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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79012 ***
+
+
+
+
+  THE WOLVES
+  AND THE LAMB
+
+
+  A complete list of the books by J. S. Fletcher already published may
+  be found at the back of this volume.
+
+
+
+
+  THE WOLVES
+  AND THE LAMB
+
+  BY
+  J. S. FLETCHER
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+  NEW YORK
+  ALFRED · A · KNOPF
+  MCMXXV
+
+
+
+
+  COPYRIGHT, 1925, BY ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC. ·
+  PUBLISHED, JANUARY, 1925 · SET UP, ELECTROTYPED
+  AND PRINTED BY THE VAIL-BALLOU PRESS,
+  BINGHAMTON, N. Y. · ESPARTO PAPER MANUFACTURED
+  IN SCOTLAND AND FURNISHED BY W. F.
+  ETHERINGTON & CO., NEW YORK · BOUND BY H.
+  WOLFF ESTATE, NEW YORK. ·
+
+  MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+        I THE WOLVES,                             9
+
+       II THE LAMB,                              17
+
+      III A DEAD MAN’S ORDERS,                   25
+
+       IV “HE WILL BE JUST IN TIME!”             33
+
+        V THE INITIAL PACES,                     41
+
+       VI MRS. WALSINGHAM AT HOME,               50
+
+      VII CARSDALE’S CAREFULNESS,                59
+
+     VIII A PLEDGE REDEEMED,                     67
+
+       IX PLAIN SPEECH,                          75
+
+        X NEWS FOR MRS. WALSINGHAM,              83
+
+       XI UNFORESEEN,                            91
+
+      XII MR. CARSDALE’S CHAMBERS,               99
+
+     XIII THE BOND STREET JEWELLER,             107
+
+      XIV BURGOYNE STARTS A NEW TRAIL,          115
+
+       XV MRS. WALSINGHAM ADMITS,               123
+
+      XVI CONSPIRATORS,                         131
+
+     XVII A STUDENT OF PROBLEMS,                139
+
+    XVIII BLAIR’S THIRD NOTION,                 147
+
+      XIX THE MAN AT THE THEATRE DOOR,          156
+
+       XX MR. CARSDALE IS CONFRONTED,           165
+
+      XXI A WEAVING OF WEBS,                    173
+
+     XXII A COUNCIL OF WAR,                     181
+
+    XXIII THE EVE OF THE BATTLE,                189
+
+     XXIV MISS GUYNER INTERVENES,               197
+
+      XXV THE BLANK CHEQUE,                     205
+
+     XXVI EVERY WOMAN FOR HERSELF,              213
+
+    XXVII PLAIN TRUTH,                          221
+
+   XXVIII A QUESTION OF ACCOUNT,                229
+
+     XXIX THE SILENT TENANT,                    237
+
+      XXX BURGOYNE FACES THE MUSIC,             246
+
+     XXXI WAS IT MURDER?                        254
+
+    XXXII SLEUTH HOUNDS,                        262
+
+   XXXIII SANCTUARY,                            270
+
+    XXXIV KNIGHT-ERRANT,                        277
+
+     XXXV FOR SYLVIE’S SAKE,                    285
+
+    XXXVI INSPECTOR SKARRATT INVESTIGATES,      293
+
+   XXXVII THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR,                  301
+
+  XXXVIII SALVING A FORTUNE,                    309
+
+
+
+
+THE WOLVES AND THE LAMB
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE WOLVES
+
+
+“Three Hundred Thousand Pounds! And in the hand of an inexperienced
+youngster of twenty-one. And--incidentally--in Mr. Barclay Leverton’s!”
+
+Carsdale flung down the letter which he had been reading, and with a
+cynical laugh that came as a note of exclamation at the end of his
+involuntary burst into speech, crossed the room, and throwing open the
+window, leaned over the sill and looked out upon Norfolk Street, lying
+deep down below. It was nearly ten o’clock of a lovely May morning,
+and in the street itself, and in the Strand at its head, and along
+the Embankment at its foot, men were quickening their last paces in
+a laudable desire to be in office or chambers by the hour at which
+London, laziest city in the world in respect to its early business
+hours, gets into harness for the day. There was a sense of generous
+warmth and of new life in the spring air; the people who tenanted
+the floor immediately beneath the offices of Leverton & Carsdale had
+taken a fancy that year to ornament their window-ledges with flowers,
+and the scent of the well-filled boxes, just watered by a girl-clerk,
+came floating up to Carsdale’s nostrils as he leaned out. But Carsdale
+neither noticed the hurrying men, nor the bright sunlight, nor the
+fragrance of the innocent blossoms; all that he was conscious of as he
+stood there, drumming impatient fingers on the sill, and staring with
+unseeing eyes at the high buildings in front, or the moving figures
+below, was that a callow youth had expressed a desire to entrust
+Barclay Leverton with the management and investment of a fortune of
+three hundred thousand pounds. A fine sum, thought Carsdale, with
+another cynical laugh; a fine, handsome, substantial, comfortable
+sum!--a sum out of which there should be good pickings for whoever was
+lucky enough to handle it.
+
+The striking of the neighbouring clocks roused Carsdale from his
+reverie, and with an impatient shrug of his shoulders he turned from
+the window and went back to the desk, on which he had thrown the letter
+which had given him food for thought. But instead of picking it up and
+reading it again, he took a cigar from an open box, and having lighted
+it, turned and contemplated his own reflection in a mirror which hung
+over the mantelpiece. This personal inspection was as critical as if
+it was being made by another man; when it was over, he felt somewhat
+impressed by himself. He was tall; he had a good figure; he could
+smile pleasantly and ingratiatingly; he possessed a handsome face and
+curly dark hair, and darker eyes: he was scrupulously well-dressed;
+by a mere effort of will he could assume a cheery, good-tempered,
+optimistic expression which was very taking and had often proved useful
+in critical situations. And blowing out a cloud of opalescent smoke, he
+nodded at his mirrored self and smiled.
+
+“I think John Carsdale is more likely to attract a youngster than
+Barclay Leverton is!” he muttered as he turned from the mirror and
+placed the tip of a finger on one of a series of electric bells. “The
+great thing is--the usual thing--opportunity--opportunity!”
+
+The door opened with a noiseless jerk, and a boy’s head and shoulders
+appeared. The shoulders were garbed in a smart uniform of blue and
+silver; the head, surmounted by an unruly thatch of sandy-coloured
+hair, seemed unduly large for the shoulders, and was fronted by a face
+which for its distinguishing features showed a turned-up snub nose, a
+very wide mouth, and a pair of remarkably alert blue eyes. The eyes
+fastened upon Carsdale in a silent inquiry.
+
+“Ask Mrs. Walsingham to be kind enough to come here,” said Carsdale.
+The sharp face disappeared as instantaneously as it had shot into
+sight; the door closed. And Carsdale sat down at the desk, and picking
+up the letter, fingered it nervously until the reopening of the door
+roused him from the train of thought into which he had fallen. Then he
+looked up, half rising from his chair.
+
+“Shut the door, Sylvie,” he said in a whisper. “I--I want to talk to
+you.”
+
+The woman who entered glanced sharply at Carsdale with a slight
+uplifting of her fine eyebrows, silently closed the door, and took the
+chair at the side of the desk which he indicated with an outstretched
+finger. For a moment he regarded her critically.
+
+“You’re looking very well this morning,” he said, suddenly. “In fact,
+at your best. And I’m glad of it.”
+
+The woman smiled--a quiet, inscrutable smile which suggested many
+things. She was a pretty woman with all the outward signs of refinement
+and delicacy strongly marked; her hair, her teeth, her hands all showed
+the elaborate care of a person scrupulously particular about the
+details of the toilet; if she was gowned somewhat elaborately for a
+business office, if the rings which sparkled on her slim white fingers
+seemed a little conspicuous amongst books and papers, both rings and
+gowns were in the best of taste, and seemed to belong to the wearer as
+naturally as her fine eyes and delicate ears. Wherever she went, this
+was a woman to be noticed--very careful and discerning observers would
+have said, after a keen inspection of her, that she was also a woman
+of considerable possibilities in more directions than one.
+
+“And why this particular expression of pleasure?” she said,
+half-mockingly, half-satirically. “For some reason of--business, eh?”
+
+Carsdale tossed the letter which he was still nervously fingering
+across to her.
+
+“It’s an excellent idea to have a fascinating young woman in an office,
+Mrs. Walsingham,” he said, with a light laugh. “There--read that.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham took the letter and glanced it rapidly over as a
+preliminary to a careful reading.
+
+“Oh?” she remarked. “A private letter to Mr. Leverton.”
+
+“It wasn’t marked private,” answered Carsdale carelessly. “And haven’t
+I been opening all Leverton’s letters since he was taken ill? By the
+by, have you heard anything this morning?”
+
+“Yes. He had a very bad night,” replied Mrs. Walsingham. “I am to
+telephone again later, after the doctors have been. Now let me read
+this letter, whatever it may be.”
+
+What Mrs. Walsingham, secretary to Leverton & Carsdale, and particular
+friend of John Carsdale, read, was a communication written in a
+boyish hand, bearing date of the previous day, and addressed from
+a Southampton hotel. And as she read, she decided that the writer,
+however young and callow he might be, was frank and candid and trusting
+to a degree which might involve him in danger.
+
+  “DEAR MR. LEVERTON” (ran the letter): “I am a stranger to you, but
+  you will remember that you and my father, Martin Shrewsbury, were
+  close friends before he left England for the West Indies, some years
+  ago. I am his only son--and only child--Richard--age twenty-one. My
+  dear father suddenly died six weeks ago, and of course I have come
+  in for everything--he left me, in all, a little more than £300,000.
+  It is really about this that I am writing to you. The money is
+  now--everything having been cleared up here--in bankers’ hands in
+  London. Of course, I want to invest it. I have heard my father speak
+  highly of you as a financial man, and I found your address amongst
+  his papers. Perhaps, for the sake of your old friendship, you will
+  give me the benefit of your experience and advice? You see, I have
+  never been in England before. My father meant to send me to school in
+  England, but when I was about old enough to leave, my mother died,
+  and as he had no one but me, my coming was put off from time to time,
+  and in the end I stayed at home. So I don’t know much of English
+  matters, nor of business, except of what I learnt on our plantations.
+  It was my father’s earnest wish that I should come to England as
+  soon as he was dead; he had left his affairs in such a state that
+  everything could be immediately wound up. So here I am, and I feel
+  everything very strange!
+
+  “I intend to leave Southampton for London early to-morrow morning,
+  and I will venture to call upon you as soon as possible after my
+  arrival.
+                                          “Yours sincerely,
+                                                   “RICHARD SHREWSBURY.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham read this letter twice over before she folded it up and
+handed it back across the desk. Her face was as calm and inscrutable as
+ever when she looked at Carsdale.
+
+“Well?” she said.
+
+Carsdale waved his cigar with a flourish that suggested much.
+
+“Three hundred thousand pounds!” he exclaimed.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham regarded him steadily out of her half-closed eyes.
+
+“Well?” she repeated.
+
+Carsdale sprang to his feet and began to pace the room. “Three hundred
+thousand pounds!--a raw youth of one-and-twenty who has never set foot
+in England before!--my dear Sylvie, what a chance for you and me!” he
+said, presently coming to a halt at the side of his companion’s chair.
+“What a chance!”
+
+“This letter is addressed to Barclay Leverton,” she said pointedly.
+
+“Barclay Leverton,” answered Carsdale, “is very ill in bed, and is
+likely to remain there for some weeks. This young Johnny Rawbones is
+coming here to-day--to-day!--and we shall see him. And--you and I are
+clever people, Sylvie.”
+
+“Middlingly clever--there is room for improvement in each of us,”
+answered Mrs. Walsingham. “So--you want to be first in the field?”
+
+“Naturally! And it ought to be an easy thing,” said Carsdale. “The
+youngster comes here--Mr. Leverton is unfortunately away from business
+but his partner, Mr. Carsdale, is not, and Mr. Carsdale, who has
+opened and read Mr. Shrewsbury’s letter, will be happy to do all that
+Mr. Leverton would wish to do for the son of his old friend. And--Mr.
+Carsdale can make himself very ingratiating to young gentlemen with
+money. So--if she pleases--can Mrs. Walsingham.”
+
+“If she pleases,” observed Mrs. Walsingham. “The ‘if’ is an important
+word, though a small one.”
+
+“And three hundred thousand pounds is an important matter,” said
+Carsdale. “I think that you and I together, Sylvie, should be able to
+do something with this boy before he sees Leverton. We can enjoy a long
+start--and first impressions make a big difference. That’s why I said
+I was so glad to see you looking at your best this morning.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham made no immediate reply. She sat twisting the rings
+about her fingers and apparently lost in thought. And suddenly she
+turned sharply on Carsdale, who was still pacing up and down, puffing
+hard and fast at his big cigar.
+
+“You’ve got to remember, Jack,” she said, in quick, decisive tones,
+“that Leverton and this boy are sure to meet--eventually.”
+
+“It’s the start I want,” answered Carsdale. “Only let me--and you--get
+our spoons into the pudding first! And, according to the doctors, if
+Leverton recovers pretty quickly, it’ll be weeks and weeks before he’s
+fit for business. So that----”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham held up a finger.
+
+“Details, Jack--attend to details!” she said, warningly. “Remember
+there’s such a person as Miss Frances Leverton in the world.”
+
+“A girl of nineteen against--against you and me!” exclaimed Carsdale.
+“Come, come! Why----”
+
+“Frances Leverton, in her way, is as sharp as you are,” interrupted
+Mrs. Walsingham. “You know as well as I do that she’s been coming here
+every two or three days ever since her father was taken ill, wanting
+to know everything. How would you keep her from finding out about this
+boy? And when Leverton found that you’d kept that letter from him----”
+
+“Yes, Frances is decidedly in the way,” said Carsdale, hastily. “But
+that can be got over. The youngster could be kept away from here,
+and----”
+
+A sharp ring at the telephone which stood on the desk broke in upon
+Carsdale’s observations. He flung aside his half-smoked cigar, and
+dropping into his chair, picked up the receiver.
+
+“Yes--yes!” he said mechanically. “Yes--this is Mr. Carsdale. Yes--what
+do you say?”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham, who had taken possession of Richard Shrewsbury’s
+letter again, and was re-reading it thoughtfully, heard a sudden, sharp
+exclamation from Carsdale, and turned to see him drop the receiver as
+he wheeled round his chair. He stared at her with widening eyes.
+
+“Leverton’s dead!” he exclaimed. “D’you hear? Leverton’s dead!”
+
+“Dead?” she said. “Why----”
+
+“Died twenty minutes ago,” answered Carsdale. “The doctor says----”
+
+But at that moment the door opened, and the sandy hair and sharp blue
+eyes of the office-boy showed themselves again. And this time sounds
+came from the wide mouth.
+
+“A gentleman, sir--Mr. Richard Shrewsbury!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE LAMB
+
+
+It was characteristic of Mr. John Carsdale, and of Mrs. Walsingham,
+that at the first sound of the opening door their faces assumed that
+curiously indifferent and expressionless look which has come to be
+associated with the term business. Carsdale glanced at the office-boy
+as if that youthful functionary had been some machine which had
+just executed its purely mechanical message: his companion remained
+apparently absorbed in the reading of the letter.
+
+“Where is Mr. Shrewsbury, Griffkin?” asked Carsdale.
+
+“In the waiting-room, sir,” answered the boy.
+
+“Did you tell him that Mr. Leverton was not here?”
+
+“No, sir--told him nothing. Your orders, sir.”
+
+“Quite right. Bring him in, Griffkin. You needn’t go, Mrs. Walsingham,”
+said Carsdale, as the secretary made a professional movement towards
+the door. “I think I shall want you. At once, Griffkin--straight in!”
+
+The boy vanished, leaving the door ajar; a moment later, he reappeared,
+to throw it wide open, and to admit a young gentleman who advanced
+into the room with an air of shy expectation. And as he crossed the
+threshold the man and woman who rose to greet him looked at him with
+a curiosity which was all the greater because it was so carefully
+concealed, and each, after one sharp glance at the caller, thought the
+same thought--that Mr. Richard Shrewsbury was not at all what they
+had expected him to be, and both looked at him again, with different
+motives.
+
+It was very evident that Mr. Shrewsbury, ignorant of England though
+he might be, was English from head to foot. He was certainly bronzed
+and tanned to a degree quite unusual in Europe, but there was nothing
+in his whole six feet of height that did not bespeak the English
+blood, pure and unmixed for generations. Tall, slim, athletic, broad
+of shoulder, slender of flank, he was of the type that one sees
+nowhere in the world but in English hunting-fields and on English
+cricket-grounds--except when it is wanted for the sterner games of war
+and needful adventure. If he had lived in England all his life, said
+Mrs. Walsingham to herself, his hair would have been a light brown;
+the fierce suns of the West Indies had deepened it to a rich chestnut
+which was well in keeping with the dark tint of his cheeks. And being
+a judge of manly beauty, she decided that here was a youngster who was
+handsome as the youthful Greek gods are supposed to have been, and who
+was at the same time utterly unconscious that all women would admire
+the strength and grace of his figure, his square chin, his firm mouth,
+almost innocent of moustache, the direct gaze of his grey-blue eyes,
+and the untrammelled freedom of his gait. She felt a quick leaping of
+her pulses as she looked at him, and it was with difficulty that she
+kept admiration out of the eyes which she so vigorously schooled to
+instant obedience.
