cliff -fell away, sheer at first, and then in a series of jagged, tumbled steps -until the rocks went down into the sea. - -After a time Jane scrambled down and was hesitating as to whether she -would turn or not when a sound attracted her attention. - -The path ended by the stone bench, but there seemed to be quite a -practicable grassy track beyond. - -The sound which Jane had heard was the sound made by a stone which has -become displaced on a hillside. It must have been a very heavy stone. It -fell with a muffled crash. Then came another sound which she could not -place. She looked all round and could see nothing. - -Something frightened her. - -All at once she realised that she was a long way from the house and -quite out of sight. Turning quickly, she began to walk back along the -way that she had come, but she had not gone a dozen paces before she -heard scrambling footsteps behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she -saw the man George Patterson standing beside the stone seat which she -had just left. He made some sort of beckoning sign with his hand and -called out, but a puff of wind took away the words, and only a hoarse, -and as she thought, threatening sound reached her ears. - -Without waiting to hear or see any more she began to run, and with the -first flying step that she took there came upon her a blind, driving -panic which sent her racing down the path as one races in a nightmare. - -George Patterson started in pursuit. He called again twice, and the -sound of his voice was a whip to Jane’s terror. After at the most a -minute he gave up the chase, and Jane flew on, pursued by nothing worse -than her own fear. - -Just by the first fuchsia bush she ran, blind and panting, into the very -arms of Mr. Ember. The impact nearly knocked him down, and it may be -considered as certain that he was very much taken aback. - -Jane came back to a knowledge of her whereabouts to find herself -gripping Mr. Ember’s arm and stammering out that something had -frightened her. - -“What?” inquired Ember. - -“I—don’t—know,” said Jane, half sobbing, but already conscious that she -did not desire to confide in Jeffrey Ember. - -“But you _must_ know.” - -“I don’t.” - -With a little gasp Jane let go, and wished ardently that her knees would -stop shaking. Ember looked at her very curiously. - -Jane had often wondered what his queer cold eyes reminded her of. -Curiously enough, it was now, in the midst of her fright, that she knew. -They were like pebbles—the greeny-grey ones which lie by the thousand on -the seashore. As a rule they were dull and hard, just as the pebbles are -dull and hard when they are dry. But sometimes when he was angry, when -he cross-questioned you, or when he looked at Lady Heritage the dullness -vanished and they looked as the pebbles look when some sudden wave has -touched them. Jane did not know when she disliked them most. - -They brightened slowly now as they fixed themselves upon her, and Ember -said: - -“Do you know, I was hoping I might meet you. We haven’t had a real talk -since you came.” - -“No,” said Jane. - -Her manner conveyed no ardent desire for conversation. - -“Shall we walk a little?” pursued her companion; “the wind’s cold for -standing. I really do want to talk to you.” - -Jane said nothing at all. If Ember wished to talk, let him talk. She was -still shaky, and not at all in the mood for fencing. - -“Well, how do you like being here? How do we strike you?” - -Ember spoke quite casually, and Jane thought it was strange that he and -Henry should both have asked her the same question. Her reply, however, -differed. - -“I don’t know,” she said. - -“Don’t you? My dear Miss Renata, what a really extraordinary number of -things you—don’t know! You don’t know what frightened you, and you don’t -know whether you like us or not.” - -Jane’s temper carried her away. - -“Oh yes, I do,” she said viciously, and looked full at the bright pebble -eyes. - -Ember laughed. - -“What do you think of Lady Heritage? Wonderful, isn’t she?” - -“Oh yes,” said Jane. “She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. -Too beautiful, don’t you think?” - -If she desired to interest Jeffrey Ember, it appeared that she had -succeeded. His attention was certainly arrested. - -“Why too beautiful?” - -Jane had an impulse towards frankness. - -“I think she’s too ... everything. She has so many gifts, it does not -seem as if there could be scope for them all.” - -Ember looked at Jane for a moment. Then he looked away. In that moment -Jane saw something—she could not really tell what. The nearest that she -could get to it was “triumph.” Yes, that was it, triumph. - -As he looked away he said, very low, “She will have scope enough,” and -there was a little tingling silence. - -He broke it in an utterly unforeseen manner. With an abrupt change of -voice he asked: - -“Ever learn chemistry?” - -“No,” said Jane, and then wondered whether she was telling the truth -about Renata. - -“’M—know what a formula is?” - -Jane put a dash of ignorant conviction into her voice: - -“Oh, I think so—oh yes, of course.” - -“Well, what is it?” - -She looked puzzled. - -“It’s difficult to explain things, isn’t it? Of course I know -‘formulate,’ and er—‘formal.’ But it’s—it’s something learned, isn’t -it?” - -Ember’s sarcastic smile showed for a moment. With a horrid inward qualm -Jane wondered whether she had overdone Renata’s ignorance. - -“A formula is a prescription,” said Ember slowly. “If you remember that, -I think you’ll find it all quite simple. So that Formula ‘A’ is simply a -prescription for making something up, labelled ‘A’ for convenience’ -sake.” - -Jane let her eyes become quite round. - -“Is it?” she said in the blankest tone at her command. “But ... but what -is Formula ‘A,’ Mr. Ember?” - -“That, my dear Miss Renata, is what a good many people would like to -know.” - -“Would they? Why?” - -“They would. In fact, some of them—person or persons unknown—wanted to -know so much that they have gone to the length of stealing Formula ‘A.’ -That, at least, is Captain March’s opinion, and the reason for his visit -here. So I should be careful, very careful indeed, about betraying any -knowledge of Formula ‘A.’” - -Jane whisked round, stared blankly, and said in largest capitals: - -“ME?” - -Then, after a pause, she burst out laughing. “What do you mean?” - -“You either know, or you don’t know,” said Jeffrey Ember. “If you don’t -know, I’m not going to tell you. If you do, I have just given you a -warning. A very valuable Government secret has been stolen, and if -Captain March were to suspect that you were in any way involved—well, I -suppose ... I need not tell you that the consequences would be serious -beyond words.” - -Jane gazed at him in a breathless delight which she hoped was not -apparent. The day had been singularly lacking in pleasantness, but it -was undoubtedly pleasing to receive a solemn warning of the dreadful -fate that might overtake her if Henry should suspect that she knew -anything about Formula “A.” - -“But I haven’t the slightest idea what Formula ‘A’ can be,” she said. -“It sounds frightfully exciting. Do tell me some more. Was it stolen? -And how could anything be stolen here?” - -“Who frightened you?” he said suddenly. - -Jane caught her breath. - -“It was a stone,” she said. “I don’t know why it frightened me so. It -fell over the edge of the cliff and gave me a horrid nightmare-ish sort -of feeling. I started running and then I couldn’t stop. It was -frightfully stupid of me.” - -They walked on a few paces. Then Ember said: - -“Captain March will probably come down here again. I managed to save you -from an interview with him this time, but if he comes again, and if he -sees you, remember there is only one safe way for you—you know nothing, -you never have known anything, as far as you are concerned there is -nothing to know. You shouldn’t find that difficult. You have quite a -talent for not knowing things. Improve it.” He paused, smiled slightly, -and went on, “You said just now that it was frightfully stupid of you to -be frightened. Sometimes, Miss Renata, it is a great deal more stupid -not to be frightened. Believe me, this is one of those times.” - -They walked home in silence. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - -Whilst Jane was running away from fear, down the gravel path of the -cliff’s edge, Captain March was about midway through an interview with -his chief. - -Henry’s chief was a large man who strongly resembled a clean and highly -intelligent pig. A very little hair appeared to grow reluctantly on his -head; his face was pink and clean-shaven. He had inherited the -patronymic of Le Mesurier, his parents in his baptism had given him the -romantic name of Julian, and a grateful Government had conferred upon -him the honour of knighthood. It is, perhaps, unnecessary to add that, -from the moment that he emerged from the nursery and set foot within the -precincts of his first preparatory school, he had been known exclusively -as “Piggy.” - -There is a story of a débutante who, at a large and formal dinner-party, -was discovered during a sudden silence to be addressing him as Sir -Piggott. The dinner-party waited breathlessly. Piggy smiled his benign -smile and explained that it had not been his good fortune to be called -after his aunt, Miss Piggott.... “I expect you have heard of her? She -left all her money to a home for cats, whereas, if my parents had done -their duty and invited her to be my godmother, I should be paying at -least twice as much income tax as I do now. Never undervalue your -relations, my dear Miss Browne.” The aunt was, of course, apocryphal; -and after dinner each of the older ladies in turn took the débutante -aside, and told her so—as a kindness. To each of them she made the same -reply, which was to the effect that “Piggy” was a darling. She married -him two years later. But all this has nothing to do with Henry’s -interview with his chief. - -Sir Julian was speaking: - -“It’s very unsatisfactory. You say they have been complying with all the -suggestions in the original Government instructions?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -Sir Julian frowned. - -“It’s very unsatisfactory,” he repeated. “Sir William ... well, it’s six -months since I saw him, and he looked all right then.” - -“He looks all right now,” said Henry. “He is all right except on his own -particular subject. He’d discuss politics, unemployment, foreign -affairs, or anything else, and you wouldn’t notice anything, but the -minute he comes to his own subject everything worries and irritates him. -He’s lost grip. As far as I can make out, he leaves everything to his -daughter and the secretary. They are competent enough, but....” Henry -did not finish his sentence. - -“Ah yes, the secretary,” said Sir Julian. “What’s his name? Yes, Ember, -Jeffrey Ember....” He turned an indicator under his hand, and spoke -rapidly into the telephone beside him. “As soon as possible,” he -concluded. - -“This girl now,” he said, looking at Henry. “I don’t see how this -statement of hers can be squared with any of the facts as we know them.” - -As he spoke he picked up the notes which Henry had taken in the dark -cupboard. - -“She made a suggestion herself,” said Henry. He paused, and looked with -a good deal of diffidence at Sir Julian. - -“Well?” - -“It is just within the bounds of possibility that the Government -experiments are being used as a blind. That was her suggestion, sir.” - -Sir Julian was busily engaged in drawing on his blotting-paper. He drew -in rapid succession cats with arched backs and bottle-brush tails, -always beginning with the tail and finishing with the whiskers, three on -each side. Henry rightly interpreted this as a sign that he was to -continue. - -“The conversation which was overheard at Molloy’s flat referred to a -Formula ‘A,’ which cannot possibly be the Formula ‘A’ which we know. -There may be a Formula ‘A’ of which we know nothing, and it may -constitute a grave danger. Ember”—Henry paused—“Ember is not only in a -position of great responsibility with regard to our—the official Formula -‘A,’ but he also appears to be mixed up with this other unofficial and -possibly dangerous Formula ‘A.’ The question, to my mind, is, ‘What -about Ember?’” - -Sir Julian continued to draw cats. Suddenly he looked up, and said: - -“How long has Patterson been there?” - -“A fortnight,” said Henry. “We recalled Jamieson, you remember, and sent -him down.” - -“Then, if there were unofficial experiments, they would be before his -time?” - -“Yes,” said Henry. - -“Would it be possible—no, I’ll put it another way. Officially Luttrell -Marches is impregnable, but unofficially—come March, the place -practically belongs to you—is there any way in which there might be -coming and going that would defy detection? You see, your hypothesis -demands either wholesale corruption of Government workmen, or the -introduction of other experiments.” - -There was a pause. Then Henry said: - -“In confidence, sir, there _is_ a way, but, to the best of my knowledge, -it is known only to myself and one other person.” - -“It might be discovered.” - -“I don’t think so. It never has been.” - -“Well, I would suggest your ascertaining, in conjunction with the other -person, whether there is any evidence to show that the secret has been -discovered and the way made use of.” - -The telephone bell rang. Sir Julian lifted the receiver and listened. - -“Yes,” he said—“yes.” Then he began to take notes. “Spell the name, -please—yes. Nineteen hundred and five? Is that all? Thank you.” - -He hung up the receiver, and turned to Henry. - -“Ember’s dossier,” he said. “Not much in it at first sight. ‘Born 1880. -Son of Charles Ember, partner in Jarvis & Ember—manufacturing chemists; -firm liquidated in 1896. Education till then at Harrow, and subsequently -at Heidelberg, where he took degrees in medicine and science. From 1905 -to 1912 at Chicago, U. S. A., as personal assistant to Eugene K. -Blumfield of Nitrates Ltd. Engaged as secretary by Sir William -Carr-Magnus during his American tour in autumn of 1912. Total exemption -during War on Sir William’s representations.’ ’M—blameless as a -blancmange—at first sight. We wouldn’t have him here at all if we hadn’t -been told to get the record of every one employed at Luttrell Marches. -Well, March?” - -Henry looked up with his candid, diffident air. - -“Heidelberg—Chicago—nitrates,” he said, with a little pause after each -word. Then—“I wonder if it was in Chicago that he met Molloy. Molloy was -a leading light of the I. W. W. there in 1911.” - -Piggy looked up for a moment. - -“’M, yes,” he said. “Did you get on to the subject of Molloy at all?” - -“I had to be very careful,” said Henry, with a worried air. “I was -introduced to Miss Molloy, so I felt that it would look odd if I asked -no questions. On the other hand, I was afraid of asking too many. You -see, sir, if there’s really some infernal, underground plot going on, -with the general smash-up of civilisation as its object, that girl is in -a most awfully dangerous position. I wish to Heaven she was out of it, -but I’m not at all sure that she isn’t right when she says that the most -dangerous thing of all would be for her to give the show away by -bolting.” - -“’M, yes,” said Piggy. “Your concern for the young lady’s safety does -you credit—attractive damsel in distress, eh? Nice, pretty young thing, -and all that?” - -Henry blushed furiously, and said with some stiffness, “As I told you, -sir, we are old friends, and I think, it’s natural——” - -“Entirely, entirely.” Piggy waved a large, fat hand with a pencil in it. -“But to get back to Ember—what did you ask him?” - -“Well, I said I had known one or two Molloys, and asked whether Miss -Molloy was the cricketer’s daughter. Ember was quite forthcoming, rather -too forthcoming, I thought. Said he’d met Molloy in the States, and that -he was a queer card, but good company. Explained how surprised he was -when he ran into him at Victoria Station after not seeing him for years. -Then, quite casually and naturally, gave me to understand that Molloy -had put him up for a couple of nights. He really did it very well. Said -the daughter was a nice little thing just from school, that he thought -she would suit Lady Heritage, and how grateful Molloy was, as he was -just off to the States, and didn’t know what to do with the girl. The -impression I got was that he was taking no chances—not leaving anything -for me to find out afterwards.” Henry hesitated for a moment, and then -said, “The thing that struck me most was this. I didn’t ask to interview -Miss Molloy because I didn’t want to make her position more dangerous -than it already is. That is to say, I assumed that there _was_ danger, -which really means assuming a criminal conspiracy. Now, if there were no -danger and no criminal conspiracy, why on earth did every one make it so -easy for me not to interview Miss Molloy? It seems a little thing, but -it struck me—it struck me awfully, sir. You see, I took a roll-call of -the employés first, and checked them by the official list. Then I went -down to the stables with Sir William, and we went through all the -outdoor servants. And I finished up in Sir William’s study, where I saw -the domestic staff—and Mr. Ember. From first to last, no one suggested -that I should see Miss Molloy. In the end, I thought it would be too -marked not to bring her in at all, so I said to Lady Heritage, ‘What -about your secretary?’ and she said, ‘Why, she’s only just come ... you -don’t need to see her.’ I got nervous and left it at that. I think now -that I ought to have seen her, with Lady Heritage and Ember in the room; -then they couldn’t have suspected her of telling me anything.” - -Piggy looked up from his cats, and looked down again. Very carefully he -gave each cat a fourth whisker on the left-hand side. Then he fixed his -small, light eyes on Henry and said: - -“_They?_” - - * * * * * * * * - -At 9.30 that evening Sir Julian marked a place in his book with a -massive thumb, glanced across the domestic hearth at his wife, and -observed: - -“M’ dear.” - -Lady Le Mesurier raised her charming blue eyes from the child’s frock -which she was embroidering. - -“I have news to break to you—news concerning the lad Henry. Prepare for -a shock. He is another’s. You have lost him, my poor Isobel.” - -“I never had him,” said Isobel placidly. - -“His mamma thought you had. She did her very best to warn me. I rather -think she considered that your young affections were also entangled. I -said to her solemnly, ‘My dear Mrs. March—I beg your pardon—my dear Mrs. -_de Luttrelle_ March—of course he is in love with Isobel. I expect young -men to be in love with her. I am in love with her myself.’” - -“Piggy, you didn’t!” - -“No, m’ dear, but I should have liked to. She is so very large and pink -that the temptation to say it, and to watch the pink turn puce, was -almost more than I could resist. But you have interrupted me. I was -about to break to you a portentous fact. Our Henry is in love.” - -“Oh, Piggy!” said Isobel. - -“Yes,” continued Henry’s chief—“Henry is undoubtedly for it. Another -lost soul. It’s always these promising lads that are snatched by the -predatory sex.” - -“Piggy—we’re not——” - -“M’ dear, you _are_. It’s axiomatic, beyond cavil or argument. Like the -python in the natural history books, you fascinate us first, and then -engulf us.” - -Isobel allowed a fleeting smile to lift the corners of her very pretty -mouth. - -“Oh, Piggy, what a mouthful you would be!” she murmured. - -“Henry,” pursued Sir Julian—“Henry is in the fascinated stage. He -blushed one of the most modestly revealing blushes I have ever beheld. -The whole story is of the most thrillingly romantic and intriguing -nature, and I regret to say, m’ dear, that I cannot tell you a single -word of it.” - -Lady Le Mesurier took up a blue silk thread. - -“Oh, Piggy!” she said reproachfully. - -Sir Julian beamed upon her. - -“My official duty forbids,” he said, with great enjoyment. “Dismiss the -indecent curiosity which I see stamped upon your every feature. Upon -Henry’s affair my lips are sealed. I am a tomb. I merely wish to have a -small bet with you as to whether Henry’s mamma will queer his pitch or -not.” - -“But, Piggy darling, how can I lay odds if I don’t know anything? Tell -me, is she pretty?” - -“Isobel, is that the spirit in which to approach this solemn subject? As -an old married woman, you should ask, Is she virtuous? Is she thrifty? -Is she worthy of Henry? And to all these questions I should make the -same reply—I do not know.” - -Isobel leaned forward, and still with that faint, delightful smile she -pricked the back of Sir Julian’s hand sharply with the point of her -embroidery needle. - -“The serpent’s tooth!” he said, and opened his book. “Isobel, you -interrupt my studies. I merely wish to commend three aspects of the case -to your feminine intuition. First—Henry is in love; second—he has yet to -reckon with his mamma; third—I may at any time ring you up and instruct -you to prepare the guest chamber for Henry’s girl.” - -Lady Le Mesurier began to work a blue ribbon bow round the stalks of -some pink and white daisies. - -“You’re rather a lamb, Piggy,” she said. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - -It was next morning, whilst Jane was sorting and arranging the papers -for the library table, that she caught sight of Henry’s first message. -She very nearly missed it, for the fold of the paper cut right across -the agony column, and what caught her eye was the one word that passed -as a signature, “Thursday.” It startled her so much that she dropped the -paper, and, in snatching at it, knocked over a pile of magazines. - -Lady Heritage looked over her shoulder with a frown, tapped with her -foot, and then went on with her writing in a silence that uttered more -reproof than words could have done. - -Jane picked everything up as silently as possible. As she put the papers -on the table, she laid _The Times_ out flat, and, bending over it, read -the message: - -“You will receive a letter from me. Trust the bearer. Thursday.” - -She put all the papers neatly in their places, and went to her -writing-table with an intense longing to be alone, to be able to think -what this might mean, and to wonder who—who would be the bearer of -Henry’s letter. She hoped ardently that Lady Heritage would have -business in the laboratories, and whilst these thoughts, and hopes, and -wonderings filled her mind, she had to write neat and legible replies to -the apparently inexhaustible number of persons who desired Lady Heritage -to open bazaars, speak at public meetings, subscribe to an indefinite -number of charities, or contribute to the writer’s support. - -When, at last, she was alone in her own room, she was tingling with -excitement. At any moment some one, some unknown friend and ally, might -present himself. It was exciting, but, she thought, rather risky. - -For instance, supposing Henry’s letter came, by any mischance, into the -wrong hands—and letters were mislaid and stolen sometimes—what a -perfectly dreadful chapter of misfortunes might ensue. She frowned, and -decided that Henry had been rash. - -It was with a pleasant feeling of superiority that she put on her hat -and went out into the garden to pick tulips. - -The weather had changed in the night, and it was hot and sunny, with the -sudden dazzling heat of mid-April. In the walled garden the south border -was full of violet-scented yellow tulips, each looking at this new hot -sun with a jet-black eye. A sheet of forget-me-nots repeated the sheer -blue of the sky. - -Jane picked an armful of tulips and a sheaf of leopard’s bane. Strictly -speaking, she should then have gone in to put the flowers in water for -the adornment of the Yellow Drawing-Room. Instead, she made her way to -the farthest corner of the garden and basked. - -At first she looked at the flowers, but after a while her eyelids fell. - -Jane has never admitted that she went to sleep, but, if she was thinking -with her eyes shut, her thoughts must have been of an extremely -engrossing nature, for it is certain that she heard neither the opening -nor the shutting of a door in the wall beside her. She did feel a shadow -pass between herself and the sun, and opening her eyes quickly she saw -standing beside her the very man from whom she had fled in terror -yesterday. - -The sunlight fell from upon him, showing the shabby clothes, the tall, -stooping figure, the grizzled beard, and that disfiguring scar. - -With a great start Jane attempted to rise, only to discover that a -wheelbarrow may make a very comfortable chair, but that it is uncommonly -difficult to get out of in a hurry. To her horror the man, George -Patterson, took her firmly by the wrist and pulled her to her feet. She -shrank intensely from his touch, received an impression of unusual -strength, and then, to her overwhelming surprise, she heard him say in a -low, well-bred voice, “I have a letter for you, Miss Smith.” - -“Oh, hush!” said Jane—“oh, please, hush!” - -“All right, I won’t do it again. Look here, I want to say a few words to -you, but we had better not be seen together. Here’s your letter. Stay -where you are for five minutes, and then come down to the potting-shed. -Don’t come in; stay by the door and tie your shoe-lace.” - -He went off with his dragging step, and left Jane dumb. There was a -folded note in her hand, and in her mind so intense a shock of surprise -as to rob her very thoughts of expression. - -After what seemed like a long paralysed month, she opened the note which -bore no address, and read, pencilled in Henry’s clear and very -ornamental hand, “The bearer is trustworthy.—H. L. M.” - -When she had looked so long at Henry’s initials that they had blurred -and cleared again, not once but many times, she walked mechanically down -the path until she came to the shed. Beside it was a barrel full of -rain-water. Into this she dipped Henry’s note, made sure that the words -were totally illegible, poked a hole in the border, and covered the -sodden paper with earth. Then at the potting-shed door she knelt and -became occupied with her shoe-lace. - -“Henry saw me after he saw you,” said George Patterson’s voice. “He -thought it might be a comfort to you to know there is a friend on the -spot; but I’m afraid I gave you a fright yesterday.” - -“You did,” said Jane, “but I don’t know why. I was a perfect fool, and I -ran right into Mr. Ember’s arms.” - -“Did you tell him what frightened you?” said Patterson quickly. - -“No, I wasn’t quite such a fool as that. Please, who are you?” - -“My name here is George Patterson. I’m a friend of Henry’s. If you want -me, I’m here.” - -“If I want you,” said Jane, “how am I to get at you?” - -Mr. Patterson considered. - -“There’s a wide sill inside your window.” (And how on earth do you know -that? thought Jane.) “If you put a big jar of, say, those yellow tulips -there, I’ll know you want to speak to me, and I’ll come here to this -potting-shed as soon as I can. You know they keep us pretty busy with -roll-calls and things of that sort. I only got back yesterday by the -skin of my teeth—I had to bolt.” - -“Did you—you didn’t pass me.” - -“No, I didn’t pass you.” There was just a trace of amusement in Mr. -Patterson’s voice. - -Jane pulled her shoe-lace undone, and began to tie it all over again. - -“Hush!” she said very quick and low. “Some one is coming.” - -Just where the path ended, not half a dozen yards away, the red-brick -wall was pierced by a door. Two round, Scotch rose-bushes, all tiny -green leaf and sharp brown prickle, grew like large pin-cushions on -either side of the interrupted border. Bright pink nectarine buds shone -against the brick like coral studs. The ash-coloured door, rough and -sun-blistered, was opening slowly, and into the garden came Raymond -Heritage, pushing the door with one hand and holding a basket of bulbs -in the other. She was looking back over her shoulder, at something or -someone beside her. - -From inside the potting-shed came Patterson’s voice—just a breath: - -“Who?” - -“Lady Heritage.” - -Jane was up as she spoke and moving away. She reached the door just as -Raymond closed it and, turning, saw her. - -“Oh, Miss Molloy—I was really looking for you. Is Garstin anywhere -about?” - -“I haven’t seen him,” murmured Jane, as if the absent gardener might be -blooming unnoticed in one of the borders. - -“He’s not in the potting-shed? I’ll just look in and see. I want to -stand over him and see that he puts these black irises where I want them -to go. They come from Palestine, and the last lot failed entirely -because he was so obstinate. I’ll get a trowel and mark the place I -think.” She moved forward as she spoke, and Jane, horror-struck, -stammered: - -“Let _me_ look. It’s so dusty in there.” - -She was back at the door of the shed, but Lady Heritage was beside her. -“I want a trowel, too,” she said, and Jane felt herself gently pushed -over the threshold. - -They were both just inside the door. It seemed dark after the strong -light outside. There was a row of windows along one side, and a broad -deal shelf under them. There were piles and piles of pots and boxes. -There were hanks of bass and rows of tools, There were watering-cans. -There was a length of rubber hose. But there was no George Patterson. - -Jane put her hand behind her, gripped the jamb of the door, and moved -back a pace so that she could lean against it. The pots, the tools, the -bass and the rubber hose danced before her bewildered eyes. - -Lady Heritage put her basket of bulbs down on the wide shelf and said: - -“Garstin ought to be here. He’s really very tiresome. That’s the worst -of old servants. When a gardener has been in a place for forty years as -Garstin has, he owns it.” - -“Shall I find him?” said Jane. - -“No, not now. I really want to talk to you. I’ve just been speaking to -Jeffrey Ember, and he tells me you had a fright yesterday. What -frightened you?” - -“Nothing—my own silliness.” - -Jane felt as if she must scream. George Patterson had disappeared as if -by a conjuring trick. Where had he gone to? Where was he? It was just -like being in a dream. - -Raymond Heritage seemed to tower before her in her white dress. Her -uncovered head almost touched the low beam above the door. - -“Jeffrey said you were blind with fright—that you ran right into him. He -said you were as white as a sheet and shaking all over. I want to know -what frightened you?” - -“A stone—it fell into the sea——” - -“What made it fall? A man? What man?” - -Jane leaned against the door-post, her breath coming and going, her eyes -held by those imperious eyes. - -“A stone,” she said; “it fell—I ran away.” - -“Miss Molloy,” said Lady Heritage, “you walked to the end of the -headland, out of sight of the house. Whilst you were there something -gave you a serious fright. Something—or somebody. This is all nonsense -about a stone. Whom did you see on the headland, for you certainly saw -somebody? No, don’t look away; I want you to look at me, please.” - -“I don’t know why I was so frightened,” said Jane. “It just came over -me.” - -Lady Heritage looked at her very gravely. - -“If you saw any stranger on the headland, it is your absolute duty to -tell me. Where secrets of such value are in question it is necessary to -watch every avenue and to neglect no suspicious circumstance. If you are -trying to screen any one, you are acting very foolishly—very foolishly -indeed. I warn you, and I ask you again. What frightened you?” - -“I don’t know,” said Jane in a little whispering voice. “Why, why do you -think there was any one?” - -“I don’t think,” said Lady Heritage briefly. “I know. Mr. Ember went up -to the headland after he left you, and there were footmarks in the -gravel. Some man had undoubtedly been there, and you must have seen him. -Mr. Ember made the entire round and saw no one, but some one had been -there. _Now_ will you tell me what you saw?” - -“Oh!” said Jane. Rather to her own astonishment she began to cry. “Oh, -that’s why I was frightened then! The stone fell so suddenly, and I -didn’t know why—why——” - -The sobs choked her. - -Lady Heritage stood looking at her for a moment. - -“Are you just an arrant little fool,” she said in a low voice, “or....” - -“Oh, I’m not!” sobbed Jane. “Oh, I’ve never been called such a thing -before! I know I’m not clever, but I don’t think you ought to call me a -f—f—fool.” - -Lady Heritage pressed her lips together, and walked past Jane and out -into the sunshine. She stood there for a moment tapping with her foot. -Then she called rather impatiently: - -“Miss Molloy! Dry your eyes and come here.” - -Jane came, squeezing a damp handkerchief into a ball. - -“Bring your flowers in; I see you’ve left them over there to die in the -sun. I’m driving into Withstead this afternoon and you can come with me. -I have to see Mrs. Cottingham about some University extension lectures, -and she telephoned just now to say would I bring you. She has a girl -staying with her who thinks she must have been at school with you or one -of your cousins. Her name is Daphne Todhunter.” - -Jane stood perfectly still. Daphne Todhunter? Arnold Todhunter’s sister -Daphne! Renata’s friend! But Daphne must know that Arnold was married? -The question was—whom _had_ Arnold married. Had his family welcomed (by -letter) Jane Smith or Renata Molloy to its bosom? If Renata Molloy, how -in the world was a second Renata to be explained to Miss Daphne -Todhunter? - -“Miss Molloy, what’s the matter with you?” said Lady Heritage. - -Jane could not think quickly enough. Supposing Lady Heritage went to -Mrs. Cottingham’s without her; and supposing Daphne Todhunter were to -say that her brother Arnold had married a girl called Renata Molloy? - -It was too much to hope that Arnold had carried discretion to the point -of telling his own family that he had married an unknown Jane Smith. - -Jane suddenly threw up her chin and squared her shoulders. The colour -came back into her cheeks. - -“Nothing,” she said, with a little caught breath. “I’m sorry I was so -silly, and for crying, and if I was rude to you. It’s most awfully kind -of you to take me into Withstead.” - -If there were any music to be faced, Jane was going to face it. At least -the tune should not be called behind her back. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - -A feeling of exhilaration amounting to recklessness possessed Jane as -she put on the white serge coat and skirt sacred to the Sabbath -crocodile. Attired in it Renata, side by side with Daphne Todhunter, -had, doubtless, walked many a time to church and back. In front of her -two white serge backs, behind her more white serge, and more, and more, -and more. Jane’s head reeled. She detested this garment, but considered -it appropriate to the occasion. - -They drove into Withstead across the marshes. The sun blazed, and all -the tiny marsh plants seemed to be growing and stretching themselves. - -Mrs. Cottingham lived in a villa on the outskirts of the town, and was -ashamed of it. She had married kind little Dr. Cottingham, but imagined -that she had condescended in doing so. Her reasons for thinking this -were not apparent. - -Jane followed Lady Heritage into the dark, rather stuffy drawing-room, -and beheld a middle-aged woman with a rigidly controlled Victorian -figure, a tightly netted grey fringe, and a brown satin dress with a -good many little gold beads upon it. She had a breathless sense of the -extraordinary way in which the room was overcrowded. Every inch of the -walls was covered with photographs, fans, engravings, and china plates. -Almost every inch of floor space was covered with small ornamental -tables crowded with knick-knacks. There was a carved screen, and an -ebonised overmantel with looking-glass panels. There was a Japanese -umbrella in the fireplace. - -Jane’s eyes looked hastily into every corner. There were more things -than she had ever seen in one room before, but there was no Daphne -Todhunter. Mrs. Cottingham was shaking hands with her. She had a fat -hand and squeezed you. - -“And are you Daphne’s Miss Molloy?” she said. “She was _wildly_ excited -at the prospect of meeting you, and I said at once, ‘I’ll just ring up -Luttrell Marches, and ask Lady Heritage to bring her here this -afternoon.’ I thought I _might_ do that. You see, I only happened to -mention your name this morning, and Daphne was so _excited_, and she -goes away tomorrow, so it was the only chance. So I thought I would just -ring up and ask Lady Heritage to bring you. I said to Daphne at once, -‘Lady Heritage is so kind, I’m sure she will bring Miss Molloy.’” - -Jane saw Lady Heritage’s eyebrows rise very slightly. She moved a step, -and instantly Mrs. Cottingham had turned from Jane: - -“Why Lady Heritage, you’re standing! Now I always say _this_ is the most -comfortable chair.” - -Her voice went flowing on, but Jane suddenly ceased to hear a word she -said, for a door at the far end of the room was flung open. On the -threshold appeared Miss Daphne Todhunter. - -In common with most other Daphnes, Cynthias and Ianthes, she was short -and rather heavily built. Her brown hair was untidy. She wore the twin -coat and skirt to that which was adorning Jane. - -With an exclamation of rapture, she rushed across the room, dislodging a -book from one little table and an ash-tray from another. - -(“Her eyes are exactly like gooseberries which have been boiled until -they are brown,” thought Jane, “and I _know_ she’s going to kiss me.”) - -She not only kissed Jane, she hugged her. Two stout arms and a waft of -white rose scent enveloped Jane’s shrinking form. - -After a moment in which she wondered how long this embrace would last, -Jane managed to detach herself. Mrs. Cottingham’s voice fell gratefully -upon her ears: - -“Daphne, Daphne, my dear, come and speak to Lady Heritage.—She’s wildly -excited, as I told you—the natural enthusiasms of youth, dear Lady -Heritage, so beautiful, so quickly lost; I’m sure you agree with -me.—Daphne, Daphne, my dear.” - -Daphne came reluctantly and thrust a large hand at Lady Heritage without -looking at her. Raymond looked at it for a moment, and, after a -perceptible pause, just touched the finger-tips. Mrs. Cottingham never -stopped talking. - -“So it _is_ your friend, and you’re just too excited for words. Take her -away and have a good gossip. Lady Heritage and I have a great deal to -talk about.—You were saying....” - -“I was saying,” said Lady Heritage wearily, “that you must write at once -if you want Masterson to lecture for you next winter.” - -Daphne dragged Jane to the far end of the room. - -“Oh, Renata, how perfectly delicious! But how did you come here? And -what are you doing, and where’s Arnold, and why aren’t you with him?” -She made a pounce at Jane’s left hand, and felt the third finger. - -“Oh, where’s your ring?” she said. - -“Hush!” said Jane. - -They reached a sofa and sank upon it. Immediately in front of them was -an octagonal table of light-coloured wood profusely carved. Upon it, -amongst lesser portraits, stood a tall photograph of Mrs. Cottingham in -a train, and feathers, and a tiara. The sofa was low, and Jane felt that -fate had been kinder than she deserved. - -“Oh, Renata, aren’t you married?” breathed Daphne. - -She breathed very hard, and Jane was reminded of Arnold on the -fire-escape. - -“Oh, Renata, tell me! When she ... Mrs. Cottingham said, ‘Miss Renata -Molloy,’ I nearly died. I said, ‘Miss Molloy?’ And she said, ‘Yes, Miss -Renata Molloy,’ and oh, I very nearly let the cat out of the bag.” She -grasped Jane’s hand and pressed it violently. “But I didn’t. Arnold told -me not to, and I didn’t, but, of course, I’m simply _dying_ to know all -about everything. Now, darling, tell me ... tell me everything.” - -Never in her life had Jane felt so much aloof from any human creature. -There was something so inexpressibly comic in the idea of pouring out -her heart to Daphne Todhunter that she did not even feel nervous, only -aloof—aloof, and cool. She looked earnestly at Daphne, and said: - -“What did Arnold tell you?” - -“It was the greatest shock,” said Daphne, “and such a surprise. One -minute there he was, moving about at home, and not knowing when he would -get a job, and perfectly distracted with hopelessness about you; and the -next he rushed down to say good-bye because he was going to Bolivia, and -his heart was broken because you wouldn’t go too....” She stopped for -breath, and squeezed Jane’s hand even harder than before. “And then,” -she continued, “you can imagine what a shock it was to get the -letter-card.” - -“Yes,” said Jane, “it must have been. What did it say?” - -Daphne opened her eyes and her mouth. - -“Didn’t he show it to you? How perfectly extraordinary of him!” - -“Well, he didn’t” said Jane. “What did he say?” - -“I know it by heart,” said Daphne ardently. “I could repeat every word.” - -“Well, for goodness’ sake do!” - -“Renata! How odd you are, not a bit like yourself!” Fear stabbed Jane. - -“Tell me what he said—tell me what he said,” she repeated. - -With an effort she pressed the hand that was squeezing hers. - -“What, Arnold, in the letter-card? But I think it was just too weird of -him not to have shown it to you—too extraordinary.” - -Jane felt that she was becoming dazed. - -“What did he say?” - -“I know it all by heart. I could say it in my sleep. He said, ‘Just off; -we sail together. We were married this morning, and I’m the happiest man -in the world. Don’t tell any one at present. If you love me, not a word -to a soul. Will write from Bolivia.—Arnold. P. S.—On no account tell -Aunt Ethel.’ So you see why I nearly died when she said Miss Renata -Molloy, for of course I thought you were in Bolivia with Arnold, and oh, -Renata, where is he and what has happened? Tell me everything?” - -She flung her arms about Jane’s neck as she spoke and gave her a long, -clinging kiss. Jane endured it under pressure of that, “You are not a -bit like yourself.” When she had borne it for as long as she could, she -drew back. - -“Listen,” she said. - -“Tell me—tell me the worst—tell me everything. Where is Arnold?” - -“Arnold is in Bolivia,” said Jane. - -“And why aren’t you with him?” - -Jane produced a pocket-handkerchief. It was a very little one, but it -sufficed. In her own mind Jane described it as local colour. - -“We have parted,” she said, and dabbed her eyes. - -“Renata! But you’re married to him!” - -“No,” said Jane, quite truthfully. - -An inward thankfulness that she was not married to Arnold supported her. - -Daphne stared at her with bulging eyes. - -“You’re not! But he said, ‘We were married this morning.’ I read it with -my own eyes, and I could repeat it in my sleep. I know it by heart....” - -Jane checked her with a look that held so much mysterious meaning that -the flood of words was actually stemmed. - -“He didn’t marry _me_,” said Jane, in a tense whisper. She looked -straight into the boiled gooseberry eyes, and then covered her own. - -“He didn’t marry you?” repeated Daphne, gasping. - -“No,” said Jane, from behind the handkerchief. - -“But he’s married?” - -“Y—yes,” said Jane. - -“Oh, Renata!” - -Miss Todhunter cast herself upon Jane’s neck and burst into tears. The -impact was considerable and her weight no light one. - -“Daphne, please—please—Lady Heritage is looking at us. Do sit up. I -can’t tell you anything if you cry. There’s really nothing to cry -about.” - -Daphne sat up again. She also produced a handkerchief, a very large one -with “Daphne” embroidered across the corner in coral pink. A terrific -blast of white rose emerged with the handkerchief. - -“But he was so much in love with you,” she wailed. “I don’t understand -it. How _could_ he marry any one else and break your heart!” - -“My heart is not broken,” said Jane. - -“Then it was your fault, and you’ve broken his, and he’s got married -just to show he doesn’t care, like people do in books. I don’t believe -you love him a bit.” - -Jane looked modestly at the carpet, which was of a lively shade of -crimson. - -“I’m afraid I don’t,” she said, in a very small voice. - -An unbecoming flush mounted to Daphne’s cheeks. - -“I don’t know how you’ve got the face,” she said. - -Much to Jane’s relief, she withdrew from her to the farthest corner of -the sofa, and then glared. - -“Poor Arnold! Aunt Ethel always did say you were sly. She always said -she wouldn’t trust you a yard.” She paused, sniffed, and then added, in -what was meant for a tone of great dignity: - -“And please, whom _has_ Arnold married?” - -“Her—her name is Jane, I believe,” said Jane, with a tremor. - -At this moment she became aware that Lady Heritage had risen to her -feet. Mrs. Cottingham’s voice clamoured for attention. - -“Oh, Lady Heritage, not without your tea! It won’t be a moment. Indeed, -I couldn’t dream of letting you go like this. Just a cup of tea, you -know, so refreshing. Indeed, it would distress me to think of your -facing that long drive without your tea.” - -Raymond stood perfectly still, her face weary and unresponsive. - -“I am afraid my time is not my own,” she said, and crossed the room to -where the two girls were sitting. They both rose, Daphne with a jerk -that dislodged a photograph frame. - -“I am afraid I must interrupt your talk,” said Lady Heritage. “Were you -living school triumphs over again? I suppose you swept off all the -prizes between you?” - -If there was irony in the indifferent voice, Miss Todhunter was unaware -of it. She laughed rather loudly, and said: - -“Renata never won a prize in her life.” - -“Oh!” said Raymond, with a lift of the brows. “I am surprised. I -pictured her always at the head of her class, and winning everything.” - -Daphne laughed again. She was still angry. - -“I’m afraid she’s been putting on side,” she said. “Why, Miss Basing -would have fainted with surprise if she had found Renata anywhere near -the top of anything. Or me either,” she added, with reluctant honesty. - -“Miss Molloy,” said Raymond, “ask Mrs. Cottingham if she will let Lewis -know that we are ready;” and as Jane moved away, she continued, “I -should have thought her languages now....” - -Daphne’s mouth fell open. - -“Oh, my goodness,” she said, “she _must_ have been piling it on. Why, -her languages were rotten, absolutely rotten. Why, Mademoiselle said -that I was enough to break her heart, but when it came to Renata it was -just, ‘Mon dieu!’ the whole time; and then there were rows because Miss -Basing thought it was profane. Only, somehow it seems different in -French—don’t you think?” - -Lady Heritage looked at Daphne as though she had some difficulty in -thinking about her at all. - -“I see,” she said gravely, and then Mrs. Cottingham bore down upon them. - -“Tea should have been ready if I had known,” she said. Her colour had -risen, and her voice shook a little. “If I could persuade you ... I’m -sure it won’t be more than a moment. But, of course, if you must ... but -if I had only known. You see, I thought to myself we would have our talk -first, and then enjoy our tea comfortably, and indeed it is _just_ -coming in—but, of course, if you are _obliged_ to go....” - -“Thank you very much; I am obliged to go. Good-bye, Mrs. Cottingham. -You’ll write to Masterson and let me know what the answer is? I think I -hear the car.” - -Miss Todhunter, who had embraced her friend so warmly half an hour -before, parted from her with a tepid handshake; but if neither Daphne -nor Mrs. Cottingham considered the visit a success, Lady Heritage seemed -to derive some satisfaction from it, and Jane told herself that not only -had a danger been averted, but a distinct advantage had been gained. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - -Jane ran straight up to her room when they got back, but she was no -sooner there than it came into her mind to wonder whether she had put -away the files which she had been working on just before she went into -the garden. Think as she would, she could not be sure. - -She ran down again and went quickly along the corridor to the library. -The door was unlatched. She touched the handle, pushed it a little, and -stood hesitating. Lady Heritage was speaking. - -“It’s a satisfaction to know just where one is. Sometimes I’ve been -convinced she was a fool, and then again ... well, I’ve wondered. I -wondered this afternoon in the garden. That man on the headland gives -one to think furiously. Who on earth could it have been?” - -“I ... don’t ... know.” - -“But I don’t believe she saw him. I don’t believe she saw anything or -knew why she was frightened. She just got a start ... a shock—began to -run without knowing why, and ran herself into a blind panic. She looked -quite idiotic when I was questioning her.” - -“Oh,” thought Jane. “It’s horrible to listen at doors, but what am I to -do?” - -What she did was to go on listening. She heard Lady Heritage’s rare -laugh. - -“Then this afternoon—my dear Jeffrey, it would have convinced you or any -one. The friend—this Daphne Todhunter—well, only a fool could have made -a bosom friend of her, and, as I told you, even she had the lowest -opinion of her adored Renata’s brains.” - -“I don’t know,” said Ember again. “You say she’s a fool, I say she’s a -fool, her friend says she’s a fool, but something, some instinct in me -protests.” - -“Womanly intuition,” said Lady Heritage, with a mocking note. - -There was silence; then: - -“These girls—were they alone together?” - -“No. They conducted what appeared to be a curiously emotional -conversation at the other end of Mrs. Cottingham’s dreadful -drawing-room, which always reminds me of a parish jumble sale.” - -Ember’s voice sounded suddenly much nearer, as if he had crossed the -room. - -“Emotional? What do you mean?” he said quickly. Lady Heritage laughed -again. - -“Mean?” she said. “Does that sort of thing mean anything?” - -“What sort of thing? Please, it’s important.” - -“Oh, hand-holding, and a tearful embrace or two. The usual -accompaniments of schoolgirl _schwärmerei_.” - -Jane could hear that Ember was moving restlessly. Her own heart was -beating. She knew very well that in Ember’s mind there was just one -thought—“Suppose she has told Daphne Todhunter.” - -“Which of them cried?” said Ember sharply. - -“I think they both did—Miss Todhunter most.” - -“And you couldn’t hear what they were saying?” - -“Not a word.” - -“I must know. Will you send for her and find out? It’s of the first -importance.” - -“You think....” - -“She may have told this girl what we’ve been trying to get out of her. I -must know. Look here, I’ll take a book and sit down over there. She -won’t notice me. Send for her and begin about other things, then ask her -why her friend was so distressed....” - -Jane heard Ember move again and knew that this time it was towards the -bell. She turned and ran back along the way by which she had come. Five -minutes later she was entering the library to find Lady Heritage at her -table and Ember at the far end of the room buried in a book. - -“I want the unanswered-letter file.” Lady Heritage’s voice was very -businesslike. - -Jane brought it over and waited whilst Raymond turned over the letters, -frowning. - -“I don’t see Lady Manning’s letter.” - -“You answered it yesterday.” - -“So I did. Miss Molloy—why did your friend cry this afternoon?” - -“Daphne?” - -“Yes, Daphne. Why did she cry?” - -“Oh, she does, you know.” - -“But I suppose not entirely without some cause.” - -“She was angry with me,” said Jane very low. - -“Yes? I noticed that she did not kiss you when you went away.” - -“No, she’s angry. You see”—Jane hung her head—“you see, she thinks—I’m -afraid she thinks that I didn’t treat her brother very well.” - -“Her brother?” - -“Yes. She wanted me to be engaged to him, but he’s married some one -else, so I think it’s rather silly of her to be cross with me, don’t -you?” - -“I really don’t know.” - -Out of the tail of her eye Jane saw Mr. Ember nod his head just -perceptibly. Lady Heritage must have seen it too, for she pushed the -letter file over to Jane. - -“Put this away. No, I don’t want anything more at present.” - -Tea came in as she spoke. - -Afterwards in her own room Jane sat down on the broad window ledge with -her hands in her lap, looking out over the sea. The lovely day was -drawing slowly to a lovelier close, the sun-drenched air absolutely -still, absolutely clear. The tide was low, the sea one sheet of unbroken -blue, except where the black rocks, more visible than Jane had ever seen -them, pierced the surface. - -Jane did not quite know what had happened to her. Her moment of -exhilaration was gone. She was not afraid, but she felt a sense of -horror which she had not known before. She had thought of this adventure -as _her_ adventure, her own risk. Somehow she had never really related -it to other people. For the first time, she began to see Formula “A,” -not as something which threatened her, but as something that menaced the -world. It was ridiculous that it was Mrs. Cottingham and Daphne -Todhunter who had caused this change. - -It is one thing to think vaguely of civilisation being swept away, and -_quite_ another to visualise some concrete, humdrum Tom, Dick, or Harry -being swept horribly out of existence. Jane’s imagination suddenly -showed her Formula “A”—The Process, whatever they chose to call the -horrible thing—in operation; showed it annihilating fussy Mrs. -Cottingham, with her overcrowded drawing-room and her overcrowded talk; -showed it doing something horrible to fat, common Daphne Todhunter. The -romance of adventure fell away, the glamour that sometimes surrounds -catastrophe shrivelled and was gone. It was horrible, only horrible. - -Jane kept seeing Mrs. Cottingham’s ugly room, and Raymond Heritage -standing there, as she had seen her that afternoon, like a statue that -had nothing to do with its surroundings. All at once she knew what it -was that Lady Heritage reminded her of—not Mercury at all, but Medusa -with the lovely, tortured face, stone and yet suffering. - -As she looked out over that calm sea she had before her all the time the -vision of Medusa, and of hundreds and hundreds of quite ordinary, -vulgar, commonplace Mrs. Cottinghams and Daphne Todhunters being turned -to stone. A tremor began to shake her. It kept coming again and again. -Then, all at once, the tears were running down her face. It was then it -came to her that she could not bear to think of Daphne as she had seen -her at the last, with that hurt, angry, puzzled look. - -“She’s a fat lump, but Arnold is her brother, and Renata is her friend, -and she thinks they’ve failed each other and been horrid to her. I can’t -bear it.” - -At that moment Jane hated herself fiercely because Daphne’s tears had -amused her. - -“You’ve got a brick instead of a heart, and, if you get eliminated, -it’ll serve you right.” - -She dabbed her eyes very hard, straightened her hair, and ran downstairs -to the library again. - -Ember was the sole occupant, and Jane addressed him with diffidence: - -“Mr. Ember, do you think I might ... do you think Lady Heritage would -mind ... I mean, may I use the telephone?” - -“What for?” said Ember, looking at her over the edge of his paper. - -“I thought perhaps I might,” said Jane ... “I mean, I wanted to say -something to my friend, the one who is staying with Mrs. Cottingham.” - -“Ah—yes, why not?” - -“Then I may?” - -“Oh yes, certainly. Do you want me to go?” - -Jane presented a picture of modest confusion. It was concern for Daphne -Todhunter that had brought her downstairs, concern and the prickings of -remorse, but at the sight of Ember, she experienced what she would have -described as a brain-wave. - -“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, but I -did rather want to talk privately to her.” - -“Oh, by all means.” Ember’s tone was most amiable, his departure most -courteously prompt. - -Jane would have been prepared to bet the eighteen-pence which -constituted her sole worldly fortune to a brass farthing that upon the -other side of the door his attentive ear would miss no word of her -conversation. - -She gave Mrs. Cottingham’s number, and waited in some anxiety. - -The voice that said “Hullo!” was unmistakably Miss Todhunter’s, and Jane -began at once: - -“Oh, Daphne, is that you? I want to speak to you so badly. Are you -alone? Good! I’m so glad.” - -At the other end of the line Daphne was saying grumpily: - -“I don’t know what you mean. There are three people in the room. I keep -telling you so.” - -“Good!” said Jane, with a little more emphasis. “I want to speak to you -most particularly. I’ve been awfully unhappy since this afternoon; I -really have. And I wanted to say—— I mean to ask you not to be upset -about Arnold. It’s all for the best, really. Please, please, don’t think -badly of him. It’s not his fault, and I know you’ll like his wife very -much indeed. He’ll tell you all about it some day, and you’ll think it -ever so romantic. So you won’t be unhappy about it, will you? I hate -people to be unhappy.” - -Without waiting for Miss Todhunter’s reply, Jane hung up the receiver. -After a decent interval she opened the door. Mr. Ember was at the far -end of the passage, waiting patiently. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - -Jane waked that night, and did not know why she waked. After a moment it -came to her that she had been dreaming. In her dream something -unpleasant had happened, and she did not know what it was. She sat up in -the darkness with her hands pressed over her eyes, trying to remember. - -The vague feeling of having passed through some horrifying experience -oppressed her far more than definite recollection could have done. - -She got up, switched on the light, and began to pace up and down, but -she could not shake off that feeling of having left something, she did -not know what, just behind her, just out of sight. She looked round for -the book she had been reading, but she remembered now that she had left -it downstairs. She looked at her watch. It was three o’clock. The house -would be absolutely still and empty. It would not take her two minutes -to fetch the book from the drawing-room. She slipped on Renata’s -dressing-gown, put out her light, and opened the door. - -With a little shock of surprise she saw that the corridor was dark. Some -one must have put out the light which always burned at the far end. -Instead of the usual faintly rosy glow, there was darkness thinning to -dusk, and just at the stairhead a vivid splash of moonlight. After a -moment’s hesitation Jane slipped out of her room, leaving the door ajar. -Somehow she had not reckoned upon having to cross that brightly lighted -space. She came slowly to the head of the stairs and looked down into -the hall. It was like looking into the blackness and silence of a vast -well. She could see nothing—nothing at all. The moon was shining in -through the rose window above the great door. There was a shield in the -window, a shield with the Luttrell arms, and the light came through the -glass in a great beam shot with colour, and struck the portrait of Lady -Heritage and the vine leaves and grapes on the newel just below. The -window and the portrait were on the same level, and the ray seemed to -make a brilliant cleavage between the silvery dusk above and the dense -gloom below. - -Jane descended the stairs, walking carefully so as to make no noise. At -the foot she turned sharply to the left and passed the study door, the -fireplace, and the steel gate which shut off the north wing. The door of -the Yellow Drawing-Room was straight in front of her. She opened it -softly and went in. - -The book would be on the little table to the right of the fireplace, -because she remembered putting it there when Lady Heritage made an -unexpectedly early move. She stood for a moment visualising the -arrangement of the chairs, and then walked straight to the right place. -The book was where she had left it, put down open, a bad habit for which -Jimmy had often rebuked her. She was back at the door with it, and just -about to pass the threshold when she heard a sound. Instantly she stood -still, listening. The sound came from the other end of the hall, where -the shadows lay deepest round the massive oak door. - -“But there can’t be any one at the door at this hour,” said Jane—“there -can’t, there can’t possibly.” - -The sound came again, something between a rustle and a creak, but so -faint that no hearing less acute than Jane’s would have caught it. - -“It’s on the left of the door, underneath Willoughby Luttrell’s -picture....” - -Jane suddenly pressed her hand to her lips and made an involuntary -movement backwards, for there was an unmistakable click, and then, slow -and faint, a footfall. Jane stood rigid, staring into the darkness of -the corner. She thought she heard a sigh, and then the footsteps crossed -the hall, coming nearer. At the stair foot they paused, and then began -to ascend. - -Jane gazed into the deeply shadowed space where the footfall sounded, -but nothing—not the slightest glimpse of anything moving—came to her -straining sight. - -She looked up and saw the level ray of moonlight overhead. Whoever -climbed the stair must pass up into the light and be visible, but from -where she stood she could only see the side of the stair like a black -wall. But she must see—she must. If some one had come out of the -darkness where there was no door she must know who it was. Her bare feet -made no sound as she moved from the sheltering doorway. Step by step she -kept pace with those slow mounting footsteps. She passed the steel gate, -and, feeling her way along the wall, came to a standstill by the cold -black hearth. Then, with her whole body tense, she turned and looked up. -There was a darker shadow among the shadows, a shadow that moved -upwards, towards the beam of moonlight. Jane watched, breathless, and -from where The Portrait hung, the sombre eyes of Raymond Heritage seemed -to watch too. Out of blackness into dusk a something emerged; one step -more and the moonlight fell on a dark hood. Up into the light came a -cloaked figure, draped from head to foot, shapeless. - -On the top step it turned. Jane caught her breath. It was Lady Heritage. -She stood there for a long minute, her left hand just resting on the -newel post with its twining tendrils and massive overhanging grapes. The -light shone full upon her, and her face was sharpened, blanched, and -sorrowful. Her eyes seemed to look into unfathomable depths of gloom. -The amber, the rose, and the violet of the stained glass fell in a hazy -iridescence upon the black of her cloak. - -In front the cloak fell away and showed the straight white linen of an -overall, and cloak and overall were deeply stained with dull wet smears. -A piece of the stuff hung jagged from a tear. - -Jane looked, and could not take her eyes away. - -“Oh, she’s so unhappy,” she said to herself. - -With a quick movement Raymond Heritage pushed the hood back from her -hair. Then she turned, faced her own portrait for a moment, and passed -slowly out of sight. Jane heard a door close very softly. - -She stood quite still and waited, gathering her courage. She would have -to mount the stair and pass through that light before she could reach -the safely shadowed corridor. Just for a moment it seemed as if she -could not do it. Her feet seemed to cleave to the ground. Five minutes -passed, and another five. - -Jane felt herself becoming rigid, and with a tremendous effort, she took -one step forward, but only one, for as her foot touched a new cold patch -of floor, some one moved overhead. - -For an instant a little pencil of electric light jabbed into the -darkness and went out again. The next moment Mr. Ember stepped into the -moonlight. He too wore a linen overall, and in his left hand he carried -the mask-like head-dress which was in use in the laboratories. His right -hand held a torch. - -He came down the stairs, walking with astonishing lightness. Half-way -down the torch came into play again. He sent the little ray in a sort of -dazzle-dance about the hall. With every leaping flash Jane’s heart gave -a jump, and she only stopped her teeth from chattering by biting hard -upon the cuff of Renata’s dressing-gown. She had covered her face -instinctively, and peered, terror-stricken, between her fingers. - -The light skimmed right across her once, and but for the crimson -flannel, she would certainly have screamed aloud. If Mr. Ember had been -looking, he could have seen a semicircle of white forehead, two -clutching hands, and a quivering chin. But his eyes were elsewhere, and -the dancing flash passed on. - -Ember crossed the hall to the far corner out of which Lady Heritage had -come. Suddenly the light went out. - -Jane heard again the very, very small creaking noise which she had heard -before. It was followed by a faint click, and then unmitigated silence. -The seconds added themselves together and became minutes, and there was -no further sound. The minutes passed, and the beam of moonlight slipped -slowly downwards. Now The Portrait was in darkness, now the newels were -just two black shadows. It was a long, long time before Jane moved. She -climbed the staircase with terror in her heart. At the edge of the -moonlight she waited so long that it moved to meet her. When the edge of -it touched her bare, hesitating foot she gave a violent start, and ran -the rest of the way. - -The dark corridor felt like a haven of refuge. - -She came panting to her own door, and suddenly there was no haven of -refuge anywhere. The door was shut. She had left it ajar. It was shut. - -Jane stood with her outstretched hand flat on the panel of the door. She -kept saying over and over to herself: - -“I left it open, but it’s shut. I left it open, but it’s shut.” - -Once she pushed the door as if it could not really be shut at all, but -it did not yield; the latch had caught. It was shut. At last she turned -the handle slowly and went in. A gust of wind met her full. Perhaps it -was the wind that had shut the door. She left it ajar, moved to the -middle of the room, and waited. For a moment there was a lull. Somewhere -in the house a clock struck four. The sound came just over the edge of -hearing, with its four tiny distant strokes. Then the wind rushed in -again through the open window, and the door fell to with a click. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - -By next morning the wind had brought rain with it. A south-west gale -drove against the dripping window-panes, and covered the sea with crests -of foam. - -Jane, rather pale, wrote a neat letter to the Misses Kent, Hermione -Street, South Kensington, mentioning that she would be much obliged if -they would send her patterns of jumper wool by return. She hesitated, -and then underlined the last two words. - -“I always think big shops do you better,” was Lady Heritage’s comment, -and Mr. Ember added, “Do you knit, Miss Renata? I thought you were the -only girl in England who didn’t”—to which Jane replied, “I want to -learn.” - -It was after the letter had been posted that she found Henry’s second -message, “Hope to see you to-day, Friday.” She could have cried for pure -joy. - -At intervals during the day, the thought occurred to her that Henry was -a solid comfort. She wasn’t in love with him, of course, but undoubtedly -he was a comfort. She had plenty of time to think, for she spent the -entire day by herself. Sir William had gone to town for three or four -days. Lady Heritage disappeared into the north wing at eleven o’clock, -and very shortly after, Mr. Ember followed her. Neither of them appeared -again until dinner-time. Jane went to sleep over a book and awoke -refreshed, and with a strong desire for exploration. - -If only last night’s mysterious happenings had taken place anywhere but -in the hall. The dark corner from which Raymond had emerged and into -which Mr. Ember had vanished drew her like a magnet, but not until every -one was in bed and asleep would she dare to search for the hidden door. - -“If I were just sitting here and reading,” she thought to herself, -“probably no one would come into the hall for hours; but if I were to -look for a secret passage, all the servants would begin to drift in and -out, and the entire neighbourhood would come and call.” - -When the lights had been turned on, she wandered round, looking at the -Luttrell portraits. This, she thought, was safe enough, and if not the -rose, it was at least near it. Willoughby Luttrell’s picture hung -perhaps five feet from the ground and about half-way between the hall -door and the corner. Jane had always noticed it particularly because -Henry undoubtedly resembled this eighteenth century uncle. - -Mr. Willoughby Luttrell had been painted in a Court suit of silver-grey -satin. He wore Mechlin ruffles and diamond shoe-buckles. He had the air -of being convinced that the Court of St. James could boast no brighter -ornament, but his face was the face of Henry March, and Henry’s grey -eyes looked down at Jane from beneath a Ramillies wig. - -After an interval Jane stopped looking at Mr. Luttrell’s eyes, and -reflected that the click which she had heard the night before came from -a point nearer the corner. She did not dare go near enough to feel the -wall, and no amount of staring at the panelling disclosed any clue to -the secret. - -Jane went back to her book. - -By sunset the rain had ceased to fall, or, rather to be driven against -the land. The wind, lightened of its burden of moisture, kept coming -inland in great gusts, fresh and soft with the freshness and softness of -the spring. The entire sky was thickly covered with clouds which moved -continually across its face, swept on by the currents of the upper air, -but these clouds were very high up. Any one coming out of an enclosed -place into the windy night would have received an impression of -extraordinary freedom, movement, and space. - -Henry March received such an impression as he turned a pivoting stone -block and came out of the small sheltering cave behind the seat on the -headland above Luttrell Marches. At the first buffet of the gale he took -off his cap, and stuffed it down into the pocket of the light ulster -which he wore, and stood bareheaded, looking out to sea. His eyes showed -him blackness and confused motion, and his ears were filled with the -strange singing sound of the wind and the endless crash and recoil of -the waves against a shingly beach. - -He stood quite still for a time and then turned his wrist and glanced at -the luminous dial of the watch upon it, after which he passed again -behind the stone seat and was about to re-enter the blacker shadows when -a tall figure emerged. - -“Have you been here long?” said a voice. - -“No, I’ve only just come. How are you, Tony?” - -“All right. I didn’t think you’d be down here again so soon. It was -touch and go whether I could get here.” - -“Piggy’s orders,” said Henry. “Look here, Tony, don’t let’s go inside. -It’s a topping night, and that passage I’ve just come along smells like -a triple extract of vaults—perfectly beastly. I don’t suppose our friend -Ember is addicted to being out late. He doesn’t strike me as that sort -of bird somehow.” - -“All right,” said Anthony Luttrell. He sat down on the stone seat as he -spoke, and Henry followed his example. - -“Piggy sent you down, did he? What for?” - -Henry was silent. It seemed like quite a long time before he said: - -“Tony, who knows about the passages beside you and me?” - -“No one,” said Anthony shortly. - -“Uncle James told me when he thought the Boche had done you in. He said -then that no one knew except he and I. He drew out a plan of all the -passages and made me learn it by heart. When I could draw it with my -eyes shut, we burnt every scrap of paper I had touched. I’ve been into -the passages exactly three times—once that same week to test my -knowledge, again the other day, and to-night. I’ll swear no one saw me -go in or come out, and I’ll swear I’ve never breathed a word to a soul.” - -“Are you rehearsing your autobiography?” inquired Anthony Luttrell, with -more than a hint of sarcasm. - -“No, I’m not. I want to know who else knows about the passages.” - -“And I have told you.” - -“Tony, it is no good. I had my suspicions the other night, but to-night -I’ve got proof. The passages have been made use of. Unfortunately -there’s no doubt about it at all. I want to know whether you have any -idea—hang it all, Tony, you must see what I’m driving at! Wait a minute; -don’t go through the roof until you’ve heard what I’ve got to say. You -see, I know that Uncle James gave you the plan when you