+
+As for Carsdale, he looked at the visitor with a growing consciousness
+that this was not exactly what he had expected to meet. There was
+something in the young man’s appearance which showed that he was no
+fool; he might be inexperienced even to greenness, but he looked to
+have a will of his own. And Carsdale, stepping forward to meet him with
+outstretched hand, assumed his most serious air.
+
+Young Richard Shrewsbury took the offered hand in a grip which made
+Carsdale think of giants and blacksmiths.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham smiled as she saw Carsdale wince beneath the
+unconscious strength; she smiled again as she saw the youngster’s face
+flush under its tan.
+
+“Mr. Leverton?” said Richard, eagerly. “This is kind, sir--you will
+think me a very early caller, but----”
+
+Carsdale lifted a hand.
+
+“I’m very sorry, Mr. Shrewsbury,” he said, motioning Richard to a
+chair, “but I am not Mr. Leverton. I am Mr. John Carsdale, his partner.
+This lady is Mrs. Walsingham, our confidential secretary. The fact is
+Mr. Shrewsbury, Mr. Leverton has been ill for some time, and as I open
+all letters that come here, I opened yours this morning, so we were
+expecting you. In fact, we were just talking of you.”
+
+Richard Shrewsbury heard all this with growing wonder and
+interest; he was already speculative and inquisitive about this
+obviously-man-of-the-world Carsdale, and boyishly conscious of Mrs.
+Walsingham’s charm and pretty face. He shyly offered her his hand,
+and gripped hers as mightily as he had grasped Carsdale’s. But Mrs.
+Walsingham was of the sort that would have picked up a white-hot iron
+if need be without uttering a sound or winking an eyelash, and she let
+her hand rest in the young giant’s as long as he, from sheer confusion
+and shyness, cared to hold it, and meanwhile favoured him with the full
+battery of her eyes, whereat he blushed up to his own--after which he
+somehow managed to get into the easy chair which Carsdale had motioned
+him to take.
+
+“I--I’m awfully sorry to hear about Mr. Leverton,” he found himself
+saying, when he had taken another look at his companions and his
+surroundings. “I hope it is not a serious illness?”
+
+Carsdale looked at Mrs. Walsingham; Mrs. Walsingham looked at the floor.
+
+“Well--er, it’s very serious, Mr. Shrewsbury,” replied Carsdale. “Ver-y
+serious indeed. I--ah, well, I don’t know that there’s any need to beat
+about the bush. The fact is, Mr. Leverton is dead.”
+
+“Dead!” exclaimed Richard, staring blankly at his informant. “Dead? Ah,
+I see!--I suppose he has been dead for some time? Of course, I didn’t
+know.”
+
+“He has been dead just about half an hour,” answered Carsdale, coolly
+glancing at the clock. “I had just received the news of his death over
+the telephone when you were announced. We were not exactly surprised,
+for he has been very ill, but the end came quite suddenly at last.”
+
+Richard looked from one to the other with a puzzled expression. He made
+as if to drag his long limbs out of the very low chair into which they
+had been consigned.
+
+“I’m most awfully sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know Mr. Leverton, of
+course, but I’d like to have seen him for my father’s sake--he often
+spoke of him. I--perhaps I’d better go, Mr. Carsdale.”
+
+But Carsdale waved him back into the chair.
+
+“Not at all, not at all!” he said “As I told you, I am--was,
+rather--Leverton’s partner, and I know that nothing would please him
+better than that I should do for you what he would have done. So please
+command me in any way, Mr. Shrewsbury--I dare say I can give you the
+same services and advice that he would have given.”
+
+The lad’s face flushed with pleasure at the warmth and kindliness of
+Carsdale’s tone.
+
+“That’s very kind of you, sir,” he said. “I’m awfully obliged. Of
+course, I’ll come to you, as soon as I get settled down.”
+
+Carsdale laughed--an indulgent and fatherly laugh.
+
+“You’d much better come to me before you get settled down,” he said,
+smiling benignantly. “Otherwise, you may be settling down in the wrong
+place. I learnt from your letter to poor Leverton that you are quite a
+stranger in London.”
+
+“I am a stranger to England--I never saw English soil before yesterday
+morning. Oh, yes, it’s all strange--very!” replied Richard.
+
+“Well, then, remember the old adage,” said Carsdale, who had a vague
+and much mixed notion that he had some Scriptural warrant for what
+he was saying, “and bear in mind that strangers are often taken in.
+If Leverton had been here, the first thing he would have done would
+have been to see that you were comfortably established in this howling
+wilderness. He, no doubt, would have carried you off to his own
+house--I can’t, for I’m a bachelor, and live in rooms in which I can
+only just turn around. But I can help you to find a proper corner for
+yourself--no man better for, as Mrs. Walsingham there will assure you,
+I know London as well as I know this room.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham turned her eyes once more on Mr. Shrewsbury, and again
+smiled on him.
+
+“Mr. Carsdale has an extensive and peculiar knowledge of London,” she
+said. “You would find him a wonderful guide, Mr. Shrewsbury.”
+
+“It’s awfully kind of you,” said the caller. “I--yes, I do find it
+rather--immense.”
+
+“And you have been in it--an hour or two, eh?” laughed Carsdale. “Wait
+until you see it. Now, seriously, to what hotel have you gone?”
+
+Richard blushed once more, boyishly.
+
+“I’m afraid it’s not up to much,” he said, apologetically. “It’s one I
+heard my father mention, but perhaps things are changed since his day.”
+He gave the name of an old-fashioned hotel that had been famous in
+certain circles thirty years before, and Carsdale threw up his hands.
+
+“Oh, that’ll never do!” he said. “The glory has vanished from that
+establishment long since. Now, let me advise you. What you ought to
+have is a suite of rooms of your own in the West End, and a good
+man-servant of your own, and I can put my finger on the very place, and
+on the very man, to-day. That’s much better than living in a hotel,
+and you can dine out whenever you like. I can show you the rooms I’m
+speaking of this afternoon.”
+
+“It’s very good to take so much trouble,” said Richard. “I should like
+that--I hate hotels. But your time?”
+
+Carsdale waved his hand.
+
+“Oh, we manufacture time here in London!” he said airily. “Besides, I
+want to do for you just what Leverton would have done. Yes, we’ll see
+those rooms this afternoon. Then I suppose you’ll want a good tailor,
+and a good bootmaker, and all the rest of it--leave all that to me, and
+I’ll see that you are properly attended to. This man-servant that I can
+get for you is an excellent creature--thoroughly experienced, and so
+on--but it is never wise to ask a valet as to what tradesmen you should
+patronize--never!”
+
+“Isn’t it?” asked Richard innocently. “Why?”
+
+“Because they care to feather their own nests,” replied Carsdale,
+solemnly, shaking his head. “When you want any advice about buying
+anything in London, trust to a disinterested friend, or to your
+business man, or you’ll be cheated. That is of course until you gain
+some experience of the town, as you soon will do.”
+
+Richard ventured to smile at Mrs. Walsingham--he scarcely knew why.
+
+“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to trouble you at first, Mr. Carsdale,” he
+said, “for I have no friends in London. When I got here this morning
+and saw how big it was I--well, I began to feel a bit lonely and
+frightened.”
+
+Carsdale’s face became sympathetic. He shook his head and glanced at
+Mrs. Walsingham.
+
+“Yes,” he said, gravely. “A man may be as lonely as a hermit in London.
+But you won’t be lonely--you’re young, and you’ll soon make friends. We
+must see to it that they’re the right sort. Well, now,” he continued,
+rising from his chair and glancing at the clock, “I’m afraid I must
+turn to business. But I can give you this afternoon, Mr. Shrewsbury,
+with pleasure. I’ll call for you at your hotel at three o’clock. Until
+then--don’t lose yourself in our wilderness!”
+
+Richard felt himself dismissed, and made his bow to Mrs. Walsingham.
+Carsdale let him out by a side door, and took him to the elevator.
+
+“Don’t be afraid to command my services in any way,” he said, as he
+shook his visitor’s hand. “I want you to feel that you can get from me
+what you’d have got from my late partner.”
+
+“It’s very kind of you,” said Richard. He hesitated a moment at the
+door of the elevator. “I should like to send my sympathy to Mr.
+Leverton’s family,” he said shyly. “Perhaps you’ll tell me what to do?”
+
+“Oh, to be sure, to be sure!” replied Carsdale. “This afternoon, then.”
+
+He waved his hand, and gave Richard another of his friendly and
+brilliant smiles as the elevator dropped, but the smile had vanished,
+and his face was perplexed, when he re-entered his room to rejoin Mrs.
+Walsingham. And Mrs. Walsingham, also re-entering at the same moment,
+but from another door, showed him an equally perplexed countenance.
+Carsdale stopped, staring at her. She came straight towards him, biting
+her upper lip, and she inclined her head in the direction of the room
+from which she had just come.
+
+“Jack!” she whispered. “There’s Frances Leverton in her father’s
+private room; she came some time ago, Griffkin says. And, I say,
+Jack--Winch, the solicitor, is with her!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+A DEAD MAN’S ORDERS
+
+
+Carsdale’s first action, on receiving this intimation from Mrs.
+Walsingham, was to step swiftly past her, and to close the door through
+which she had just come, and which communicated with a general office
+wherein the boy Griffkin and a young lady typist were wont to discharge
+their tasks and to receive callers. He turned round on the secretary
+with an astonished stare.
+
+“What--here, almost within an hour of her father’s death!” he exclaimed.
+
+“I told you she is as sharp as you are,” said Mrs. Walsingham. “She
+must have called for Winch and brought him straight here. And--why?”
+
+Carsdale first shrugged his shoulders and then spread out his hands.
+
+“Goodness knows--I don’t!” he answered. “It seems--unseemly. Perhaps
+she wants some papers--the will, it may be. Besides as you know,
+Leverton had his own private concerns here, just as I have mine. I
+can’t stop her from going into her father’s private room.”
+
+“No, because she’s in,” said Mrs. Walsingham. “And what is more, the
+door’s locked. Griffkin heard it lock as soon as they entered.”
+
+Carsdale started.
+
+“The door--locked?” he exclaimed. “Good God, what does that mean? That
+sounds mysterious.”
+
+“I should think it means that she and Winch are going through
+Leverton’s private desk and his private safe,” said Mrs. Walsingham,
+regarding him steadily. “What do you think?”
+
+But Carsdale merely shrugged his shoulders again, and smiled
+enigmatically. He turned to the paper-littered desk behind him, and
+picking up Richard Shrewsbury’s letter, placed it carefully in his
+pocket-book.
+
+“I’ve already said that I can’t help what she or Winch do in that
+room,” he answered. “What’s more to the point is--what do you think of
+the youngster?”
+
+“That he’d better be caught young,” replied Mrs. Walsingham tersely.
+“He’s the sort that will soon grow out of the callow stage. He’s no
+fool, Jack--only young and green. Be careful. And don’t go too fast at
+it.”
+
+“No, no!--I think I see the way,” said Carsdale. “Now, these people in
+Leverton’s room? You’d better go back to yours, and I’ll go on with my
+work--I want them to think that all’s going as usual. I’ll leave my
+door open, so that I shall know when they come out--I’d give something
+to know why on earth they came at all!”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham made no reply to this; she picked up some documents and
+went away, and Carsdale having followed her out into the general office
+to give some orders to the girl typist, left his door open and kept an
+eye on that behind which his late partner’s daughter and her solicitor
+were busied with--what? And instead of sitting down at his desk, he
+moved restlessly about his room, wondering why Frances Leverton should
+have hurried away from her father’s death-bed, and come to the office
+in this mysterious fashion.
+
+But Carsdale--and a few other people--knew that the business relations
+of Barclay Leverton and himself were peculiar. There was no legal
+partnership between them. It was true that their names appeared in
+conjunction on the list of tenants painted up in the marble-paved hall
+on the ground floor of the palatial building of which they occupied
+the top-story; that they were blazoned forth, again in conjunction, on
+the heavy brass plate of the swing doors which gave admission to their
+offices, but the real truth was that they were only partners when it
+suited them both to be partners. They joined in paying the rent and
+the rates and the office expenses; they mutually shared the services
+of Mrs. Walsingham, of Miss Rousby, the typist, and of Griffkin, the
+office-boy. They had had business affairs in common; sometimes they
+had business affairs in which other men joined. But each had his own
+affairs, his own business; each had his own secrets. And the people
+who knew Leverton well, and Carsdale well, knew that each could, if he
+pleased, be as close and secret as the grave.
+
+To men who had only a superficial knowledge of this establishment,
+the precise nature of the business carried on by Leverton & Carsdale,
+in conjunction or separately, was more or less of a mystery. They did
+not describe themselves, and were not described anywhere, as anything.
+In plain truth, they were agents, speculators, and dabblers of a
+comprehensive, all-embracing sort. They turned their brains, hands,
+money to anything that seemed likely to be profitable. They were
+adepts at promoting companies, at advising people on the investment
+of capital, at introducing men of ideas to men of means, at showing a
+poor inventor how to profit by his invention. All manner of strange
+and curious folk went up and down the elevator to and from Leverton &
+Carsdale’s--some wore glad and gleeful countenances, even at the end
+of a year’s experience of them; some began to cultivate a gnashing
+of teeth and a muttering of curses before many weeks had passed.
+There were men who hinted that strange tales could be told of the
+establishment, who wagged the head at the name of Leverton, and winked
+the eye at that of Carsdale, but in spite of that there was always a
+steady stream of business, and each man always seemed to be advising
+somebody, or engineering some important schemes for somebody else. And
+there were still other men who hinted--more quietly and darkly--that
+if anybody knew the real and inner workings of the concern, whether in
+its joint or its single capacities, that person was the lady known as
+Mrs. Walsingham, who was held to be the confidante of both men, and
+represented them very readily in their absence.
+
+But Carsdale knew that Leverton like himself, had secrets which he
+shared with no one, and he wondered as he waited for the door of
+Leverton’s room to open, if the dead man’s daughter had come so
+hurriedly from her father’s death-bed in connection with one of them.
+Of Frances Leverton, Carsdale, despite his reference to her as a
+youthful person, had a secret and a deep fear. He knew that she was
+something more than clever; he had an instinctive feeling that she
+had no great belief in him. On the rare occasions on which he had
+visited the Maida Vale flat in which Leverton and his daughter--an only
+child--resided, he had more than once caught the girl watching him in a
+curious fashion, and he had said to himself as he remembered her grave
+and steady eyes, and the firmness of the lips which could look very
+determined in conjunction with an equally firm and resolute chin, that
+Miss Frances Leverton had got all her father’s shrewdness, and a great
+deal more business capacity than Leverton himself had ever possessed.
+Other people saw the girl as a handsome young woman of nineteen who was
+naturally bright, vivacious, merry, and companionable: Carsdale only
+knew that she invariably froze to him, that her grey eyes grew hard,
+and her chin aggressive, and that she always seemed to be searching
+into and examining his inner self. In fine he was very well aware that
+Frances Leverton did not trust him any more than any sensible being
+would trust a wolf that has found entrance to a fold of young lambs.
+
+“I’d give anything if I knew what they’ve come for!” repeated Carsdale,
+after he had kicked his heels for another ten minutes. And growing
+impatient and tired of inactivity, he went into the outer office, sent
+Miss Rousby to Mrs. Walsingham’s room with a message which would keep
+her there, despatched Griffkin to the post-office, and thus cleared the
+court for a meeting with Frances Leverton and her man of law. By that
+time Carsdale’s temper was ruffled; the locking of the door had touched
+his pride; something told him that in that mere act there was a tacit
+declaration of war on Frances’s part.
+
+The door opened at last, and the girl came out, carrying a small
+despatch box. Carsdale’s quick eyes passed from her and her burden to
+the solicitor; he, too, carried another, a larger, despatch box. And
+Carsdale knew, then, that they had been examining Leverton’s papers,
+and were carrying at any rate some of them away.
+
+Carsdale had sufficient knowledge of Frances Leverton’s character to
+know that she would like him none the better if he affected a personal
+grief for her father which he did not feel. And possessing a certain
+quality of straightforwardness, and not being in anywise deficient in
+courage, he went directly to the point which was in his mind.
+
+“I don’t think it a very polite thing that you should come here and
+lock yourself and Mr. Winch in that room, Miss Leverton,” he said. “No
+one would have interrupted, whatever business you had to do.”
+
+Frances Leverton regarded him calmly.
+
+“I am not so sure of that, Mr. Carsdale,” she answered. “I have been
+subjected to interruptions more than once on coming here.”
+
+Carsdale shrugged his shoulders in his characteristic fashion.
+
+“Oh well!” he said. “When offices are used as these have been, people
+get into the habit of running in and out. But it gives a bad impression
+to the clerks, when principals or the representatives of principals,
+lock doors against other principals. And it seems to me strange that
+you should come here immediately after your father’s death and--I judge
+from what I see--examine and remove papers in which I may be concerned.”
+
+The solicitor, a keen-eyed, but mild-faced elderly man, pushed himself
+forward.
+
+“Miss Leverton has only done exactly what her father wished her to do,
+Mr. Carsdale,” he said quietly. “I think,” he continued, turning to
+Frances with an air of wise suggestion, “I think, my dear, that under
+the circumstances you should tell Mr. Carsdale why you came here this
+morning in what may seem rather a hurry.”
+
+“Oh, no matter, no matter!” exclaimed Carsdale. “I don’t wish to
+trouble Miss Leverton.”
+
+But Miss Leverton looked at him gravely and followed Mr. Winch’s advice.
+
+“Yes,” she said. “Perhaps--perhaps I ought to have spoken to you first,
+Mr. Carsdale. But Griffkin said you were particularly engaged, and
+I have much to do. Well--last night, although the doctors had said
+nothing of it, my father seemed to develop some fear that he might
+die suddenly, and he gave me instructions that, if he did, I was to
+go at once to Mr. Winch, to ask him to accompany me here, and to open
+the private safe with a key which was in Mr. Winch’s possession, and
+to take away a certain bundle of papers and a package. I have only
+carried out his instructions--and if I locked the door it was because I
+did not want to be interrupted.”
+
+Carsdale suddenly became all outward sympathy and agreeableness.
+
+“Oh, all right, all right, Miss Leverton!” he said. “Sorry I said
+what I did, but I’m sure you’ll understand. You see, your father and
+I always ran in each other’s rooms quite freely--I don’t know that
+we ever locked anything up from each other. But these are doubtless
+quite private matters--of course, I had nothing to do with his private
+desk and his safe. Oh, that’s all right! Now, Miss Leverton, is there
+anything I can do--anything I can take off your shoulders? Pray tell me
+if there is.”
+
+But Miss Leverton answered quietly that she was much obliged to Mr.
+Carsdale, but there was nothing: Mr. Winch and herself could undertake
+all that was necessary, especially as her father had desired that his
+funeral arrangements should be of the simplest nature. And then she
+and the solicitor went away, and Mr. Carsdale, after twisting his
+moustaches for a moment, during which he stood in an attitude of deep
+thought, went into Mrs. Walsingham’s room and dismissed Miss Rousby,
+and carefully shut the door upon her slim figure.
+
+“It’s nothing,” he said, turning to Mrs. Walsingham reassuringly.
+“Nothing! She’s only been to fetch some papers and things--it turns out
+that Leverton got a notion into his head that he might die suddenly,
+and in that case he wished her to remove certain things. Oh, it’s
+nothing.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham gave him a queer look.
+
+“That’s exactly like you,” she said. “How do you know what has been
+taken away. You ought to have insisted, in view of your relations with
+Leverton, that nothing should be touched except under your inspection.”
+
+“Oh, you can’t interfere with a man’s private safe,” said Carsdale,
+shrugging his shoulders. “This is some private matters. I know very
+well what papers of mine Leverton had, and they amount to nothing. Now,
+look here, Sylvie--I’m going up town to see after the arrangements for
+this young Shrewsbury. I shall make a very good day’s work out of my
+introductions--and I’ll not be back until evening, so you must take
+charge. There’s nothing particular, and if there is, and you can’t do
+it yourself, tell them Leverton’s dead, and I’m out until to-morrow.”
+
+Then Carsdale went off at his usual breakneck speed, and Mrs.
+Walsingham sat in her cozy little office and thought. She remained in
+thought until Miss Rousby had gone to lunch; then she took a letter
+from her desk and, going into the general office, sent Griffkin off to
+the City with it, and she subsequently took the trouble to look out
+of the window and to watch the young gentleman go leisurely down the
+street in the direction of the Temple station. And then, she herself
+being the only living soul in the suite of offices, Mrs. Walsingham
+passed rapidly into the dead man’s private room, and went straight to
+the safe which had just been visited by Frances Leverton. For Mrs.
+Walsingham was burning with curiosity and eagerness to make herself
+assured of a certain something, and without delay she drew a key from
+her corsage and opened the heavy door. A moment later she had closed
+it again. She knew then what she had wanted to know--she knew what the
+dead man’s daughter had carried away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+“HE WILL BE JUST IN TIME!”
+
+
+Miss Leverton and Mr. Winch, each carrying a despatch box, the contents
+of which were as yet unknown to either, passed out of the coolness of
+the marble-paved hall of Abbotsbury House into the warmth of Norfolk
+Street, and turned upward to the bustling Strand. And Mr. Winch,
+remembering all the circumstances of this unusual morning, halted.
+
+“I think, my dear,” he said, glancing reflectively at his burden, and
+then at Frances, and then along the street, “I think we had better
+take a motor-cab. It is true that our burdens are not very heavy, but
+their contents may be very valuable. I have little doubt they are--and
+we ought not to run the risk of having them snatched from us, and this
+is a busy hour of the day; moreover, I am sure you are tired. And
+therefore--yes, driver, we will hire you. 250A, New Square.”
+
+Frances was glad to set down her burden on Mr. Winch’s desk in a
+quiet and peaceful old room in an equally peaceful and quiet house in
+Lincoln’s Inn. The presence of Mr. Winch himself, a grey-whiskered,
+fatherly man of leisurely movements, was restful after the loud and
+bustling personality of John Carsdale, and the atmosphere of his
+offices, where all seemed to go smoothly and quietly, was vastly
+preferable to that of the mahoganied and enamelled suite in Norfolk
+Street, where the click of the typewriter, and the ring of the
+telephone bell was ever insistent. And Mr. Winch seemed to recognize
+that the girl felt this, and he drew up the easiest chair in the room
+to the side of his desk for her, and motioned her to be at rest in it.
+
+“Now, my dear,” he said, taking his own chair and putting on his
+spectacles, “let me see the memorandum of instructions which your
+father gave you last night about this matter. You say you wrote his
+instructions down just as he gave them?”
+
+“Word for word,” replied Frances, producing a folded paper. “And I
+afterwards read over to him what I had written.”
+
+“Very well, very well,” said Mr. Winch. “Now, let me read it all over
+again more carefully--we only glanced through it before. Well, now----”
+
+He spread out the sheet of foolscap which the girl handed him, and
+holding it at the distance of an inch or two before his spectacled
+nose, read its contents aloud, slowly and ruminatively.
+
+                                                        “_May 18, 1908._
+
+  “MEMORANDUM OF INSTRUCTIONS FROM BARCLAY LEVERTON TO FRANCES LEVERTON:
+     IN CASE OF B. L.’S SUDDEN DEATH.
+
+  “_First._ Within an hour of my death (or as quickly as may be
+  possible after that occurs) you are to go to Mr. Septimus Winch, in
+  New Square, and to ask him to accompany you to my office in Norfolk
+  Street, and to take with him the key of my private safe, which I
+  recently handed to him.
+
+  “_Second._ You are to open the safe, and to take from the right-hand
+  drawer the packet of securities which you will find there, and which
+  is done up in brown paper, and sealed in red wax. These you will hand
+  to Mr. Winch.
+
+  “_Third._ From the left-hand drawer you will take the small package
+  which is done up in cartridge paper and sealed in black wax, and the
+  large envelope which lies beneath it, similarly sealed. These you
+  will carry away yourself, taking care not to release your hold upon
+  them.
+
+  “_Fourth._ You and Mr. Winch will return to his office at once with
+  these things, and Mr. Winch will immediately deposit the packet of
+  securities sealed in red wax in his safe, to be properly examined at
+  some other time.
+
+  “_Fifth._ You and Mr. Winch will then open the envelope sealed in
+  black, and will read its contents, which are two papers marked on the
+  outsides A and B respectively.
+
+  “_Sixth._ You will then open the sealed packet, and examine the
+  object referred to in these papers.
+
+  “_Seventh._ Mr. Winch will then seal up both packet and envelope
+  again, and will at once, and in your presence, deposit both with his
+  bankers until the date mentioned in the papers A and B.”
+
+“Um!” said Mr. Winch, laying down the sheet of foolscap on his desk.
+“There appears to be a great deal of mystery in these instructions,
+my dear. You have no idea what it is that is referred to here and the
+object in the sealed packet?”
+
+“None except that it is something of considerable value or great
+importance,” replied Frances.
+
+“Evidently--evidently!” assented Mr. Winch. “Now, I wonder why my late
+client never mentioned this matter to me?”
+
+“He never even mentioned it to me,” said Frances. “I think, perhaps,
+that he might have said more last night, but he became very weak--too
+weak to talk--after he had dictated that memorandum.”
+
+“Aye, just so, just so! Well, now,” continued Mr. Winch, rising and
+possessing himself of the bundle of papers sealed with red wax. “We
+will discharge the first of our duties by placing these securities in
+my safe. See, my dear, we will deposit them here, in this drawer, to
+be examined at our leisure. And now--now that is done, we will see what
+is in this envelope.”
+
+Frances Leverton watched the old lawyer almost apathetically as he
+slowly took up the heavily-sealed envelope, turned it over two or three
+times as if it had been a curiosity, and methodically inserted the
+point of an old-fashioned ivory paper-cutter beneath the flap. She had
+not expected her father to recover from his illness, and his death had
+not come as a surprise to her, but she was alive to the fact that she
+was now quite alone in the world, so far as kith or kin were concerned,
+and although she had been busily engaged all the morning, she was dully
+conscious that a great event in her life had happened, and that within
+the next few days she would have to think seriously as to her future.
+And believing the task in which she and Mr. Winch were engaged to be
+one which only affected her late father’s business affairs, she had
+no great interest in it, beyond a desire to carry out his wishes--the
+mystery of the memorandum did not appeal to her as much as it did to
+the old gentleman, who was just then drawing out of the stout envelope
+two sheets of equally stout paper.
+
+“Let us be in order,” observed Mr. Winch. “We will take A first. Now,
+my dear, perhaps we can read this together.”
+
+But in spite of this suggestion, Mr. Winch read the document aloud,
+dwelling impressively upon every word.
+
+                              “ABBOTSBURY HOUSE, NORFOLK STREET, STRAND,
+                                                           “London, W.C.
+                                                       “_June 21, 1905._
+
+  “BARCLAY LEVERTON, ESQ.
+
+  “DEAR SIR,--
+
+  “I acknowledge hereby the receipt from you of the sum of five
+  thousand pounds sterling, which you have lent me for the purposes
+  of my proposed exploration of Central South America, upon which I am
+  just starting.
+
+  “As security for this loan I have deposited with you a diamond
+  necklace which is my own whole and sole property, and which has
+  been in possession of my family for the last hundred years, and is
+  believed to have once been the property of the Empress Maria Louisa.
+
+  “I hereby agree that if I do not repay to you the sum of five
+  thousand pounds, with interest at the rate of five per cent. per
+  annum, on or before June 21, 1908, the diamond necklace above
+  mentioned is to become your property, to be disposed of at your
+  discretion.
+                                    “Yours faithfully,
+                                               “RALPH SEYMOUR BURGOYNE.”
+
+Mr. Winch took off his spectacles, and turned an astonished face on his
+companion, who on her part was now awakened to a keen interest.
+
+“Burgoyne!” exclaimed Mr. Winch. “Why, that is surely the traveller,
+the great explorer?”
+
+“Who is said to be lost,” remarked Frances, eagerly. “Don’t you
+know--nothing’s been heard of him for over a year.”
+
+“To be sure--to be sure, my dear!” said Mr. Winch. “Dear me!--this is
+a very remarkable document. I had no idea that your father had been
+engaged in any transaction of this kind. However,” he continued, with
+a side-glance at the packet which Frances had brought from Norfolk
+Street, “we now know, my dear, what is in that small parcel--a diamond
+necklace. We had better examine it at once, and ascertain that it is
+safe.”
+
+“But we have not yet read paper ‘B,’” said Frances. “Hadn’t we better
+follow the instructions of the memorandum, Mr. Winch?”
+
+“True, true, so we had,” replied the old lawyer, picking up the
+second of the papers. “Now, what have we here?--ah, some notes in your
+father’s handwriting. Let me see--um--ah!--perhaps you will read, this
+my dear!--your father’s calligraphy always was a little puzzling.”
+
+“Well, this, then, is dated May 14, 1907,” said Frances. “Just about a
+year ago. This is what he says:--
+
+    “MEMORANDUM AS TO THE TRANSACTION BETWEEN CAPTAIN BURGOYNE AND
+       MYSELF, AND REFERRED TO IN THE PAPER MARKED ‘A.’
+
+  “A rumour having reached England that Captain Burgoyne and his party
+  have been lost in the wilds of Central South America, and that there
+  is little hope of their returning home, I think it well to write down
+  what my wishes are with respect to the diamond necklace which he left
+  with me as security for the £5,000 which I lent him for the purposes
+  of his expedition.
+
+  “If the £5,000 so advanced, and the interest upon it at five per
+  cent. per annum, is not paid (or arranged for) on or before June 21,
+  1908, I (or my executors in case of my death between now and then)
+  will be quite justified in selling the necklace at our discretion.
+  That is a point upon which Captain Burgoyne and I were quite at one
+  when the money was advanced. Although the necklace has been in his
+  family for a long time, he has no sentimental feeling about it, and
+  he has more than once expressed to me his firm determination never
+  to marry, so that there is small expectation (if, as I hope, he is
+  alive) of his having son or daughter to leave it to.
+
+  “If, however, I am living on June 21, 1908 (which is doubtful, as
+  I suffer from a serious affection of the heart), and if Captain
+  Burgoyne has not then redeemed the necklace, I shall not dispose of
+  it, but shall hold it at his disposal for at least one year longer.
+  And I wish my daughter Frances, to whom I shall leave all I have, to
+  do what I should do, and my executors to respect my desires in the
+  matter.
+                                                     “BARCLAY LEVERTON.”
+
+The girl folded the formal-looking paper into its original crease,
+and laid it softly down by its fellow document. She turned to the old
+solicitor with a glint of tears in her eyes.
+
+“You will do what my father wished, Mr. Winch?” she said. “I know
+you’re one of the executors.”
+
+“Oh, of course, of course, my dear!” exclaimed Mr. Winch. “Yes,
+certainly we shall respect his wishes. Really, this is quite romantic!
+But let us look at the necklace. Once the property of the Empress Maria
+Louisa, who was, I think, the second wife of Napoleon Buonaparte. Most
+interesting!--the necklace must be very beautiful.”
+
+But when between them, they had undone the various wrappings in which
+the necklace was packed, and had at last brought it to light, Mr.
+Winch felt himself disappointed. The old gold settings were dull and
+tarnished: the stones, he said, looked like pieces of glass.
+
+“But look at their size and their fire!” said Frances. “Oh, Mr. Winch,
+this is worth much more than five thousand pounds.”
+
+“Very probably, my dear, very probably,” assented Mr. Winch. “And
+therefore all the more reason why you and I should promptly pack it,
+seal it, and carry it to my bankers, together with those documents. Let
+us go at once.”
+
+Half an hour later, as they came out of Mr. Winch’s bank in Chancery
+Lane, Frances suddenly caught the old man’s arm, and pointed to a
+newspaper contents bill which a lad was holding in front of him as he
+cried his wares.
+
+“Look, look!” she exclaimed. “Do you see it? ‘News of the Burgoyne
+Expedition--All Safe’!”
+
+She almost snatched a paper from the boy, while Mr. Winch felt with
+both hands for a copper. Suddenly she thrust the paper before his eyes.
+
+“There!” she said. “Oh, you can’t see without your glasses. Listen,
+then--‘The Burgoyne Expedition, seven all told, has arrived at Lima,
+and will leave at once for England, and may be expected at Southampton,
+about June 20.’ There, Mr. Winch!”
+
+Mr. Winch nodded his head several times before he looked at Frances,
+and gravely observed: “He will be just in time!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE INITIAL PACES
+
+
+Young Richard Shrewsbury went away from Abbotsbury House in a state of
+pleasurable excitement. He thought Mr. Carsdale a most agreeable and
+good-natured man, and Mrs. Walsingham a very pretty and fascinating
+woman; he congratulated himself on the fact that Fate had thrown
+Carsdale in his way, and he wondered if Mrs. Walsingham was a wife or
+a widow. Until he had stepped into Carsdale’s room he had felt lonely,
+and a little afraid of the great whirling, confusing life into which he
+had so suddenly been thrown; now he was no longer solitary or alarmed;
+Carsdale’s breezy manner and calm optimism had acted like a tonic on
+his nerves; he strode up Norfolk Street, feeling as fresh as the May
+morning which was covering London with a haze of glory, and something
+whispered to him every moment that he was young, and healthy, and
+possessed three hundred thousand pounds, and that the ball of Life was
+at his feet for him to kick as high as he pleased. Oh, yes, he said to
+himself, it was decidedly good to be alive!
+
+At the top of Norfolk Street he stopped, to stare about him with
+increased delight. So far, he had seen nothing of London. The hotel to
+which he had driven on his arrival was an old-fashioned hostelry in the
+neighbourhood of Charing Cross; a house which had once had a reputation
+that still remained as a cherished memory in the minds of old fogies;
+he had driven straight from it to Leverton’s office, and had been
+too much occupied with thoughts of meeting his father’s old friend to
+look about him. But now having four hours to spare before keeping his
+afternoon appointment with Carsdale, he was keenly conscious of that
+desire to wander and to explore which quickly obsesses all youngsters
+who strike London for the first time. And with a wholesome unconcern
+of destination, and being aware of the money in his pocket, this
+wide-eyed adventurer went whithersoever he liked during what remained
+of the morning and in the warm noontide and the early afternoon, with
+the result that Carsdale, who was the soul of punctuality wherever
+money was concerned, had to wait five minutes for him at the hotel. He
+laughed as the young man came hurrying in.