were only -sixteen, because he thought he was dying then, and I’ve come down here -to ask you whether any one might have seen you coming and going as a -boy, or whether ... Tony, _did_ you ever tell any one?” - -“I thought you said that it was Piggy’s orders that brought you down -here.” - -“Yes, it was,” said Henry. - -“Am I to gather then that Piggy has suggested these damned impertinent -questions?” Mr. Luttrell’s tone was easy to a degree. - -Henry, on the verge of losing his temper, rose abruptly to his feet, -walked half a dozen paces with his hands shoved well down in his -pockets, and then walked back again. - -“Tony, what on earth’s the good of quarrelling?” - -Anthony Luttrell was leaning back, his head against the back of the -stone seat, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He appeared to -be watching the race of clouds between the horizon and the zenith. He -said something, and the wind took his words away. - -Henry sat down again. - -“Look here, Tony,” he said, “you’ve not answered my question. Did you -ever tell any one? Damn it all, Tony, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have -to!... Did you ever tell Raymond?” - -A great gust swept the headland, another and more violent one followed -it, battered against the cliff, and then dropped suddenly into what, -after the tumult, seemed like a silence. - -“Piggy speaking, or you?” said Anthony Luttrell quite lightly. - -“Both,” said Henry. - -“You sound heated, Henry. Now I should have thought that that would have -been my rôle. Instead, I merely repeat to you, and you in your turn, of -course, repeat to Piggy that I have told no one about the passages, and, -after you have admired my moderation, perhaps we might change the -subject.” - -“I’m afraid it can’t be done,” said Henry. “Tony, do you mind sitting up -and looking at this?” - -As he spoke he placed “this” on the seat between them and turned a light -upon it, holding the torch close down on to the seat so that the beam -did not travel beyond its edge. Mr. Luttrell turned lazily and saw a -small handkerchief of very fine linen with an embroidered “R” in the -corner. He continued to look at it, and Henry continued to hold the -torch so that the light fell upon the initial. Then quite suddenly -Anthony Luttrell reached sideways and switched off the light. His hand -dropped to the handkerchief and covered it. - -“No, I don’t want it,” said Henry, “but I thought you ought to know that -I found it in the passage behind us, just where one stoops to shift the -stone.” - -“It’s one I found and dropped,” said Anthony, putting it into his -pocket. - -Henry said nothing at all. - -A somewhat prolonged silence was broken by Luttrell. “I’m chucking my -job here,” he said. “I’ve written to Sir Julian. Here’s the letter for -you to give him.” He pushed it along the seat as he spoke, and Henry -picked it up reluctantly. “I’ve asked to be replaced with as little -delay as possible. You might urge that point on him, if you don’t mind. -I want it made perfectly clear that under no circumstances will I stay -on more than three days. I will, in fact, see the whole department -damned first.” - -He spoke without the slightest heat, in the rather cold, drawling manner -which Henry had known as a danger-signal from the days when he was a -small boy, and Anthony a big one and his idol. - -“Are you giving any reason?” - -“No, there’s no reason to give.” - -“Piggy,” said Henry thoughtfully, “will want one. It’s all very well for -you, Tony, to write him a letter and say you’re going to chuck your job -without giving a reason. I’ve got to stand up at the other side of his -table and stick out a cross-examination on the probable nature of the -reasons which you haven’t given. You’re putting me in an impossible -position.” - -“It’s that damned conscience of yours, I suppose! I cannot tell a lie, -and all that sort of thing.” - -“Not to Piggy about this.” - -“All right,” said Anthony, getting to his feet, “tell him the truth. Why -should I care? I suppose, in common with everybody else, he is perfectly -well aware that I once made a fool of myself about Lady Heritage. Well, -I thought I could stick being down here and seeing her, but I can’t. It -just comes to that. I can’t stick it.” - -“Does she know you’re here?” - -“No, she doesn’t. She sees me in an overall and a mask. She has been -pleased to commend my skill. This afternoon she leaned over my shoulder -to watch what I was doing. Well, I came away and wrote to Piggy. I can’t -stand it, and you can tell him so with the utmost circumstance.” - -Henry was leaning forward, chin in hand. He looked past Anthony at the -black moving water. - -“Why don’t you see Raymond?” he said. “No, Tony, you’ve just got to -listen to me. What you’ve been saying is true as far as it goes, but it -doesn’t go very far. You wouldn’t chuck your job just for that. You -know, and I know that you’re chucking it because you are afraid that -Raymond is involved. If you know it, and I know it, don’t you think -Piggy will know it too? That’s why I say, see Raymond. If she’s let -herself get mixed up with this show, it’s because she’s had a rotten -time and wants to hit back. She said as much to me—oh, not à propos of -this, of course; we were just talking.” - -“I heard her,” said Anthony Luttrell. He paused, and added with a -distinct sneer, “You displayed an admirable discretion.” - -“Thank you, Tony. Now what’s the good of you clearing out? If you do, -Piggy will send some one else down here, and if Raymond has got mixed up -with any of Ember’s devilry, she’ll get caught out. For the Lord’s sake, -Tony, see her, let her know you’re alive! I believe she’d chuck the -whole thing and go to the ends of the earth with you. Nobody would press -the matter. We should catch Ember out, and you and Raymond could go -abroad for a bit. I don’t see any other way out of it.” - -“You seem to me to be assuming a good deal, Henry,” said Anthony -Luttrell. - -“I’m not assuming anything”—Henry’s tone was very blunt. “I know three -things.” - -“Yes?” - -“One”—Henry ticked his facts off on the fingers of his left hand: “the -passages are being used. Two: they’ve been wired for electric light. -Three: Raymond has been through them, and quite lately. Those three -facts, taken in conjunction with a deposition stating that something of -a highly dangerous and anti-social nature is being manufactured on these -premises, and under cover of the Government experiments—well, Tony, I -don’t suppose you want me to dot the ‘i’s’ and cross the ‘t’s.’” - -“It never occurred to you that my father might have had the place wired, -I suppose?” - -“He didn’t,” said Henry. “It’s no good, Tony. You can’t bluff me, and I -hate your trying to. There’s only one way out of this. You’ve got to see -Raymond.” - -Anthony made an impatient movement. - -“You assume too much,” he said, “but I’ll put that on one side. From the -cold, official standpoint, where does my interview with Lady Heritage -come in? Wouldn’t it rather complicate matters? You appear to assume -that there is a conspiracy, and then to suggest that I should warn one -of the conspirators.” - -“No, I do not. I ask you to let Raymond know that you are alive, nothing -more. In my view nothing more is necessary. She’ll naturally think you -are here to see her, and you can let her think so. As to the cold, -official standpoint, the last thing that the department would want is a -scandal about a woman in Raymond’s position. Piggy would say what I -say—for the Lord’s sake get her out of it and let us have a free hand. -She’s an appalling complication.” - -“Women always are,” said Anthony Luttrell in his bitter drawl. - -He moved a pace or two away, and then turned back again. “You’re not a -bad sort in spite of the conscience, Henry,” he said. “From your -standpoint, what you’ve just said is sense—good, plain common sense—in -fact, exactly the thing which one has no use for in certain moods.” - -“Scrap the moods, Tony,” said Henry, in an expressionless voice. - -Anthony laughed, rather harshly. - -“My good Henry,” he said—there was affection as well as mockery in his -tone—“does one ask for one’s temperament? Look here, I haven’t seen -Raymond because I haven’t dared—I don’t know what I might do or say if I -did see her. Now that is the plain, unvarnished truth. When I was in -Petrograd I once hid for three days in a cellar with a temperamental -Russian lady. There was nothing to do except to talk, and we talked -endlessly. She told me a lot of home truths—said my nature was like a -glacier, cold and slow, and that once I had got going I had to go on, -even if I ground all my own dearest hopes to powder in doing so.” - -“In other words, if you’ve got a grouch, you’re a devil to keep it,” -said Henry. “It’s quite true; you always were. But, look here, Tony, why -all this to my address? Why not get it off your chest to Raymond, and if -you _will_ deal in geological parallels, well—she’s rather in the -volcano line, or used to be, and I don’t mind betting she’ll blow your -glacier to smithereens?” Henry looked at his watch. - -“I must go,” he said. “Think it over, Tony, and same place, to-morrow, -same time.” - -He turned, without waiting for an answer, and walked into the darkness -of the cave. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - -Jane went to her room that night, but she did not undress. Two entirely -opposite lines of reasoning had ended in inducing one and the same -decision. On the one hand, it might be argued that Lady Heritage and Mr. -Ember, having passed the greater part of last night abroad upon their -mysterious business, would be most unlikely to spend a second sleepless -night so soon, and Jane might, therefore, count on finding the coast -clear for a little exploring on her own account. On the other hand, an -equally logical train of thought suggested that these midnight comings -and goings might be part of a routine, and that Jane, if on the watch, -might acquire some very valuable information. - -She therefore locked her door and proceeded to consider the question of -what she should wear with as much attention as if she had been going to -a ball. Neither barefoot nor with only stockings would she go into any -passage which had left those unpleasant dark stains upon Lady Heritage’s -overall. A really heartfelt shudder passed over her at the very idea. -No, Renata possessed slippers of maroon felt. Misguided talent had -stenciled upon the toe of one a Dutch boy in full trousers, and upon the -toe of the other a Dutch girl in full petticoats. Jane had a fierce -loathing for the slippers, but they had cork soles and would at once -keep out the damp and be very silent. She therefore placed them in -readiness. - -Prolonged hesitation between the claims of the crimson flannel -dressing-gown and an aged blue serge dress resulted in a final selection -of the latter. She decided that it would flap less, and that if it got -stained and damp the housemaids would be less likely to notice it. - -“Of course, on the other hand,” said Jane to herself, “if I’m caught, it -absolutely does in any excuse about walking in my sleep, but I don’t -think that’s an earthly, anyhow. If I’m caught, they’ll jolly well know -what I was doing. The thing is not to be caught.” - -At half-past eleven precisely she made her way down to the hall. - -To-night there was no patch of moonlight to pass through, only a vague -greyness which showed that the moon had risen and that the clouds -outside were thin enough to let some of the light filter through. - -Jane felt her way downstairs and across the hall to Sir William’s study. -The study door afforded the nearest point from which she could watch -what she called Willoughby Luttrell’s corner without exposing herself to -detection. - -She made up her mind that she would wait until she heard twelve strike, -and then explore the corner. She had so thoroughly planned a period of -waiting that it was with a feeling of shocked surprise that she became -aware, even as she reached and crossed the threshold of the study, that -some one was coming down the stairs behind her. - -If she had been one moment later, if she had stayed, as she very nearly -did stay, to look out of the window and see whether the night was fair, -they would have walked into one another at the top of the stairs. As it -was, she had escaped by the very narrowest margin. - -The door opened inwards, and she had just time to get behind it and -close all but a crack, when through that crack she saw Raymond Heritage -pass, wrapped in the same black cloak which she had worn the night -before, only this time she wore beneath it, not her linen overall, but -the dress she had worn for dinner. She held an electric lamp in her left -hand. - -As soon as she had passed the door, Jane opened it a little wider and -came forward a step. - -Lady Heritage went straight to the corner of the hall. She put the torch -down upon a chair which stood immediately under Willoughby Luttrell’s -portrait. Then she went quite close to the wall and reached up, with her -arms stretched out widely. Her right hand touched the bottom left-hand -corner of the portrait and her left rested in the angle of the corner. - -Jane heard the same click which she had heard the night before. - -Lady Heritage stepped back, took up her light, and, going to the corner, -pushed hard against the wall. - -Jane watched with all her eyes, and saw a section of the panelling turn -on some unseen pivot, leaving a narrow door through which Raymond -passed. For a moment she stared at the lighter oblong in the wall; then -there was a second click and the unbroken shadow once again. - -Tingling with excitement, Jane stepped from her doorway and came to the -corner. She must, oh she must, find the spring, and find it in time to -follow. Raymond stood here and reached up, but she was tall, much taller -than Jane. She stood on her tiptoes and could not reach the lowest edge -of the portrait. - -With the very greatest of care she moved the chair that was under the -picture a yard or two to the left. It weighed as though it were made of -lead instead of oak, and she was gasping as she set it down, but she had -made no noise. Renata’s cork soles slipped as she climbed on to the -polished seat, but she gripped the solid back and did not fall. - -Raymond had pressed something in the wall with both hands at once. Jane -began to feel carefully along the lower edge of the portrait until she -came to the massively foliated corner with its fat gilt acanthus leaves. -A cross-piece of the panelling came just on the same level. She felt -along it with light, sensitive finger-tips. There was a knot in the -wood, but nothing else. “If there is another knot in the corner, I’ll -try pressing on them,” she thought to herself, and on the instant her -left hand found the second knot. She pressed with all her might, and for -the third time that evening she heard the little scarcely audible click. -This time it spelt victory. - -In a curiously methodical manner Jane got down, put the chair carefully -back into its place, and pushed against the wall as she had seen Lady -Heritage do. The panelling yielded to her hand and swung inwards. - -There was a black gap in the corner. Jane passed through it without any -hesitation, and pulled the panelling to. She meant to leave it just -ajar, but her hand must have shaken, or else there was some controlling -spring, for as she stood in the black dark she heard the click again. -She drew a long breath and stood motionless for a moment, but only for a -moment. She had come there to follow Raymond Heritage, and follow her -she would. - -She put out a cautious foot and it went down, so far down that for a -sickening instant she thought that she must overbalance and fall -headlong; then, just in time, it touched a step, the first of ten which -went down very steeply. At the bottom she felt her way round a corner, -and then with intensest thankfulness she saw, a good way ahead, a moving -figure with a light. - -The passage that stretched before her was about six feet high and four -feet wide. The air felt very damp and heavy. At intervals there were -openings on the left-hand side where other passages seemed to branch -off. Jane began to have a growing horror of these other passages. If she -lost Lady Heritage, how would she ever find her way back, and—yet more -horrid thought—who, or what, might at any moment come out of one of -those dark tunnels behind her? It was at this point that she began to -run, only to check herself severely. “She’ll hear you, you fool. Jane, I -absolutely forbid you to be such a fool; and Renata’s slippers will come -off if you run, nasty sloppy things, and then you’ll tread in green -slime, and get it between all your toes. _It will squelch._” The horror -of the black passages was eclipsed; Jane stopped running obediently, but -she took longer steps and diminished the distance between herself and -her unconscious guide. - -The passage had begun to run uphill. Jane wondered where they were -going. At any moment Lady Heritage might turn. If she did so, Jane must -infallibly be caught unless she were near enough to one of the side -tunnels. She went on with her heart in her mouth. - -A line from one of Christina Rossetti’s poems came into her head: - - “Does the road wind uphill all the way? - Yes, to the very end.” - -“The sort of cheery thing one _would_ remember,” thought Jane to -herself; and she continued to climb the endless slope, her eyes fixed on -the dark, moving silhouette of Lady Heritage. - -At last there was a pause. The light ceased to move. Jane crept closer, -but dared not come too near. Next moment she saw what looked like a slab -of stone in the passage wall swing round on a pivot as the panelling had -done. Lady Heritage passed out of sight through the opening, and at the -same moment a great breath of wind from the sea drove into the passage, -clear, fresh, exquisite. - -Jane hurried to the opening and looked out. She saw first the dark, -curving walls of a small cave, and, immediately in front of her, the -black outline of a bench, beyond that a stretch of uneven ground, a -tangle of wire, and the black movement of the sea. The moon behind the -clouds made a vague, dusky twilight, and the wind blew. Lady Heritage -was standing just on the other side of the stone seat. It startled Jane -to find that she was so near. She stood quite still looking at the -shadowed water and the cloudy sky. - -Then, without any warning, a tall, dark figure came into sight. To Jane -it seemed as if it rose out of the ground. Afterwards she thought that, -if any one had been sitting on the grass and then had risen, it would, -of course, have looked like that. At the time she leaned against the -rock for support and had much ado not to scream. - -It was Lady Heritage who called out, with an inarticulate cry that -mingled with the wind and was carried away. - -The dark figure stood still just where it had so suddenly appeared, and -in an instant Raymond had turned her light upon it. In the circle of -light Jane saw a man—a tall man, bareheaded. He had thrown up his arm as -if to screen his face, but it only hid the mouth and chin. Over it his -eyes looked straight at Raymond Heritage. - -And Raymond gave a great cry of “Anthony!” The light dropped from her -hand, fell with a crash on the stones, rolled over, and went out. -Anthony Luttrell did not stir, but Raymond began to move towards him -after a strange rigid fashion, and as she moved, she kept saying his -name over and over: - -“Tony—Tony—Tony—Tony.” - -Her voice fell lower and lower. As she reached him it was nearly gone. - -Jane turned from the stone wall where she was leaning, and stumbled back -along the dark passage with the tears running down her face. - -At that last whisper of his name, Anthony spoke: - -“I’m not a ghost, Raymond. Did you think I was?” - -They were so close together that if she had stretched out those groping -hands another inch they would have touched him. Something in his tone -set a barrier between them and Raymond’s hands fell empty. The world was -whirling round her. Life and death, love and hate, their parting and -this meeting were merged in a confusion that robbed her of thought and -almost of consciousness. It seemed to her as if they had been standing -there for a long, long time, or, rather, as if time had nothing to do -with them, and they had been cast into a strange eternity. Out of the -turmoil of her thought arose the remembrance of the last time she and -Anthony had trysted in this place—a sky almost unbearably blue and the -sea brilliant under the noonday sun. Now there was no light anywhere. - -Anthony was alive. That should have been joy unbelievable. All through -the years since she had read his name in the list of missing with what -an overwhelming surge of joy would her heart have lifted to the words, -“Anthony is alive.” Now she said them to herself and felt only a deeper, -more terrible sense of separation than any that had touched her yet. -They stood together, and between them there was a gulf unpassable—and no -light anywhere. - -Raymond moved very slowly back along the way that she had come. She came -to the stone seat, caught at the back of it with a hand that suddenly -began to shake, and sat down. A few slow moments passed. Then she bent -and began to grope for the torch which she had dropped. - -Anthony came towards her. - -“What is it?” he said, and she answered him in a low, fluttering voice: - -“My light—I dropped—it’s so dark—I want the light.” - -The strong, capable hand groping without aim stirred something in -Anthony. He said, almost roughly: - -“I’ll find it.” - -Then a moment later he had picked it up, found it intact save for a -crack in the glass, and, switching it on, put it down on the seat beside -her. - -He was not prepared for her immediately flashing the light on to his -face. An exclamation broke from him, and to cover it he said: - -“I am changed out of knowledge.” - -“Changed—yes—Tony, that scar.” - -Her voice trembled away into silence. Her hand fell. The dusk was -between them. - -“Ugly, isn’t it? But I haven’t the monopoly of change, have I? You, I -think, have changed also.” - -“Yes.” - -With an impulse she hardly understood, she raised the light and turned -it until her face and her bare throat were brilliantly illuminated. The -dark cloak fell away a little. The dark eyes looked at him with defiance -and appeal. Her beauty, seen like that, had something that startled; it -was so devoid of life and colour, and yet so great! After a long, -breathless minute Anthony said in his slow voice: - -“You have changed more than I have, Lady Heritage, for you have changed -your name.” - -He saw the last vestige of colour leave her face. She put the lamp down, -and her silence startled him. - -“No one would have known me,” he said after a pause that was all strain. - -“I knew you,” said Raymond very low. - -“Only because the lower part of my face was hidden. You’d have passed me -in daylight. You have passed me.” - -She winced at that, turned the light full on to him again, and said: - -“You are working in the laboratory—that’s—that’s why....” She broke off -for a minute and went on with a sort of violence, “You say that I didn’t -know you, but I did—I did. All this week I’ve been tormented with your -presence. All this week I’ve felt you just at hand, just out of reach. I -kept saying to myself, ‘Tony’s dead,’ and expecting to meet you round -every corner. It was driving me mad.” - -“It sounds most uncomfortable,” said Anthony dryly. - -Raymond saw a mocking look pass over his face. She turned the light away -and set it down. If she had not felt physically incapable of rising to -her feet, she would have left him then. This was not Anthony at all, -only the anger, the bitterness, the cold resentment which she had hated -in him. These, not Anthony, had come back from the grave. - -He was speaking again: - -“Perhaps I shouldn’t ask, but ... are you expecting to meet any one -here? Am I in the way?” - -She answered him with a sort of heartbroken simplicity quite beyond -pride: - -“I don’t know what I expected. You were haunting me so. I came here -because ... oh, Tony, don’t you remember at all?” - -“I remember something that you appear to have forgotten, Raymond. When -like a fool, and a dishonourable fool at that, I gave you the secret of -these passages, I remember very well the rather enthusiastic terms in -which you asserted your conviction that the secret was a sacred trust, -and one that you would keep absolutely inviolate. As, however, I broke -my own trust in giving you the secret, I can, I suppose, hardly complain -because you have imitated my lack of discretion.” - -Raymond did rise then. - -“Tony, what do you mean?” she cried. - -“My dear Raymond, you know very well what I mean.” - -“I do not.” Her voice had risen; this was more the Raymond of their old -quarrels, a creature quick to passionate anger, vehement and reckless. - -“I say you know very well.” - -“And I say that I do not. That I haven’t the shadow of an idea—and that -you must explain, Tony; explain.” - -“Oh, I’ll explain all right!” - -The last word was almost lost in a battering gust of wind. He waited for -it to die away, and then: - -“How soon did you give away the secret to Ember?” he said, and heard her -gasp. - -“To Jeffrey—you think I told Jeffrey?” - -Anthony laughed. It needed only her use of Ember’s name. - -“I know that you told Ember,” he said in a voice like ice. - -Raymond put her hands to her head. She pressed her throbbing temples and -stared at this shadow of Anthony. It was beyond any nightmare that they -should meet like this. She made a very great effort, and came up to him, -touching his wrist, trying to take his hand. - -“Tony, I don’t know what you’re thinking of. I don’t know how you can -speak to me like this. I don’t know what you mean—I don’t indeed. Since -you went I have only been into the passages twice, last night and -to-night. I went there because—oh, why do people go and weep upon a -grave? I had no grave to go to, but I thought that, if I came here where -we used to meet, perhaps the you that was haunting me would take shape -so that I could see it, or else leave me. I felt driven, and I didn’t -know what was driving me.” - -In the breathless silence that followed she heard him say: - -“I _know_ that you told Ember”—and quite suddenly all the strength went -out of her. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - -When Jane turned, and ran back down the dark passage, she had just the -one thought—to get away out of earshot. That she, or any one but Anthony -Luttrell, should have heard that breaking tone in Raymond’s voice -shocked her profoundly. She felt guilty of having intruded upon the -innermost sacred places of another woman’s life. It shocked and moved -her very deeply. Tears blinded her, and she ran into the dark without a -thought for herself. It was only when, looking back, she could not see -even a glimmer of outside twilight that she halted and began to think -what she must do. - -The practical was never very long in abeyance with Jane. She began to -plan rapidly, even whilst she dried her eyes. She would feel her way to -the foot of the stairs. If she kept touching the left-hand wall, there -would be very little risk of losing her way. Only one passage had led -off in that direction and that one diverged at right angles, so that she -would not run the risk of going down it unawares. When she came to the -foot of the stairs, she would turn back again and wait in the first -cross-passage until Raymond passed. Then she would follow her up the -steps and watch to see how the door opened on this side. - -Jane was very much pleased with her plan when she had made it. It made -her feel very intelligent and efficient. She began to put it into -practice at once, walking quite quickly with her right hand feeling in -front of her and the left just brushing the wall. Of course the stone -was horrid to touch—cold, damp, slimy. She was sure the slime was green. -Once she jabbed her finger on a rock splinter, and once she touched -something soft which squirmed. The dark seemed to get darker and darker, -and the silence was like a weight that she could hardly carry. - -Her little glow of self-satisfaction died down and left her coldly -afraid. Then, quite suddenly, she came to the cross-passage. Her fingers -slid from the stone into black air, groped, stretched out, and -touched—something—warm, alive. - -Jane’s gasping scream went echoing down the dark. A hand came up and -caught her wrist, another fell upon her right shoulder. - -“Jane, for the Lord’s sake, hush!” said Henry’s voice. - -Jane caught her breath as if she were going to scream again. - -“Henry, you utter, utter, _utter_ beast!” she said, and incontinently -burst into tears. - -Henry put his arms round her, and Jane wept as she had never wept in her -life, her face tightly pressed against the rough tweed of his coat -sleeve, her whole figure shaking with tumultuous sobs. - -Presently, when she was mopping her eyes and feeling quite desperately -ashamed, she exclaimed: - -“I had just touched a slug, and you were worse. I didn’t think anything -could be worse than a slug, but you were.” - -Henry had kissed the back of her neck twice while she was crying. Now he -managed to kiss a little bit of damp cheek. - -“You’re not to,” said Jane, in a muffled whisper. - -“Why not?” said Henry, with the utmost simplicity. “You don’t mind it, -you know you don’t.” He did it again. “Jane, if you had minded, you -wouldn’t have clung to me like that. Jane darling, you do like me a -little bit, don’t you?” - -“Oh, I don’t! And I didn’t cling, I didn’t.” - -“You did. Take it from me, you did.” - -Jane made a very slight effort to detach herself. It was unsuccessful -because Henry was a good deal stronger than she was and he held her -firmly. - -“Henry, I really hate you,” she said. “Any one might cling, if they -thought it was a slug or Mr. Ember and then found it wasn’t.” Then, -after a pause, “Henry, when a person says they hate you, it’s usual to -let go of them.” - -“My book of etiquette,” said Henry firmly, “says—page 163, para. ii.—‘A -profession of hatred is more compromising than a confession of love; a -woman who expresses hatred in words has love in her heart.’ And I really -did see that in a book yesterday, so it’s bound to be true, isn’t -it?—isn’t it, darling?” - -“Henry, I told you to stop,” said Jane; “I simply _won’t_ be kissed by a -man I’m not engaged to.” - -“Oh, but we are,” said Henry. “I mean you will, won’t you?” - -Jane came a very little nearer. - -“We should quarrel,” she said, “quite dreadfully. You know there are -some people you feel you’d never quarrel with, not if you lived with -them a hundred years; and there are others, well, you know from the very -first minute that you’d quarrel with them and keep on doing it.” - -“Like we’re doing now?” said Henry hopefully. Jane nodded. Of course -Henry could not see the nod, but he felt it because it bumped his chin. - -“All really happily married people quarrel,” he said. “The really -hopeless marriages are the polite ones. And you know you’ll like -quarrelling with me, Jane. We’ll make up in between whiles, and there -won’t be a dull moment. Will you?” - -“I don’t mind promising to quarrel,” said Jane. “No, Henry, you’re -positively not to kiss me any more. I’m here on business, if you’re not. -How did you get here? And why were you lurking here, pretending to be a -slug?” - -“Suppose you tell me first,” said Henry. “How did _you_ get here?” - -“I followed Lady Heritage. I’ve got an immense amount to tell you.” - -She leaned against Henry’s arm in the darkness, and spoke in a soft, -eager voice: - -“It really began yesterday. I woke up and couldn’t go to sleep again, so -I came down for a book, and just as I was at the drawing-room door, I -saw Lady Heritage come out of the corner by Willoughby Luttrell’s -picture. Did you know there was a door there, Henry?” - -“Yes. Go on.” - -“She went upstairs, and I was trying to screw up my courage to cross the -hall when Mr. Ember came down the stairs and disappeared into the same -corner. Of course then I _knew_ there must be a door there, so I made up -my mind to come down to-night and look for it.” - -“Jane, wait,” said Henry. “You say Ember came down the stairs and went -through the door. Do you think Lady Heritage left it open? Or do you -think he watched her come out, and then found the way for himself?” - -“No,” said Jane; “neither. I mean I’m quite sure it wasn’t like that at -all. She shut the door, for I heard it, and it certainly wasn’t the -first time Mr. Ember had been that way. Why, he even put his light out -before he came to the wall, and any one would have to know the way very -well to find it in the dark.” - -“Yes. Then what happened?” - -“I went back to bed. Henry, you simply haven’t any idea how much I hated -going up those stairs. There was a perfectly fiendish patch of -moonlight, and I felt as if I couldn’t go through it and perhaps be -pounced on by some one just round the corner. If it hadn’t been for the -housemaids finding me in the morning, I believe I should just have stuck -where I was.” - -Henry’s arm tightened a little. - -“Well, to-night I hid in the study quite early, but I had hardly got -there when Lady Heritage came down. I watched to see what she did, and -as soon as she had gone through the door and shut it, I hauled that -great heavy chair along and climbed on to it, and found the spring. Your -old secret door was made for much taller people than me, and I was just -dreadfully frightened that some one would come and find me standing on -the chair in the corner, and looking like a perfect fool. Oh, I _was_ -thankful when I really got into the passage and found that Lady Heritage -was still in sight.” - -“I think it was frightfully clever of you,” said Henry, “frightfully -clever and frightfully brave; but you’re not to do it again. You might -have run into Ember or any one.” - -“Then you do believe there’s something dreadful going on,” said Jane -quickly. - -“I don’t know about what I believe, but I know that the passages are -being used, and that they’ve been wired for electric light. I haven’t -explored them yet, but people don’t do that sort of thing for nothing. -Now go on. I may say that I saw Raymond pass, and you after her. What -happened next?” - -Jane hesitated. - -“I’ll tell you,” she said. “She opened another door, and went out—why, -it’s been puzzling me, but of course I know now, the passage leads to -the headland. And the other day, when I was so frightened, Mr. Patterson -must have come out of it; and he was there to-night.” - -“Yes, go on. Did they meet?” - -“Yes,” said Jane, in a queer, shy voice. “I couldn’t help hearing. I ran -away at once, but I couldn’t help hearing her call him Tony. It’s your -cousin, Anthony Luttrell, isn’t it?” - -“Yes, it’s Tony,” said Henry. “Thank the Lord they’ve met. I’d just left -him there after jawing him about seeing Raymond.” - -“Oh, I hope they’ve made it up,” said Jane. “She looked so dreadfully -unhappy last night that I felt I simply couldn’t bear it. It’s so -dreadful to see people hurt like that, and not be able to do anything. -Do you think they’ll make it up?” - -“I hope so,” said Henry not very hopefully. “Tony’s a queer sort of -fellow, you know—frightfully hard to move, and a perfect devil for -hugging a grievance. He’s had a rotten time of it too. What with Raymond -marrying some one else, and then getting knocked out himself, and coming -round to find himself a prisoner—well, there wasn’t much to take his -mind off it. He escaped three times before he actually got away, and -then he went to Russia and had the worst time of the lot. So that he’s -got a good deal of excuse for sticking to his grouch.” - -Jane suddenly pinched Henry very hard, put her lips quite close to his -ear, and breathed: - -“Some one’s coming.” - -As she spoke Henry drew her noiselessly back a yard or two. The faint -glow which Jane had seen brightened until it seemed dazzling. The arched -entrance to the tunnel in which they stood became sharply defined. The -light struck the opposite wall, showing it rough and black, with patches -of dull green slime. - -Instantly Jane felt that her finger-tips would never be clean again. As -the thought shuddered through her mind the light went by. That’s what it -looked like, the passing of a light. Raymond’s dark figure hardly showed -behind it. The lighted archway faded. The darkness spread an even -surface over everything again. - -Jane laid her face against Henry’s sleeve, pressed quite close to him, -and said in a little voice that trembled: - -“Oh, they haven’t made it up—they haven’t. He’d have come with her if -they had.” - -“I’m afraid so.” - -“Of _course_ he’d have come with her. You wouldn’t have let me go by -myself, you know you wouldn’t. No, they haven’t made it up, they can’t -have, and—oh, Henry, why do people quarrel like that? You won’t with me, -will you—ever? I mean that dreadful world-without-end sort. I couldn’t -bear it. You won’t, will you?” - -Jane was shaking all over. Henry put his arms round her very tight, laid -his cheek against hers, and said: - -“Not much! It’s a mug’s game.” - -After a little while Jane said: - -“I must go. You know she came to my room before, and last night when I -got back I found the door shut. I had left it open so as not to make any -noise, but it was shut when I got back. That frightened me more than -anything, but now I think it must have been the wind that shut it. I -think so, only I’m not sure. It might have been the wind, or it might -have been ... somebody. It’s much more frightening not to be sure. So -I’d better go, hadn’t I?” - -“Yes, you must go,” said Henry. “I’ll come with you and show you how to -get out. And you must promise me, Jane, that you won’t come down here by -yourself?” - -“How can I promise? I might have to.” - -“Why?” - -“I don’t know why,” said Jane, “but I might have to. Supposing they were -murdering some one, and I heard the screams? Or suppose I knew that they -were just going to blow the house up?” - -“Well,” said Henry, with strong common sense, “I don’t see what good -you’d do by getting murdered and blown up too, which is what it would -come to. You really must promise me.” - -“I really won’t.” - -Henry gave her an exasperated shake. - -“Look here, Jane,” he said, “the whole thing’s most infernally -complicated. Tony’s chucking his job here, says he can’t stand it, and I -must go back to town and see Piggy about that.” - -“Who on earth is Piggy?” said Jane. - -“Sir Julian Le Mesurier, my chief. Every one calls him Piggy. I must see -him about Tony, and I also want to report what I told you about the -passages being wired and in use. I’ll try and see Tony again before I -go. You see the thing is, I don’t know how far Raymond is involved, and -I want to get her out of the way. Tony’s the only man who can get her -out of the way. I suppose I ought to go through all the passages -to-night, but I’m not going to. I shall tell Piggy why. As a matter of -fact, he’ll be just as keen as I am on getting Raymond out of it. Once -she’s clear, we can come down on Ember like a cartload of bricks and -smash up any devilry he may have been contriving. Now do you see why you -must keep clear? I can’t possibly do my job if I’m torn in bits about -your running into danger. And next time you went feeling along these -passages you might really run into your friend Ember, you know.” - -“I won’t unless I’ve got to,” said Jane. “You don’t imagine I like green -slime, and slugs, and the pitch dark, do you? But I won’t promise. Now -I’m going. Good-bye, Henry.” - -“You’re an obstinate little devil, Jane,” said Henry. - -Jane gave a little gurgling laugh. - -“We haven’t made an assignation yet,” she said. “When are you coming -back?” - -“Well, I’ve made an appointment with Tony for to-morrow night, but I’ll -try and catch him now and put that off for twenty-four hours. If for any -reason I have to come down sooner, I will come and tap on your cupboard -door. If I’m not there by midnight to-morrow, don’t expect me. But I’ll -be there for certain the following night—let me see, that’s Sunday.” - -“But if you don’t come?” - -“I will.” - -“Well, just supposing something prevented you?” - -“It won’t,” said Henry cheerfully. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - -Henry found Anthony Luttrell sitting on the stone bench and so oblivious -of his surroundings that it needed a hand on his shoulder to rouse him. -Then he said vaguely: - -“Oh, you’re back.” - -“Rouse up a bit, Tony. It might have been Mr. Jeffrey Ember, you know. -He was in the passages last night, and, for all I know, he may be there -every night. I came back to say that I shan’t be down to-morrow. Make -our appointment Sunday night instead.” - -“I want to be out of this by then,” said Anthony. “I’ll go sick if -there’s no other way. Stay here another forty-eight hours I cannot, and -will not. I tell you I can’t answer for myself.” - -Henry gave an inward groan. Jane had evidently been entirely right. They -had not made it up. - -“You’ve seen Raymond. I saw her pass.” - -“I’ve seen ... Lady Heritage. Henry, will you tell me what the devil -women are made of? She seemed to expect to take things up exactly as if -the last seven years had never been at all, exactly as if there had been -no breach, no war, no John Heritage, and no Jeffrey Ember. Oh, damn -Jeffrey Ember!...” - -“And I suppose you stood there and fired off sarcastic remarks at the -poor girl, instead of thanking heaven for your luck. What’s the good of -brooding over the past, Tony, and letting it spoil everything for you -now? Raymond cares a heap more for you than you deserve, and if she’s -got into a mess, it’s up to you to get her out of it. After all, you -don’t want a scandal, do you?” - -“I’ve got to get away. It’s no good, Henry.” - -“I’ll give Piggy your letter,” Henry went on, “and tell him how you -feel. He’ll recall you all right. But I know he’s very strong on your -coming to life again. You ought to have done it ages ago; when you came -back from Russia, in fact. Look here, Tony, be a reasonable being. Shave -off your beard, and take the artistic colour off that scar. Turn up in -London as yourself, and wire Raymond to come up and meet you. I want her -got away from here.” - -“Then get Piggy to wire to her, or her father. There are a dozen ways in -which it can be done. I refuse quite definitely to have anything to do -with it. If Piggy hasn’t recalled me by Monday, I shall simply go. You -can tell him that, if you like; and you can tell him that I shall -probably kill some one if I stay here.” - -Without another word he got up, walked round the seat, and disappeared -into the passage. - -A little later Henry emerged from a cave upon the seashore. There were a -number of these caves, some large, some small, under the far side of the -headland. - -The boundary of Luttrell Marches lay a quarter of a mile behind. - -Henry walked briskly along the shore, keeping close to the cliff so that -he might walk on rock instead of shingle. Presently he left the beach -and climbed a steep zigzagging path. Twenty minutes’ walk brought him to -a small inn where he picked up his car and drove away. - -Next day in Sir Julian’s room he unburdened himself and delivered -Anthony’s letter. - -“’M, yes; I’ll recall him,” said Piggy frowning. “He’s no good where he -is, if that’s his frame of mind. But it’s a pity—a pity. It bears out -exactly what I’ve always said. He has extraordinary abilities; I suppose -he might have made a brilliant success in almost any profession, but -he’s _impayable_.... I don’t think we’ve got a word for it in English -...; he lacks the vein of mediocrity which I maintain is -indispensable—the faculty of being ordinary which, for instance, you -possess.” - -Henry blushed a little, and Sir Julian laughed. - -“I think I’ll send him abroad again. Of course it’s high time he came to -life, as you say, if it’s only for the sake of getting you out of what -must be an extremely awkward position. My wife tells me that -match-making mammas of her acquaintance regard you with romantic -interest as the owner of Luttrell Marches. Well, I’ll see him when he -comes up. Meanwhile, I’ve had Simpson’s report. He says that, according -to reliable information, two men were concerned in the sale of Formula -‘A.’ One is a man called Belcovitch, the other, who seems to have kept -in the background, is described as a big good-looking man—florid -complexion, blue eyes, either English or American, though he passed -under the name of Bernier and professed to be Swiss. Does that fit your -friend Ember by any chance?” - -“No,” said Henry, “but it sounds very much like Molloy.” - -“Molloy was supposed to have gone to the States, wasn’t he?” - -Piggy had been drawing a neat brick wall at the foot of a sheet of -foolscap. He now sketched in rapidly two fighting cats. It was a -spirited performance. Each cat had wildly up-ended fur and a waving -tail. - -“Well, he and Ember told Miss Smith that he was going to the States. I -don’t know that that goes for very much.” - -“’M, no,” said Piggy. “Well, Bernier passed through Paris yesterday, and -is in London to-day. Belcovitch has gone to Vienna. Now, if Bernier is -Molloy, he’ll probably communicate with Ember. I was having him -shadowed, of course, but the fool who was on the job has managed to let -him slip. I’m hoping to pick him up again, but meanwhile....” - -Piggy was putting in the cats’ claws as he spoke, his enormous hand -absolutely steady over the delicate curves and sharp points. - -“There’s nothing more about Ember?” said Henry. - -Sir Julian shook his head, and went on drawing. “He wore the white -flower of a blameless life in Chicago, and was absolutely unknown to the -police,” he said. “There’s a three-volume novel about Molloy, though. -You’d better have it to read. Now you go off and have some sleep, and -... er, by the way, if Miss Smith ... what’s her other name?” - -“Jane,” said Henry. - -“Well, if she wants to get away at any time, my wife will be very -pleased to put her up.” - -“Thank you awfully, sir,” said Henry. - -When he had gone, Sir Julian asked the Exchange for his private number. -He sat holding the receiver to his ear and touching up his cats until -Isobel’s voice said: - -“Yes, who is it?” - -Then he said: - -“M’ dear, in the matter of Henry.” - -“Yes? Has anything happened?” - -“In the matter of Henry,” said Piggy firmly, “I should say, from his -conscious expression, that he had brought it off. Her name is Jane -Smith.” - -“And I mayn’t ask any questions?” - -“Not one. I just thought you’d better know her name in case she suddenly -arrived to stay with you. That’s all. I shall be late.” - -He rang off. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - -It was not till next day that Jane missed her handkerchief. When she -reached her room after saying good-bye to Henry she had rolled the serge -dress, the wet felt slippers and the damp stockings into a bundle, and -pushed them right to the back of her cupboard. She was so sleepy that -she hardly knew how she undressed. - -The instant her head touched the pillow, she slept, a pleasant, -dreamless sleep, and only woke with the housemaid’s knock. - -It was when she was drinking a very welcome cup of tea that she began to -wonder whether she was engaged to Henry or not. On the one hand, Henry -undoubtedly appeared to think that she was; on the other, Jane felt -perfectly satisfied that she had pledged herself to nothing more -formidable than a promise to quarrel. A small but very becoming dimple -appeared in Jane’s cheek as she came to the conclusion that Henry was -possibly engaged to her, but that she was certainly not engaged to -Henry. It seemed to her to be a very pleasant state of affairs. It was, -in fact, with great reluctance that she transferred her thoughts to more -practical matters. - -Having dressed, she extracted the bundle of clothes from the cupboard, -and decided that the serge dress might be hung up. There were one or two -damp patches and several green smears, but the former would dry and the -latter when dry would brush off. - -“But the slippers are awful,” she said. - -They were; the cork soles sopping wet, the felt drenched and slimy. She -made a brown paper parcel of them, and put it at the extreme back of the -cupboard. The stockings she consigned to the clothes basket. - -“I can wash them out later on,” she thought. - -It was at this point that she missed her handkerchief. She had had a -handkerchief the night before. She was sure of that, because she -remembered drying her eyes with it after she had cried. - -A little colour came into her face at the recollection of how vehemently -she had wept on Henry’s shoulder with Henry’s arm round her, but it died -again at the insistently recurring thought: - -“I had a handkerchief. I dried my eyes with it. Where is it?” - -Not only had she dried her eyes with it, but after that she remembered -scrubbing the finger-tips that had touched the slug. The handkerchief -must be horribly smeared and wet. It was one of Renata’s, of course, -white with a blue check border, and “R. Molloy, 12” in marking-ink -across one corner. Imagine buying twelve horrors like that! Mercifully -Renata must have lost most of them, for Jane had only inherited four. - -She brought her thoughts back with a jerk. Where was it? If she had -dropped it in the house it would have been either in the hall, on the -stairs, or in the corridor, and one of the housemaids would have brought -it to her by now. It must have fallen in the cross-passage where she had -stood with Henry, and if it were found.... - -Jane moved a step or two backwards, and sat down on the edge of the bed. - -“Of all the first-class prize _idiots_!” she said, and there words -failed her. - -If she had dropped it in the cross-passage, it might lie there until -Sunday night when she could get Henry to retrieve it, or it might not. -Ember—Lady Heritage—Anthony Luttrell, any one of these three people -might have business in that cross-passage, in which case a handkerchief, -even if stained, was just the most unlikely thing in the world to pass -unnoticed. Even if no one went up that passage, it might be seen from -the main tunnel. Of course, if it were Anthony Luttrell who found it, it -would not matter. But it was so very much more likely to be one of the -others. - -At intervals during the morning, Jane continued to argue the question, -or rather two questions. First, the probabilities for and against the -handkerchief being discovered; and second, should she, or should she -not, go and look for it herself in defiance of Henry’s prohibition? She -had spoken the truth, but not the whole truth, when she told Henry that -she hated the idea of going into the passages alone. She hated going, -but she wanted to go. Most ardently she desired to find things out -before Henry found them out. It would be nice and safe to sit with her -hands in her lap whilst Henry explored secret subterranean caverns, and -unravelled dangerous conspiracies—safe but hideously dull. When Henry -had finished exploring and unravelling, he would come along frightfully -pleased with himself and want her to be engaged to him, and he would -always, always feel superior and convinced that he had done the whole -thing himself. It was a most intolerable thought, more intolerable than -green slime and being alone in the dark. It was at this point that Jane -made up her mind that she would go and look for her handkerchief herself -without waiting for Henry. - -Having made her decision, she found an unlooked-for opportunity for -carrying it out, for at lunch Lady Heritage announced her intention of -putting in several hours of laboratory work, whilst it transpired that -Ember was going out in the two-seater car which he drove himself, and -that he was quite uncertain when he would be back. Jane at once made up -her mind that, as soon as the coast was quite clear, she would slip down -into the passages. She would wait until lunch had been cleared and the -servants were safely out of the way. No one was likely to come into the -hall, and the whole thing would be so much less terrifying than another -midnight expedition. - -Ember excused himself before lunch was over, and she heard him drive -away a few minutes later; but Lady Heritage sat on, her untasted coffee -beside her. She sat with her chin in her hand, looking out of the -window, and it was obvious enough that her thoughts were far away. She -was probably unconscious of Jane’s presence, certainly undesirous of it, -and yet, for the life of her, Jane could not have risen or asked if she -might go. Once or twice she looked from under her lashes at Raymond’s -still white face. There was a new look upon it since yesterday. She was -sadder and yet softer. She looked as if she had not slept at all. - -After a very long half-hour she turned her eyes on Jane. There was a -flash of surprise and then a frown. - -“You needn’t have waited,” she said in a cold voice, and then got up and -went out without another word. - -Jane took a book into the hall and sat there. - -Presently she caught a glimpse of Raymond’s white overall in the upper -corridor, and heard the clang with which the steel gate closed behind -her. She sat quite still and went on reading until all sounds from the -direction of the dining-room had ceased. Silence settled upon the house, -and she told herself that this was her opportunity. - -She ran up to her room, changed into the serge dress, and put on a pair -of outdoor shoes. She did not possess an electric torch, and the -question of a light had exercised her a good deal. The best she could do -was to pocket a box of matches and one of the bedroom candles which was -half burnt down. She then went downstairs, and, after listening -anxiously for some moments, she once more moved the heavy chair and, -climbing on it, began to feel for the knots on the panelling. As her -fingers found and pressed them, she heard, simultaneously with the click -of the released spring, a faint thudding noise. With a spasm of horror -she knew that some one had passed through the baize door that shut off -the servants’ wing. The sound she had heard was the sound of the door -falling back into place, and at any other moment it would have gone -unnoticed. - -Fortunately for herself Jane was accustomed to a rapid transition from -thought to action. She was off the chair, across the hall, and sitting -with a book on her lap when the butler made his usual rather slow -entrance. - -She had recognised at once that it would be impossible for her to -replace the chair and escape discovery. It stood in the shadow, and she -hoped for the best. - -Blotson crossed the hall and disappeared into Sir William’s study. - -Jane gazed at a printed page upon which the letters of the alphabet were -playing “General post.” After some interminable minutes Blotson -reappeared. He shut the study door, approached Jane, and in a low and -confidential voice inquired would she have tea in the hall, the -drawing-room, or the library. - -“Oh, the library,” said Jane, “the library, Blotson.” And with a -majestic, “Very good, miss,” Blotson withdrew. - -Blotson’s “Very good” always reminded Jane of the Royal Assent to an Act -of Parliament. It was doubtless a form, but how stately, how dignified a -form. - -When the chill superinduced by the presence of Blotson had yielded to a -more natural temperature, Jane went on tiptoe across the hall and -replaced the chair. It was a comfort to reflect that it had escaped -Blotson’s all-embracing eye. With a hasty glance she swung the panel -inwards, slipped through, and closed it again. - -She descended all the steps before she ventured to light her candle, and -she was careful to put the spent match into her pocket. Renata’s dress -really did have a pocket, which, of course, made the dropping of the -handkerchief quite inexcusable. - -The passage was much less terrifying when one had a light of one’s own -instead of the distant glimmer of somebody else’s and the horrid -possibility of being left at any moment in total darkness, with no idea -of one’s whereabouts or of how to get out. - -Jane’s spirits rose brightly. To dread a thing and then to find it easy -provides one with a pleasant sense of difficulty overcome. In great -cheerfulness of spirit Jane walked along until she came to the -cross-passage on her right. She turned up it, walked a few steps holding -her candle high, and there, a couple of yards from the entrance, lay the -handkerchief rolled into a wet and very dirty ball. She picked it up -gingerly, and put it into her convenient pocket. - -“And I suppose I ought to go back at once; but what a waste, when every -one is safely out of the way, and I’ve got through the really horrid -part, which is opening that abominable spring.” - -Jane hesitated, weighing the duty of a swift return against the pleasure -of exploring and perhaps getting ahead of Henry. The recollection that -Henry had forbidden her to explore turned the scale—towards pleasure. - -She had four inches of candle and a whole box of matches. She had at -least two hours of liberty, and, most important of all, she felt herself -to be in a frame of mind which invited success. The question was where -to begin. - -On the right-hand side there was only this single passage. Jane did not -feel attracted by it. She was almost sure that it must lead to the -potting-shed, and to descend from conspiracies to garden lumber would -indeed be an anti-climax. - -On the left there were four passages. Jane walked back along the way she -had come. The first passage left the main tunnel at an acute angle which -obviously carried it back under the main block of the house. Jane -decided to explore it. She held her candle high in one hand and her -skirts close with the other. The passage was low, and she had to bend a -little. After half a dozen yards she came to a flight of steps. They -were wet, slippery, and very steep. Jane stood on the top step and -looked down. - -The walls oozed moisture, the candlelight showed her a pale slug about -five inches long—Jane said six to start with, but, under pressure from -Henry, retreated as far as five and would not yield another half-inch; -she also said that the slug waved its horns at her and was crawling in -her direction. Right there, as the Americans say, she made up her mind -that this would be a good passage to explore with Henry, later on. She -caught a glimpse of another slug on a level with the fifth step, whisked -round, and ran. - -“The _one_ point about slugs is that they can’t run,” she said as she -came back into the main corridor. - -Without giving herself time to think, she plunged into the next opening -on the left. It ran at right angles to the central passage, and was -comparatively dry. It kept on the same level too, and Jane, trying to -make a mental plan, thought that it must run under the house, cutting -across the north wing. It occurred to her that there might be vaults of -some kind under the terrace, and that this passage would perhaps lead to -them. If this were so, it must soon either curve gradually to the left -or take a sudden sharp turn. She wished she had thought of counting her -steps, but it was difficult to pace regularly on a slippery floor and in -such a poor light. - -Just as she had begun to think that the passage must run out to sea, she -came to the sharp turn which she had expected. A wall of black rock -faced her, to her right a tunnel ran in at a sharp angle, and to her -left there was a dark stone arch, a few feet of a new sort of tunnel -built of brick, and then a steel gate exactly like the gates which shut -off the laboratories in the house above. - -Jane stared at the gate as if she expected it to dissolve into the -surrounding darkness. The candle-light danced on the steel. It was -rusty, but not so very rusty, and therefore it could not have been for -very long in its present position. She came closer and touched it. It -was real. - -Her amazing good fortune almost overcame her. What a thing to tell -Henry! What a justification for flouting his orders!! _What a score!!!_ - -Jane transferred the candle to her left hand, put out a right hand which -trembled with excitement, and tried the gate. It was open. For a moment -she drew back. Like the child who sits looking at a birthday parcel, the -mere sight of which provides it with so many thrills that it cannot -bring itself to cut the string and unwrap the paper, Jane stood and -looked at her gate, her discovery—hers, not Henry’s. - -As she looked, her eyes were caught by a small knob on the right-hand -wall. It was about four feet above the floor and quite close to the -steel bars. It was made of some dull metal and looked exactly like an -electric-light switch. By going quite close to the gate and looking -through she could see that a cased wire ran along the bricks on the same -level, and she remembered that Henry had said the passages were wired. - -Had Henry been first on the field after all? She turned, held her light -high, and looked back. The wire went up to the roof and ran along until -she lost it in the darkness. She reflected hopefully that Henry might -have seen the wire much farther along, and turned back again. - -Her fingers were on the switch when a really dreadful thought pricked -her. Suppose the switch controlled some horrible explosive! It might -turn on a light, most likely it did; but, on the other hand, it might -let loose a raging demon of destruction that would blow the whole place -to smithereens. It was an unreasonable thought, the sort of thought that -one dismisses instantly in the daylight, but which by candlelight in an -underground tunnel assumes a certain degree of credibility. - -“The question is, am I going on or not?” - -The silence having failed to supply her with an answer, she said -viciously, “You’re a worse rabbit than Renata,” shut her eyes, held her -breath, and jerked the switch down. - -Through her closed lids came a red flash. She clung to the switch and -waited. A drop of boiling wax guttered down upon her left forefinger. -She opened her eyes and saw the steel gate like a black tracery against -a lighted space beyond. With a quickly drawn breath of relief she pushed -the steel gate, took one step forward, and then stood rigid, listening -to the muffled yet insistent whir of an alarm bell. After one horrified -moment she pulled the door towards her again. The sound ceased. Jane -considered. - -As a result of her consideration she turned out the electric light, -opened the gate, slipped through, and closed it again so quickly that -the bell was hardly heard. She did not allow it to latch, and, stooping, -set a piece of broken brick to hold it ajar. The candlelight seemed very -inadequate, but she decided that she must make it do, and holding it -well up in front of her, she came through a brick arch into a long -chamber with walls of stone. - -Jane looked about her with ignorant, widely opened eyes. She had never -been in a laboratory, but she knew that this must be one. The printed -page does not exist for nothing. The vague yellow light flickered on -strange cylindrical shapes and was flung back by glass jars and odd -twisted retorts. A great many appliances, for which she could find no -name, emerged from dense shadow into the uncertain dusk. - -“It’s like a mediæval torture chamber—only worse, colder—more -calculating! It’s a sort of torture chamber. I _hate_ it. It gives me -the grues,” said Jane. - -She moved slowly down the room. It was quite dry in here. There was no -slime, and there were no slugs. - -“I hate it a thousand times more than the passages,” she said. - -Her feet moved slowly and unwillingly. In the far corner there were two -more arches. She thought she would just see what lay beyond them and -then return. She took the one on the right hand first. It ran along a -little way and then terminated in a small round chamber which was full -of packing-cases. She returned and went down the second passage. She was -just inside it when with startling suddenness she found herself looking -at her own shadow. It lay clear and black on the brick floor in front of -her. Some one had turned on the electric light. - -Jane’s candle tilted and the wax dropped. Her horrified eyes looked -about wildly for a place of refuge. The light showed her one. Within a -yard of the entrance there was an arched hollow. With a sort of gasp she -blew her candle out and bolted for the shelter. The whir of the electric -bell sounded as she gained it, sounded and then ceased. She heard Ember -say, “Quite a good run, wasn’t it?” and a voice which she did not expect -answer, “Well enough.” The voice puzzled her. It was a pleasant voice, -deep and rich. It had something of a brogue and something of a twang. - -A most unpleasant light broke upon Jane. It was the voice of the -Anarchist Uncle. It was the voice of Mr. Molloy. - -Jane got as far back into her hollow as she could. It was not very far. -There had evidently been a tunnel here, but the roof had fallen in, and -the floor was rough and uneven with the débris. - -She heard the two men moving in the room beyond, and she experienced a -most sincere repentance for not having attended to the counsels of -Henry. - -“And now we can talk,” said Ember. “You’ve got the cash?” - -“Not with me,” said Mr. Molloy. - -“Why not?” - -“Oh, just in case....”—a not unmelodious whistle completed the sentence. - -“They paid the higher figure?” - -“They did,” said Mr. Molloy. “Belcovitch was for taking their second -bid, but I told him ‘No.’ Belcovitch has his points, but he’s not the -bold bargainer. I told him ‘No.’ I told him ‘It’s this way—if they want -it they’ll pay our price.’ And pay it they did. I don’t know that I ever -handled that much money before, and all for a sheet or two of paper. -Well, well——” - -“You should have brought the money with you. Why didn’t you?” - -In the now brightly lighted laboratory Molloy sat negligently on the end -of a bench and lifted his eyebrows a little. - -“Well, I didn’t,” he said. - -“Where is it?” - -“In a place of safety.” - -Ember shrugged his shoulders. - -“Well, we’ve pulled it off,” he said. “By the way, the fact of the sale -is known. We’ve had an interfering young jack-in-office down here making -inquiries, and Sir William has gone up to town in a very considerable -state of nerves.” - -“The Anarchist Uncle,” said Jane to herself, “has been selling the -Government Formula ‘A.’ He doesn’t trust Mr. Ember enough to hand the -money over. Pleasant relations I’ve got!” - -Molloy whistled again, a long-drawn note with a hint of dismay in it. - -“I wonder who let the cat out of the bag,” he said. - -“These things always leak out. It doesn’t really signify. With this -money at our command we can complete our arrangements at once, and be -ready to strike within the next few weeks. You and Belcovitch had better -keep out of the way until the time comes. He should be here in four -days’ time, travelling by the route we settled; then you’ll have -company. You must both lie close here.” - -“That’s the devil of a plan now, Ember,” said Molloy. “We’ll be no -better than rats in a drain.” - -“Well, it’s for your safety,” said Ember. “They’re out for blood over -this business of Formula ‘A,’ I can tell you, and there’s nowhere you’d -be half so safe.” - -Jane was listening with all her ears. She decided that Mr. Ember’s -solicitude was not all on Molloy’s account. “He thinks that if Molloy -and Belcovitch are arrested, they’ll give him away over the big thing in -order to save themselves. I expect they’d be able to make a pretty good -bargain for themselves, really.” She heard Molloy give a sulky assent. -Then Ember was speaking again: - -“I want to check the lists with you. Not the continental ones—I’ll keep -those for Belcovitch—but those for the States and here. I’ve got them -complete now, but I’m not very sure about all the names. Hennessey now, -he’s down for Chicago, but I don’t know that I altogether trust -Hennessey.” - -“It’s late in the day to say that,” said Molloy. - -“Well, what about Hayling Taylor?” - -Jane listened, and heard name follow name. Ember appeared to be reading -from a list. He would name a large town and follow it with a list of -persons who apparently acted as agents there. Sometimes these names were -passed with an assenting grunt by Molloy, sometimes there was a -discussion. - -There are a great many large towns in the United States of America. Jane -became stiffer and stiffer. At last she could bear her constrained -half-crouching position no longer. Very gingerly, moving half an inch at -a time, she let herself down until she was sitting on the pile of broken -bricks which blocked the tunnel. The names went on. It was dull and -monotonous to a degree, but behind the dullness and the monotony there -was a sense of lurking horror. - -“It’s like being in a fog,” said Jane—“the sort you can’t see through at -all, and knowing that there’s a tiger loose somewhere.” - -One thing became clearer and clearer to her. Those lists that sounded -like geography lessons must be got hold of somehow. Henry must have -them. - -After what seemed like a long time Ember folded up one paper and -produced another. If Jane had been able to watch Mr. Molloy’s face, she -would have noticed that, every now and then, it was crossed by a look of -hesitation. He seemed constantly about to speak and yet held his peace. - -“I’d like you to check the names for Ireland too,” said Ember. “Grogan -sent me the completed list two days ago. You’d better look at it.” - -Molloy took the paper and ran his finger down the names, mumbling them -only half audibly. His finger travelled more and more slowly. All at -once he stopped, and threw the paper from him along the bench. - -“What is it?” said Ember, in his cool tones. - -Molloy frowned, got up, walked to the end of the room, and came back -again. He appeared to have something to say, and to experience extreme -difficulty in saying it. His words, when he did speak, seemed -irrelevant: - -“That’s a big sum they paid us for Formula ‘A,’” he said. “Did you ever -handle as much money as that, Ember?” - -“No,” said Jeffrey Ember, short and sharp. - -“Nor I. It’s a queer thing the feeling it gives you. I tell you I came -across with fear upon me, not knowing for sure whether I’d get away with -it; but there was a lot besides fear in it. There was power, Ember, I -tell you—power. Whilst I’d be sitting in the train, or walking down the -street, or lying in my bed at an hotel, I’d be thinking to myself, I’ve -got as much as would buy you up, and then there would be leavings.” - -“What are you driving at, Molloy?” said Ember. - -Molloy’s florid colour deepened. He narrowed his lids and looked through -them at Ember. - -“Maybe I was thinking,” he said, “that there’s a proverb we might take -note of.” - -“Well?” - -“It’s just a proverb,” said Mr. Molloy. “It’s been in my mind since I -had the handling of the money—‘A bird in the hand is worth two in the -bush.’” - -Ember’s eyes lost their dull film. They brightened until Mr. Molloy was -unable to sustain their glance. He shifted his gaze, and Ember said very -quietly: - -“Are you thinking of selling us?” - -Molloy broke into an oath. “And that’s a thing no one shall say of me,” -he said, with a violence that sent his voice echoing along through the -open arches. - -“Then may I ask you what you meant?” - -“Why, just this.” Molloy dropped to an ingratiating tone. “There’s the -money safe—certain—in our hands now. What’s the need of all this?” - -He came forward with two or three great strides, picked up the list from -where he had thrown it, and beat with it upon his open hand. - -“All this,” he repeated—“this and what it stands for. You may say -there’s no risk, but there’s a big risk. It’s a gamble, and what’s the -need to be gambling when we’ve got the money safe?” - -“In plain English, you want to back out at the last moment?” - -“I do not, and I defy you to say that I do.” - -“Then what’s come to you?” - -“Here’s the thing that’s come to me. It came to me when I ran me eye -down this list. See there, and that’ll tell ye what has come to me.” - -He thrust the list in front of Ember. - -“It’s Galway you’ve got set down there.” - -“Well, and what of it?” said Ember. - -“What of it?” said Mr. Molloy. “I was born in Galway, and the only -sister I ever had is married there. Four sons she has, decent young men -by all the accounts I’ve had of them. If I haven’t been in Galway for -thirty