+
+“It is easy to see what you have been up to, my friend!” he said. “I
+suppose you think London is a city of--what shall we say?--Fairyland?”
+
+“It’s the most wonderful place I ever dreamt of,” replied Richard in
+all simplicity. He dropped into a chair at Carsdale’s side, and looked
+round him at the somewhat ancient and dingy fittings and furniture
+of the smoking-room in which they sat, and his face expressed his
+thoughts. “I see now,” he continued, “why you threw up your hands when
+I told you where I was stopping. I should think this place is very
+old-fashioned. Just because I was passing it, and was near it, I went
+into the _Ritz_ to get some lunch. I don’t suppose there were such
+places in my father’s time, were there?”
+
+“Nor for years later,” said Carsdale, smiling. “So you like that part
+of the town? That’s well, for the _pied-à-terre_ which I have in mind
+for you is just off Piccadilly--it is, in fact, in Berkeley Square
+itself. And as we may as well do all we can this afternoon, so that you
+can complete the settling-down business and feel yourself at home,
+we’ll just step into my car and be off. By the by, Shrewsbury--well
+drop the formal ‘Misters,’ eh?--you’ll want a car of your own, and you
+must let me get one for you, but that can wait a day or two.”
+
+It seemed to Richard Shrewsbury, unaccustomed as he was to modern
+life in a great capital, that it was a very easy matter to do things
+in London--all that he and Carsdale did that afternoon was done so
+smoothly, so pleasantly, and to the accompaniment of such courtesy and
+attention from the various people with whom they came in contact. But
+he was all unconscious of the fact that Mr. Carsdale, who had a large
+and peculiar acquaintance with all manner of folk who had things to
+sell and profits to make, had already visited every one of the people
+to whom he took his young friend, and had made them keenly alive to
+the knowledge that Richard was a gentleman, not of prospects, but of
+certainties--the certainty, at any rate, of being in actual possession
+at that moment of a cash capital of three hundred thousand pounds. And
+being unconscious, he took all the politeness that was shown him as
+being characteristic of the London tradesman, and his spirits rose, and
+he felt that London was a good place to live in, and saw it through
+rosy spectacles--which was, when one comes to think of it, an excellent
+thing for him, seeing that first impressions are naturally apt to give
+a good tone and colour to life.
+
+“This suite of rooms,” remarked Carsdale, as they stepped out of an
+elevator in a modern mansion which some enterprising builder had
+erected on all the latest principles in a corner of Berkeley Square
+which had once been occupied by an old-fashioned house--“this suite
+of rooms which I am going to show you, Shrewsbury, is one which I can
+confidently recommend. It is neither too large nor too small: it is
+just what a young bachelor like yourself wants; it is just the place
+in which you will like to receive your friends. You don’t want a place
+in which to give dinner-parties, nor even to lunch people; nowadays,
+everybody entertains anywhere but in their own houses. It is well and
+beautifully and artistically furnished; all that is necessary is to
+embellish it with your own pictures and your own books and your own
+objects of vertu: I can tell you how to buy and to choose all these. It
+is quiet; it is central for that part of the world in which you will
+have to live; and the yearly rental for a well-equipped suite, is most
+reasonable. It is a lucky thing that it should be to let--and here is
+Mr. Messenger, the agent who has the letting of it.”
+
+Mr. Messenger, an elaborately-dressed gentleman, who might have
+belonged to the highest order of the peerage (as represented in the
+popular journals of fiction), awaited Mr. Carsdale and his young
+friend in the corridor which led to the suite of rooms of which the
+elder man had been speaking; near him, in an attitude of respectful
+attention, stood a clean-shaven, neat-figured person who was also very
+well and soberly dressed, and carried a silk hat in his hand, but
+whose garments, well cut as they were, seemed to suggest in themselves
+that they were carefully designed as a sort of livery. This individual
+greeted Carsdale and Richard with a deep bow and a composed smile;
+Carsdale threw him an off-hand nod.
+
+“See you presently, Kedgin,” he said. “Now, Mr. Messenger, this is Mr.
+Richard Shrewsbury, and we’ll look round the place at once. I’ve just
+been telling Mr. Shrewsbury that he’s lucky to find such a convenient
+suite vacant. Let’s see--Lord Verdimere had it last, hadn’t he?”
+
+“For three years, Mr. Carsdale,” replied Mr. Messenger, in grave and
+measured tones. “And his lordship would have retained it but for
+the fact that his regiment was ordered to India for an indefinite
+period. Since his lordship left, however, Mr. Carsdale, the suite has
+been entirely re-decorated, and the reception-rooms have been fully
+re-furnished, and I think I may assure Mr. Shrewsbury that--for a
+suite of modest dimensions, you know, Mr. Carsdale, and at a moderate
+rental--he could find nothing better in London. This way, gentlemen.”
+
+It did not occur to Richard at the moment that what is one man’s notion
+of modesty and moderation is not another’s; he was wholly absorbed in
+examining and admiring the place which he was invited to settle down
+in and to call home. It seemed to him to be a very palatial suite
+of apartments: quite a little house in itself, he thought, except
+that everything was on one level, and that there were no stairs. He
+listened and observed in silence while Mr. Messenger pointed out the
+features and advantages of the place. There was a properly-sized
+entrance hall. There were two excellent reception-rooms, each with an
+outlook on Berkeley Square. There were two equally excellent bedrooms;
+there was a bathroom with all the latest inventions and improvements.
+The accommodation for domestics was arranged, said the agent, on the
+most modern principles, and was designed for a married couple, who
+were provided with a bedroom, a sitting-room, a kitchen (to which
+was added a butler’s pantry and wine cellar), the usual offices, and
+a separate entrance. Everything was perfect and fully approved as
+regards sanitation, ventilation, and the supply of water. The suite was
+fitted throughout with electric light, and there was a first-class and
+luxurious supply of linen, glass, and china.
+
+“But not, of course, silver and plate,” added Mr. Messenger. “Our
+tenants, naturally, supply their own silver and plate.”
+
+“Oh, of course, of course!” said Carsdale. “Yes, of course.”
+
+“And the rent,” concluded Mr. Messenger, softly, “the rent, as the
+suite stands, is one hundred and twenty guineas per calendar month.
+Or,” he added, with a bland smile, and an air of conferring a great
+favour, “we would say fifteen hundred pounds per annum--on the usual
+terms of a yearly tenancy, of course.”
+
+“Very reasonable, very reasonable!” murmured Carsdale.
+
+“You would advise me to take the suite on those terms?” asked Richard.
+“You know, of course, better than I do.”
+
+“I should certainly advise it,” answered Carsdale. “You couldn’t do
+better. As I said, you’re fortunate in finding the place to let.”
+
+Richard turned to Mr. Messenger with an old-fashioned bow.
+
+“Very well,” he said. “I’ll take the suite, then, on those terms.”
+
+Mr. Messenger also bowed and rubbed his hands.
+
+“Thank you, sir,” he said. “You will not regret your bargain. Then you
+will bring Mr. Shrewsbury round, Mr. Carsdale, at your con----”
+
+“We’ll come round, and sign the agreement in a few minutes,” said
+Carsdale. “And give you a cheque for the first quarter, too. I suppose
+you’ve got a cheque-book on you, Shrewsbury?” he added. “If you
+haven’t, I have--it’s all one.”
+
+But Richard had a cheque-book on him, and made haste to say so, and Mr.
+Messenger departed with another bow, and Carsdale stepped out to the
+hall and called in the man whom they had left in the corridor. The man
+came in with a certain quiet assurance, in which confidence in himself
+seemed to be combined with the exact amount of proper respect due to
+a possible master, and as he drew up Carsdale waved his hands towards
+him in the fashion in which a seller might exhibit some thoroughly good
+article to a likely purchaser.
+
+“Now, this, Shrewsbury,” he said, “this is William Kedgin. I have known
+him for several years. He is a thoroughly honest, reliable man. He is
+a first-class valet, a thoroughly experienced gentleman’s servant.
+He has valeted several gentlemen of more or less note. He has a wife
+who is a capital housekeeper, and who can be guaranteed--with some
+assistance from him--to keep your suite of rooms in apple-pie order;
+she is, moreover, equally capable of sending in just what you would
+like a breakfast to be if you give a bachelor breakfast party. You can
+safely leave your clothes, your linen, your wine, in Kedgin’s hands;
+your breakfast, your dusting, your cleaning-up, in Mrs. Kedgin’s. And
+your terms are, I think, Kedgin, four pounds a week for the two of you,
+and find yourselves, eh?”
+
+“Quite right, sir,” replied Kedgin in a quiet, assured voice. “Our
+usual terms, sir. If Mr. Shrewsbury would wish to see our testimonials,
+Mr. Carsdale----”
+
+“I don’t think Mr. Shrewsbury need bother,” said Carsdale. “Mr.
+Shrewsbury can depend upon me.”
+
+“Certainly, certainly,” said Richard, who had already conceived a very
+high opinion of Carsdale’s powers. “I shall be very glad to engage you
+on those terms,” he continued, turning to Kedgin.
+
+“Thank you, sir,” replied Kedgin. “We shall do our best to give you
+complete satisfaction, sir. When would you wish us to enter upon our
+duties, sir?”
+
+“Why, that’s just what I was going to speak of,” said Carsdale. “Look
+here, Shrewsbury, you may as well come in here at once. Let Kedgin go
+to the hotel, pay your bill, and bring your luggage here. I’m going to
+ask you to dine with me, so you’ll be fixed up for the evening, and
+Kedgin will have all ready for you when you turn in at night. That’s
+your wisest plan.”
+
+And Richard acquiesced readily, and they gave Kedgin his orders,
+and went off to Mr. Messenger’s office, and there Richard signed a
+document which Carsdale saved him the trouble of reading and drew his
+first cheque in London, and subsequently walked out with his guide and
+mentor, feeling that he was now an actual denizen of the great city.
+
+“You made things very easy for me,” he said, in the fulness of his
+gratitude. “I really don’t know what I should have done without you!”
+
+“Oh! you’ll soon learn how to do things for yourself,” laughed
+Carsdale. “The in and outs of London life are quickly learned by young
+men like you. Now, we’ve plenty of time before evening, and I’ll
+introduce you to three absolutely necessary people--the tailor, the
+bootmaker, and the builder of shirts and such-like. And perhaps we’ll
+throw in the hatter, and you’d better see about fitting yourself out
+with what silver you want for your table. They’re all together here in
+Bond Street or Saville Row--come along!”
+
+They wound up the afternoon’s proceedings with a quiet but remarkably
+good dinner at a certain establishment, whereto one could repair, said
+Carsdale, without the trouble of dressing, and by the time they had
+finished their coffee the elder man had formed a very accurate estimate
+of the younger one’s powers and capabilities. And Carsdale was feeling
+very satisfied when he played his next move in the game.
+
+“You won’t care for a music-hall or a theatre on this, your first
+night,” he said. “What do you say to having a quiet cigarette, and a
+talk at Mrs. Walsingham’s flat? She’s a lonely woman, and she’ll be
+glad to see us.”
+
+Richard’s face betrayed his ready acceptance of this proposition. And
+Carsdale smiled as he turned away to reach for his hat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+MRS. WALSINGHAM AT HOME
+
+
+It was one of the characteristic features of the daily life at Leverton
+& Carsdale’s that only two people in the place kept regular hours. Mr.
+Barclay Leverton, when he was living, was a fairly methodical man, and
+might be depended upon in the matter of finding him at his desk by
+ten and still there at five, and when he made appointments he usually
+kept them. But Carsdale was uncertain, erratic, irresponsible, a very
+_ignis fatuus_ of a man upon occasion. He would sometimes startle the
+charwoman by walking, or, rather, rushing, in before eight o’clock; he
+would sometimes remain at his desk until midnight; sometimes he would
+stay away from Abbotsbury House for days together; he was utterly
+undependable as regards anything but appointments which particularly
+appealed to him, and it was quite in accordance with his way of doing
+things to bring an unprofitable caller into his room, bid him be
+seated, and then go out, to return hours later, or not at all. And just
+as independent in the matter of hours was Mrs. Walsingham. She was
+supposed to come at ten and to leave at six; she arrived when she liked
+and departed when she pleased, and Miss Rousby, typist, and Master
+Griffkin, office-boy, envied and hated her because of her liberty.
+For they were required to be in attendance at nine-thirty and to
+remain until six, and it not seldom happened that Griffkin was further
+subjected to the indignity of having to carry urgent messages somewhere
+just when he should have been exchanging his livery of blue and silver
+for the humbler mufti in which he came and went from the parental
+roof-tree in Kennington.
+
+“Seems to me,” observed Griffkin, late in the afternoon which witnessed
+Richard Shrewsbury’s introduction to London by Mr. John Carsdale,
+“seems to me that there’s two, and two only, as runs this here
+establishment, and no error!”
+
+He was folding and stamping circulars, which Miss Rousby was wearily
+addressing, and he looked at the typist with an expression which gave
+and demanded sympathy.
+
+“Who?” inquired Miss Rousby, apathetically. “Who?”
+
+“Who? Why, me and you,” answered Griffkin. “Carsdale, he’s in and out
+like one of them figures in a weather-glass--you know, where there’s
+an old man one side, and an old woman the other--and he don’t do
+nothing but talk, as I can see of, and as for her”--here he jerked a
+scornful thumb at the door through which Mrs. Walsingham had departed
+at five o’clock--“I should like to know what she does except twist them
+shiners round her fingers, and make her silk gown crackle. Yah! As for
+Leverton, he was a bit of a grafter, but he’s dead and gone.”
+
+“Yes,” assented Miss Rousby. “Yes--he’s gone. The last place I was in,
+there was a principal died while I was there. He left us all ten pounds
+each to buy mourning with.”
+
+“Garn!” exclaimed Griffkin. “What, ten quid to buy black with!”
+
+“It’s a fact,” answered Miss Rousby. “Of course, we didn’t lay out the
+whole of the ten pounds on mourning. I bought a crêpe gown and a new
+hat and a new pair of shoes--two pounds I spent on that lot--and I put
+the rest in the Post-Office. P’r’aps Mr. Leverton’ll have left us
+something.”
+
+“Oh, yes!” said Griffkin, scornfully. “Yes, I don’t think! Ain’t I been
+here a whole year, and never had a rise? ’Tween you and me, now that
+Leverton’s dropped out, I shall seriously consider my position. ’Cause
+why? ’Cause in my opinion, and if you ask me, Carsdale and Her’ll go
+into partnership. And I don’t know about Her--I ain’t so keen about
+retaining my post if she’s going to be a principal.”
+
+“She couldn’t be much more of a principal than she is now,” said Miss
+Rousby, dismally surveying the pile of circulars at her side, “and she
+does more and more as she likes every day. When I first came here she’d
+have stopped and helped me to get these prospectuses off, instead of
+which she goes peacocking out at five o’clock. I shall be ten minutes
+late.”
+
+“Yes, and your young man a-waiting at the top of the street,” remarked
+Griffkin. “However, I’ll do yer a good turn, Miss Rousby. I’ll give him
+the office, see, when I run to catch the six post.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham had seen good reason to leave business at five o’clock
+that evening, for Carsdale, in spite of his busy adventures in the
+neighbourhood of Bond Street, had found time to ring her up on the
+telephone, and to warn her that he meant to bring Richard round to
+call upon her after dinner, and she desired to have a little time in
+which to prepare for the visit. Moreover, she was one of those rare
+women who understand the virtues of proper and regular meals, and she
+never allowed anything to interfere with her arrangements in that
+respect. If, therefore, she was required to give an extra half-hour to
+her evening toilette, she must take half an hour out of her working
+afternoon. That was a proper adjustment of things--and so she repaired
+to her favourite restaurant in Soho, where she was so well known that
+a certain table was sacred to her, and she ate and drank calmly and
+reflected philosophically, and eventually repaired to her flat to don
+her prettiest gown in honour of the young gentleman who possessed three
+hundred thousand pounds in solid cash.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham’s flat was situated in one of the vast buildings which
+recent years have seen spring into existence in the neighbourhood that
+lies between Bloomsbury and the Tottenham Court Road. People who were
+privileged to enjoy Mrs. Walsingham’s friendship and acquaintance
+considered it the very model of what a flat should be which serves to
+house a single lady and her maid, and were apt to wax enthusiastic
+over its arrangement and its simple luxury of appointment. For Mrs.
+Walsingham possessed considerable ideas in the way of taste and
+refinement; she had definite notions about such matters as colour
+schemes, about such ordinary things as floor carpets and window
+curtains; she knew a good print from a bad one; she was careful never
+to overload her walls, and her book-cases were filled with excellent
+specimens of the binder’s art; like herself, her surroundings were
+dainty and elegant; the light, whether natural or artificial, was
+always properly graduated in her rooms, and one came away from them
+feeling as if one had spent an hour in an ancient church behind windows
+of mellowed glass. And Mr. John Carsdale said as much to Richard
+Shrewsbury as they drove away from the quiet restaurant at which they
+had dined.
+
+“When I have had a hard day, and want peace, I always go to see Mrs.
+Walsingham,” he remarked. “Mrs. Walsingham is one of those clever women
+who can entertain a man without talking his head off.”
+
+“She looks clever,” said Richard, who was at loss for words and
+accordingly took refuge in a safe observation.
+
+“One of the cleverest women in London,” said Mr. Carsdale, with
+conviction. “One of the very few women who understand finance. I would
+rather trust Mrs. Walsingham’s judgment on a big money affair, than
+that of most men in the City. And I know a good lot of ’em!”
+
+Richard conquered his shyness and made a desperate plunge.
+
+“Is there a--shall we meet a Mr. Walsingham?” he asked.
+
+Carsdale shook his head and assumed an expression of sympathy.
+
+“Ah, no!” he answered. “Mrs. Walsingham is a widow. Hers is a sad
+story--most romantic, really. Early marriage--very early, much too
+early!--runaway marriage, in fact, with a handsome, fascinating man--a
+great traveller and globe-trotter, Walsingham. Got an insane idea into
+his head that he could penetrate to some extraordinary place somewhere
+between Arabia and Persia--ass enough to try it and to take his young
+wife with him. Got into a row with natives--very domineering and
+pertinacious man, Walsingham--with sad result--shot, murdered, in fact,
+in her presence. She escaped only through friendly offices of powerful
+Sheik, who rallied his men round him and got her down to coast on board
+British man-of-war in Persian Gulf. Came home naturally distracted, and
+turned to business, and especially to financial matters, as a relief,
+you know. Five years ago, that is--little more than a girl now, but as
+I say, one of the keenest and most astute women in London.”
+
+Richard was still pondering over this romantic story when they arrived
+at Mrs. Walsingham’s flat to be admitted by a very smart maid and
+received by Mrs. Walsingham herself in a tiny drawing-room, the light
+of which was carefully contrived to show off the hostess’s charms and
+evening toilette to the best advantage. He looked about him as Carsdale
+plunged into voluble accounts of their doings during the afternoon,
+and determined that he would ask Mrs. Walsingham’s advice about buying
+books and pictures. Much as he trusted Carsdale, he felt instinctively
+that the lady’s taste was superior to the gentleman’s, and he began
+to understand what Carsdale meant when he said that he visited her in
+quest of peace after a hard day’s work.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham, it was very evident, knew how to entertain guests who
+happened to be of the opposite sex. She had a cabinet of eminently
+choice cigarettes, of many brands and all of the most superfine
+quality, and as soon as Carsdale and Richard were comfortably seated,
+the smart maid (who was almost as pretty as her mistress and nearly
+as clever looking) brought in whiskey and soda. And Richard was quick
+to see that Carsdale was very much at home, and he began to wonder
+if he was aspiring to fill the place of the late adventurous and
+much-to-be-pitied Mr. Walsingham, and finally (though he could not for
+the life of him have told why) decided that he was not, and he listened
+to his rattling tongue and to Mrs. Walsingham’s lazy but shrewd
+comments, and came to the conclusion that all this was very pleasant,
+and that Mrs. Walsingham was the prettiest woman he had ever seen in
+his life. And at the end of half an hour in came the smart maid with
+the quiet announcement that somebody was asking for Mr. Carsdale over
+the telephone.
+
+Carsdale uttered an anathema with an emphasis which sounded very real,
+and went out. He presently returned, making a face expressive of
+disgust.
+
+“I’ll have to go,” he said. “That’s Robinson. He’s just come in from
+Paris, and he’s waiting for me at the _Charing Cross Hotel_, and,
+of course, has been ringing me up all over the place. Sorry Mrs.
+Walsingham, but it’s of the highest importance, as you know. All the
+same, there’s no need to drag you away, Shrewsbury.”
+
+“Of course not,” said Mrs. Walsingham. “And I think it’s very foolish
+of you to let people know where you’re likely to be found.”
+
+Carsdale muttered something about the necessities of business, and with
+a hasty adieu and an admonition to Richard to be sure to remember where
+he lived, hurried off. And Mrs. Walsingham sighed, as if deprecating
+such ridiculous energy at that hour of the evening, and she settled
+herself in her cushions and lighted another cigarette, and turned to
+her guest with an expression which seemed in some subtle fashion to
+suggest that now that the bustling Carsdale was gone they could enjoy a
+little peace.
+
+“And how do you like London?” she asked with the indulgence of an
+elderly person who asks a child how its new toy pleases it.
+
+“Very much,” answered Richard, quite simply. “But--I don’t realize it
+yet. It’s so big. You see, until I came here, I never saw a bigger town
+than Port-of-Spain.”
+
+“And that is--where?” asked Mrs. Walsingham.
+
+“It is the capital of Trinidad, where our sugar plantations were,”
+answered Richard. “It is a fine town, but I suppose you could put it
+into London--oh, I don’t know how many times. And at first, as I knew
+nobody here, I thought I should be desperately lonely.”
+
+“And now?” said Mrs. Walsingham.
+
+“I don’t see how one ought to be lonely, when there are so many
+people,” said Richard.
+
+“One can be as lonely amongst all these millions as if one were living
+in--in the Arctic Regions,” observed Mrs. Walsingham. “Oh, I know
+it--I myself, know very few people. I was delighted that Mr. Carsdale
+brought you to-night--do come again. Is it really true that you don’t
+know anybody in London?”
+
+“Quite true,” replied Richard. “At least, I know a few cricketers
+who came out to play in the West Indies--I dare say I shall meet
+them somewhere or other. No, I don’t know anybody. But there’s a
+man coming home--he’ll be here in another month--whom I know pretty
+well. I’m looking forward awfully keenly to seeing him--he’s a fine
+chap--Burgoyne, the explorer, you know.”
+
+“Oh, yes!” said Mrs. Walsingham. “I saw something about him in the
+evening paper. He’d been lost, and he’s turned up again, hasn’t he? So
+you know him?”
+
+“He stopped with us once for a week or two--four years ago,” answered
+Richard. “He’s a great man--I saw the paper, too, and I was awfully
+glad to hear he was alive: everybody thought he’d never turn up again.
+I shall look him up as soon as ever he lands--I don’t think there’ll be
+much difficulty about finding him, because he’ll be quite famous.”
+
+“That will very nice for you,” said Mrs. Walsingham.
+
+Then she cleverly turned the conversation to Richard himself and drew
+him out to talk of his likes and his wishes, of his life in Trinidad
+and of such modest ambitions as he had, and she was so sympathetic
+and so understanding, and so subtly clever in saying the right word
+and suggesting proper appreciation, that the youngster was drawn to
+speak freely and unreservedly, and eventually went away in a seventh
+heaven of satisfaction, having already promised to come and see Mrs.
+Walsingham whenever he liked, and arranged to take her out to dinner
+and to the theatre as soon as ever his tailor had got his dress-clothes
+ready. And when he had gone Mrs. Walsingham mixed herself a
+whiskey-and-soda and lighted a cigarette and became very thoughtful as
+she contemplated herself in the mirror.
+
+“So he knows Burgoyne!” she mused. “And--they’re sure to meet, sure.
+And--then? But there’s a whole month yet, and a month is--a month.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+CARSDALE’S CAREFULNESS
+
+
+One of Richard Shrewsbury’s first thoughts as he drove across Waterloo
+Bridge on the morning of his arrival in London had been a disquieting,
+if not an alarming one. He knew nobody; he did not know what to do
+with himself; how would he pass his time? It was true that he came
+from a clime wherein natural conditions incline men to indolence and
+lassitude from their birth, but he was young and the English blood in
+him demanded liveliness and action, and he was concerned to think at
+that moment that he saw no immediate outlet for his vitality. Until his
+meeting with John Carsdale he had felt as an enterprising bee might
+feel which has got into a bottle, and can see mighty possibilities
+through its crystal walls without a clear notion of how to get at them.
+
+But after that first eventful and exciting day in town, Richard
+realized that however lonely and friendless a young man may be when
+he comes to London for the first time, he will not long be so, nor
+will he be long unoccupied, if he happens to have wealth at his hourly
+disposal. He was astonished to find how very busy he became at once.
+There were such a lot of things to attend to, and they were all of a
+pleasant nature. It was great fun to settle down to housekeeping; to
+dispose and re-arrange his rooms to his own liking; he even found an
+engrossing novelty in ordering his breakfasts. For a fortnight he was
+much occupied with the folk who were busily engaged in beautifying and
+adorning his outer man; the result of their labours, under Carsdale’s
+counsel, was that the young gentleman found himself one of the
+best-dressed men about town and that Kedgin had a mighty wardrobe to
+superintend and keep in order. And there were more intellectual matters
+than clothes and shirts and boots and hats and gloves to consider and
+deal with--aided by Carsdale and advised by Mrs. Walsingham, he bought
+pictures and books and old china, and they took care that all he bought
+was good. Accordingly, his walls were hung with excellent examples, and
+his open cases were filled with standard works in fine bindings, and as
+he had a natural love for good reading and a sympathetic, if untrained
+eye for sound Art, he was well pleased; as to the cabinets of china
+which Mrs. Walsingham arranged for him in his drawing-room, he did not
+understand them, but Carsdale had impressed upon him that nothing is so
+good for a young man as the cultivation of good taste in such things,
+and Richard believed him and viewed his cups and saucers with great
+awe. After all, it was a delightful thing to be young, and to have
+money, and to surround oneself with the evidences of luxury.
+
+That it was easy to spend money when you have it to spend, Richard
+discovered very quickly indeed. Carsdale told him that he might just
+as well fit himself up thoroughly while he was about it: with his
+income there was no need for him to stint himself. He must have a
+couple of horses; Carsdale knew exactly where they could be bought
+and where they could be kept at livery after they were bought, and
+Richard was presently seen in the Row, where shrewd eyes valued his
+mounts at nothing less than two hundred guineas apiece. Also, he
+must have a motor-car; Carsdale knew where to get that, too, and got
+it--a beautiful car, which cost about three times as much as the two
+hunters when it was finished and fitted with all the proper luxuries.
+Then it was necessary to engage a chauffeur; Carsdale found the very
+man, and Richard hired him at a comfortable weekly wage. He had now
+got an abode, and servants, and horses, and a motor-car--he must now
+have his club, said Carsdale, so that he would have somewhere to turn
+when he felt to need change from whatever he was doing. And Carsdale
+got him into two clubs, both of a social nature, but one rather more
+inclined to sport and lightness than the other; it was always an
+excellent idea, said Carsdale, to have at any rate two clubs, and of a
+different nature, so that if you got bored in one of them, you could
+step round for relief to its contrast. And Richard accepted all that
+his mentor advised, and he was well pleased and much occupied with his
+new duties and his amusements during those first weeks in England, and
+he considered Carsdale a veritable walking compendium of all requisite
+knowledge.
+
+Carsdale let the young gentleman settle down before he entered upon the
+subject of investments. He knew where Richard’s three hundred thousand
+pounds lay, and that its owner had it at immediate disposal. It was in
+the hands of a firm of very solemn and serious private bankers, and
+Carsdale was well aware that the principals would keep an eye on their
+youthful client’s goings-on. And so, when at last he gave up a whole
+morning to Richard in his private room at Abbotsbury House, in order
+to advise on the question of what should be done with the Shrewsbury
+fortune, he had no wild-cat schemes to propose, no daring adventure
+to undertake. In short, he had already arranged for the investment
+of a quarter of a million in certain securities, a list of which he
+had carefully prepared. He went over that list with Richard, item by
+item, detailing and explaining. Richard understood little of details
+or explanations; what he did understand was that from the two hundred
+and fifty thousand pounds thus invested in what Mr. Carsdale called
+gilt-edged securities, he would derive an annual income of fifteen
+thousand pounds.
+
+“Which, in your present bachelor state of life, is quite enough for you
+to spend,” commented Carsdale. “When you contemplate matrimony we may
+think of increasing it. But you won’t spend it.”
+
+“Spend fifteen thousand a year!” exclaimed Richard. “I should think
+not. Why, I’ve got an exact account of every penny I’ve spent since I
+came, and--oh, I couldn’t spend fifteen thousand a year.”
+
+“Good boy!” said Carsdale, with a dry cough. “Don’t try to spend it.
+Some accomplishments, Shrewsbury, are very easily learned. However, I
+have noted, with great satisfaction, that you have no great desire to
+own race-horses, frequent gaming-houses, or to cultivate the society of
+young women of the musical comedy order. Keep off all these, my son,
+and you will do well. And now, back to business. You are not going
+to invest your quarter of a million in these securities solely on my
+advice, though, as I tell you, I have arranged everything for you,
+because you will so invest it. But first--have you ever yet called on
+your bankers?”
+
+“Never. I’ve never had time,” replied Richard.
+
+“Very good--but they’ll no doubt be delighted to see you,” said
+Carsdale. “Now follow my instructions. Take this list in your hand. Get
+into your car--go down to the City--see your bankers. Tell them that
+on the advice of your friend, Mr. John Carsdale, of Norfolk Street,
+you are about to make these investments at once. Ask them if they
+approve. Tell them that if they do, the transactions will be completed
+forthwith, and that you will subsequently hand over your securities to
+them for safe keeping. Be off, now, and then come back to me with your
+report.”
+
+And Richard went down to the City, and saw two grave, yet much
+interested gentlemen, who appeared to know nothing of Mr. John Carsdale
+of Norfolk Street, but were at one in expressing high approval of the
+manner in which he proposed to invest a quarter of a million of their
+customer’s money. For everything that figured on Carsdale’s list was
+thoroughly good and sound, and they were rejoiced to know that the
+young man was not going to be led away into wild-goose chases, or
+persuaded to set up a racing establishment, and they told him frankly
+that he could not do better than follow his friend’s advice.
+
+“Just so,” said Carsdale when Richard went back with his report. “That
+shows what sensible men they are. Now we will get all this put through,
+and then you will be fully settled down and know what your income is,
+and all will be plain sailing, so long as you never spend more than
+nineteen and elevenpence in every pound.”
+
+“What about the rest of the money?” said Richard, who was beginning to
+feel a faint excitement in financial matters.
+
+“What rest?” asked Carsdale.
+
+“There’s a lot more at the bankers,” replied Richard. “They had three
+hundred and seven thousand pounds of mine when I came. I’ve spent about
+three thousand since I came, one way or another, so there’s still about
+fifty thousand and more in their hands when these investments are made.
+What’s to be done with that?”
+
+“Oh, leave it as it is for a while,” answered Carsdale. “It is always
+well to have a good cash balance at your bankers. You’re all right
+for the time being. But if you like you can put ten thousand in my
+hands--to play with.”
+
+“To what?” asked Richard.
+
+“To play with,” repeated Carsdale. “I constantly know of small affairs
+which are worth putting a thousand or two into, even a few hundreds
+into, for a while--sometimes one can make as much as fifty per cent. on
+such transactions. Leave ten thousand with me, and we’ll see what comes
+of it at the end of the year.”
+
+And Richard agreed readily, for he regarded Carsdale as something
+like a past master in finance, and that afternoon Carsdale paid in
+ten thousand pounds to his own private banking account. He was just
+then in clover, for he had received handsome commissions from all the
+people to whom he had brought business in connection with Richard,
+and he had wound up his partnership with the late Barclay Leverton’s
+representatives on terms which were eminently satisfactory to himself,
+and he saw a bright future immediately in front of him. He was now
+whole and sole master of the suite of offices at the top of Abbotsbury
+House; the name of Leverton had disappeared from the swinging doors
+and the roll of tenants in the hall, and Frances came no longer to
+look into books and letters and ask questions which had sometimes been
+inconvenient to answer. Carsdale was now busier than ever; he began to
+develop a new class of business, and the smaller fry of his clients
+found it increasingly difficult to see him. Even Mrs. Walsingham found
+it a little puzzling when she tried to reckon up his courses.
+
+“I don’t quite know what you’re after,” she said one day when she was
+closeted with him in his office. “Since young Shrewsbury came on the
+scene you seem to have developed a desire for severe respectability in
+your transactions.”
+
+“Quite right,” said Carsdale. “Young Shrewsbury was precisely what I
+wanted. I did myself more good by sending him down to his bankers with
+that list of securities than you can realize. That action conferred
+distinction and credit on me. Why, I met one of them at a meeting at
+the _Cannon Street Hotel_ the other day, and he actually condescended
+to compliment me on the excellent advice I had given to a young and
+inexperienced gentleman, and, in parting gave me two fingers to shake!
+What do you think of that, Sylvie?”
+
+“I suppose you want to increase in virtue and respectability until some
+big wig in the City stops to shake hands--not fingers--with you in full
+view of all Lombard Street,” replied Mrs. Walsingham. “All right--so
+long as it pays.”
+
+“It pays,” said Carsdale. “You can’t extend the ægis of protection to
+a youngster who possesses three hundred thousand pounds and doesn’t
+spend half his income without benefiting yourself. I tell you, it’s
+a valuable asset to me to be in a position to show with what care,
+perspicuity, zealous attention to his safeguards and interests I have
+husbanded the youngster’s harvest!”
+
+“Picking up a few stray gleanings here and there,” said Mrs.
+Walsingham, with a silvery laugh.
+
+“You’ve as many chances in the harvest field as I have,” laughed
+Carsdale. “He seems to be in constant touch with you.”