years, that’s not to say that I’ve no feeling for my own flesh -and blood. Why, the first girl I ever courted lived out Barna way. -Many’s the time I’ve met her in the dusk on the seashore, and she half -crying for fear of what her father would do. Katie Blake her name was. -They married her to old Timmy Dolan before I’d been six months out of -the country. A fistful of gold he had, and a hard fist it was. I heard -tell he beat her, poor Katie. But ye see now, Ember, it’s the same way -with your native place and your first love, ye can’t get quit of them. -Now I hadn’t been a month in Chicago before I was courting another girl, -but to save my neck I couldn’t tell ye what her name was, and ye may -blow Chicago to hell to-morrow and I’ll not say a word.” - -“But not Galway?” Mr. Ember’s tone was very dry indeed. - -“You’ve said it. Not Galway. I’ll not stand for it.” - -Ember laughed. It was a laugh without merriment, cool, sarcastic. - -“Molloy, the man of sentiment!” he said. “Now doesn’t it strike you that -it’s just a little late in the day for this display of feeling? May I -ask why you never raised the interesting subject of your birthplace -before?” - -“Is it sentiment that you’re sarcastic about?” said Molloy. “If it is, -I’d have you remember that I’ve never let it interfere with business -yet, and I wouldn’t now. Many’s the time I’ve put my feelings on one -side when I was up against a business proposition. But I tell you right -here that when I see my way to good money and to keeping what I call my -sentiment too it looks pretty good to me, and I say to myself what I say -to you, ‘What’s the sense of going looking for trouble?’” - -Ember laughed again. - -“I will translate,” he said. “From the sale of the Government formula -you see your way to deriving a competency. You become, in a mild way, a -capitalist. Luxuries before undreamed of are within your grasp—romantic -sentiment, childhood’s memories, the finer feelings in fact. As a poor -man you could not dream of affording them, though I dare say you’d have -enjoyed them well enough. Is it a correct translation?” - -“It is,” said Molloy. - -“Molloy the capitalist!” Ember’s voice dropped just a little lower. -“Molloy the man of sentiment! Molloy the traitor! No you don’t, Molloy, -I’ve got you covered. Why, you fool, you don’t suppose I meet a man -twice my own size in a place that no one knows of without taking the -obvious precautions?” - -Molloy had first started violently, and next made a sort of plunge in -Ember’s direction. At the sight of the small automatic pistol he checked -himself, backed a pace or two, and said: - -“You’ll take that word back. It’s a damned lie.” - -He breathed hard and stared at the pistol in Ember’s hand. - -“Is it?” said Ember coolly. “I hope it is, for your sake. I’d remind -you, Molloy, that no one would move heaven and earth to find you if you -disappeared, and that it would be hard to find a handier place for the -disposal of a superfluous corpse. Now listen to me.” - -He set his left hand open on the lists. - -“This is going through. It’s going through in every detail. It’s going -through just as we planned it.” He spoke in level, expressionless tones. -He looked at Molloy with a level, expressionless gaze. A little of the -colour went out of the big Irishman’s face. He drew a long breath, and -came to heel like a dog whose master calls him. - -“Have it your own way,” he said. “It was just talk, and to see what you -thought of it. If you’re set on the plan, why the plan it is.” - -“We’re all committed to the plan,” said Ember. “You were talking a while -ago as if you and I could do a deal and leave the rest of the Council -out. Setting Belcovitch on one side, weren’t you forgetting to reckon -with Number One?” - -“Maybe I was,” said Molloy. “And come to that, Ember, when are we to -have the full Council meeting you’ve been talking of for months past? -Belcovitch and I had a word about it, and he agrees with me. We want a -full meeting and Number One in the chair instead of getting all our -instructions through you. It’s reasonable.” - -“Yes, it’s reasonable.” Ember paused, and then added, “You shall have -the full Council when Belcovitch comes.” - -Jane on her pile of débris leaned forward to catch the words. Ember’s -voice had dropped very low. She was shaking with excitement. Her -movement was not quite a steady one. A small piece of rubble slid under -the pressure she placed on it. Something slipped and rolled. - -“What’s that?” said Ember sharply. - -“Some more of the passage falling in,” said Molloy, “by the sound of -it.” - -“Just take a light and see.” - -“It might have been a rat,” said Molloy carelessly. - -There was a pause. Jane remained absolutely motionless. If they thought -it was a rat perhaps they would not come and look. She stiffened -herself, wondering how long she could keep this cramped position. Then, -with a spasm of terror, she heard Molloy say, “I’ll have a look round. -We don’t want rats in here,” heard his heavy footfall, and saw a -brilliant beam of light stream past the entrance of her hiding-place. - -Before she had time to do more than experience a stab of fear, Molloy -walked straight past. She heard him go up the passage, heard him call -out, “There’s nothing here.” Then he turned. He was coming back. Would -he pass her again? It was just possible. She tried to think he would, -and then she knew that he would not. The light flashed into the broken -tunnel mouth. It flashed on the sagging roof, the damp walls and the -broken rubble. It flashed on to Jane. - -Jane saw only a white glare. She knew exactly what a beetle must feel -like when it is pinned out as a specimen. The light went through and -through her. It seemed to deprive her of thought, volition, power to -move. She just stared at it. - -Mr. Molloy using his flashlight cheerfully, and much relieved at a break -in his conversation with Ember, received one of the severest shocks of -his not unadventurous life. One is not a Terrorist for thirty years -without learning a little elementary self-control in moments of -emergency. He did not therefore exclaim. He merely stared. He saw a -sagging roof and damp walls. He saw a muddled heap of broken bricks -unnaturally clear cut and distinct. He saw the shadows which they cast, -unnaturally black and hard. He saw Jane, whom he took to be his daughter -Renata. His brain boggled at it. He passed his hand across his eyes, and -looked again. His daughter Renata was still there. She was half sitting, -half crouching on the pile of rubble. Her body was bent forward, her -elbows resting on her knees, her hands one on either side of her -colourless cheeks. Her face was tilted a little looking up at him. Her -mouth was a little open. Her eyes stared into the light. - -Jane stared, and Mr. Molloy stared. Then, with a sudden turn he swung -round and passed back into the laboratory. As he went he whistled the -air of “The Cruiskeen Lawn.” - -Jane remained rigid. The beetle was unpinned. The light was gone. But -the darkness was full of rockets and Catherine-wheels. Her ears were -buzzing. From a long way off she heard Ember speak and Molloy answer. -The rockets and the Catherine-wheels died away. She put her head down on -her knees, and the darkness came back restfully. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - -The clang of the steel gate was the next really distinct impression -which Jane received. In a moment she was herself. It was just as if she -had been asleep, and then, to the jar of a striking clock, had come -broad awake. She listened intently. - -That clang meant that the gate had been shut. One of the men had gone, -probably Ember. One of them certainly remained, for she could see that -the lights in the laboratory were still on. If it were Molloy, he would -come and find her. But it was just possible that it was Jeffrey Ember -who had remained behind, so she must keep absolutely still, she knew. - -At this moment Jane felt that she had really had as much adventure as -she wanted for one day. She thought meekly of Henry, and soulfully of -her tea. Blotson would be laying it in the library. There would be -muffins. She was dreadfully thirsty. Jane could have found it in her -heart to weep. The thought of the slowly congealing muffins unnerved -her. She would almost have admitted that woman’s place is in the home. -There is no saying what depths she might not have arrived at, had the -return of the Anarchist Uncle not distracted her thoughts. The heavy -tread convinced her that it was not Mr. Ember, but she did not stir -until he came round the corner and flashed the light upon her face. Jane -blinked. - -“Holy Niagara!” said Mr. Molloy. “It was the fright of my life you gave -me.” - -Jane scrambled to her feet. She was not quite sure what the situation -demanded of her in the way of filial behaviour. Did one embrace one’s -Anarchist Parent? Or did one just lean against the wall and look dazed? -She thought the latter. - -Molloy turned the light away, and then flashed it back again with great -suddenness. Jane shut her eyes. Mr. Molloy pursed his lips and emitted a -whistle which travelled rapidly up the chromatic scale and achieved a -top note of piercing intensity. Without a word he took Jane by the arm -and brought her out of her hiding-place into the lighted laboratory. He -then pushed her a little away, took a good look at her, and repeated his -former odd expletive: - -“Holy Niagara!” he said in low but heartfelt tones. - -Jane felt a little giddy, and she sat down on the bench. Her right hand -went out, feeling for support, and touched a sheaf of papers. Through -all the confusion of her thought she recognised that these must be the -lists from which Ember had been reading. - -“What is it?” she said faintly. - -Molloy put down his electric torch, came quite close to her, bent down -with a hand on either knee until his face was on a level with hers, and -said in what he doubtless intended for a whisper: - -“And _where_ is me daughter Renata?” - -Jane leaned back so as to get as far away from the flushed face as -possible. She opened her mouth without knowing what she was going to -say, and quite suddenly she began to laugh. She leaned her head against -the brick wall behind her, and the laughter shook her from head to foot. - -“Glory be to God, is it a laughing matter?” said Mr. Molloy; “whisht, I -tell you, whisht, or you’ll be having Ember back.” - -He straightened himself, and made a gesture in the direction of the -roof. - -“It’s crazy she is,” he said. - -Jane put her hand to her throat, gasped for breath, and stopped -laughing. - -“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was—you were—I mean, what did you say?” - -“I said, where is me daughter Renata?” said Molloy in his deepest tones. - -Jane gulped down a gurgle of laughter. - -“Your daughter Renata?” she said. - -“Me daughter Renata,” repeated Mr. Molloy sternly. “Where is she?” - -Jane felt herself steadying. - -“Why do you think—what makes you think——?” - -“That you’re not my daughter? They say it’s a wise child that knows its -own father, but it’s a damn fool father that wouldn’t know his own -daughter.” - -“_How_ do you know?” said Jane. - -Molloy laughed. - -“That’s telling,” he said; “but I don’t mind telling you. You’re my -niece Jane Smith and not my daughter Renata Molloy; and, even if I -wasn’t her father, I’d always know you from Renata, the way I could -always tell your two mothers apart when no one else could. Your mother -had a little mole on her left eyelid, just in the corner where it -wouldn’t show unless she shut her eyes. My wife hadn’t got it, and -that’s the way I could always tell her from her sister. And my daughter -Renata hasn’t got it, but you have; and when you blinked, in yonder, I -got a glimpse of it; and when I flashed the light on to you again and -you shut your eyes, I made sure. And now, perhaps you’ll tell me where -in all the world is Renata?” - -Jane’s gaze rested intelligently upon Mr. Molloy. The corners of her -mouth lifted a little. The dimple showed in her left cheek. - -“Renata,” she said in a very demure voice, “is in a safe place, like the -money you went abroad for.” - -Molloy looked at her uncertainly; in the end he laughed. - -“Meaning you won’t tell me,” he said. - -“Meaning that I’m not sure whether I’ll tell you or not.” - -“Maybe it would be better if I didn’t know. That’s what you’re -thinking?” - -“Yes, that was what I was thinking.” - -“Well, well,” said Mr. Molloy. Then he laughed again. “I’ve the joke on -Ember anyhow,” he said. “He thinks he’s got a patent for most of the -brains in the country, and here he’s been led by the nose by a slip of a -girl just out of school. And what’s more, he was taken in and I wasn’t. -He’ll find that hard to swallow, will Mr. Jeffrey Ember. You’d not have -taken me in, you know, even if I’d not had the mole to go by. And one of -these fine days I shall twit Ember with that.” - -“Are you so sure you’d have known me?” said Jane. “Why?” - -“My dear girl,” said Mr. Molloy, “if you knew your cousin Renata, you’d -not be asking me that. If I find a girl in an underground passage all in -the dark, well, that girl is not my daughter Renata. And if, by any -queer sort of chance, Renata had been in that hole where I found you, -she’d have screamed blue murder when I turned the light on her. Then, at -an easy guess, I should say you had Renata beat to a frazzle in the -matter of brains. I’m not saying, mind you, that I’m an admirer of -brains in a woman. It’s all a matter of opinion, and there’s all sorts -in the world. But you’ve got brains, and Renata hasn’t, and Ember’s had -you under his nose all this time without ever knowing the difference.” - -Jane laughed. - -“Perhaps I didn’t exactly obtrude my superior intelligence on Mr. -Ember,” she said. Her eyes danced. “You’ve no idea how stupid I can be -when I try, and I’ve been trying very hard indeed.” - -“The devil you have?” said Mr. Molloy. “Well, you had Ember deceived and -that’s a grand feather in your cap, I can tell you. He’s a hard one to -deceive is Ember.” - -Jane gurgled suddenly. - -“As a matter of fact,” she said, “I deceived you, too. Yes, I did, I -really did. You know the morning you went off to America, or rather the -morning you went off _not_ to America? At the flat? You said good-bye to -me, not to Renata.” - -“And where was Renata then?” - -Jane twinkled. - -“In the safe place,” she said. - -“I’ll swear it was Renata the night before,” said Molloy. - -“Yes, that’s clever of you. It was.” - -Molloy was thinking hard. - -“And which of you was it in the night when we thought the roof had -fallen in, and came into Renata’s room to look out of the window? I’d my -heart in my mouth, for I thought it was a bomb. Was it you or Renata -sitting up in bed like a ghost?” - -“That was me,” said Jane. “You couldn’t have been nearly so frightened -as I was.” - -“Then you changed places between eight and eleven that night?” - -“We changed places,” said Jane, “just as you and Mr. Ember came home. I -shut Renata’s door just as you opened the door of the flat. I was in the -hall when the lift stopped.” - -“Then I think I know how you did it,” said Molloy. He seemed interested. -“But I’d like to know who put you up to it; and I’d like to know who -gave the back entrance away; and I’d like to know how Renata, who hasn’t -the nerve of a mouse, got down that blamed fire-escape alone.” - -Jane dimpled again. - -“You do want to know a lot, don’t you?” she said. - -There was a pause. Then Jane said: - -“And now, what happens next, please?” - -“That,” said Molloy, “is just what I’m wondering.” - -“I ought to be getting back, I think,” said Jane. - -“Ah, ought you now?” said Mr. Molloy thoughtfully. - -There was another pause. Jane thought she would leave Mr. Molloy to -break it this time. She sat considering him. Her eyes dwelt upon him -with a calm scrutiny which he found extremely embarrassing. The longer -it continued, the more embarrassing he found it. In the end he said: - -“You want me to let you go?” - -Jane nodded. - -“And not tell Ember?” - -Jane gave another nod, cool and brief. - -“Oh, the devil’s in it,” said Molloy, with sudden violence. - -“You don’t need the devil; you’ve got Mr. Ember,” said Jane. - -“And that’s true enough, for it’s the very devil and all he is, and, if -I let you go, I’ll have him to reckon with—some day. I’d rather face the -Day of Judgment myself.” - -“I tell you what I think,” said Jane. “I think Mr. Ember is mad. That is -to say, I think he is the sort of fanatic who sees what he wants and -sets out to get it, without knowing half the difficulties and obstacles -that block the way. When he does begin to know them he doesn’t care, he -just goes along blind. Where a reasonable man would alter his plan to -suit the circumstances, this sort of fanatic just goes on because he’s -made his plan and will stick to it whatever happens. He isn’t governed -by reason at all. He doesn’t care what risks he runs, or what risks he -makes other people run. He goes right on, whatever happens. If the next -step is over a precipice he’ll take it. He must go on. Mr. Ember is like -that. I think he is mad.” - -Mr. Molloy stared hard at Jane, then he nodded slowly three times. - -“Now you’re not like that,” said Jane. “You’re reasonable. You don’t -want to run appalling risks when there’s absolutely nothing to be gained -by it. Of course, every one’s willing to run risks if it’s worth while. -I’m sure you are. I’m sure you’ve done awfully dangerous things.” - -“I have,” said Mr. Molloy, with simple pride. “There’s no one that’s -done more for The Cause, or run greater risks. I could tell you -things—but there, maybe I’d better not.” - -Jane clasped her hands round her knees. She leaned back against the wall -and regarded Mr. Molloy with what he took to be admiration. - -“Now do tell me,” she said—“when you speak of The Cause, what do you -mean?” - -In her heart of hearts Jane had a pretty firm conviction that, to Mr. -Molloy, The Cause stood for whatever promoted the wealth, welfare, and -advancement of himself, the said Molloy. - -“Ah,” said Mr. Molloy reverentially. He spread out his hands with a fine -gesture. “That’s a big question.” - -“Well, what I mean,” said Jane, “is this. What do you really call -yourself? You know, I always used to call you ‘The Anarchist Uncle,’ but -the other day some one said that there were no Anarchists any more, so I -wondered what you really were. Are you a Socialist, or a Communist, or a -Bolshevist, or what?” - -A doubtful expression crossed Mr. Molloy’s handsome face. - -“Well, now,” he said, “it would depend on the company I was in.” - -Jane had a struggle with the dimple and subdued it. - -“You mean,” she ventured, “that if you were with Socialists, you would -be a Socialist; and if you were with Bolshevists, you would be a -Bolshevist?” - -“Well, it would be something like that,” admitted Mr. Molloy. - -“I see,” said Jane. “And, of course, whatever you were, you’d naturally -want to be sure that it was going to be worth your while. I mean you’d -want to get something out of it?” She waited a moment, and then went on, -with a complete change of voice and manner, “What are you going to get -out of this?” She spoke with the utmost gravity. “If you don’t know, I -can tell you. Disaster—at best a long term of imprisonment, at the worst -death, the sort of death one doesn’t care about having in one’s family. -The question is, is it worth it? You’re not in the least mad. You’re not -a fanatic either. You are a perfectly sane and reasonable person, and -you know that what I’m saying is the sane and reasonable truth. Isn’t -it?” - -“Faith, and wasn’t I saying so to Ember myself,” said Molloy in gloomy -agreement. “We’ve got money enough, and we can live on it retired, so to -speak. The life’s all very well when you’re young, but a man of my age -isn’t just so keen on taking chances as he was, and that’s the truth. -Then there’s the old times come over him, and he thinks of the place -where he was born, and he thinks, maybe, he’d like to see it again. Why, -with the money I’ve got,” said Mr. Molloy, “it’s a fine house I could -have in Galway, and a car, and a horse or two. That’s what I’d like.” - -Jane saw his face light up. - -“It’s a fine town Galway,” he said, “and there are people I’d like to -see there, and places too. The people would be changed, I’m thinking, -but not the places. I’d like well enough to go up the river past -Menlough again. It’s the grand woods there are there, and then there’s a -place where you’d see nothing but reeds, and no way at all for a boat. -But let you push through the reeds and a way there is, and you come out -to the grey open water and the country round it just as bare as if you’d -taken sand-paper to it. They used to say that the water went down to -hell, but I’m not saying that I believe it; but deep it is, for no one’s -ever touched the bottom. Many’s the stone I’ve dropped in there, and -wakened in the night to wonder if it was still sinking; and many’s the -time I’ve played truant, and gone there fishing for the great pike that -they said was in it. Hundreds of years old he is by the tales, and once -I could swear I saw him, only maybe it was only a cloud that was passing -overhead. What I saw was just a grey shadow, and all at once it come -over me that I should be getting back to my work. I was black -frightened, that’s the truth, but I couldn’t tell you why.” - -Jane looked at Mr. Molloy, and experienced some very strange sensations. -He might sell her to Ember next moment, but for this moment he was -utterly sincere and as simple as a child. His sentiments were not -hypocrisy. They represented real feeling and emotion; but feeling, -emotion, and sentiment had been trained to take the wall obediently at -the bidding of what Mr. Molloy would call business. For all her youth, -Jane felt a rush of pity for anything so played upon from without, so -ungoverned from within as this big handsome man who stood there talking -earnestly of his boyhood’s home. - -“Why don’t you go back and see it all again?” she said. - -“Well, I’d like to,” said Mr. Molloy, “but what good’ll my house in -Galway do me if I waken up some fine night with a knife in me heart or a -bomb gone off under me bed?” - -It seemed a difficult question to answer. - -Molloy began to pace the room. - -“I must think,” he said. - -All the time that Jane had been talking, part of her mind had been -continually occupied with the question of the lists, those lists of -towns and the agents in each who were to be entrusted with the work of -destruction. It might not be so difficult to get hold of them, but to -get hold of them without their being missed by Ember ... that was the -difficulty. She had only to drop her right hand to the bench on which -she sat and it touched the flimsy sheets. - -Whilst Molloy was discoursing of his birthplace, she considered more -than one plan. She must not precipitate Ember’s suspicions until she -could place this evidence in Henry’s hands. If she took the lists and -Ember missed them, he would suspect and accuse Molloy, and Molloy would -most certainly exonerate himself at her expense. On the other hand, if -she let the lists slip when they were under her hand, who was to say -whether the opportunity would recur. Ember would return. He already -distrusted Molloy, and what would be more likely than that he would -remove such incriminating papers from Molloy’s care? - -Then, quite suddenly, Jane knew what she must do. She didn’t want to do -it, but she knew she must. She must get the papers now, she must copy -them, and she must put them back before daybreak whilst the Anarchist -Uncle was asleep. Jane had never contemplated anything which frightened -her half so much as the idea of putting those papers back in that -discouraging hour before the dawn, but she knew that it must be done. - -As Mr. Molloy walked up and down frowning intently, there were moments -when his back was turned towards Jane. The first time this happened -Jane’s hand took hold of the thin papers and doubled them in half. The -next time that it happened she doubled them again. She went on doubling -them until the large thin sheaf had become a small fat wad. Then whilst -Molloy’s back was turned she lifted her skirt and pushed the wad down -inside her stocking top. When Molloy faced her again her hands were -folded on her lap. - -“I really must be going,” she said. - -He threw her an odd, sidelong glance. It made Jane feel a little cold. - -“Since you heard so much just now, I don’t doubt you heard Ember tell me -just how convenient this place would be for putting some one that wasn’t -wanted out of the way?” - -“Yes, I heard what he said,” said Jane, “but I’m afraid Mr. Ember -doesn’t know everything. As far as I remember, he described these -passages as a place no one knew anything about.” - -“He did,” said Molloy, staring. - -Jane gave a little laugh, and felt pleased with herself because it -sounded steady. - -“Well, to my certain knowledge, three other people know the way in -here,” she said. - -Molloy showed signs of uneasiness. - -“Meaning you and me and ... since you heard the rest, I’m supposing you -heard me name Number One.” - -“Oh, I didn’t mean you and me at all,” said Jane. “I was thinking of two -quite different people, and as to Number One, I could answer that better -if I were sure who Number One was. The third person I’m thinking of may -be Number One, or may not. I’m not sure.” - -“I’m thinking,” said Molloy—“I’m thinking you know too much. I’m -thinking you know a deal too much.” - -Jane met his eyes full. Her own were steady, his were not. - -“Are you going to tell Mr. Ember, and let him ‘eliminate’ me?” - -Molloy gave a violent start. - -“Where did you hear that?” he said. - -“It wasn’t I who heard that, it was Renata. It was one of the things -that made her so anxious to change places with me.” - -“And what made you willing to change with her?” Molloy’s voice was harsh -with suspicion. - -“I hadn’t a job, or any relations to go to. I had exactly -one-and-sixpence in the world. I didn’t know where I was going to sleep -that night—that’s pretty awful for a girl, you know; and then ... Renata -was so frightened.” - -“She would be,” was Molloy’s comment. “And weren’t you frightened now?” - -“I suppose I was,” said Jane. - -“You had need to be.” The something that had made Jane feel cold before -was in Molloy’s look and voice. “You had need to be more afraid than -you’ve ever been in your life. Renata would have stayed quiet, but -nothing would serve you but you must push, and poke, and pry. What were -you doing here at all now, will you tell me that? Who showed you how to -get down here? You say there are others who know the secret—who are -they? Tell me that, will you ... who are they?” Molloy’s sudden passion -took Jane by surprise. Her heart began to beat, and she had difficulty -in controlling her voice. - -“Which question am I to answer first?” she said. “Shall I begin at the -beginning? I found the passages by accident....” Molloy gave an -impatient snort. “Yes, I did really, on my word of honour. I couldn’t -sleep and came down to get a book. I was standing in the shadow and I -saw some one come out of the panelling. Next night I thought I’d try and -find the place. The same person came downstairs and went through the -door in the wall. I followed.” - -“Was it Ember?” - -“No, it wasn’t Mr. Ember.” - -“Who was it?” - -“I believe you know,” said Jane, speaking slowly. - -“Was it a woman?” said Molloy. He dropped his voice to a whisper and -looked over his shoulder. - -Jane nodded. - -“Glory be to God!” said Molloy. “Did you see her face?” Jane nodded -again. Molloy came quite close, bent down, and whispered: - -“Was it the old man’s daughter? Was it”—his voice dropped to the very -edge of inaudibility—“was it Lady Heritage?” - -Jane nodded for the third time. - -Molloy spun round, went straight to the steel door, and, opening it, -looked up the passage. After a moment he came back. - -“You saw her face? Will you swear that you saw her face?” - -“Yes, of course.” - -“Then you’ve seen more than I have. Do you know, I’ve never been sure. -I’ve never really been sure. Ember’s talk, and—it was her face you saw, -not that mask thing they wear in the laboratory, for that’s all I’ve -seen? You saw her face?” - -“Yes, I saw her face quite plainly,” said Jane. In her own mind -something seemed to say with cold finality, “Then Lady Heritage is -Number One.” - -“Well.... Well.... Well.... Well....” said Mr. Molloy. - -There was a long pause. He seemed lost in thought, but suddenly he -turned on Jane with the question which she hoped he had forgotten: - -“You were saying that there were two others who knew the secret—you saw -them down here?—down here in the passages?” - -“Yes,” said Jane, without hesitation, “I did. They were men. One of them -had a beard. I couldn’t tell you their names or describe them any more -than that.” - -Molloy looked desperately puzzled. - -“Ember may know,” he muttered. - -“He may,” said Jane. “I should ask him.” - -Molloy gave a grunt and began to walk up and down again. The simile of -the rat in the drain which he had made use of in conversing with Ember -came back upon him with unpleasant force. His thoughts were confused by -an access of unreasoning fear. Every time the question of what to do -with Jane presented itself, he shied away from it. Jane knew too much. -There was no doubt about that. She knew too much. - -In the circles frequented by Mr. Molloy self-preservation dictated a -certain course with regard to the person who knew too much. After thirty -years Molloy still disliked the contemplation of that course of action. -He was of those who pass by upon the other side. He had a -well-cultivated faculty for looking the other way. It occurred to him -that, after all, Jane was Ember’s affair. Let her go back to the house, -she was Ember’s affair, not his. He became instantly very anxious to see -the last of Jane. - -Just as she was wondering how long this rather horrid silence was going -to last, he walked up to her in a purposeful manner, put his hand on her -arm, and pulled her to her feet. - -“You’d best be getting back,” he said shortly. - -Jane felt as if some one had lifted a heavy weight off the top of her -head. The weight must have been fear, and yet she did not know that she -had been afraid. - -At the gate Molloy turned to her. - -“Can you get into the hall?” he said. “Without being seen, I mean.” - -“I’m not sure, it’s awfully risky. But I could walk home from the -headland, that would be much safer, and if I’ve been missed, it would -account for my absence.” - -Molloy bent a sulky look on her. - -“The headland—you know that too?” he said. Then, with an impatient jerk -he switched off the light, turned on his torch, and walked ahead of Jane -in silence. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - -Never in all her life had Jane seen anything so beautiful as the clear -rain-washed sky, the grey rain-stilled sea. The little thud of the stone -closing between her and Mr. Molloy was one of the most delightful sounds -that she had ever heard. She felt as if she had never really appreciated -the daylight before. There were nice woolly clouds on the horizon. The -damp air was fresh, not like the air in those abominable passages. There -was a gorse bush with about two and a half yellow flowers on it, rather -sodden with the rain. Jane regarded them with intense affection. - -She walked down the gravel path, drawing long breaths and ready to sing -with pure relief—“Ease after toyle, port after stormie seas.” She -frowned, remembering the next line. After all, they were not out of the -wood yet. An unpleasant proverb succeeded Spenser’s line—“He laughs -longest who laughs last.” - -“Rubbish,” said Jane out loud, and she began to run. - -She came in with such a glowing colour that Mr. Ember, who met her in -the hall, was moved to remark upon it. - -“You seem to have enjoyed your walk. Where have you been?” - -“Round by the headland,” said Jane. - -The roll of typed paper pricked her knee beneath her stocking top. In -her arms she carried a sheaf of yellow tulips. She made haste to her -room and set the flowers in a jar on the broad window ledge where they -could be plainly seen from the terrace. With all her heart she prayed -that George Patterson, who was Anthony Luttrell, would see them. She did -not know that George Patterson had ceased to exist, and that Anthony -Luttrell, having taken the law into his own impatient hands, was on his -way to London. - -There had been an encounter with Raymond in the laboratory—her hand for -a moment on his arm, his muscles rigid under her touch; not a word -spoken on either side, not a word needed. The scene carried Anthony to -his breaking-point. At the next roll-call George Patterson was missing. -Meanwhile Raymond was behind a locked door, and Jane set yellow tulips -on her window-sill. - -Having made her signal, Jane turned her mind to the lists. She was -afraid to keep them on her, and she was afraid to hide them anywhere -else. If Molloy missed them, and had any means of communicating with -Ember, she would be searched, and her room would be searched. Whatever -happened to her, they must not recover the lists until she had copied -them. - -She remembered the trap-door in the cupboard, but it was just possible -that Ember knew about it, not likely but possible. After five minutes’ -profound thought, she went to a drawer into which she had emptied a -quantity of odds and ends. - -Renata, it appeared, had a mild taste for drawing. There were pencils, -indiarubber, a roll of cartridge paper, and some drawing-pins. Jane took -out the cartridge paper and the drawing-pins. She extracted the lists -from her stocking top and smoothed them out flat. Then she opened the -cupboard door, mounted on a chair drawn as close to the cupboard as -possible, and pinned the lists on to the cupboard ceiling with a sheet -of cartridge paper covering them. They just fitted in between two rows -of hooks. Jane got down with a sigh of relief and unlocked her bedroom -door. - -The evening passed like a dream. Lady Heritage did not appear at all, -and Jane found a strange unreality in the situation which kept her -talking to Mr. Ember in set schoolgirl phrases whilst he condescended to -her with more than a hint of sarcasm. She was glad when she could take a -book and read. - -It was eleven o’clock before she dared begin her night’s work, but she -came up to her room with her plan all ready. First she took off her -dress and put on a dressing-gown, just in case any one should come to -the door. Then, having turned the key and switched off the light, she -took a candle into the cupboard, set it on a shoe box, and took down the -lists. She put a cushion on the floor, fetched Renata’s fountain pen and -some sheets of foolscap which she had taken from the library, and began -her work of copying. With the cupboard door shut there was no chance -that any one would see her candle. - -She wrote steadily, town after town, name after name. More towns, more -names. As she finished each sheet, she checked it very carefully by its -original. It was weary, monotonous work; but the weariness and the -monotony were like a grey curtain which hung between her and something -which she dreaded inexpressibly. - -The idea of descending into the passage again, of creeping up to the -laboratory in order to put back the lists before they were missed, -filled her with shuddering repugnance. To allow her mind to dwell upon -this idea was to become incapable of carrying it out. She therefore held -her attention firmly to the endless names, and drove an industrious pen. -She had to get up twice for more ink. Each time, as she stretched -herself and walked the few paces to the table and back, the thought came -to her like a cold breath, “It’s coming nearer.” - -At last, in the dead stillness of the sleeping hours, the lists were -finished. She pinned the copies on to the cupboard ceiling in the same -way that she had pinned the originals, carefully covered with a piece of -cartridge paper. Then she took the originals in her hand and faced the -necessity for action. Her feet and hands were very cold. She felt as if -it were days since she had had anything to eat. She wanted