+
+In that Carsdale was right. Richard had quickly fallen into the habit
+of repairing to Mrs. Walsingham regularly. He made excuses at first; he
+wanted advice about where to hang a picture; how to have a set of books
+bound; how to do this, that, and the other; presently he took it quite
+as a matter of course that he should see her every day. He was always
+taking her to dinner, to the theatre, to the opera. When the motor-car
+came into his life he began to take her out into the country on
+Sundays; at first Carsdale went with them; later, he excused himself.
+And without knowing how or why, Richard became Mrs. Walsingham’s
+shadow, and the motor-car was often seen carrying them both away from
+the door of Abbotsbury House at hours in the afternoon whereat Mrs.
+Walsingham, according to the ideas of Miss Rousby and Mr. Griffkin,
+should still have been at her desk.
+
+“But Carsdale, he don’t say a word,” remarked Griffkin. “It don’t
+matter to him whether she goes at five or four.”
+
+“The question is, dare he say a word?” observed Miss Rousby with
+sinister significance. “Some people in this world can do what they
+like--they can twist other people round their fingers as--as----”
+
+“As she twists them shiners round her fingers,” suggested Griffkin.
+“You’re right!”
+
+In this fashion, and in these pursuits Richard’s first few weeks in
+London passed away and saw him settle into a luxurious and easy-going
+existence. Of no particular vices, of no vast ambition, generous of
+nature, and a little inclined to let things come and go as they would,
+he had no fault to find with his lot. It was pleasant and placid.
+
+And then, one morning, as he was chatting with Mrs. Walsingham and
+Carsdale in Carsdale’s private room, Griffkin opened the door, and
+announced Captain Ralph Burgoyne.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+A PLEDGE REDEEMED
+
+
+If there had been another person present in Carsdale’s office,
+quick-eyed enough to have taken in everything at a glance, he would
+have seen that Griffkin’s announcement produced a different effect on
+each of the three people who heard it. Carsdale himself looked frankly
+astonished; Mrs. Walsingham, in spite of her sedulous training of
+herself, could not repress a slight start of surprise nor keep down a
+little heightening of colour. But Richard Shrewsbury jumped to his feet
+with an exclamation of boyish enthusiasm and made for the door.
+
+“It’s Burgoyne!” he almost shouted. “Burgoyne, you know, the explorer!
+I told you about him, Mrs. Walsingham--he’s home sooner than they said.
+Don’t you know him, Carsdale?--shan’t I bring him in?”
+
+“Bring Captain Burgoyne in by all means,” said Carsdale, rising. “I
+haven’t the pleasure of knowing him, but--what does the boy mean?” he
+continued, turning to Mrs. Walsingham as Richard impatiently dashed out
+of the room. “Does he know him?”
+
+“He knew him in Trinidad,” answered Mrs. Walsingham, rapidly. “Burgoyne
+stayed with his father. I fancy,” she said, glancing at the door, and
+speaking still more rapidly and in a low voice, “I fancy that Burgoyne
+came to see Leverton. Leverton once brought him in here about three
+years ago, when you were away. Try to find out what he wants.”
+
+Carsdale was quick enough to catch some hidden meaning in Mrs.
+Walsingham’s tone. He nodded his head sharply.
+
+“All right,” he said. “Don’t go. Let’s see, this chap has just come
+home from South America, eh? I remember.”
+
+Outside, Richard was vigorously shaking the hand of a big, bronzed man
+who looked at him with good-humoured surprise. Also he was jerking out
+boyish exclamations of delight. The big man laughed.
+
+“Bless me, so it’s really young Dick!” he said when he could put a word
+in. “Well, you’ve grown, youngster. But what are you doing here?”
+
+“I live in London, of course,” said Richard. “I--oh, I’ll tell you all
+about it afterwards. By Jove!--I am glad to see you, Burgoyne--but I
+didn’t know you’d landed--I was going to run down to Southampton to
+meet you. Come in, do!”
+
+“What, are these your offices?” said Burgoyne, looking about him. “I
+came to see Mr. Barclay Leverton.”
+
+“Mr. Leverton is dead, but here is my friend Mr. Carsdale, who can tell
+you anything you want to know,” said Richard, dragging the explorer
+through the outer office, where Miss Rousby and Griffkin, quite aware
+of his identity, stared at him with veneration. “Come and be introduced
+to him--and to my friend Mrs. Walsingham, too.”
+
+Captain Burgoyne suffered himself to be led into Carsdale’s room and to
+be subjected to the ceremonies of introduction, and he took a chair and
+looked around him with a smile.
+
+“This is a little surprising,” he said. “I did not expect to meet an
+old friend here. I came to see Mr. Leverton, and I am sorry to hear
+that he is dead. Did it happen--recently?”
+
+“Mr. Leverton has been dead six weeks,” replied Carsdale. “He had
+been ill for some weeks, but he died very suddenly at last. Can I do
+anything for you, Captain Burgoyne? I was in partnership with Mr.
+Leverton. But perhaps your business with him was of a private nature?”
+
+“Why, it was,” answered Captain Burgoyne “Yes----oh, yes, it was a
+private affair. The fact was, he had certain property of mine in his
+hands, and I--well, I want it.”
+
+“Oh, yes?” said Carsdale. He was wondering to what the visitor could
+possibly refer, and he found difficulty in surmising. “Mr. Leverton, of
+course, had affairs of which I knew nothing,” he remarked.
+
+“Just so,” responded Captain Burgoyne. “Perhaps his executors----”
+
+“You had better call on his solicitor,” said Carsdale, who saw no
+object in withholding information which any one could acquire without
+difficulty. “Mr. Septimus Winch, 250A, New Square, Lincoln’s Inn.
+I’ll write it down for you. Mr. Winch removed all Leverton’s private
+belongings from his room here some weeks ago.”
+
+“Ah, thanks--I’ll step around there,” said Captain Burgoyne, taking
+the slip of paper which Carsdale handed to him. He rose and glanced at
+Richard with a smile. “Where shall I find you again, Dick?” he asked.
+
+“I’m coming out with you,” said Richard. “I say, look here--I’m going
+to fix up a dinner now that you’ve come home, Burgoyne--for the four of
+us here, eh? What day will suit you?”
+
+“I must look at my diary,” said Burgoyne, with a smile at Carsdale.
+“I’m pretty busy.”
+
+“Shrewsbury forgets that you’re a public character,” said Carsdale.
+“He’s not the only man that has a claim on you.”
+
+“Well, he shall monopolize me for an hour, at any rate,” said Burgoyne,
+laughing. He took Richard’s arm as they went out, and gave it a
+friendly squeeze. “And what are you doing here, youngster?” he asked.
+“I never expected to set eyes on you, you know!”
+
+“My father’s dead, and so I came to England, and here I am,” answered
+Richard. “I’ve got rooms in Berkeley Square, and you must come and see
+me--come to breakfast to-morrow.”
+
+“Yes, I think I can do that,” replied Burgoyne. “Ah, and so your good
+father’s dead, Dick. He was a fine man, and a kind host. And of course
+you’ve come in for all the money, and I hope it’s in safe hands.”
+
+“Safe as--as the Bank of England,” answered Richard shortly. “Carsdale,
+there, invested it, and my bankers say there couldn’t be better
+investments.”
+
+“That’s right,” said Burgoyne. “Well, I’m come into a fortune, too--got
+the news of it at Lima. That’s why I came to seek Leverton. You never
+knew Leverton?”
+
+“No, he died the very day I came here,” said Richard. “But my father
+did--they were old schoolfellows.”
+
+“Leverton was a good chap,” remarked Burgoyne. “He was a member of a
+club to which I belonged till I went off. And he lent me five thousand
+pounds towards the expenses of my expedition--privately, you know. But
+I gave him as security a certain diamond necklace which has been in our
+family for a long time, and is said to have belonged to Maria Louisa,
+Napoleon’s Empress. And now that I’m a moneyed man, I want to repay
+that loan and get it back, though a diamond necklace is something of
+a white elephant to me. However, I suppose one ought not to lose old
+family possessions. Come with me, Dick, to see this lawyer.”
+
+The clerk who carried Captain Burgoyne’s card to Mr. Winch returned
+quickly to say that his principal would see Captain Burgoyne at
+once, and he ushered the callers with great reverence to Mr. Winch’s
+room. And Richard, closely following the famous explorer, saw an old
+gentleman standing in a quaint room, and at his side a young lady in
+deep mourning, and he perceived that both regarded Captain Burgoyne
+with deep interest.
+
+“My dear sir!” exclaimed Mr. Winch. “My dear sir! I am delighted to
+see you, and I can guess the object of your visit, which is most
+fortunately timed. This lady, my dear Captain Burgoyne, is the daughter
+of our late friend, Mr. Barclay Leverton.”
+
+Richard pricked up his ears. He suddenly remembered with a feeling of
+deep shame, that he had completely forgotten to send his condolences
+to the Leverton family, even to send flowers to lay on the coffin of
+his father’s old friend. He had meant to do both, but in the bustle and
+hurry of those first days in London, he had forgotten to do either.
+Even now he was quite in ignorance of what family Barclay Leverton had
+left, for neither Carsdale nor Mrs. Walsingham ever spoke of the dead
+man or his belongings. But here, at any rate, was Leverton’s daughter,
+and he looked at her with interest, and all the more closely because
+she herself was looking at Burgoyne. And presently he found himself
+being introduced to her, and he was conscious of becoming very shy--and
+after that he was relegated to the shades, for the old lawyer and the
+young lady and the explorer began to talk business.
+
+“My dear sir,” said Mr. Winch, who seemed to be particularly delighted
+to see Captain Burgoyne, “I may save time by telling you that Miss
+Leverton and myself are fully aware of the transaction which took place
+between her father and yourself. I recently heard of your own good
+fortune, and I don’t suppose that I am wrong when I say that I gather
+you have called for your historic necklace.”
+
+“Quite right, sir,” answered Burgoyne. “And--incidentally--to pay my
+debt. I wish I could have paid it to Mr. Leverton,” he added, with a
+quick glance at Frances, “but--he knew I was greatly obliged to him.”
+
+Frances gave the explorer a grateful look.
+
+“And my father was very anxious that you should have your necklace
+back again in safety, Captain Burgoyne,” she said. “He took particular
+pains, only the night before his death, to let me know what he wished
+done. I should like Captain Burgoyne to see the memoranda,” she
+continued, turning to Mr. Winch. “They will show him what my father’s
+intentions were.”
+
+“Of course, of course,” said the solicitor. “Yes, my dear sir, although
+the time for repayment of my late client’s loan to you is almost
+expired, your property would have been safe for at least another
+year. The necklace is deposited at my bank, Captain Burgoyne, and I
+will send my managing clerk for it at once. In the meantime, here are
+the memoranda which Miss Leverton speaks of--the notes are in her
+handwriting in that paper, and in my late client’s in the other. You
+see what his intentions were?”
+
+Captain Burgoyne saw, and made a graceful acknowledgment to the dead
+man’s daughter, begging her to accept the thanks which he would have
+given to her father had he been alive. And then he handed over a cheque
+to Mr. Winch, and presently the managing clerk came back from the bank
+with the sealed parcel which Mr. Winch and Frances had deposited
+there. Burgoyne was for dropping it carelessly into his pocket, but Mr.
+Winch loudly protested against such an unbusiness-like course--that,
+he said, would never do; Captain Burgoyne must see that his valuable
+property was safe and sound. So the parcel was undone, and the diamond
+necklace brought to light, and Mr. Winch entreated its owner to bestow
+it in an inner pocket, and to keep a jealous hold on it, lest any of
+the light-fingered gentry should steal it from him.
+
+“For I have no doubt, my dear sir,” he added, in his mysteriously
+confidential manner, “I have no doubt that the object which you so
+lightly handle is worth a good deal more than the amount which you have
+just paid to me, quite apart from its historical associations, eh?”
+
+“Oh, I believe so,” answered Burgoyne. “I have always been led to
+understand so, at any rate.”
+
+Then he began to make his adieux, once more thanking Frances on her
+father’s behalf, and he and Richard prepared to depart. But it turned
+out that Miss Leverton and Mr. Winch were just then going out, too, and
+they all went down the stairs together, and, as luck would have it,
+Richard found himself at the girl’s side. And conquering his shyness
+with a violent effort, he turned and addressed her.
+
+“I was so sorry to hear of your father’s death,” he said abruptly.
+“Awfully sorry!”
+
+Frances turned and looked at him in surprise.
+
+“You knew my father?” she said.
+
+“No,” answered Richard. “No. But my father did--they were at school
+together. And when I came to England I wrote to your father as soon as
+I landed at Southampton, and I called at his office next morning--it
+was the very morning he died. And so, of course, I never saw him--and
+I’m awfully sorry.”
+
+Frances looked at him in still greater surprise.
+
+“You wrote to my father?” she said. “Then--who got the letter?”
+
+“Oh!” said Richard. “Carsdale got the letter. It was, of course,
+more or less of a business letter, you know--a letter asking your
+father’s advice about investments and so on. And Carsdale’s been most
+kind--awfully kind--you know him, of course? He said at once that
+he’d like to do for me all that your father would have done for his
+old friend’s son, and so he has--I don’t know what I should have done
+without Carsdale. Nor without Mrs. Walsingham--I suppose you know
+her, too? But all the same, I was dreadfully disappointed not to see
+your father, and--I’m an awfully poor hand at saying anything, Miss
+Leverton, but mayn’t I call to--to see your mother, you know? Your
+father and mine were at school together--you must have heard him speak
+of Martin Shrewsbury?”
+
+He had hurried breathlessly through the last part of the speech, for
+Mr. Winch was obviously waiting for the girl. And she was showing signs
+of obvious confusion, not to say perturbation, and there was a sudden
+flush on her face as she suddenly turned to Richard.
+
+“I--very well--call at 7, Acacia Mansions, Maida Vale,” she said.
+“Call--this afternoon--at four--if you like. If not, to-morrow--any
+day.”
+
+“To-day,” said Richard. “To-day!”
+
+Then they parted, and Captain Burgoyne clapped his young friend’s
+shoulder, and carried him off to lunch at the _Carlton_.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+PLAIN SPEECH
+
+
+In his own native island of Trinidad, Mr. Richard Shrewsbury had never
+given much more than a momentary attention to his garments, and he had
+wasted no time in considering the cut and the colour of his neckties.
+The conditions of climate, the fine carelessness of youth, had rendered
+him indifferent and superior on points of attire--a cool _négligé_
+in the matter of body raiment, a wide-spreading Panama in the way of
+protection for his head, had seemed to him all that was necessary. He
+had presented himself at Carsdale’s in a neat blue serge suit, which
+he himself was secretly very vain of, but which Carsdale immediately
+perceived to be of colonial origin. Doubts about the blue serge began
+to gather in Richard’s mind when he looked at other young men, seen
+in London streets; he grew uneasy when he examined Carsdale, who
+was always scrupulously dressed; he became frightened when Carsdale
+introduced him to a great professor of the sartorial art in Saville
+Row. When that gentleman had done with him, and had sent home to his
+Berkeley Square flat a consignment of clothing which made even Mr.
+William Kedgin open his well-accustomed eyes, Richard blossomed out
+into the most particular and even finicking young man about town. He
+was now as nice and as discriminating about his clothes, his neckties,
+his linen, his everything, as he had been careless in his previous
+stage of existence, and Kedgin at times found him hard to please
+because of his plethora of supply. The man who only possesses two
+suits of clothes can quickly make up his mind as to which of them he
+will wear; the possessor of two or three dozen suits feels the dressing
+of himself an important affair, to be decided and regulated by many
+other matters than the mere accidents of weather. Richard’s wardrobe
+was shamefully extensive, and there were enough neckties and gloves
+about him to stock a haberdasher’s shop, and there were occasions when
+Kedgin found it hard to decide on what was most suitable because there
+were so many articles to choose from.
+
+But never, during those first few weeks of his descent upon London, had
+Richard been so particular, so hard to please, so intent upon being
+attired in the very pink of perfection, as he was on the afternoon of
+the day which restored Burgoyne to him. He had surprised the explorer
+by hurrying away as soon as lunch was over: he surprised Kedgin by the
+almost woman-like exigencies which he put upon the resources of his
+toilet and his wardrobe. Kedgin secretly wondered what his young master
+was after; when he had at last turned him out in splendour from top to
+toe, had followed him out to his motor-car, and had heard Richard bid
+the chauffeur drive to Acacia Mansions, Maida Vale, he indulged in a
+dry chuckle.
+
+“Maida Vale, eh?” said Kedgin as the car drove off. “Ah, that’s where
+all the actresses live. So that’s it, is it? I thought he’d be up to
+that game sooner or later. He’ll begin to cultivate a taste in bookays,
+and chocolates, and diamond rings now. Ah!--musical comedy, no doubt.”
+
+The unconscious and innocent object of these speculations sped on
+northwards, secretly hoping, as youths of his age will, that he was so
+attired as to make a good impression. He was aware that he was going
+to what had very recently been a house of mourning; he had therefore
+endeavoured to make his grandeur very sober and solemn. But he was
+very grand, in spite of his solemnity, and the hall-porter, and the
+lift-boy, and everybody who encountered him at Acacia Mansions,
+wondered what youthful nobleman or foreign prince had penetrated to
+Maida Vale from the haunts of fashion.