most -dreadfully to go to bed and sleep. She wanted to have a good cry. What -she had to do was to go down into slug- and possibly rat-haunted -passages and risk waking an Anarchist Uncle out of his beauty sleep. -Jane gave herself a mental shake. - -“Don’t be a rabbit, Jane Smith,” she said. “It’s got to be done. You -know that just as well as I do. If it’s got to be done, you can do it. -Get going at once.” - -She got going. First she put the lists back in her stocking top. Then -she put on the old serge dress. Her fancy played hopefully with the -thought that some day she would give herself the pleasure of burning -that abominable garment. She extracted the maroon felt slippers from the -paper parcel to which she had consigned them. They were still sopping. -She put them on. They felt limp, damp, and discouraging, but they had -the merit of making no noise. Then she took a good length of candle and -a box of matches and opened her door. - -“Well, here goes,” said Jane, and stepped into pitch darkness. This time -she shut the door behind her. As she took her hand off the handle she -felt as if she were letting go of her last hold on safety, an idiotic -thought, as she instantly told herself. She knew by now just how many -paces took one to the place where the light should have been burning, -and just how many more to the stairhead. The rose window showed like a -pattern painted on the dark. It gave no light, but it marked the -position of the door. - -Jane felt the soles of her feet stick and cling to the damp slippers as -she crawled down the stairs. They just didn’t squelch and that was all; -they only felt like it. - -She hated moving the big chair in the dark, but it had to be done. -Suppose she dropped it with a crash, suppose she pulled Willoughby -Luttrell’s picture down when she was feeling for the catch; suppose a -mouse ran over her foot—there is no end to the cheerful suppositions -which will throng one’s brain in circumstances like these. - -Jane did not drop the chair with a crash, neither did Willoughby -Luttrell’s picture fall down, nor did a mouse run over her foot. She -passed through the panelled door, shut it behind her, groped her way to -the foot of the steps, and lighted the candle. It was then that the -cheering thought that she might perhaps encounter Henry came to her, -only to fade as she remembered how long past midnight it now was. -However, if she had not Henry she had at least a light. It is much -harder to be brave in the pitch dark even when, as in the present case, -the darkness is really a protection. - -Jane walked quite blithely up the second passage on the left until she -came to the point where she knew that she must put the light out again. -Molloy might be awake. She blew out her candle and began to feel her way -forward. She came to the corner, and passed it. Moving very slowly and -cautiously, she crept up to the steel gate and stood with her fingertips -on it, listening, and thinking hard. She could feel that the door was -ajar. That struck her as strange, very strange. If there ever was a man -badly scared, Molloy was that man when she had said that the secret of -the passages was not confined to himself and Ember. Yet he had gone to -sleep leaving the gate ajar. Had he? Jane’s mind gave her a clear and -definite answer. He hadn’t, he wouldn’t. She had been so sure that the -gate would be shut, so ready with her plan. She was going to unfold the -papers, push them between the bars, and jerk them as far across the room -as possible. Molloy might think they had fallen from the bench, or, if -he had his doubts, might well wish to avoid letting Ember know that Jane -had been in the laboratory. All this she had so present in her thought, -that to feel the gate give to her hand staggered her and set her -shaking. She quieted herself and listened intently. Not a sound. - -She did not somehow fancy that Molloy would be a quiet sleeper. She had -anticipated snores of a certain rich bass quality. Here was silence in -which one might have heard an infant draw its breath, a silence -undisturbed, inviolate. - -It was not only the silence which spoke to Jane. That odd, dim, only -half-understood sense which some people possess, clamoured to her that -the place was empty. As she stood there, and the seconds dragged into -minutes, this sense became so insistent that she found herself resolving -to act in obedience to its dictates. - -She pushed the gate and heard the alarm ring. With all her ears she -listened for the sound of a man stirring, waking, and starting up. At -the first movement she would have been away, and Molloy, new roused from -sleep, would never have caught sight of her. There was no movement. The -bell went on ringing, a little continuous trickle of metallic sound, not -loud but as confusing as the buzzing of a mosquito. - -Jane switched on the light, slipped round the gate, and closed it. The -bell stopped ringing. The jarred silence settled slowly, as dust settles -when it has been stirred. There was no one there. The unshaded light -showed every corner of the chamber. Molloy’s bag was gone. Like a flick -in the face came certainty. “He’s gone. Molloy’s gone too.” - -Slowly, almost mechanically, Jane extracted the rolled-up lists from her -stocking. She was still holding the unlighted candle in her left hand. -The lists bothered her. She moved towards the bench to put them down, -but first she laid the candle carefully on its side so as not to stub -the wick, and, sitting down, began to smooth the papers out upon her -knee. It was whilst she was doing this that she saw the note. - -It lay on the end of the bench propped up against a book. It was -addressed to Jeffrey Ember, Esquire. The capital E’s were magnificent -flourishes; an underlining like an ornamental scroll supported the -superscription. Jane, like other well-brought-up people, was not in the -habit of opening letters not addressed to herself. It may be said, -however, that no solitary scruple so much as raised its head on this -occasion. She tore open the tough linen envelope, and unfolded a lordly -sheet. Molloy wrote a good, bold hand and legible withal. Every word -stood clear. - - “My dear Ember,—I’m off. The place is getting altogether too crowded. - I’ve seen Renata, and she tells me that there are two men use the - passages. One has a beard, but she couldn’t tell me their names or - describe them further. She knows all about the passages herself. She - confessed to having found them through following Number One. She has - also seen you come in and go out. I don’t think this place is very - healthy, so I’m making my get-away whilst I can. Drop the whole thing - and get out quick is what I advise. I’m staunch, as you’ll find. Why - did you take the lists after saying you’d leave them for me to look - through? I’ll not work with a man that doesn’t trust me. You can write - me at the old place.” - -The letter was signed with a large Roman three. It appeared that Mr. -Molloy was more careful over his own identity than over that of Mr. -Jeffrey Ember. - -Jane sat looking at the letter. It made her feel rather sick. If she had -not come down, if she had shirked putting the papers back, if the letter -addressed to Jeffrey Ember, Esquire, had reached Jeffrey Ember’s -hands—well, it was a good enough death-warrant, and Molloy must have -known that very well when he wrote it. - -“It’s exactly like a Moral Tract,” said Jane. “I hated coming back, and -I did it from a Sense of Duty, and this is the Reward of Virtue.” - -She put the Reward of Virtue down rather gingerly on the bench beside -her. She felt about touching it rather as she had felt when she touched -the slug. She wanted to wash her hands. An odd creature Molloy. He had -given her away exactly and completely, yet he had left her any small -shred of protection which she might be supposed to derive from passing -as his daughter. - -Jane turned her thoughts from Molloy to the more pressing consideration -of her own immediate course of action. Ember would come in the morning, -and would find Molloy gone, and no word to say where he had gone, or -why. The idea of following in Molloy’s footsteps presented itself -vividly before Jane’s imagination. Why should she stay any longer at -Luttrell Marches? The idea of getting away set her heart dancing. And -what was there to stay for? She had all the evidence necessary to -procure Ember’s arrest and the smashing of the conspiracy. The sooner -she was out of Luttrell Marches and with her precious papers in a place -of security the better. For a moment she contemplated taking the -originals of the lists; Ember would naturally conclude that it was -Molloy who had gone off with them. But on second thoughts she decided -that it would be in the highest degree unwise to put Ember on his guard. -His distrust of Molloy might be so great as to induce flight. She -decided to leave the originals and to take the copies—but she had left -the copies in her room pinned to the cupboard ceiling. Go back for them -she could not. Even if she could have forced herself to the effort, the -risk was too great. They must stay where they were, whilst she found -Henry. The sooner she got off the better. She had no watch, but the -night must be very far spent, and if Ember were to take it into his head -to come back—— - -The bare idea brought Jane to her feet. She picked up her candle, lit -it, and with feelings of extreme satisfaction set fire to Molloy’s -letter, making a little pent roof of it like the beginning of a card -house on the stone floor. She had often admired the way in which masses -of compromising documents are consumed in an instant by the hero or -heroine of the adventure novel. She used four matches before she -considered that this particular letter was really harmless. The envelope -took two more. Then she collected the ash very carefully, crumbled it up -well, and scattered it amongst the rubble in the broken-down passage -where Molloy had found her. Then, having taken a good look round to make -sure that nothing compromising remained, she picked up her candle and -passed through the gate, leaving the laboratory in darkness behind her. -When she came to the turn she hesitated, and finally went straight on, -following the passage which she had not yet explored, down which Molloy -and Ember had come the day before. She was almost sure that it would -lead back into the main corridor just short of the headland exit; but -she had not gone more than a yard or two along it when she heard -something that brought her heart into her mouth. - -Almost as the sound reached her she had blown her candle out and was -pinching the glow from the wick. For a moment the darkness was full of -phantom tongue-shaped flames; then she stopped seeing them and saw -instead a faint glow coming from the direction in which she herself had -come on her way to the laboratory. Somebody was coming along the -passage. If she had gone back by the same way that she had come, she -would have met this somebody. As it was, she might escape notice. If the -person were going to the laboratory, he would have to take a sharp turn -to the left, a right-angled turn. The passage in which she was ran off -at an acute angle, and the person approaching would have his back to her -as he passed. - -The glow became a beam. Next moment Ember passed without turning his -head. Jane saw the back of his shoulder dark against the light from his -torch, and caught a fleeting glimpse of his profile, just enough for -recognition and no more. Indeed, it was the fur coat that she recognised -as much as the man. She stood quite still whilst he switched on the -electric light and passed into the laboratory, then she turned and -walked away as quickly as she dared, feeling her way by the wall till a -turn in the passage gave her enough courage to light her candle. She put -the spent match in her pocket, looked ahead, and drew a sharp, almost -agonised, breath. - -About two feet from where she stood, and exactly in her path, was the -black mouth of an uncovered well. Jane looked at it, and quite suddenly, -she had no idea how, found herself sitting on the floor with hot wax -running down her hand from the guttering candle. It seemed to be quite a -little time before she could make sure of walking steadily enough to -skirt the well. She went by it at last with averted head and fingers -that, regardless of slime, clung to the wall. - -As she had expected, the passage ran suddenly into the main corridor. -She passed the headland exit, and once more was on unknown ground. The -passage swung round to the right and began to slope downhill. Jane held -her candle high and looked at every step; but there were no more traps. -She quickened her pace almost to a run as the dreadful thought came to -her that Ember might follow Molloy. The passage sloped more and more. -Finally there were steps, smooth, worn, and damp, that went down, and -down, and down. At the bottom of the steps a yard or two of peculiarly -slimy passage, and then a blank stone wall. Obviously Jane had arrived. - -She looked at the stone wall, and the stone wall presented a front of -uncompromising blankness. She looked up and she looked down, she looked -to the left and she looked to the right, she gazed at the ceiling and -she gazed at the floor. Nowhere was there any sign of a catch, a knob, a -spring, or a lever. There must be one, but where was it? She tapped the -wall and stamped on the floor, but with no result. The door in the -panelling opened from inside with an ordinary handle. She had not been -close enough to Lady Heritage to see what she did to pivot the stone -behind the bench on the headland. In any case, this exit might have been -quite differently planned. - -A most dreadful sense of discouragement came over her. To have got so -far, to have been, as it were, halfway to safety and Henry, and to have -to turn back again! Then for the first time it occurred to her that, -even if she had got out and got away, she had no money and no hat. She -looked down at the maroon slippers, and pictured herself descending -ticketless upon a London platform in bedroom slippers whose original -colour was almost obscured by green slime. - -Jane wanted to laugh, and she wanted to cry. She did not know which she -wanted most, but presently she found that the tears were running down -her face. She kept winking them away, because it is not at all easy to -climb slippery stone steps by the light of a guttering candle if your -eyes keep filling with tears. The tears magnified the candle flame, and -sometimes made it look like two or three little flames, which was -dreadfully confusing. Jane stood still, wiped her eyes with determined -energy, and then climbed up more steps and back along the way that she -had come. - -At the headland exit she stood still, taking breath and thought. Nothing -would induce her to pass that well again. She would keep to the main -passage, and, horrid thought, she would have to put out her light in -case Ember should suddenly emerge from the side passage. - -“Thinking about things makes them worse, not better,” said Jane to -herself. “It’s perfectly beastly; but then it’s all perfectly beastly.” - -She blew out the candle and moved slowly forward. - -It seemed ages before she came past the opening where she had run into -Henry to the foot of the steps. She went up three steps, raised her foot -to take the fourth, and felt a hardly perceptible check. Instantly she -drew back a shade, set her foot down beside the other, and put out a -tentative, groping hand. There was a thread of cotton stretched from -wall to wall at the level of her waist. If her movements had been less -gentle she would have brushed through it without noticing. Then, as she -stood there thinking, the thread between her fingers, something else -came to her. The last yard of passage just at the stair foot had felt -different—dry, gritty. - -Jane descended the three steps backwards, and, crouching on the bottom -one, put down her hand and felt the floor of the passage. There was sand -on it, dry sand which had not been there when she came down, and in the -dry sand her footprints would be clearly marked. Obviously Mr. Ember had -his suspicions and his methods of verifying them: “Though what on earth -he’d make of cork soles I don’t know,” said Jane. She decided not to -worry him with this problem. - -It was horribly dangerous, but she must have a light. She set her candle -end on the step above her and struck a match. It made a noise like a -squib and went out. She struck another and got the candle lighted. - -The sand was yellow sand off the beach, but nice and dry. Two and a half -of her footprints showed plainly on its smooth surface. Jane leaned -forward and smoothed them out. Then she blew out her candle and felt -safer. Feeling for the thread of cotton, she crawled beneath it, then -very, very slowly up the rest of the steps, her hand before her all the -way till she came to the door in the panelling. She opened it and -slipped through into the hall. - -The grey, uncertain light was filtering into it. Everything looked -strange and cold. Jane closed the door, and never knew that a loose -strand of cotton had fallen as she passed. Neither did she know that at -that very moment Jeffrey Ember was standing by the open well mouth, the -ray from his powerful electric torch focused upon a little patch of -candle grease. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - -Anthony Luttrell caught a slow local train at Withstead—the sort of -train that serves little country places all over England. It dawdled -slowly from station to station, sometimes taking what appeared to be an -unnecessary rest at a signal box as well. It finally reached Maxton ten -minutes late, thereby missing the London express and leaving Anthony -Luttrell with a two hours’ wait. - -Waiting just at present was about as congenial an occupation as being -racked. He walked up and down with a dragging, restless step, and tried -unsuccessfully to shut off his torturing thoughts behind a safety -curtain. The time dragged intolerably. Presently he left the platform -and went up on to the bridge which ran from one side of the station to -the other. Here he began his pacing again, stopping every now and then -to watch a train come in or a train go out. From the bridge one could -see all the platforms. - -When an express rushed through, the whole structure shook and clouds of -white steam blotted out everything. It was when the steam was clearing -away, and the roar of the receding train was dying down, that Anthony -noticed another local running in to the Withstead platform. He bent over -the rail and watched the passengers get out—just a handful. There was a -young woman with two children, two farmers, three or four nondescript -women, and a big man with a suit-case. Anthony looked at the big man and -went on looking at him. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar. The -man came along the platform and began to mount the steps that led up to -the bridge. Half-way up he put down his suit-case, took off his hat for -a moment as if to cool himself, and stood there looking up. Then he -replaced his hat, shifted the suit-case to the other hand, and came up -the rest of the steps. He seemed hot. - -He passed Anthony and went down the steps on to the London platform. -Anthony followed him. - -When the big man stood still and looked up, eight years were suddenly -wiped out. Memory is a queer thing, and plays queer tricks. What -Anthony’s memory did was to set him down in the year 1912, in the -gallery of a hall in Chicago. There was a packed and rather vociferous -audience. There was a big man on the platform, a big man who seemed hot. -His speech was, in fact, of a sufficiently inflammatory nature to make -any one feel hot. It breathed fire and fury. Its rolling eloquence must -have involved a good deal of physical exertion. Suddenly, after a -period, the speaker stopped and looked up at the gallery for applause. -It came like a veritable cyclone. The meeting was subsequently broken up -by the police. - -Anthony remembered that the speaker’s name was Molloy. If Mr. Molloy had -come from Withstead, it occurred to Anthony that his destination would -probably be of interest. - -The London train was due in ten minutes. When it came in, Molloy got -into a third-class carriage, and Anthony followed his example. - -It was at seven-thirty on Sunday morning that Mrs. March’s cook, who was -sweeping the hall, was given what she afterwards described as a turn by -the arrival of an odd-looking man who would give no name and insisted on -seeing her master. - -“Awful he looked with that ’orrid scar and his ’air that wild, and not -giving me a chance to shut the door in his face, for he pushes in the -moment I got it open—that’s what give me the worst turn of all—and walks -into the dining-room as bold as brass, and says, ‘I want to see Captain -March—and be quick, please.’” - -When Henry came into the dining-room he shut the door behind him very -quickly and looked as if he also had had a turn. - -“Good Lord, Tony, what’s happened?” he said. - -“Nothing,” said Anthony, with nonchalance. - -“Then in Heaven’s name, why are you here?” - -“I’m through, that’s all. You can’t say I didn’t give notice.” - -“It’s not a question of what I say, it’s what Piggy’ll say.” - -“Oh, I’ve got a sop for Piggy. I’ve been doing the faithful sleuth. I’ve -trailed a man from Withstead to a highly genteel boarding-house in South -Kensington; and as I last saw the gentleman addressing an I. W. W. -meeting in Chicago, I imagine Piggy might be interested.” - -“Who was it?” said Henry quickly. - -“Molloy.” - -“You’re sure?” - -“Absolutely.” - -“Good man. You’re in luck. Molloy, under the interesting _alias_ of -Bernier, has just been selling the Government Formula ‘A.’ He was -trailed over here with the swag and then lost sight of. For a dead cert -he’s been to Luttrell Marches by the back way and seen Ember.” - -Anthony turned away. - -“There’s the devil to pay down there,” he said.... “No, no, the girl’s -all right.... This is something I ought to have told you when you were -down. I ought to have told you the whole thing. I couldn’t bring myself -to.” - -“Sit down, Tony. What is it?” - -“No, I can’t sit.” He walked to the window and stood there, looking out. -His hands made restless movements. He spoke, keeping his back to Henry: - -“You didn’t go through all the passages?” - -“No, I was going to to-night.” - -“I ought to have told you. The big place under the terrace, you -know—they’ve turned it into a laboratory. Molloy may have been working -there, for all I know; he had the name of an expert chemist.” - -“Yes, go on.” - -“You’d have found it yourself to-night, but I couldn’t let you go -blundering in unwarned. Ember might be there—any one might be there. -It’s damnable, Henry, but I believe she’s up to her neck in it.” - -Henry was silent. There seemed to be nothing to say. He also believed -that Raymond Heritage was up to her neck in whatever secret enterprise -was being developed at Luttrell Marches. He remembered the passion in -her voice when she said, “I should like to smash it all,” and he -remembered how she had sung, “Would we not shatter it to bits, and then -re-mould it nearer to the heart’s desire?” Whatever the thing was, he -believed she was in it up to her neck. So he was silent, and Anthony was -grateful for his silence. - -The silence was broken by a tapping, and a rustling, and the turning of -a handle. The door opened very abruptly, and Mrs. de Luttrelle March -made a precipitous entrance. She wore a pink silk _négligé_ and a -boudoir cap embroidered in forget-me-nots, also an expression of extreme -terror—the cook’s description of their early visitor having prepared her -to find Henry’s corpse stretched upon the hearth-rug. When a living and -annoyed Henry confronted her, she clung to his arm and gazed round-eyed -at the long, thin man who had swung round at her entrance. Uncertainty -succeeded fear. Henry was saying, “Do go back to your room, Mother,” but -it is doubtful whether she heard him. - -Gradually her grasp of his arm relaxed. She walked slowly across the -room, and stared with horrified amazement at Anthony. - -He looked over her head at Henry, shrugged his shoulders just -perceptibly, and made as if to turn back to the window again. Either -that shrug, or the faintly sarcastic lift of the eyebrows that -accompanied it, brought a sort of broken gasp to Mrs. March’s lips. She -put out her hand, touched his coat sleeve with her finger-tips, and -said: - -“Anthony—it’s Anthony—oh, Henry, it’s Anthony!” - -She backed a little at each repetition of the name, looked wildly round, -and sinking on to the nearest chair, burst into tears. - -“Henry—oh, please somebody speak,” she sobbed. - -“It’s all right, Aunt Rosa. I’m not a ghost,” said Anthony in his driest -voice. - -Henry experienced a cold dread of what his mother would say next. She -had talked so much and thought so incessantly of Luttrell Marches. -Latterly she had been so sure of Henry’s ownership, and so proud of it. -What would she say now—as she dropped her hands from her face and gazed -with streaming eyes at Anthony, who regarded her quizzically? - -“Tony, you’re so dreadfully changed. That fearful scar—oh, my dear, -where have you been all this time? We thought you were dead. I don’t -know how I recognised you. And you were _such_ a pretty little boy, my -dear. I used to be jealous because you had longer eyelashes than Henry, -but you haven’t now.” - -“Haven’t I?” said Anthony, with perfect gravity. He took his aunt’s -plump white hand and gave it a squeeze and a pat. “It’s very nice of you -to welcome me, Aunt Rosa. The scar isn’t as bad as it looks, and Henry’s -going to lend me a razor and some clothes.” - -It was later, when Anthony could be heard splashing in the bathroom, -that Mrs. March beckoned Henry into her room, flung her arms round his -neck, and burst into tears all over again. - -“My poor boy,” she sobbed, “it’s so hard on you—about Luttrell Marches, -I mean—do you mind dreadfully?” - -“Not an atom. Besides, I knew Tony was alive; I always told you he would -turn up.” - -“I couldn’t think of any one but him at first,” said Mrs. March, -sniffing gently. “Then afterwards it came over me Henry won’t have the -place—and I couldn’t help crying because, of course, one does get to -count on a thing, with every one saying to me as they did, ‘_Of course_ -your son comes into Luttrell Marches, such a beautiful place,’—and so it -is, and I did think it was yours, and what I felt about it was, if I -feel badly about it, what must Henry feel? You see, don’t you?” - -Henry endeavoured to disengage himself. - -“Yes, Mother, but you needn’t worry—you really needn’t. Look here, you -dress and don’t cry any more. I’ve got to telephone.” - -Mrs. March clasped her hands about his arm. - -“Henry, wait, just a minute,” she said. “That Miss Smith—you’re not -still thinking about her, are you?” - -Henry laughed. - -“I am,” he said. - -“Well——” said Mrs. March. She fidgeted with Henry’s coat sleeve, bridled -a little, and looked down at her mauve satin slippers. “Well—you know, -my dear boy, I didn’t want to be _unkind_, but I simply couldn’t picture -her at Luttrell Marches—as its mistress, I mean—and I’m sure you did -think me unkind about it; but now that it’s all different—Tony coming -back like this does make a difference, of course, and what I was going -to say about it is this. If you really do care for her and it would make -up to you for the disappointment, I wouldn’t hold out about it, not if -you really wanted it, my dear, and really cared for her, only of course -you’d have to be quite sure, because once you’re married you’re married, -and there’s no way out of it except divorce, and, whether it’s the -fashion now or not, I always have said and always will say, that it’s -not respectable, it really isn’t, and it’s not a thing we’ve ever had in -our family—not on either side,” added Mrs. March thoughtfully, after a -slight pause for breath. - -“I really do care for her, and I really am sure,” said Henry. He kissed -his mother affectionately, and once more attempted to detach himself -from her hold. - -Mrs. March let go with one hand in order to dab her eyes with a scrap of -pink-and-white chiffon. Then she looked up at her son fondly. - -“Your eyelashes are _much_ the longest,” she said. - -Henry made an abrupt departure. - -“Piggy’ll see you as soon as you can get there,” he told Anthony five -minutes later—“at his house. I’m off to Luttrell Marches. I was going -down anyhow to-night, but, things being as they are, I think I’ll get a -move on. Piggy’s sending some one to the address you gave, to keep an -eye on Molloy. He doesn’t want him arrested yet, as he’s in hopes that -Belcovitch will roll up—that’s the other man concerned in the actual -sale of the formula. He went to Vienna, but was in Paris yesterday. Good -Lord, Tony, I’m glad you’ve got rid of that beastly beard!” - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - -Sir Julian Le Mesurier’s study was an extremely pleasant room, friendly -with books, and comforted by admirable chairs. - -A Sabbath peace reigned outside in the deserted street. Within there was -no peace at all. A crocodile hunt was in progress. Piggy, as a large and -very fierce crocodile, was performing a feat described by himself as -“trailing his sinuous length” across the floor, his objective a Persian -carpet island upon which a small fat girl of three in a fluffy Sunday -dress was lifting first one plump foot and then the other, whilst at -regular intervals she uttered small but piercing screams. Upon the -crocodile’s back sat a thin, determined little boy of six who battered -continuously upon the crocodile’s ribs with the heels of a new pair of -boots, whilst he shouted his defiance at the foe. At the far end of the -room sat Lady Le Mesurier with a book. At intervals she looked up from -it to say helplessly, “Piggy, it’s Sunday”—or “Baby’s got a new frock -on, and I expect nurse will give notice if you tear it.” - -“Not tear,” said the fat little girl, patting her skirts. Then she -shrieked, for the crocodile made a sudden snap at the nearest ankle. - -Upon this scene the door opened. - -“Mr. Luttrell,” said an expressionless voice, and Anthony entered. - -Lady Le Mesurier gathered her baby and her book, the crocodile unseated -the small boy and arose, dusting its trousers. A well-trained family -vanished, and Sir Julian shook hands and waved his visitor to a chair. - -“Come up to report?” said Piggy. - -“Not primarily,” began Anthony, but was cut short. - -“You followed Molloy. Yes, I think I prefer to have it that way, if you -don’t mind. You followed Molloy to this South Kensington address. How do -you know he’s stopping there?” - -“I asked the servant who was cleaning the knocker whether they had a -room, and she said, ‘No’—that the gentleman who had just come in made -them quite full up.” - -“Well, I’ve sent a man to watch the place. Now, what have you to report -from Luttrell Marches?” - -Anthony looked straight over Sir Julian’s shoulder with a hard, level -gaze, and spoke in a hard, forced voice: - -“There are a number of secret passages and chambers under the house at -Luttrell Marches. One of the passages has an exit outside the grounds on -the seashore about a mile and a half from Withstead. The secret has been -very carefully preserved until now. Each successive owner told his heir. -No one else was supposed to know. My father told me. When he thought -that I was dead, he also told my cousin, Henry March. Until I went to -Luttrell Marches the other day I had no idea that any one else had -discovered the secret. I have to report that the passages have not only -been discovered, but made use of in a way which points to something of -an illegal nature. One of the chambers is a fair-sized one: it has been -turned into a laboratory——” - -“Any sign that it has been used as such?” - -“Every sign. Power has been diverted from the dynamos which were -installed for the Government experiments and the passages have been -wired, and some of the chambers fitted with electric light. The whole -thing has been going on under Sir William’s very nose.” - -“M’, I’ve had him here to see me—terribly gone to pieces, quite past his -job, also very much annoyed with me for having sent Henry down. Now the -question is, who’s been wiring the passages and using the laboratory?” - -“Oh, Ember; there’s no doubt about that, I think.” - -“And the sale of the formula? Ember?” - -“I’m sure of it.” - -“Must have proof. No earthly good my being sure, or your being sure, or -Henry’s being sure. We’ve got to have something so solid that, after Sir -Dash Blank, K.C., has done his best to tear it into shreds, what’s left -of it will convince a jury. Now who else is in it besides Ember and -Molloy? In the household, I mean, down there at Luttrell Marches? Any -one else?” - -Anthony continued to look over Sir Julian’s shoulder. He remained -silent. Piggy got up and walked to his writing-table. When he reached it -he swung round, and asked again sharply: - -“Any one else, Luttrell?” - -There was still silence. Then Piggy said dryly: - -“I take it that there is somebody else involved. I don’t wish to -cross-examine you, but I must know one thing. Is it suspicion, moral -certainty, or proof?” - -“Moral certainty,” said Anthony Luttrell. He passed his tongue across -his dry lips. Piggy did not look at him. - -“Now, look here,” he said, “it seems to me that Luttrell Marches is -about to be the centre of some unpleasant happenings. I think, I rather -think, it would be advisable to induce any ladies who may be there to -leave the place. Lady Heritage is there, is she not, and er, er, -Miss...?” - -“Miss Molloy.” - -“Exactly. Miss—er, Molloy. Now I consider that these two ladies should -leave at once. When I say at once I mean to-day. I should like you to go -down—by car, of course, there won’t be any Sunday trains—and er, fetch -them away, using such inducements and persuasions as you may think -expedient. Only they must leave. You understand, they must leave -to-day.” - -Anthony rose stiffly. - -“I’m afraid, sir,” he said, “that I must decline the responsibility. The -reasons which made me leave Luttrell Marches make it impossible for me -to return there.” - -“I see,” said Piggy. He picked up a piece of indiarubber, and occupied -himself for about a minute and a half in endeavouring to balance it upon -the edge of a handsome brass inkstand with an inscription on it. When -the indiarubber fell into the ink with a splash he fished it out, using -a pen with a sharp nib as a gaff, dried it carefully on a new sheet of -white blotting-paper, and turned again to Anthony. - -“I’d like just to put a hypothetical case to you,” he said. “Government -puts a certain very important and confidential piece of work into the -hands of an eminent man, a man of European reputation and unblemished -probity. Evidence comes to hand of things entirely incompatible with the -secrecy and other conditions which were an honourable obligation. Worse -suspicions of illegality and conspiracy. Cumulative evidence. Arrests. A -public trial. Now, my dear Luttrell, can you tell me what would happen -to the Government which had displayed such incompetence as, first, to -commit a vital undertaking to a person capable of betraying it; and -second, of permitting the consequent scandal to become public property -in such a manner as to make this country a laughing-stock in the eyes of -the world? It’s not a question that requires a great deal of answering, -is it?” - -“Sir William is not involved,” said Anthony harshly. - -“My dear Luttrell, I was putting a hypothetical case. But if you wish to -talk without camouflage I will do so—for five minutes. I will do so -because I consider that the situation is one of the most serious which I -have ever had to deal with. Sir William is not involved, but Sir William -has become incompetent to control his household and incapable of -perceiving that a dangerous conspiracy is being carried on under his -roof. It’s not only the matter of the stolen formula. Your report of a -hidden laboratory certainly tends to corroborate the very grave -allegations made by Miss Molloy. A situation so entirely serious -justifies me in demanding the sacrifice of your personal feelings and -inclinations. I repeat, Lady Heritage and Miss Molloy must leave -Luttrell Marches to-day. I don’t care what inducements you use. They -must leave. I believe you can get them to leave. I don’t believe any one -else can. I am detaining Sir William in town—it was not difficult to do -so. What more natural than that his daughter should join him. My wife is -expecting Miss Smith to pay us a visit. There must be no delay of any -kind. You understand, Luttrell?” - -There was a short tense pause. - -Anthony stood as he had been standing during all the time that Sir -Julian talked. He looked moodily out of the window. Now and then his -face twitched, now and then he moved his hands with a sort of jerk. At -last he said in a constrained voice: - -“I—understand.” - -“Very well,” said Piggy briskly. “Then you’d better be off. From the -fact that you have shaved and returned to civilised raiment, I imagine -that George Patterson is now obsolete, and that Mr. Luttrell has ceased -to be a corpse in some unknown grave?” - -“Yes, I’ve come back.” A pause—then, “Sir Julian—this—this duty is -particularly unwelcome. If I undertake it, will you send me abroad again -as soon as possible? England is distasteful, impossible—but, of course, -I realise that I couldn’t go on being dead—there are too many legal -complications, and it wasn’t fair on Henry.” - -“Henry,” observed Piggy, “was becoming the object of most particular -attentions from matchmaking mammas. My wife informs me that his stock -has been very high for some months past. Gilt-edged, in fact. I’m afraid -there will be a slump as soon as your resurrection is established. -Henry, I think, will bear up. Well now, about sending you abroad—I can’t -say for certain, but I rather think it could be managed, if you still -wish it, you know. I wouldn’t be in a hurry, if I were you, Luttrell, -about going abroad, but as to the matter in hand—well, hurry is the -word. You’ll find a car outside with Inspector Davison. Take him along. -I hope he won’t be needed, but—well—take him along.