+
+A youthful and round-eyed maid, in a freshly starched cap and apron,
+admitted Mr. Shrewsbury to Number Seven, and having duly worshipped
+his clothes and secretly admired his handsome and boyish face,
+ushered him into a sitting-room, wherein, seated at an eminently
+business-like looking desk, piled high with papers and books which
+appeared to suggest financial, rather than literary matters, sat Miss
+Frances Leverton, just then engaged in writing. Near her, in a wide
+window-place made bright with flowers, a young lady lay on a sofa;
+something in the pale face and bright eyes which she turned on him as
+he entered told Richard that she was either a confirmed invalid or a
+cripple.
+
+Miss Leverton rose from her desk with all the composure of a business
+woman, and gave the visitor one hand, while she indicated a chair with
+the other. Then she introduced the girl on the sofa as Miss Bryce, and
+motioned Richard to sit down. There was something about her manner that
+made Richard think of the formal fashion in which one is received in
+places of mere business, and he began to feel stiff and awkward, and
+very conscious of his elaborate toilet, and he was not at all made
+more at his ease by Miss Leverton’s first remark, nor by the very
+business-like way in which she re-seated herself at her desk, put the
+tips of her fingers together, and looked at him, he thought, as if he
+had come to buy shares or give instructions for drawing up a will.
+
+“We were so hurried this morning, Mr. Shrewsbury,” said a very cold
+and clear-cut voice, “that I could not do more than tell you that you
+might call here. You asked if you might call to see my mother. I may as
+well tell you what you might have learnt elsewhere--that my mother is
+dead, and that I am the sole representative of the Leverton family. But
+I let you call because I wanted to ask you one or two questions which
+I couldn’t very well put to you on the steps of Mr. Winch’s office.
+Besides you have given me a considerable surprise.”
+
+Richard felt as a small boy feels who is suddenly confronted with a
+stern head-master and talked to in a tone which he does not quite
+comprehend. He stole a glance at the recumbent figure on the sofa,
+and saw that Miss Bryce’s large eyes were fixed on a piece of fancy
+needle-work on which her thin fingers were busily engaged. He had hoped
+for some gleam of sympathy from her; getting none, he turned to Miss
+Leverton, and became instantly afraid of that young lady’s blue-grey
+eyes, which seemed to look him remorselessly through and through. In
+Mr. Winch’s office he had come to the conclusion that Frances Leverton
+was the handsomest girl he had ever seen; it hurt him now, in some
+strange, vague way, that she regarded him, a mild, innocent youth, so
+very sternly. “I--I’m awfully sorry!” he stammered. “I--really didn’t
+mean to surprise you.”
+
+“You surprised me very much,” said Frances, with emphasis. “I
+understood you to say that a letter which you wrote to my father, and
+which arrived at his office on the morning of his death, was opened and
+retained by Mr. Carsdale?”
+
+“Ye--es, that’s so,” replied Richard. “You see----”
+
+“Can you tell me what you said in that letter?” demanded Frances. “You
+can, of course. You said, down there at Mr. Winch’s, that it was more
+or less of a business letter. Well, Mr. Shrewsbury?”
+
+Richard felt very uncomfortable. He experienced a desire to wriggle; he
+became conscious that he was very hot and had a tendency to perspire.
+
+“I--you see--I’m sure Carsdale, you know,” he began. “You see, I
+shouldn’t like Carsdale to be blamed, because Carsdale’s been very good
+to me, and----”
+
+“Can’t you remember what you said to my father in that letter?” asked
+Frances, icily. “I think you can.”
+
+Richard pulled himself together, and by a strenuous mental effort
+succeeded in remembering the grit and pith of what he had written from
+the Southampton hotel to Barclay Leverton. Frances listened to him
+without once taking her eyes from his face.
+
+“So you call that a business letter, do you, Mr. Shrewsbury?” she said
+with a subtle inflection of voice which made Richard wince. “I don’t
+but that’s perhaps a matter of opinion. As to Mr. John Carsdale’s taste
+in such matters, the less said the better. But I was in my father’s
+office at Abbotsbury House that very morning, and Mr. Carsdale should
+have handed that letter to me. Surely, you yourself see that.”
+
+“I--I understood that Mr. Carsdale was Mr. Leverton’s partner,” said
+Richard, miserably. “He was, wasn’t he?”
+
+“He was, but not to the extent of sharing his private letters,”
+answered Frances, coolly. “You meant your letter to be confidential,
+didn’t you? You were writing to your father’s old friend, weren’t you?”
+
+“Yes,” said Richard. He looked up from the floor with a whipped
+expression in his eyes. “I expect I’ve made a mess of it,” he said,
+with a note of contrition that caused Miss Bryce to smile. “Now you’ll
+go and think all sorts of things about Carsdale, and, as I’ve said,
+Carsdale’s been awfully good to me.”
+
+“I am not used to thinking about Mr. Carsdale,” said Frances. “I merely
+wished to know why a letter which was my father’s private affair was
+retained by him. I suppose I am right in concluding that when you
+wrote that letter you intended to cultivate the friendship which had
+previously existed between our families--or parents?”
+
+“Yes, yes, oh, yes!” replied Richard, eagerly. “I was awfully cut up to
+hear of Mr. Leverton’s death--I was, indeed!”
+
+Frances looked at him with a little frown.
+
+“I don’t remember that you wrote to say so,” she said, rather more
+frigidly than before.
+
+The girl on the sofa uttered a little deprecatory cough, and Richard
+who kept eyeing her as hunted animals eye a possible way of escape,
+saw a spot of colour light up on the pale cheek which was next to him.
+He himself felt uncomfortably hot. But the plain-tongued young lady
+entrenched at the desk behind her books and papers looked as cool and
+as imperturbable as ever.
+
+“No!” said Richard, very humbly. “I didn’t. I--meant to. And then----”
+
+“And then, what with one thing or another, you forgot,” said Frances,
+interrupting him. “All right, Mr. Shrewsbury, it is no matter. But now
+that you are here, will you be kind enough to take a message from me to
+your friend, Mr. John Carsdale?”
+
+“Certainly!” said Richard, with great eagerness. “Of course I will.”
+
+Frances smiled at his impetuousness.
+
+“Then tell Mr. Carsdale,” she said, watching her visitor closely, “that
+I am quite aware from you of the circumstances under which he opened
+and retained your letter to my father. Tell him, further, that if I
+ever catch him dealing with any correspondence that comes to Abbotsbury
+House in my father’s name, I will make London too hot to hold him! Can
+you remember all that, Mr. Shrewsbury?”
+
+Richard’s face had flushed to a deeper red--he felt as if the girl had
+smacked it.
+
+“Yes,” he said quietly. “I can remember all that, and, as I said I
+would, I’ll carry the message. But--I’m sure Carsdale acted with good
+intentions.”
+
+“Good intentions to himself,” said Frances. “I gather that you’re a
+wealthy young man, Mr. Shrewsbury.”
+
+“I have a good deal of money,” answered Richard, modestly.
+
+“Quite so. So that if that letter of yours had been delivered to me, as
+it ought to have been, I might have had a profitable client,” continued
+Frances. “Carsdale robbed me of you.”
+
+Richard stared and started. He glanced at the business-like looking
+desk, and Miss Leverton waved her hand over it.
+
+“I still carry on my father’s concerns,” she said. “I should have been
+glad to have you for a client. But that’s Carsdale all over--I like you
+for standing up for him, but you can’t expect me to forgive him for
+robbing me of possible and profitable business. And I’ll make him smart
+for it--I can, easily!--if he plays any more tricks on me of that sort.”
+
+Richard began to fidget with his hat and cane.
+
+“I--I didn’t know,” he said lamely. “If I had known----”
+
+“Of course you didn’t know,” interrupted Frances. She turned to her
+papers, and then held out her hand. “Well, good day,” she said. “I’m
+obliged to you for clearing up the matter of the letter.”
+
+Richard took the firm, cool hand and dropped it in sheer fright.
+
+“I--I--mayn’t I call again?” he asked desperately.
+
+“Why should you call again?” said Frances, looking up. “Carsdale’s got
+your business.”
+
+“I wasn’t thinking of business,” said Richard, stoutly.
+
+“Perhaps Mr. Shrewsbury would like to call on Sunday--when you don’t do
+any business, Frank,” suggested Miss Bryce, with a smile at Richard.
+
+“Yes, oh, yes, thanks!” said Richard, with great eagerness. “Mayn’t I?”
+
+Miss Leverton bent over her letter.
+
+“Well, Sunday afternoon, then,” she murmured.
+
+Then Richard somehow got himself out, and when he had fairly gone, Miss
+Bryce spoke.
+
+“Frank!” she said. “You treated that poor boy abominably!”
+
+“Bosh!” retorted Miss Leverton. “It will do him good. He won’t get
+honest, plain speech from Carsdale or from that horrible woman down
+there at Abbotsbury House!”
+
+“You treated him abominably,” repeated Miss Bryce. “And--he felt it.
+And why? Because, my dear, the young man is in the way to fall in love
+with you! I saw it--and I’m never mistaken!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+NEWS FOR MRS. WALSINGHAM
+
+
+By that time it was very seldom that Mrs. Walsingham ever left the
+office alone; on four days out of the five Richard and his car were
+waiting for her and the habitués of Abbotsbury House and the Norfolk
+Street pavement had grown accustomed to seeing her whisked off as if
+she were some personage of high degree. She and young Mr. Shrewsbury
+at that time, indeed, were enjoying themselves a good deal in each
+other’s society. It was very much pleasanter, during those warm summer
+days, to get into a luxuriously-fitted car and to escape from London
+to some country town twenty or thirty miles away, there to dine amidst
+sylvan and shady surroundings, and afterwards to spin back in the
+cool and purpling twilight, than to be obliged to dress and to dine
+at fashionable hotels and restaurants, wherein not all the artifice
+in the world could produce the semblance of what an hour’s journey
+could give. This daily arrangement had come to be a fixed one--evening
+after evening Mr. Shrewsbury’s car slid away into one or other of the
+home counties, and later at night was to be seen outside the flats in
+which Mrs. Walsingham resided, waiting until its owner had smoked the
+cigarette to which he was always invited when he had safely brought
+Mrs. Walsingham home.
+
+But on the afternoon of Richard’s visit to Acacia Mansions, Mrs.
+Walsingham waited in vain for him--waited, that is to say, for half an
+hour. There was no settled arrangement between them as to his coming,
+but it had grown to be such a part of the day’s routine that she had
+fully expected him, and at five o’clock was in readiness to leave with
+him. But when, at half-past five, there were no signs of him and no
+message, Mrs. Walsingham left the office and set out for her favourite
+restaurant. After what she called a long business day, she liked to
+dine as near six o’clock as possible, and it was not within her scheme
+of things that anybody or anything should interfere with her dinner. So
+she made her way along the Strand towards Leicester Square and Soho:
+she would dine leisurely, she said to herself, and go home, secure in
+the knowledge that Richard would present himself at the flat sooner or
+later in the evening. She was in no wise surprised that he had not come
+for her at five o’clock; he was engaged, she concluded, with Captain
+Burgoyne.
+
+The thought of Captain Burgoyne suggested another thought to Mrs.
+Walsingham, who had just then reached the neighbourhood of Charing
+Cross. She glanced at her watch, turned and, retracing her steps a
+little way, entered a jeweller’s shop. It was a quiet high-class
+establishment, the windows of which were set out with expensive goods,
+but it was decorated, though unobtrusively, with three gilt balls, and
+was, in fact, the business place of a fashionable pawnbroker in whose
+breast many secrets were safely locked.
+
+There was no one in the outer shop when Mrs. Walsingham entered, save
+the proprietor and some assistants, and at sight of her the proprietor
+came round the counter and ushered her into a private room at the
+back of the premises. Mrs. Walsingham dropped into the chair which he
+politely offered her and unsnapped the patent catch of the bag which
+she carried.
+
+“I want to pay you the interest on that loan, Mr. Wiertz,” she said.
+“It’s just about due, isn’t it?”
+
+“Next week, I think,” replied Mr. Wiertz. “You want to renew, again?”
+
+“Yes,” answered Mrs. Walsingham. She produced a purse from her bag
+and drew out some bank-notes. Mr. Wiertz sat down at a desk and began
+to write. Suddenly he turned and looked at his visitor with an air of
+polite meditation.
+
+“I was thinking of writing to you, Mrs. Walsingham,” he said. “It was
+about those diamonds. Let’s see. I lent you a thousand on them two
+years ago, didn’t I? Yes--well, they are worth seven or eight times
+that, you know.”
+
+“Of course, I know,” answered Mrs. Walsingham, regarding him steadily.
+“But they’re worth more. They’re worth every penny of ten thousand,
+at the lowest computation, Mr. Wiertz: I had them valued by three
+different people. Well, and what about them, and why were you going to
+write to me?”
+
+“I wanted to know if you’d sell them,” answered Mr. Wiertz. “It just so
+happens that I could do with them. I could make use of them at once.
+It’s a pity they should lie there in my safe doing nothing. I’ll give
+you eight thousand for them.”
+
+“No!” answered Mrs. Walsingham, promptly.
+
+“No?” said Mr. Wiertz. “Dear me!--wouldn’t you rather have eight
+thousand, cash down, than let them lie unseen and go on paying me
+interest?”
+
+“No, I wouldn’t,” replied Mrs. Walsingham. “They’re quite safe where
+they are, and there they can stop until I want them. And as I say,
+they’re worth every penny of ten thousand.”
+
+“I might go to nine thousand,” suggested Mr. Wiertz.
+
+“Not for sale--at any rate, not now,” said Mrs. Walsingham firmly. “I
+might want them--if I do, I’ll redeem them pretty quick, Mr. Wiertz. If
+I don’t--well, then, we’ll talk business.”
+
+“I mightn’t have an opening for them then,” remarked Mr. Wiertz. “Just
+now I have.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham crackled her bank-notes.
+
+“Diamonds,” she said, “can always make openings for themselves. How
+much is the interest, Mr. Wiertz?”
+
+Mr. Wiertz fidgeted amongst his papers.
+
+“Supposing I could get you the ten thousand you think they’re worth?”
+he said. “What do you say to that, Mrs. Walsingham?”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham laughed merrily and shook her head.
+
+“I say that it shows that you believe them to be worth more than ten
+thousand,” she answered. “No, I’m not going to sell, at present, Mr.
+Wiertz. Those stones are quite safe in your keeping, and when I want
+them I’ll find the money to redeem them within an hour. Now, this
+interest?”
+
+Mr. Wiertz sighed and consulted a book.
+
+“Well you know your own business best,” he observed. “But I wouldn’t
+pay interest on a loan of a thousand pounds for which I’d lodged
+security that’s worth, worth----”
+
+“Let’s say ten thousand, Mr. Wiertz,” said Mrs. Walsingham, with
+another silvery laugh. “I dare say you wouldn’t. But--I will.”
+
+Mr. Wiertz presently let his visitor out by a private door into an
+alley which communicated with the Strand. And as Mrs. Walsingham
+tripped out of the alley upon the crowded side-walk, a man who was
+coming along from the direction of Trafalgar Square caught sight of
+her, half-paused, looked again, and then slowly turned and followed
+her. The turning was done in a careless, pointless fashion that would
+not have attracted attention from any one; for a moment the man paused,
+to look into a shop-window, as if he had seen something there that
+aroused curiosity; then he sauntered forward, with Mrs. Walsingham some
+twenty yards ahead of him. She was wearing a large black feather in her
+smart hat; the man made a mental note of it in case he should lose her
+for a moment. But he was a tall, long-limbed fellow, who could take one
+lounging step to her three quick ones, and it was an easy task to keep
+his quarry in sight.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham pursued a steady course along King William Street
+and Green Street into Leicester Square, and eventually plunged into
+Soho, and disappeared in a certain café, past which the pursuer lazily
+strolled with inspecting eyes. He sized the place, its possibilities,
+and its prices up in one all-seeing glance.
+
+“Well, I guess a dollar will just about cover what I’m likely to lay
+out in that spot,” he mused, as his slow step slackened to a halt. “And
+anyway, it’s time I ate, so I’ll turn in and see where she’s got to.
+For that’s her sure!”
+
+Without more ado he pulled down over his eyes the big slouch hat
+which surrounded his head like an over-sized halo, and, pushing open
+the swing doors, entered the restaurant. His first glance at the
+softly-lighted interior showed him Mrs. Walsingham, who, seated at the
+table which had come to be regarded as hers by right of long custom,
+was bending over a menu card, and explaining to her usual waiter that
+she had been away for the last week or two. And thus engaged, she did
+not notice the stranger, who slipped past and took a seat a little way
+off, with his face in the shadow. Secure now of not losing her, he sat
+back and inspected her at his leisure, Mrs. Walsingham remaining all
+unconscious that she was being so examined.
+
+“That’s her, sure pop!” said the stranger to himself. “That’s all
+right. And she looks flourishing enough, too.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham had made considerable progress with her dinner before
+she became aware of the man’s presence. She was not given to staring
+about her, having other and more important matters to attend to, and it
+was only by accident that she happened to look at the particular corner
+in which her pursuer had placed himself. There had been but few people
+in that part of the place; now a noisy group of young foreigners,
+men and women, came in, hungry and hilarious, and a waiter turned up
+an additional light. It struck full on the stranger’s face, and Mrs.