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - -Mr. Ember was spending a busy Sunday. As he stood in the empty -laboratory, realising Molloy’s defection and all that it involved, there -was no change in his impassive face. The web of his plan was broken. -Like some accurate machine his brain picked up the loose ravelled -threads and wove them into a new combination. - -Molloy himself was no loss. His place could be filled a dozen times -over. As to any harm that he could do, unless he had gone straight to -the police, he could be reached—reached and silenced. And Ember knew his -Molloy. He would not go straight to the police. If he meant to sell -them, he would set about it with a certain regard for appearances. There -would be _pourparlers_, some dexterous method of approach which would -save his face and leave him an emergency exit. Ember checked over in his -mind the four or five places to which Molloy might have retreated. Then -there was the money. That they must have; but Molloy, once found, could -be scared into giving it up. - -Ember let his eyes travel around the laboratory. The lists lay upon the -bench where Jane had put them not five minutes before. He frowned and -picked them up, stared at them, and frowned more deeply still. They had -been folded and refolded, doubled into a small package since he had last -handled them. Who had done it? The sheets had been smooth from the -typewriter when he gave them to Molloy. They had been handled and -creased, with the creases that come from tight folding. Had Molloy meant -to take them with him, and then at the last moment been afraid? It -looked like it. He turned over the pages, counting them. Suddenly his -eyes fixed, his fingers tightened their hold. There was a fresh smudge -of ink on the top of the fifth page—a smudge so fresh that the blue ink -had not yet turned black. That meant two things: Molloy had copied the -lists before he left, and he had only been gone an hour or two—that at -the outside, probably less. - -In the moment that passed before Ember laid the papers down, Mr. Molloy -received his death sentence as duly and irrevocably as if it had been -pronounced by an Assize Judge in scarlet and ermine, white wig and black -cap. - -Ember gave just a little nod, opened a safe that stood in the corner, -pushed the papers into it, and pocketed the key. - -It was a little later that he found the first spot of candle grease. It -was half-way up one of the side passages, on the spot where Jane had -been standing when he and Molloy entered the laboratory the evening -before. He looked at it for a long time very thoughtfully before he took -his torch and proceeded to a systematic search of the passages. - -He found no living person, but came upon dropped wax in three more -places, at the edge of the well, by the headland exit, and half-way down -the steps to the beach. He came slowly back along the main passage, and -stood for some time with his light focused on the sand which he had -spread at the foot of the stair. There was no footmark upon it, but he -was prepared to swear that it was not as he had left it. He had -scattered the sand loosely, and it was pressed down and too smooth. He -thought that it had been smoothed by a hand passing over it. He mounted -the first two steps. The thread of cotton which he had fastened across -the stairway was still there. He bent beneath it, came to the top, and -threw his light full upon the back of the panelled door. The second -piece of cotton was gone. - -He flashed the ray upon the floor once—twice. The third time he found -what he was looking for, a fine black thread lying across the threshold. -It ran out of sight under the door. Some one had gone out that way since -Mr. Ember had come in. Who? Not Molloy—impossible that it could have -been Molloy. - -Ember passed through the panel, closed it behind him, and walked slowly -and meditatively along the corridor to the library, still pursuing his -train of thought. Molloy would have blundered through that first piece -of cotton without ever feeling it at all, just as Molloy’s foot in its -heavy boot would have been unaware of the sand. If it was a woman who -had passed—now who would have used a candle in the passages? Not -Raymond. She had more than one electric torch which she used constantly -for night work. But Renata, the little soft-spoken stupid mouse of a -thing, if she had a fancy to go spying, she’d take a candle; yes, and -let it gutter too. - -Mr. Ember’s instinct for danger had always reacted to this question of -Renata Molloy. Over and over again there had been the tremor, the -response, the warning prick. An extreme regret that he had not arranged -for a convenient accident to overtake Renata possessed Jeffrey Ember. -The omission, he decided, should be rectified with as little delay as -possible. He locked the library door and went to the telephone. - -It took him half an hour to get the number that he wanted, but he -betrayed no impatience. When at last a man’s voice came to him, along -the wire, he inquired in the Bavarian dialect, “Is that you, Number -Five?” The voice said, “Yes,” whereupon Ember gave a password and waited -until he had received the countersign. He then began to issue orders, -using an unhurried voice. Every now and then he shivered a little in the -early morning cold, and shrugged his coat higher about his ears. - -“You are promoted. You go up to Four and come on to the Council. I will -notify you of the next meeting. Number Three is a traitor. He left here -last night with copies of lists containing names of all agents. It is -believed that it is his design to sell us. He has secreted a large sum -of money, the property of the Council. Before he is eliminated he must -be made to hand this over. Take down the following addresses; he may be -at any one of them. Put Six and Seven on to finding and dealing with him -immediately.” He read out the addresses, and paused whilst they were -repeated. He then continued speaking: - -“I shall require the motor-boat off Withstead Cove at nightfall. Yes, -to-night, and without fail. A change of base is imperative. Proceed -first to ...”—he gave another address—“and communicate also with Ten. If -Belcovitch has arrived tell him that he is promoted to Three, and bring -him with you. The Council can then meet, as Number One is here.” - -A very slight gleam of something hard to define broke for a moment the -dull impassivity of Ember’s voice as he pronounced the last words. Then -he added: - -“Repeat my instructions.” - -He listened attentively whilst the voice reproduced his own words. Then -he said: - -“That is all. We shall meet to-night,” and rang off. - -He had breakfast alone with Jane, and ate it with a good appetite. He -talked very pleasantly too. Jane wondered why every succeeding moment -left her more afraid. She had been up all night, of course. It must be -that, yes, of course, it must be that. She faltered in the middle of -some inane sentence and stopped. Ember’s eyes were fixed on her with an -entire lack of expression, yet behind those blank windows she felt that -there were strange guests. It was like looking at the windows of a -haunted house, quite blank and empty, and yet at any moment out of them -might look some unimaginable horror. - -“You seem a little tired this morning, Miss Renata,” said Ember gently. -“Why didn’t you follow Lady Heritage’s example and have your breakfast -upstairs? You don’t look to me as if you had had much sleep. You haven’t -been walking in your sleep again by any chance, have you?” - -Jane clenched her foot in Renata’s baggy shoe. - -“Oh, I hope I haven’t,” she said. “I don’t always know when I’ve been -doing it. What made you think of it?” - -“It just crossed my mind,” said Ember. “It’s a very dangerous habit, -Miss Renata.” - -Jane pushed her chair back and rose. - -“I’m going into the garden,” she said; “this room is too hot for -anything. It’s like....” A little devil suddenly commandeered her -tongue. She reached the door, opened it, and flung over her shoulder: - -“It’s like the snake house at the Zoo, Mr. Ember.” - -She ran straight out into the garden after that, and stayed there. She -had the feeling that it was safer to be in the open. She wanted to keep -away from walls, and doors, and passages. She saw no one all the -morning, and came back to lunch with her nerve steadier. As soon as -lunch was over, she went out again. The hour in the house had brought -her fears back with reinforcements. She began to count the hours before -Henry could arrive. It was only half-past two, and perhaps he would not -come till midnight. - -The thought of the dark hours after sunset was like a black cloud coming -nearer and nearer. If she could hide, if she could only get away and -hide until Henry came. She felt as if it was quite beyond her to go back -into the house and sit for hour after hour, perhaps alone with Jeffrey -Ember, his blank eyes watching her, or to endure Raymond Heritage’s -presence, and, looking at her, remember the line in Molloy’s letter: -“Renata followed Number One.” It was Raymond she had followed. She had -told Molloy that she had followed Raymond. Then Raymond, beyond doubt or -cavil, was the Number One of that horrible Council. She could not bear -it. She thought of Raymond’s voice breaking when she said “Anthony,” and -she could not bear it. If she could only get away and hide until Henry -came. - -She went into the walled garden and walked up and down. Perhaps Anthony -Luttrell would come to her as he had come once before. Presently she -came to the tool-shed, stopped for a moment hesitating on the threshold, -and then went in. There was a way into the passages from here; she was -quite sure of it. If she could find the spring, she believed that she -would be able to reach the cross-passage where she had run into Henry. -She did not believe that Ember used it. Why should he, since it would be -of no use to his schemes? If she could get into the passage and hide -there, she need not go back to the house. She could wait there for Henry -and catch him as he passed. She would be able to warn him too, and it -came to her with startling suddenness that he stood very much in need of -warning; so much had come to light in the forty-eight hours since he -left. - -It took Jane an hour to find the spring. She might not have found it -then, but for the chance that made her slip and throw all her weight -upon one place just under the wide potting-shelf. There was a creak, and -one of the boards gave a little. She found a trap-door and steps beneath -it. - -There were some old sacks in the shed. Jane took one of them, climbed -down the steps, and shut the trap-door again. She felt her way down to -the level, spread the sack on the second step, and sat down. She felt -utterly forlorn and weary. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - -Mr. Ember, having completed all his arrangements, went in search of Lady -Heritage. She had sat silently through lunch and disappeared directly -afterwards. Having failed to find her downstairs, Ember was about to -pass along the upper corridor to the steel gate which shut off the north -wing, when he noticed that the door of the small Oak Room on his left -was standing ajar. He thought he heard a movement within, and, after -pausing for a moment to listen, he pushed the door wide and looked in. -As far as his knowledge went, Lady Heritage had never entered this room -during the time that they had been in the house. He accepted the fact -and could have stated the reasons for it. It had been the playroom, and -the walls were covered with Anthony Luttrell’s school groups. The book -shelves held his books, the cabinets his collections. In a very intimate -sense it was his room. - -Raymond Heritage stood at the far end of it now. She wore a dress of -soft white wool bound with a plaited girdle from the ends of which heavy -tassels swung. She had taken one of the groups from the wall and was -looking at it with an intensity which closed her thought to all other -impressions. She stood half turned from the door. Ember looked at her -and, looking, experienced some strange sensations. This was Raymond -Carr-Magnus, a younger, softer, lovelier woman than Raymond Heritage. -The curious cold something, like transparent glass or very thin ice, -which seemed to wall her from her fellows, was gone. It was as if the -ice had dissolved leaving the air misty and tremulous. - -The little flame which always burned in him took on brightness and -intensity, and a second flame sprang up beside it, a flame that burned -to a still white heat of anger because this change, this softening, was -for Anthony Luttrell and not for Jeffrey Ember. - -There was no sign of emotion, however, in face or expression as he moved -slightly and said: - -“Are you busy? May I speak to you for a few minutes?” - -It was characteristic of Raymond that she did not appear in the least -startled. She turned quite slowly, laid the photograph on the open front -of the bureau by which she stood, and said: - -“Now? Do you want me now?” A softness was in her voice as she spoke, and -a dream in her eyes. - -Her beauty struck Ember as a thing seen for the first time. He had to -use great force to keep his answer on a note of indifference. - -“If you can spare the time,” he said. - -Raymond looked round her. There was a caressing quality in her glance. - -“Yes; I’ll come downstairs,” she said. - -This was Anthony’s room. She would not talk to another man in Anthony’s -room. The thought may have been in her mind. The breath of it beat on -Ember’s flames and fanned them higher still. He led the way downstairs -and into Sir William’s study. - -Raymond Heritage had passed from the despairing mood of her first -interview with Anthony. Then to know him alive and to feel him -unforgiving had stabbed her to the quick. But that phase had passed. -During the many hours that she had spent alone the one amazing radiant -thought that he was alive had come to dominate everything. The cold -finality of death had been lifted. Instead of a blank wall, there opened -before her an infinite number of ways, any one of which might lead her -back to her lost happiness. She began to live in the past, to go over -the old times, to make a dream her companion. - -She came into the study with Ember and waited to hear what he wanted, -giving him just that surface attention which he recognised and resented. -His first words were meant to startle her. - -“Lady Heritage,” he said, “you know, of course, that there are certain -passages and rooms under this house?” - -She did start a little, he thought. Certainly her attention deepened. - -“Who told you that, Jeffrey?” she said, and hardly heard her own voice -because Anthony’s rang in her ears insisting, “I _know_ that you told -Ember.” - -“Mr. Luttrell told me,” said Ember. - -She exclaimed incredulously. At least her thoughts were not wandering -now. Ember felt a certain triumph as he realised it. He went on speaking -quite quietly: - -“It was when Sir William and I were down here the year before Mr. -Luttrell died. He, Mr. Luttrell, was taken very ill and I sat up with -him. In the night he was delirious. It was obvious that he had something -on his mind. He began to talk about the passages and to say that the -secret must not be lost. He took me for his nephew Henry March, and -nothing would serve him but he must show me the entrance in the hall. He -got out of bed, and was so much excited that I thought it best to give -way. When he had shown me the spring he calmed down and went quietly -back to bed. In the morning he had forgotten all about it.” - -Raymond listened, frowning. - -“Why do you tell me this?” she said. “I knew Mr. Luttrell had told -Henry.” - -“Henry March knows?” said Ember. - -“Yes, I think so. Yes, I’m sure he does. Why, Jeffrey?” - -Ember was too busy with his thoughts to speak for a moment. What an -appalling risk they had run. If Henry March knew of the passages, then -they had been on the very brink of the abyss all along. He spoke at -last, very seriously: - -“I want you to come down with me into the passages if you will. There’s -something I want to show you—something which I think you ought to know.” - -“Something wrong?” - -“I think you ought to see for yourself. I’d rather not say any more if -you don’t mind. I’ll show you what I mean. I really think you ought to -come and see for yourself. This is a good time, as the servants are -safely out of the way and Miss Molloy seems to have taken herself off.” - -“Very well, I’ll come. I must get a cloak though, or I shall get into -such a mess. Those passages simply cover one with slime.” - -Ember stood still with his hand on the half-opened door. - -“You’ve been down there?” - -“Why, yes, once or twice.” - -“Lately?” His voice was rather low. - -“Yes, quite lately.” - -Ember gripped the door. - -“And how did you know—oh, I beg your pardon.” - -“Yes, I don’t think we need go into that.” She spoke gently but from a -distance. As she spoke she passed him and went through the hall and up -the stairs. The heavy tassels of her girdle knocked softly against each -shallow step. - -Ember went on gripping the door until she came down again wrapped in a -long black cloak. When he dropped his hand there was a red incised line -across the palm. He saw that the cloak was smeared with green. How near -to the edge they had been, how horribly near! - -He opened the door and lighted her down the steps in silence, and in -silence walked as far as the laboratory turning. When he turned to the -left and flashed his light ahead of them, Raymond spoke: - -“I’ve never been along that passage,” she said. “I know there are holes -in some of them, and I’ve never liked the look of these side tunnels.” - -“This one’s quite safe,” said Ember, and led the way. - -Jane heard the murmur of their voices, and for a moment saw the faint -glow of the light. Then the glow and the voices died again. It was dark, -she was alone, she was cold, she wanted Henry, oh, how she wanted Henry. - -At that moment Jane’s idea of Paradise was to be able to put her head -down on Henry’s shoulder and cry. It was not, perhaps, a very exalted -idea, but it was very insistent. - -When Ember switched on the light, swung open the steel gate, and stood -aside for her to pass, Lady Heritage uttered a sharp exclamation. - -“Jeffrey, what’s this?” she said. - -“That is what I wanted you to see,” replied Ember. - -She crossed the threshold, walked a pace or two into the room, and -looked around her with eyes from which all dreaminess had vanished. -Bewilderment took its place. - -“Who did this? What does it mean?” she asked. - -Ember did not answer her until he too was within the chamber. He pushed -the steel gate with his hand and it fell to with a clang. - -“It is, as you see, a well-equipped laboratory,” he said—“worth coming -to see, I think.” - -“Yes, but, Jeffrey——” - -“You are interested? I thought you would be; won’t you sit down?” - -She looked about her with puzzled eyes. - -“Do sit,” said Ember in his quiet, friendly way. “You will find this -chair more comfortable than the benches.” - -He brought it forward as he spoke—a high-backed chair with arms. It -struck her then as a curious piece of furniture to find in a laboratory. - -“Brought here on purpose for you,” said Ember. - -But Raymond did not sit. Instead she rested her hands lightly on the -back of the chair, and, looking across it, said: - -“Jeffrey, what does all this mean?” - -“I’m going to tell you,” said Ember seriously. “I have brought you here -to tell you, only I wish you would sit down.” - -“No, thank you. Jeffrey, what is this place?” - -“A laboratory,” said Ember. “As you see, a laboratory, and the scene of -some extremely interesting experiments.” - -“Carried out by you?” - -“Carried out by me ... and some others.” - -“You have brought other people in here? Jeffrey, I think that was -inexcusable.” - -“I have not yet attempted to excuse myself.” - -For a moment his eyes met hers. She saw something, a spark, a flash, -from the flames within. It was her first hint that there was, or could -be, a flame there at all. It startled her in just the same degree that -an actual spark touching her flesh would have startled her—not more. - -He spoke again at once. - -“Just now I called this place a laboratory. If I were a poet”—he laughed -easily—“I might have used another word. I might have said, ‘This is the -crucible out of which has come the new Philosopher’s Stone.’” - -Raymond lifted her eyebrows. - -“You’ve not been touched by that mediæval dream?” she said. “This is the -twentieth century, Jeffrey.” - -“Yes,” said Ember slowly. “Yes, the twentieth century, and I said ... ‘a -_new_ Philosopher’s Stone.’ The mediæval alchemists dreamed of something -that would turn all it touched to gold, that would transmute the baser -metals. I have found something which will touch this base civilisation, -this rotten fabric with which we have surrounded ourselves, and dissolve -it. And when it is in solution there will be gold and to spare.” - -“What do you mean?” said Lady Heritage. - -Ember met her frown with a smile. - -“Was it a week ago that I heard you say, ‘If I could smash it all’? And -didn’t you sing: - - “‘Ah Love, could you and I with Fate conspire - To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, - Would we not shatter it to bits, and then - Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire?’ - -You sang that as if you meant it, Raymond. You sang it with all your -heart in your beautiful voice. Well, Fate has conspired for you and -given this sorry scheme of things into your hands to shatter—to shatter -and re-mould.” - -Raymond had been leaning a little forward over the back of the chair, -touching it lightly. She straightened herself when Ember used her name, -and looked at him with a sort of grave displeasure. He laughed a little. - -“Do you begin to understand?” he said. - -“I don’t think, Jeffrey, that I want to understand,” said Lady Heritage. - -“How like a woman,” said Mr. Ember. “Here is what you cried out for. -Here is opportunity, power, the greatest adventure that ever has been or -ever will be, and you are afraid to face it. I offer you the throne of -the world—and you don’t wish to understand.” - -The extreme quiet of his voice was in sharp contradiction to the -flamboyant words. Raymond looked at him in some anxiety. - -“You’re not well,” she began, and then stopped before the sarcasm of his -glance. - -“I’m not mad,” he said. “This is a business proposition. You’ve had -poetry, but I can give you prose if you prefer it. I have discovered -something—I won’t at this moment go into details—which enables me to -smash up civilisation as you’d smash a rotten egg. Every city, every -town of the so-called civilised world is accounted for, divided amongst -my agents. They only await my signal. Those alone whom we mark for -survival will survive, the rest are eliminated. Remains a world at our -disposal to recreate. In that world I am supreme—and you. Is that plain -enough?” - -Her face showed deep distress and concern. - -“Jeffrey, indeed you’re not well,” she repeated. - -“Am I not?” - -He came a step towards her and saw her draw back, as it were, -involuntarily. “Have I not made you understand yet? Perhaps a little -documentary evidence will assist you?” He took a quick step towards her, -looked at her full, and said in a different voice, “Raymond, I’m in dead -earnest—dead sober earnest.” Then with a sudden movement he turned away -and went across to the safe in the far corner of the chamber. With his -back to Raymond he unlocked it, and occupied himself for a minute or two -with the picking out of some papers. When he turned she was at the gate -with her hand on it. He spoke at once in his most ordinary voice: - -“That’s a safety-catch. It won’t open without the key.” - -“Will you open it, please?” - -He said, “No, Raymond,” in a tone of cool finality, and she lost colour -a little. - -“Jeffrey,” she began, then paused and bit her lip. - -“Raymond.” - -A scarlet patch of anger came suddenly to her cheek and she was silent -until it had died again. Long years of self-control do not go for -nothing. When she spoke at last there was only sadness in her voice: - -“Jeffrey, I have valued our friendship—very much.” - -“I hope,” he said, “that you will value my love even more.” - -Her hand dropped from the door. She did not answer. The hope of moving -him died. She drew her cloak about her, crossed the floor slowly, and -seated herself in the chair. She did not look at Ember. - -When the last faint murmur of voices ceased, and the dark silence closed -about her, Jane sat quite still for a while. It is very difficult indeed -to keep one’s eyes open in the dark. Jane found that her lids dropped, -or else that the blackness became full of odd traceries that worried and -disturbed her. She felt as if she had been there for hours and hours; -and she knew that it really might be hours before Henry came. - -She got up and walked slowly to where the passage came out into the main -corridor. She stood under the arch and looked towards the laboratory -turning. She had only to feel her way as far as that, turn up it, and -she would come within sight of the lighted chamber where Ember and Lady -Heritage were talking. The laboratory drew her, and the light drew her. -She began to move cautiously along the corridor. She had on light -house-shoes which made no sound. - -The little glow which presently relieved the blackness cheered her -unreasonably. It was a danger signal and she knew it, but it cheered -her. - -“One would rather be doing something dangerous than just mouldering in -the pitch dark,” she told herself, and edged slowly nearer and nearer to -the light. - -She was now at the corner, and could look round it and through the steel -bars into part of the laboratory. The disadvantage of her position was -that she might be taken in the rear by any one who came along either the -passage that she herself had come up or the slanting passage with the -well in it which ran into the other at an acute angle, about six feet -from where she was standing. - -Jane, however, knew of no one who was at all likely to arrive except -Henry. She therefore did not trouble about her rear, but looked with all -her eyes into the laboratory. She saw Lady Heritage sitting in a tall -chair, a little turned away. Her right elbow rested on one arm, and her -chin was in her hand. Her eyes were downcast. She was speaking in a -cold, gentle voice: - -“I have not many friends—I thought you were my friend. Was it all lies, -Jeffrey?” - -Mr. Ember came into view for a moment. He must have been at the far end -of the room. He came down it now, walked past Lady Heritage, and turned -to face her. Jane saw his profile. He was smiling faintly. - -“I am not fond of lies,” he said; “they are very entangling—so hard to -keep one’s head and remember what one has said. Now the truth is so -simple and easy; besides, you may believe it or not, I really do dislike -lying to you. I have always told you the truth where it was humanly -possible to do so. Even in the matter of Miss Molloy——” - -Lady Heritage exclaimed suddenly and sharply, lifting her chin from her -hand and throwing her head back: - -“Renata Molloy! She’s in this wretched conspiracy of yours, I suppose?” - -Ember laughed. - -“No,” he said. - -“Then what is she?” - -“I wish I knew,” said Ember, speaking soberly enough. - -“But what you told me wasn’t true?” - -“Some of it was. I was really rather pleased with my neat dovetailing. -I’ll run over it, and you’ll see that I told the truth whenever I could. -All that about my having known Molloy in Chicago—solid fact. Then I -think I said that I ran across him again in London, and found he had -taken Government service with Scotland Yard—that was fiction, and so was -the yarn about his warning me that foreign agents were on the track of -the Government formula. But it’s perfectly true that he has a daughter, -and that she sometimes walks in her sleep. When I told you that she had -come in—sleep walking—during an important conversation about the -Government formula, and that neither Molloy nor I was sure how much she -had heard, I was mingling fact and fiction. Renata Molloy happened in on -a meeting of The Great Council—that is the Council of the managing -agents from all the countries within the scope of our operations, and no -one knew what she had heard, or what she understood. When I told you -that I thought she would be safer down here under my own eye, and that I -was not sure whether she had been got at, I was speaking very serious -fact indeed. They’d have killed her then and there if corpses were just -a little easier to dispose of in London. I now very much regret that we -didn’t chance it.” - -A trembling bewilderment had descended upon Jane. She saw Raymond stare -for a moment at Ember with a curious horrified look and then drop her -chin upon her hand again. Ember came a step nearer. - -“Having disposed of that,” he said, “I should be glad if you would just -look at these papers. Documentary evidence, as I said just now, is -convincing. This is a short summary of our plans which has been issued -to all managing agents. This is a list of those agents. They form The -Great Council. These four names”—he paused—“I should have told you that -there was an Inner Council. It is the Inner Council which really runs -everything. There are four members. I come Second, Molloy was Third, and -Belcovitch, who will be here presently, is Number Four.” - -Jane’s heart beat faster and faster. She heard that Belcovitch would be -there presently, but she could not tear herself away. She saw Raymond -Heritage put out her left hand for the papers and glance at them -indifferently, saw her brow contract as she read, saw her drop the first -two papers upon her lap and lift the third. There was a dead silence -whilst she read it. It was the list which gave the names of the Inner -Council. She let it drop from her hand and an extraordinary rush of -colour transformed her. - -“What is my name doing there?” she said. Her voice was not loud, but it -rang. - -Ember turned upon her a face from which all blankness and coldness had -vanished. - -“Your name?” he said. “Why, the whole thing has been built up round your -name. The head of the Council, the inspiration of the movement, the -driving force—you, you, Raymond, you. You are as indissolubly knit with -the plan as if you had conceived it. The whole Council, The Great -Council, knows you as Number One of The Four who are the Inner Council. -The work has been done here under your auspices.” His air of excitement -vanished suddenly, his voice dropped to an ordinary note. “I told you it -was a business proposition. I assure you that it has been most -adequately worked out. In the painful and improbable event of criminal -proceedings, you would be cast for the chief rôle. A wealth of -corroborative detail has been provided. In business, as you know, one -has to think of everything. I’m showing you the penalty of failure, but -we shan’t fail. I’m showing what success will mean. Think of it—the -absolute power to say, ‘This shall be done.’ The absolute power to -impose your will! The absolute power to blot out of existence whatever -crosses it!” A gleam came into his eyes like nothing that Jane had ever -seen before. “Raymond, I’m not a visionary or a madman. The thing is -within my grasp. I’m offering it to you. It’s yours for the taking.” - -Raymond did not speak. She only lifted her eyes and looked at him. It -was a long look. Whilst it lasted Jane held her breath. Raymond looked -down again; there was silence. - -Into the silence came a distant sound—a faint dragging sound. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - -Henry left his car at The Three Farmers on the Withstead road, and -proceeded with energy towards the beach. He was glad enough to walk -after the long drive. - -The day was chilly, the air full of moisture, and a thin, cold mist was -rising off the marshes. What breeze there was came from the land and -took the mist only a few hundred yards out to sea. The motor-boat -telephoned for by Mr. Ember earlier in the day ran into it as she came -into Withstead Cove to land a passenger. The passenger, who was Mr. -Belcovitch, was very glad indeed to be landed. He had no nautical -tendencies, and would have preferred danger on dry land to safety at -sea. He made his way up the beach and, confused by the mist, went into -the wrong cave. As he turned to come out of it, having discovered his -mistake, he heard footsteps, and promptly sheltered himself behind a -convenient buttress. - -Henry walked briskly past and, as Mr. Belcovitch stared after him, -disappeared into the next cave. He disappeared and he did not return. -Belcovitch heard a familiar sound, the sound made by the pivoting stone -as it swung back into its place. He recognised it, and became a prey to -some rather violent emotions, of which fear, hatred, and a desire to -annihilate Henry were the chief. Henry was unknown to him, therefore -Henry was not one of them. His walk, his carriage, his whole appearance -marked him out as belonging to that class which Mr. Belcovitch made a -profession of detesting. He possessed the secret of the passages, and -was therefore in the highest degree dangerous. - -Belcovitch followed him as rapidly and as silently as a man can follow -whose very existence has for many years depended on his proficiency in -these respects. He closed the stone behind him with a good deal more -care than Henry had taken, and, having done so, went up the steps at a -surprising rate and in a moment had his quarry in view. Henry had -switched on a torch and was proceeding at a moderate rate down the main -passage. Belcovitch, moving after him like a cat, did some rapid -thinking. It would be very easy to shoot, but it would make a noise. He -fingered a length of lead piping in one of his pockets and thought with -impassioned earnestness of the back of Henry’s neck. Yet, supposing that -Ember knew of Henry’s visit—he did not want any unpleasantness with -Ember. It would probably be better not to kill Henry in case it should -prove that Ember would rather have him alive. It was always better to be -on good terms with Ember. Molloy had fallen out with him, and it -appeared that at this very moment two comrades were on their way to -eliminate Molloy. All this very rapidly. - -He decided not to kill Henry. It was a pity, because there was a most -convenient well into which he could have dropped him. He decreased the -distance between them and unfastened the black silk muffler which he -wore instead of collar and tie. - -Henry pursued his unconscious path, his mind occupied with Jane, and -plans, and Jane, and Ember, and Anthony, and Raymond, and Jane again. It -is to be regretted that he did not look behind him. The villain ought -not to be able to steal upon the hero in the dark without being heard, -but Henry had not had Mr. Belcovitch’s advantages. The latter had all -the tricks of the half-world at his command, and Henry had not. - -Just before the laboratory turning Belcovitch came up with a quick run, -and that was the first that Henry heard of him. The next instant he felt -himself tripped, struggling desperately to keep his footing, slipped in -the slime, and came down choking, with a black silk muffler tightly -knotted about his throat. Belcovitch was a very neat operator. First the -trip, then the twist, and then the chloroform bottle. He had never made -a crisper job of it. He took Henry by the heels and proceeded to drag -him along the passage towards the laboratory, Henry being mercifully -oblivious of what was happening. - -When Jane heard that faint dragging sound, she had just about half a -minute to decide which passage it came from, and to get away down the -other one. It really took her less than thirty seconds to realise that -some one was coming by the way that she herself had come, and to dart -into the slanting passage which held the well. A yard or two down she -turned and stood where she had stood to see Ember pass the day before. -Whoever was coming had no light. Of course they could see the light from -the laboratory and were steering by it. It was a man coming; she could -tell by the tread. He was dragging something—something heavy. What? Or -who? Jane sickened. - -A dark figure passed between her and the glow that came from the -laboratory. She took three light steps, and saw that what he dragged -behind him was a senseless man—senseless or dead. - -She heard Ember call out, “Belcovitch, is that you?” And a voice with a -strong foreign accent answered. - -Then a great many things seemed to happen at once: the steel gate -opened; the helpless man was dragged in; and, as the gate fell to, there -came Raymond Heritage’s scream. - -Jane shook from head to foot. The scream cut like a knife. Why did she -scream like that? Who was it? Who was it? Who _was_ it? She got her -answer in Raymond’s gasp of “Henry!” - -An inner blackness, much, much worse than that intolerable dark which -had oppressed her, swept between Jane and everything in the world. When -Raymond said, “Henry!” the light went out of her world and left it -black. She heard Ember say, “Is he dead?” but she could not see -Belcovitch’s shrug and shake of the head. She leaned against the wall -and could not move. I suppose that in that moment she knew that she -really loved Henry. It hurt—dreadfully. - -Then she heard Raymond’s voice again: - -“What have you done to him? Devils, devils!” And Ember: - -“My dear Raymond, calm yourself. He’s not dead, nothing so crude. Mr. -Belcovitch is an artist, and Captain March will come round in a minute -or two and be none the worse. I’m sorry you had a shock.” - -Light, dazzling light flooded Jane’s consciousness. Henry wasn’t dead. -The dark was only a dream, and she was awake again. She was very much -awake, and her whole waking thought was bent upon the necessity of -getting help for Henry before that dream came true. - -Ember and Belcovitch would murder him if they had time. Raymond would -make what time she could, but in the end they would murder him unless -Jane could get help. - -She turned, holding to the wall, and moved along the passage. When she -had taken a step or two something happened which she could never think -of without self-abasement. Her nerve went suddenly, and she began to -run. It was only for a dozen steps; then her self-control came into -play. She pulled up panting, and, after listening for a moment, crept -the rest of the way, reached the steps, and came out into the empty -hall, dirty, wet, and as white as a sheet. - -As soon as she had the panel shut she ran across the hall and down the -corridor to the library. She shut the library door with a sharp push, -and was across the room and taking down the telephone receiver before -the sound of the bang had died away. - -“Exchange!” she said, “Exchange!” and clenched her hand as she waited -for the reply. It came with a dreamy accent, the voice of a girl -disturbed in the middle of Sunday afternoon. Nobody should be -telephoning in the middle of Sunday afternoon. - -“Can you look up a London number for me? Sir Julian Le Mesurier”—she -spelt it. “Please be very quick; _please_, it’s important.” - -“Righto,” said the dreamy voice incongruously. - -Silence fell. Jane held on to the telephone, and tried to control her -breathing, which came in gasps. The room seemed full of mist; she shut -her eyes. - -When Jane started to run down the laboratory passage Jeffrey Ember was -superintending the removal of the black silk muffler from Henry’s neck. -When they rolled Henry over on to his face he groaned, and when they -tied his hands behind his back with the muffler he tried to kick, -whereupon Ember produced a piece of rope and they tied his ankles too. - -The sound of Jane’s running feet had come very faintly upon Ember’s ear. -Henry was groaning and kicking, and Belcovitch was cursing in a steady -undertone. It was not until he rose to get the piece of rope that his -mind took hold of that faint sound and began to analyse it. There had -been a sound in the passage outside—some one moving—some one running. -Yes, that was it, some one running, light foot and very fast. - -Ember finished tying Henry up and got to his feet. - -“There was some one in the passage just now,” he said. “I must go and -see. There was something; I heard something. It was like some one -running.” He spoke as if to himself, and then turned to Raymond. - -“You will stay where you are in that chair—otherwise....” He swung round -to Belcovitch. - -“If she moves, shoot Captain March at once,” he said, and was gone, -leaving the gate ajar behind him. - -In the library Jane waited for her call. It came with startling -loudness—a bell that seemed to ring inside her head—and then the dreamy -voice drawling, “Here y’are.” - -In Piggy’s study Isobel Le Mesurier said, “Hullo!” - -“Is that Lady Le Mesurier?” said Jane. - -“Yes, speaking.” - -“Please tell your husband——” - -And Isobel’s charming, friendly voice, “He’s here. Won’t you speak to -him yourself?” - -Jane’s hearing, always acute, was strung to an extraordinary pitch. She -could hear the girl at the exchange speaking to some one; she could hear -Isobel saying, “Piggy, you’re wanted”; and behind these sounds, on the -extreme edge of what was perceptible, she heard the click of the panel -and Ember’s footsteps as he crossed the polished floor. She knew that -they were Ember’s footsteps, and she heard them coming nearer. - -Sir Julian was speaking: - -“Who is it?” - -Jane heard her own voice, and it sounded small and far away. - -“Jane Smith, speaking from Luttrell Marches. They’ve got Henry in the -passages. He’s hurt. They’ve got a motor-boat in Withstead Cove. Help as -quickly as you can. Some one’s coming.” - -Ember was half-way down the corridor. Piggy was speaking: - -“Anthony Luttrell’s on his way—should be with you any minute.” - -Ember turned the handle. Jane called out: - -“Oh, can’t you get me that number—oh, can’t you get it quickly?...” And, -as the door opened sharply, she dropped the receiver and turned. - -Ember came in—a new Ember. There was something terrifying in his look, -and he said harshly: - -“What are you doing?” - -“Trying to telephone,” said Jane. “They take such ages.” - -Mr. Ember’s look was terrifying, but Jane was not terrified. As she -dropped the receiver something happened to her which she did not -understand. Within the last half-hour she had felt an extremity of fear -and sudden anguish, violent relief, and again intensest fear and -suspense. From this moment none of these things came near her. She moved -among them, but they did not touch her at all. The thing was like a play -in which she had her part duly written and rehearsed. There was no sense -of responsibility, only a stage upon which she must play her part; and -she knew her part very well. She did not have to think, or plan, or -contrive. She knew what to do, and how and when to do it. From the -moment that she dropped the receiver at the telephone she never faltered -for an instant. - -Ember looked at her with eyes which saw every tell-tale stain upon her -dress and hands. The something in his gaze which should have been -frightening became intensified. - -“Lady Heritage wants you in the study,” he said. - -Jane knew very well that he said the study because the study was next to -the door in the panelling. If she refused to go, he would stun her or -shoot her here. She did not refuse, and walked down the corridor by his -side in silence. They crossed the hall, and Ember kept between her and -the stairs. Jane walked meekly beside him with downcast eyes until he -passed ahead of her to open the study door. In that moment she turned on -her heel, sprang for the stairs and raced up them, running as she had -never run in her life. - -Ember would not risk shooting her in the hall—she felt sure of that—but -he was after her like a flash, and she had very little start. She -reached for the newel at the top and jumped the last three steps, with -Ember about two yards behind. Then down the corridor with a rush and -into her room, and the door banged and locked as he reached it. - -Jane wasted no time. She thought that Ember would hesitate to break down -the door until he had at least tried promises and threats, but she was -taking no chances. She heard him speaking as she opened the cupboard -door and locked herself inside it. His voice was only a murmur as she -heaved up the trap-door in the floor and climbed carefully down the -ladder upon which Henry had stood that night which seemed like weeks and -weeks ago. The catch in the wall at the bottom was a simple handle like -the one behind the panelling. She emerged into the garden room, opened -the window, dropped out of it, and ran quickly and lightly along the -terrace, keeping close to the wall of the house. - -Ember talked through the door for five minutes. His remarks ranged from -persuasive promises to threats, which lost nothing from being delivered -in a chilly whisper. At the end of the five minutes he put his shoulder -against the lock and broke it. He found an empty room and a locked -cupboard. When he had broken the cupboard door and discovered nothing -more exciting than Renata’s schoolgirl wardrobe, he went to the open -window and stared incredulously at the drop to the terrace. Jane had -turned the corner of the house and was out of sight. - -Ember came downstairs with the knowledge that he must complete his -business quickly if he meant to bring it to any conclusion other than -disaster. - -He went straight to the library and rang up the Withstead exchange. - -“The young lady who was telephoning just now, did she get the number she -wanted? She did? Would you kindly tell me which number it was?” - -There was a pause, and then the information came: Sir Julian Le -Mesurier! There was certainly no time to be lost. Molloy and his -daughter both traitors, both spies, both in Government pay! Molloy -should be reckoned with by now, and some day without fail he would -reckon with Renata. - -He came into the hall, and released the spring of the hidden door. As -the panel turned under his hand, he heard the purr of a motor coming -nearer. It drew up. The bell clanged. Mr. Ember stepped into the -darkness and closed the panel behind him. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - -Anthony Luttrell’s distaste for his errand had certainly not lessened -during the long drive from town. He stood now on his own doorstep facing -a strange butler, and heard a formal “Not at home,” in response to his -inquiry for Lady Heritage. - -“And Miss Molloy?” he asked. - -“Not at home,” repeated Blotson. - -If this was a reprieve it was an unwelcome one. Anthony would very much -have preferred to get the thing over. - -“I will wait,” he said briefly, and walked past Blotson into the hall. -“I am Mr. Luttrell,” he explained, and Blotson’s resentment diminished -very slightly. After a moment’s hesitation he threw open the study door -and ushered Anthony into the room. - -“If Lady Heritage is in the house she will see me,” said Anthony. “If -she is out I should like to see Miss Molloy or, failing her, Mr. Ember.” -He walked to the window and stood there looking out until Blotson -returned. - -“Lady Heritage is out, sir, and Miss Molloy is out. Mr. Ember was in -just now, but he must have stepped out again.” - -“I will wait,” said Anthony for the second time. - -When Blotson had gone, he stood quite still, following out a somewhat -uneasy train of thought. As the minutes passed, uneasiness merged into -anxiety. - -Jane ran the whole way to the walled garden. Once inside its door she -made herself walk in order to get her breath. When she came into the -potting-shed she knew just what she was going to do, and set about doing -it in a quiet, businesslike way. From a stack of pots she took about -half a dozen, broke all but two of them, and gathered the sherds into -the lap of her dress. She put the two unbroken pots on the top of the -sherds. Then she took a sharp pruning-knife from the shelf, opened the -trap-door, and went down the steps. - -As soon as she came into the main corridor she began to put down the -broken sherds, taking care to make no noise. She laid a trail of them up -to the laboratory turning, and then all along the turning itself, -disposing them in the middle of the fairway in such a manner as to -ensure that they should not fail to be seen by any one flashing a light -along the passage. She put the last two or three sherds in a little pile -about a yard short of the arch leading to the slanting passage with the -well in it. As she bent down there she heard Belcovitch maintaining an -impassioned Slavonic monologue within the laboratory. - -She stood in the archway, threw her two unbroken pots against the -opposite wall with all her might, and then ran back down the well -passage until it turned. - -Everything happened just as she knew that it would happen. - -Belcovitch stopped talking and swore. It was a polysyllabic curse, very -effective. Then the steel gate was flung open, and in three languages -Mr. Belcovitch demanded of the silence an account of what was happening. -His voice ran away into a hollow echo, and died miserably. - -Jane heard him stamp back into the chamber, cursing, and return. This -time he flashed a light before him. Flattened against the wall, Jane saw -its glow reflected from the side of the passage in which she was. -Belcovitch had seen the sherds and was exclaiming and muttering. She -heard him pass the arch. - -Jane stole to the mouth of the slanting passage. Belcovitch was two -yards away on her left, flashing his light down the tunnel, seeing more -broken pots, and more and more, and swearing all the time, not loudly -but with considerable earnestness. Jane slipped like a shadow across -behind him and round the corner. The steel gate was wide open. She ran -through it and into the lighted laboratory. - -Henry lay on the stone floor in front of her, bound hand and foot. He -had rolled over on to his side and was staring at the gate. Raymond had -risen to her feet, and was taking a half-step towards Henry as Jane came -running in. - -“Shut the gate,” said Henry in a sharp whisper. - -“There’s another way out, and I don’t think they know it. Quick, Jane, -quick!” - -Jane slammed the gate. She had the pruning-knife in her hand, and she -was down on her knees and at work on the black silk muffler before the -sound of the slam reached Mr. Belcovitch. When it did reach him he spun -round and came back at a run with a revolver in his hand and murderous -fury in his heart. - -Jane cut through the last shred of silk, and because Belcovitch’s hand -was shaking with rage his first bullet missed her and Henry handsomely. - -“Get up against the wall, quick!” Henry commanded. - -As he spoke he was himself half rolling, half scrambling towards the -wall. His ankles were still tied, but his arms were free. The second -bullet just missed his head. Jane cried out, and then they were both out -of the line of fire. Henry was breathing hard. - -“Give me the knife,” he panted, and began to saw at some of the toughest -rope he had ever come across. - -Raymond had remained standing. She had retreated almost to the end of -the room and wore a look of extreme surprise. - -“Why do you call her Jane?” she asked. Her deep voice came through the -racket with strange irrelevance. - -Belcovitch continued to make the maximum amount of noise in which it is -possible for a man and a revolver to collaborate. He banged the steel -gate in the intervals of firing, and he cursed voluminously. - -The rope gave, and Henry was half-way on to his feet when there was a -sudden cessation of all the sounds. Raymond gave a warning cry, and -Henry caught at Jane’s shoulder and straightened himself. The steel gate -was opening. - -Jane said, “Henry—oh, Henry darling!” and there came in Mr. Jeffrey -Ember, very cool and deadly, with his little automatic pistol levelled. -Just behind him came Belcovitch, a silent Belcovitch, at his master’s -heel. - -“Touching scene,” said Ember. “Captain March, if you don’t put your -hands up at once I shall shoot Miss Molloy. From her last exclamation, I -should imagine that you’d rather I didn’t. Miss Molloy, go across to the -opposite wall and stand there. Belcovitch, kindly keep your revolver -against that young lady’s temple, but don’t let it off till I give you -leave. Raymond, I should be glad if you would resume your chair. A brief -conversation is, I think, necessary, and I should prefer you to be -seated.” - -He stood not far from the entrance, dominating the room. The gate had -been closed by Belcovitch. Ember waited till his instructions had been -carried out; then he came a little nearer to Lady Heritage and said: - -“Time presses, Raymond. I must go. I wish that there were more time, for -indeed I would rather not have hurried you.” - -Jane, with the muzzle of Belcovitch’s revolver cold against her temple, -found her attention caught by Ember’s words. Time ... yes, that’s what -they wanted—time. Piggy had said that Anthony might arrive at any -moment. When he did arrive and found that they were all mysteriously -absent, surely his first thought would be to search the passages. She -raised her voice and said insistently: - -“Mr. Ember.” - -Ember threw her a dangerous look. - -“Be quiet,” he said shortly. - -“There was something I wanted to tell you,” said Jane. - -“Out with it then, and be quick.” - -“You called me Miss Molloy just now....” - -“No, Jane, _no_!” said Henry violently. - -Mr. Ember echoed the remark made by Lady Heritage. - -“Why do you call her Jane?” he inquired. - -“That is what I was going to tell you,” said Jane. - -“You called me Miss Molloy, and I just thought I would like you to know -that I’m not Renata Molloy. It would make an untidy sort of finish if -you went away thinking that I was, and I hate things untidy.” - -“You’re a little devil,” said Ember ... “a little devil.” - -Jane stuck her chin in the air. - -“Well, I’m not Renata Molloy anyhow,” she said. “No one would ever have -called her a devil. She was a white rabbit—a nice, quiet, tame white -rabbit.” - -Jane’s voice failed suddenly on the last word. Yet Mr. Ember had not -looked at her again. His eyes went past her to Belcovitch, and it was to -Belcovitch that he spoke. - -“No, not yet,” he said, “but if she speaks again you can shoot.” - -A long, slow shudder swept Jane. She leaned against the wall and was -silent, and she shut her eyes because she could not bear to see Henry’s -face. Ember turned back to Raymond. - -“I’m sorry to hurry you.” His voice was low and confidential. “What I -have to offer, you know. It is yours for the taking. Please don’t make -any mistake. I have to change my base, it is true—I have even to change -it with some haste—but neither that nor anything else can now affect my -purpose and its achievement. What I offered is, without any shadow of -uncertainty, mine to offer and yours to take, if you will ... if you -will, Raymond?” - -Raymond’s sombre gaze dwelt on him as he spoke. The whole scene affected -her as one is affected by something which is taking place at a great -distance. She did not seem able to adjust her mental focus to it. Her -mind seemed to be divided into two parts. One of them was entirely and -unreasonably preoccupied with the relationship between Jane and Henry, -and the reason why Henry should have addressed Renata Molloy as Jane. -These thoughts seemed to circle as continuously, and with as little aim, -as goldfish in a glass bowl. The other part of her mind was bruised and -sick because Jeffrey Ember had been her friend. When he said, “Will you, -Raymond?” she did not speak. She looked at him in silence, and presently -made a slow gesture of refusal. - -Ember came a step nearer. - -“I told you,” he said, “that I was in dead earnest. Perhaps you don’t -realise just what I mean by that. I’ve played for a high stake, and I -mean to have what I’ve played for or nothing. I’ve played for you, and -if....” He broke off. “Let me put it this way. Either we make the future -together or there’s no future for either of us. I’m speaking quite -soberly when I tell you this. Think well before you answer, but don’t be -too long. If there is to be no future our present will end here and now. -This place is mined, and if I press that unobtrusive knob, which you may -notice above the safe, the end will be quite a dramatic one. I have -always had some such contingency in view, and this makes as good a -stepping-off place as any other. Think before you refuse, Raymond.” - -She shook her head again. Her eyes never left his face. Ember made an -impatient gesture. - -“Are your friends going to thank you?” he said. “You are taking the -heroic pose, and forgive me if I say that it’s a little unworthy of you. -I expected something less obvious. Take my offer, and I guarantee to -leave Captain March and Miss Molloy here unharmed. Can any woman resist -sacrificing herself? Come, will you save them, Raymond?” - -Lady Heritage spoke for the first time: - -“I suppose that I must be a fool because I trusted you.... I did trust -you, Jeffrey ... but I don’t know what you have ever seen in me to make -you suppose that I am such a fool as to trust you again ... now.” - -Her words and her voice caused a change in Ember, a change as difficult -to define as to describe. It is best realised by its effect upon those -present. Some impression of shock was received in varying degree by them -all. Henry March had, perhaps, the most vivid sense of it. In Belcovitch -it bred panic. - -Whilst Ember was speaking the hand that held the revolver to Jane’s -temple had become more and more unsteady. The muzzle knocked cold -against her cheek bone and jabbed against her ear. Jane wondered when -the thing would go off. So, it is to be imagined, did Henry, for he was -grey about the mouth and his forehead was wet. - -Ember did not speak for a moment. Then he said: - -“Touché!” in a queer, bitter voice. - -Belcovitch began to mutter in an undertone that gradually became louder. -His hand shook more and more. - -“Sure, Raymond?” said Jeffrey Ember. “Quite, quite sure?” - -He came up quite close, and laid his right hand lightly on her shoulder. -It was the first time that he had touched her. - -She said just the one word, “Yes.” For a moment his hand closed hard -upon her. Then he sprang back with a laugh. - -“All right, then we go up together.” And, as he spoke, he made for the -corner where a little vulcanite knob showed above the steel safe. - -With a sort of howl Belcovitch whirled to meet him. They crashed -together and grappled, Ember silent, Belcovitch torrential in -imprecation and fighting as a man frenzied with terror does fight. His -revolver dropped from his hand, and Ember stumbled over it. - -Like a flash Henry had Raymond by the arm, whilst his eyes commanded -Jane and he pointed to the passage that led out of the laboratory on the -extreme right. It was the one that Jane had explored first, and as she -ran into it she remembered that it ended in a small chamber full of -packing-cases. In a panting whisper she said: - -“It’s full of boxes.” - -“Then we must shift them,” said Henry, and, groping in the almost dark, -he began to pull the cases away from the right-hand wall. - -“A light—he can’t find the spring without a light.” - -Raymond heard her own voice saying this, and then she ran back down the -passage and into the laboratory. - -Belcovitch had put his torch down on the bench from which Jane had taken -the lists. Its exact position was, as it were, photographed on Raymond’s -consciousness. She reached, snatched it, and was back again in the least -possible space of time. As she came, she saw Ember and Belcovitch -swaying, struggling—horribly near the corner. And as she went she had an -impression of Belcovitch falling and, as he fell, dragging Ember down -with desperate, clawing hands. Then she was trying to steady her hand -and throw the light upon the wall space which Henry had cleared; but the -beam wavered and shook, shook and wavered; and Jane took the torch out -of her hand, setting it on one of the packing-cases. - -“It should be here. It should be just here”—Henry spoke in a muttering -whisper; then with sharp irritation, “Nearer with that light, Jane.” - -Jane held it closely to the wall. Henry’s hands slid up and down, -feeling ... pressing. Once they heard Belcovitch shout, and all the time -the sound of the struggle filled their straining ears. Some one fired a -shot—and Henry found the spring. A slab of stone swung outwards, -pivoting as the other doors had done. - -Henry pushed Jane through the opening, flung his arm round Raymond, -dragged her through and slammed the stone into place. They were in the -narrow alley-way between the row of veronica bushes and the terrace -wall, on the spot where Mr. George Patterson had stood listening to -Raymond’s voice. The air, the daylight, the mist, seemed wonderful -beyond words. Jane never again beheld a mist without remembering that -joyful lift of the heart which came to her when the stone shut and she -drew her first long, free breath. Henry gave her no time to savour the -joys of freedom. - -“Run, run like blazes!” he shouted. - -Jane ran. Once she started she felt as if nothing would ever stop her. -She heard Henry just behind her; she heard him urging Raymond on, and -they came out of the alley-way round the end of the terrace, round the -side of the house. - -Then it came. - -The ground shook; there was a muffled thud and a long, heavy rumble that -died slowly. Then with a terrific crash two of the stone urns along the -terrace wall fell and broke. As the noise ebbed there came the tinkling -sound of splintered glass falling upon stone. - -Jane stopped running as if she had been shot, and reeled up against -Henry, who put his arms round her and held her tight. Up to that very -moment the feeling of unreality, of playing a part in a play for which -she had no responsibility whilst her real self looked on remotely—this -feeling had dominated her. Now it was as if the curtain fell and she, -Jane, was left groping amongst events that terrified her. She trembled -very much, and clung to Henry, who was at that moment the one really -safe and solid thing within reach. - -Raymond did not pause or turn her head, but walked straight on towards -the house. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX - - -The last rumble of the explosion had hardly died away before Anthony -Luttrell had flung open the study door, and was making his way at a run -towards the Yellow Drawing-Room. - -At the glass door which led on to the terrace he halted, opened it wide, -and stood on the step looking out. Some glass was still falling from the -broken windows on this side of the house. All the terrace on the right -of where he stood was like a drawing in which the perspective has gone -wrong. There was a great bulge in one place, and some of the -paving-stones were tilted aslant, whilst others had fallen in, leaving a -gaping hole over which a cloud of dust was settling. - -Anthony turned his back upon all this and came back with great strides -into the hall. Without so much as a look behind him to see whether he -was observed, he loosened the spring, pushed open the door in the -panelling and there halted, suddenly remembering the need of a light. He -went back for a torch, and then passed down the steps without waiting to -close the door. - -That something appalling had happened was obvious. With the self-control -without which it is impossible to meet an emergency Anthony kept his -thought focused upon what he was doing. At the bottom of the steps the -way was still clear. He saw Jane’s broken pots and wondered what on -earth they were doing there. Then he turned into the laboratory passage, -flashing the light ahead of him. Half-way along the passage the roof had -fallen in. - -Anthony turned, came back into the main corridor, ran along it until he -came to the place where the well passage joined it. Here he turned off, -made his way cautiously past the well, and again found a mass of stone -and rubble blocking his path. A cold horror came over him, and all those -thoughts to which he had barred his mind came insistently nearer, -pressing past those barriers and taking his consciousness by storm. He -came back into the hall and shut the door in the panelling. - -The hall was quite empty, but the voice of Blotson could be heard at no -great distance. It was raised in exhortation and rebuke. Obviously he -rallied a staff which inclined to hysteria, for one could hear a woman’s -sobs and a subdued chorus of perturbation and nervous inquiry. - -Anthony went to the front door and flung it open. His car stood at a -little distance, the inspector and the chauffeur in close conversation. -Anthony did not see them. He only saw Raymond Heritage, who was coming -slowly up the steps. She was bareheaded, and her face was very pale. She -wore a white dress with a black cloak over it. She stumbled twice as she -climbed the steps and, if Anthony was only conscious of seeing her, she -did not appear to be conscious of seeing any one at all. - -It was only when the hand which she put out in front of her actually -touched Anthony that she lifted her eyes and looked at him. Then she -said in an odd, piteous sort of voice: - -“Tony.” - -“What is it? What has happened, Raymond? Are you all right?” - -“I must speak to you—I must,” she said, catching at his arm and drawing -him towards the study. They went in, and when the door was shut she -turned to him with the tears running down her face. - -“Tony, you heard? I think he’s dead. That place downstairs was mined, -and he tried to kill us all, only we got away, Henry, the girl, and I. -But Jeffrey’s dead—yes, I think he must be dead, and I know now what you -thought. I didn’t know what you meant before, but I know now. You were -wrong, Tony. Oh, Tony, won’t you believe me? I didn’t tell him about the -passages, and I didn’t know anything until to-day. They can tell you I -was speaking the truth—Henry and Miss Molloy; but, oh, Tony, can’t you -believe me, just me?” - -Anthony looked at her, and looked. His face was twitching. As her voice -broke on the last two words he dropped to his knees, flung his arms -about her, and hid his face in the folds of her cloak. - -By the time that Jane and Henry came into the house Blotson had set all -his machinery running once more. He himself presented a magnificent -front to two of the most dishevelled people whom he had ever been called -upon to receive. It was not until afterwards when it came home to Henry -how much green slime there was in his wildly ruffled hair, and how -little the original colour of his collar could be discerned, that he -realised how marvellous had been the unflinching calm of Blotson. He -referred neither to the explosion nor to Henry’s appearance. In point of -fact, what were emergencies and accidents that Blotson should notice -them? The hour being five o’clock, it was his business to announce tea. -He announced it. - -“Tea is served in the library,” he said, and passed upon his way. - -But in the library the tea cooled while Henry, very much relieved to -find that the wires had not been cut, galvanised the Withstead exchange -and got on to a distinctly relieved Sir Julian. - -They arranged, speaking in Italian, that an explosion had occurred in -the course of an important experiment in Sir William’s laboratory. It -was agreed to notify Sir William and the press. The loss of two lives -was greatly to be deplored. When this was finished Piggy became less -official. - -“That girl of yours is a brick; you can tell her so from me. She’s all -right, I hope?” - -Henry said “Yes,” that Jane was quite all right. He sounded a trifle -puzzled. - -Piggy laughed. - -“Didn’t you know she had rung me up to say you’d been nobbled? Most -businesslike communication I’ve ever had from a lady in all my life. -Told me they’d got a motor-boat in Withstead Cove. And, thanks to her, -we ought to have gathered it in. I got through to the coastguard station -at once. Now look here, what’s the likelihood of laying hands on Ember’s -papers?” - -“Ember’s papers?” repeated Henry. “Well, there was a safe down there, -and that’s where he’d be most likely to keep them; but I expect they’re -all gone to blazes, as the door was open.” - -At this point Jane’s voice came in breathlessly: - -“Henry, wait, keep him on the line!” she said, and was gone. - -“It’s Jane, sir,” said Henry. “I think she’s gone to get something.” - -In the middle of Piggy’s subsequent instructions Jane came back. She -held a bundle of closely written sheets. She spread them before Henry’s -eyes, holding them fan-wise like a hand at cards. - -“I’d forgotten them till you said that about the papers—I’d actually -forgotten them. It’s lists of his agents in all the big towns -everywhere. I sat up all night copying them because I didn’t dare keep -the originals. I keep forgetting you don’t know what’s been happening. -But tell him, Henry, tell him we’ve got the lists.” - -Henry told him. - -Jane heard Sir Julian answer, and then Henry hung up the receiver and -hugged her. - -“What did he say? Henry, you’re breaking my ribs! What did he say?” - -“Jane, you’re a brick, and a wonder, and a darling, and he said—he said, -‘Bless you, my children!’” - - - THE END - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes - - ---Copyright notice provided as in the original—this e-text is public - domain in the country of publication. - ---In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the - HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.) - ---Generated cover and spine images based on elements in the book. - ---Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and - dialect unchanged. - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Astonishing Adventure of Jane Smith, by -Patricia Wentworth - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ASTONISHING ADVENTURE OF JANE SMITH *** - -***** This file should be named 62963-0.txt or 62963-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/9/6/62963/ - -Produced by D A Alexander, Stephen Hutcheson, and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net -(This file was produced from images generously made -available by The Internet Archive) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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