+Walsingham, happening to turn at the sudden glare, looked straight at
+him as he looked straight at her.
+
+For several seconds the two regarded each other steadily; then Mrs.
+Walsingham looked down at her plate and calmly went on with her dinner.
+But the man, stealing a glance at her now and then, knew that she had
+recognized him; he knew also that she knew that he had recognized her.
+He waited and watched for a sign. And Mrs. Walsingham gave none. Nor
+did she show any sign of perturbation, or of alarm, or confusion; she
+continued to eat and drink as quietly as if nothing had happened, and
+if her eyes happened to turn in the stranger’s direction, they remained
+as expressionless as if they rested on a statue.
+
+But the watcher knew very well that Mrs. Walsingham was contemplating
+something, and that that something related to him, and he continued to
+watch without seeming to do so. And at last, while she was trifling
+with her coffee and her _crème de menthe_, he saw her take from her
+bag a tiny memorandum tablet, on a leaf of which she scribbled a
+line or two. Then she folded the torn-out leaf into a neat roll, and
+with a calm stare at the stranger across the room, laid it on the
+outer edge of the table at which she was sitting. The stranger’s left
+eyelid flickered imperceptibly. A few moments later he nodded to his
+waiter, paid his bill, and slowly lounged out. Mrs. Walsingham was
+engaged in studying the pages of a continental journal as he passed
+her table--when she looked up again the rolled-up scrap of paper had
+disappeared. And presently, she, too, paid for her entertainment, and
+walked out with her usual languid grace.
+
+The stranger walked with swifter steps when he was once clear of the
+restaurant. He made for the corner of the street, and there unrolled
+the note and read what Mrs. Walsingham had written.
+
+“Go into Soho Square, and wait for me at the corner of Greek Street.”
+
+The stranger smiled and tore the bit of paper into fragments as he
+strode off.
+
+“I knew she’d be curious,” he muttered. “Well, that was a lucky chance.”
+
+There was no verbal greeting between them when she presently joined
+him. He lifted his hat, and she gave him a sharp nod, and they
+instinctively turned towards a quiet corner of the square.
+
+“That was sheer luck,” he said. “I was looking for you. I’d looked
+three days.”
+
+“And why?” she asked.
+
+“Because I’ve got something to tell you,” he answered. “Maybe you know
+it. Maybe you don’t. You see, I’ve come straight from there. Well, it’s
+just this, whether you know it or not. He’s--dead.”
+
+He thought she was going to fall, for she turned white to the lips,
+and he put out his hand to clutch her. But then he saw her set her
+lips, and in a second the colour came back, and she turned on him with
+glittering eyes.
+
+“Prove to me that that’s true--true!” she said in a low, intense voice.
+“And I’ll--I’ll----”
+
+“What?” he said.
+
+“I’ll make it worth your while,” she answered. “I will!”
+
+The man scratched his chin.
+
+“It’s true enough,” he answered, with a short laugh. “He was shot dead
+in a scrap at Carville--that’s in Nevada--six weeks ago. I was there--I
+saw it. Prove it? Well, I suppose you’d take a letter or a cable from,
+say, the sheriff, as proof! He was going under his own name. It’s quite
+true. Of course, I didn’t know where you were, and there was no one
+else to let you know.”
+
+“Give me that sheriff’s name,” she said. “Here--write it down--the
+address, too.”
+
+The man scribbled a line or two in the notebook she held out to him.
+She glanced at it and thrust it into her bag.
+
+“Meet me here at this time to-morrow,” she said. “And--here, I dare say
+you’ll find that useful.”
+
+She pushed a bank-note into his hand, and without staying to hear more,
+turned away and hurried in the direction of Oxford Street and to the
+nearest post-office. When she came out, ten minutes later, she hailed a
+taxi-cab and bade the driver go to her flat. At her own door her maid
+met her and gave her a meaning look.
+
+“Mr. Shrewsbury’s in the drawing-room,” she said. “He’s just come.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+UNFORESEEN
+
+
+Mrs. Walsingham made straight for the door of the drawing-room. But
+before she reached it she paused and looked at her maid. The two women
+regarded each other steadily. Then the maid smiled faintly.
+
+“You look--tired,” she said.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham nodded and turned towards her bedroom.
+
+“Tell Mr. Shrewsbury I’ll be with him presently,” she said. “Take the
+whiskey and soda in. Stop--I’ll have some myself. I am tired.”
+
+She walked into the dining-room, and mixing herself a drink as she
+stood at the sideboard, carried it off to her bedroom. Once in there,
+she went over to the mirror and looked at herself. She knew well
+enough what Guyner meant when she spoke significantly of her looking
+tired--there were lines under her eyes, and a pinched expression about
+her mouth, and between her fine eyebrows there were two distinct
+creases. She looked ten years older than she had looked when she
+tripped out of Abbotsbury House only two hours before. She frowned as
+she contemplated herself in her glass, but the frown suddenly changed
+to a smile.
+
+“All the same,” she murmured, with a note of triumph in her voice, “if
+that’s true, I’m free. Free! My God--and with what possibilities!”
+
+There was nothing tired or discomposed about Mrs. Walsingham, however,
+when she joined Richard half an hour later. All traces of fatigue had
+gone from eyes and mouth and forehead; she was wearing her prettiest
+gown; she gave her visitor her brightest smile. And Richard, who was
+still feeling somewhat sore after his experience of the afternoon,
+suddenly felt a sense of relief and of pleasure, and realized that Mrs.
+Walsingham’s cheerful company was a valuable asset in his life, and he
+held her hand rather longer than was necessary when she gave it to him.
+
+“I thought you were lost,” she said, laughing. “Don’t forget that
+you’re only a stranger in London yet.”
+
+“I’m awfully sorry I didn’t turn up,” he said. “I went to lunch with
+Burgoyne, and then--then I went to make a call at Maida Vale, and after
+that I found I was near Lord’s, and so I turned in there for an hour,
+and there was some rather exciting play, and so I stopped longer than I
+meant to, and then I knew you’d have gone, and so--well, I waited until
+later.”
+
+“I hope you’ve dined,” she said.
+
+“A bit hurriedly,” he answered. “And you?”
+
+“I don’t let anything interfere with my dinner,” she said. “I didn’t
+wait very long for you. Give me a cigarette. And what,” she continued,
+settling herself in her favourite chair, “what took you to Maida Vale?
+I didn’t know you had ever heard of such a place.”
+
+“I don’t think I ever had,” Richard replied. “I went there to call on
+Miss Leverton.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham suddenly dropped her cigarette and made some fuss about
+picking it up. By the time she had recovered it and had settled herself
+again she was quite composed and carelessly indifferent.
+
+“Oh--and I didn’t know that you knew Miss Leverton,” she said.
+
+“I didn’t until to-day--I didn’t even know there was a Miss Leverton.
+No one ever told me there was,” said Richard.
+
+“That means that neither Mr. Carsdale nor I ever told you,” said Mrs.
+Walsingham. “Why should we?”
+
+“Oh, I don’t know--except that her father and mine were old friends,”
+he answered, doubtfully. “I--of course, I don’t know anything--I mean
+of what’s done, or isn’t done.”
+
+“What’s chiefly done is never to meddle with things that don’t concern
+one,” observed Mrs. Walsingham sententiously. “And where did you meet
+Miss Frances Leverton?”
+
+“I met her at the solicitor’s--Winch’s, in Lincoln’s Inn--where I
+went with Burgoyne. And I asked her if I might call on her mother--of
+course, I thought she’d have a mother--to offer my condolence on her
+father’s death, and she said I might, and so I went this afternoon.”
+
+“Is that why you are so elaborately attired?” asked Mrs. Walsingham,
+eyeing her visitor’s garments.
+
+“I--I thought you’d got to tog yourself up rather to pay calls,” said
+Richard. “Isn’t that--proper?”
+
+“Quite. Well, so you called on Miss Leverton’s mother?” said Mrs.
+Walsingham. “Proceed.”
+
+“There wasn’t any mother--she’s dead, it seems. And,” continued Richard
+with boyish candour, “I want to ask you something--Miss Leverton seemed
+to be angry because--well, because of that letter which I wrote to her
+father--the one that Carsdale got, you know.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham dropped her cigarette into an ash-tray and selected
+another from the cabinet at her side.
+
+“Frances Leverton is the sort of young woman who would be angry at
+anything that didn’t suit her,” she said. “She is an only child, and
+she was spoilt by her father, who let her have too much of her own
+way. She used to bully him at the office, and while he was ill she
+used to interfere in affairs that didn’t concern her. Of course, she’d
+be angry about the letter, but it was as much Carsdale’s concern as
+hers. Didn’t you want Leverton to advise you financially? Well, hasn’t
+Carsdale done it instead--only much better? She’s mad because your
+business got into his hands--she thinks she’s a financial genius.
+That’s all, my friend--pure pique.”
+
+“Oh!” said Richard, blankly. “I see. But--she gave me a message for
+Carsdale.” He repeated it word for word, having learnt it by heart. “I
+don’t like giving it,” he said.
+
+“Fiddle!” said Mrs. Walsingham. “Give it, and hear Carsdale laugh at
+it. Do you think he’ll attach any importance to a message like that.
+You don’t know John Carsdale if you do.”
+
+“I didn’t want to hurt his feelings,” said Richard.
+
+“Don’t alarm yourself,” said Mrs. Walsingham. “Well, and so now, I
+suppose, you’ll be visiting Maida Vale again?”
+
+Richard felt himself blushing--why, he did not know.
+
+“Miss Leverton said I might call on Sunday,” he answered.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham laughed.
+
+“Really!” she said. “So Miss Frances is human after all. But, of
+course, she’s got Lizzie Bryce there to play propriety.”
+
+“Lizzie Bryce?” repeated Richard, vaguely. “Oh--is that the invalid
+lady?”
+
+“She’s not an invalid--she’s a cripple for life,” said Mrs. Walsingham.
+“She’s a protégée of Barclay Leverton’s, and a very clever young woman.
+They’re both clever women, those two. Mind they don’t eat you.”
+
+Richard looked at her doubtfully.
+
+“I never know when you’re serious and when you’re not,” he said. “I
+don’t think you like Miss Leverton.”
+
+“I don’t suppose it matters the value of a farthing whether I do or I
+don’t,” replied Mrs. Walsingham. “Frankly, I don’t, because she doesn’t
+like me. Now, her father and I were very good friends. He was a good
+sort, Barclay Leverton--perhaps rather too easy-going, but, I say, a
+good sort. His daughter cherishes what they call Advanced Ideas. She
+believes in women’s rights, and she’s clever--she’s a New Woman. I’m an
+Old Woman. I don’t know what women’s rights are and I’m not clever.”
+
+“That isn’t true,” said Richard, with candid emphasis. “I think you’re
+the cleverest woman I ever met.”
+
+“You’ve met such a lot, haven’t you?” retorted Mrs. Walsingham,
+teasingly. She threw her cigarette away, and coming over to one of the
+windows, looked out on the London twilight. “Well,” she said presently,
+in a low voice, “perhaps you’ll get Miss Leverton and Lizzie Bryce to
+look after you. I’m thinking of going away.”
+
+Richard looked up in genuine alarm. He suddenly realized that this
+woman filled a very large place in his small world; he suddenly
+remembered that since his arrival in London he had spent most of his
+time with her, that he had always found her amusing, interesting,
+enlivening; when he had just said that she was the cleverest woman he
+had ever met, he sincerely meant it, for she had always been ready and
+willing to give him advice on all sorts of matters, and her advice he
+had invariably proved to be good. Going away!--that would indeed leave
+a blank in his scheme of things which it would be hard to fill.
+
+“Going away!” he exclaimed. “Why--where are you going?”
+
+“I don’t know,” she said, indifferently. “Timbuctoo--the North
+Pole--the South Pole--anywhere. I’m--tired.”
+
+“Tired?” he said. “Of--London?”
+
+“Of London and Life,” she answered. “Why shouldn’t I be? You’re young,
+my friend, and all young people are dense.”
+
+“Oh, come now,” he said, interrupting her, “I’m no younger than you
+are, you know! You told me yourself the other day that, as a matter of
+fact, I’m older than you--you said you wouldn’t be twenty-one until
+September, and now it’s only June. I was twenty-one three months ago.”
+
+“A woman is always at least five years older than a man,” she answered.
+“I’m quite an old woman compared to you--you’re a mere child. And as I
+was saying, all young people are dense--they don’t, won’t, can’t see!”
+
+“What can’t I see?” asked Richard.
+
+“That I’m a little wearied of things,” she answered, still staring
+straight before her into the twilight. “What do I do, after all? I
+went in for business because I didn’t want to be idle, but I’m not
+particularly interested in going down to Abbotsbury House and sitting
+there for so many hours a day. No--I shall go.”
+
+“Where?” asked Richard, in tones that showed his concern. “Where?”
+
+“Perhaps I’ll go to America--to New York. Perhaps I’ll go to
+Australia,” she answered. “Perhaps I won’t. Perhaps I’ll go travelling
+and write a book about it when I come back.”
+
+“I don’t know why you want to go anywhere,” he said doggedly.
+
+“Perhaps. But you don’t understand,” she said. “I suppose the real
+reason is that I’m--lonely.”
+
+“Lonely!” exclaimed Richard. He got up from his chair, and went over to
+the window, and looked closely at her. “You don’t mean that?” he asked
+in a voice that trembled a little.
+
+“Oh, you’ve been very good,” she said. “I--I haven’t been lonely since
+you came. But--I was before, and I shall be again.”
+
+“Again?” he said. “Again?”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham lifted her eyes to his, gave him one look, and dropped
+them.
+
+“I can’t expect to monopolize you always,” she said, in a very low
+voice. “No--I really think I shall go away.”
+
+Richard unconsciously moved nearer to her. In that half-light she
+looked prettier than ever; all the grace and charm of her femininity
+suddenly appealed to him with overwhelming force; his blood suddenly
+seemed to catch fire and his pulses leapt.
+
+“Don’t!” he said, hoarsely. “Don’t go! I--I don’t want you to go. I--I
+shan’t let you go!”
+
+And letting all his natural instincts suddenly assert themselves, he
+threw his arms round her and drew her to him.
+
+“Stay!” he whispered. “Stay--and marry me! If you won’t--if you do go,
+you know I shall follow you.”
+
+She made a fluttering movement to escape from him, but the pressure
+of his arms tightened. He laughed a little--grown confident, although
+mightily surprised, in his own boldness.
+
+“There, you see, you can’t go,” he said. “I’m stronger than you--in
+more than one way. You shan’t go until you promise to stop. Promise!”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham suddenly grew afraid--she found her own pulses stirred,
+her own heart beating; something in her became responsive. She tried
+to move, and could not; she tried to speak, and could not. And the boy
+whom she thought a mere youngster, laughed confidently again.
+
+“Promise!” he repeated. “Promise you’ll stop--and that you’ll marry me.
+Promise--Sylvie!”
+
+He forced her face up to his until their eyes met. Hers dropped swiftly.
+
+“Yes!” she murmured.
+
+A moment later she broke away, to gaze at him with genuine amazement.
+
+“Is it--real?” she asked.
+
+Richard took her into his arms again with a laugh of triumph.
+
+“Of course it’s real!” he said. “Do you think I was going to let you
+go? You won’t go now.”
+
+She shook her head and again looked at him in silence. For perhaps the
+first time in her life, Mrs. Walsingham was genuinely surprised. And
+when Richard had gone, she sat for a long time, thinking, thinking....
+
+And just as midnight sounded from a neighbouring clock, came the
+cablegram from Nevada, and she tore it open with trembling fingers.
+Then she knew that the news she had heard in Soho Square was true.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+MR. CARSDALE’S CHAMBERS
+
+
+Mrs. Walsingham read her cablegram three times over; then she turned to
+her maid, whom she had bidden to wait, and who stood a little way off,
+watching her mistress with speculative eyes.
+
+“Sophie,” she said quietly, “ring up the Electherium Club, and ask if
+Mr. Carsdale is in the house. If he is, tell them to ask him to come to
+the telephone.”
+
+She sat waiting, folding and refolding the sheet of flimsy paper, until
+the maid came back.
+
+“Mr. Carsdale’s waiting,” she announced briefly.
+
+“Then get ready to go out with me,” said Mrs. Walsingham. “As soon as
+you’re ready run down and tell the porter to call a taxi. I’ll be with
+you in a few minutes.”
+
+The maid disappeared, and her mistress went into the small lobby in
+which the telephone was installed.
+
+“Is that you?” she asked.
+
+“This is me,” answered Mr. Carsdale, carelessly. “It is near bedtime.”
+
+“I want to see you--I must see you to-night.”
+
+“You mean this morning. Very well--shall I come round?”
+
+“No--I’ll come to you. I’m coming now. Will you go straight home?”
+
+“If it is really important. Is it?”
+
+“It is. Go home at once.”
+
+“All right,” said Mr. Carsdale. “Twenty minutes, then.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham hung up the receiver and passed into her bedroom. She
+fastened a mantilla-like veil about her head, got herself into a cloak
+that covered her smart gown, and, still holding the cablegram tightly
+in her hand, went downstairs. A taxi-cab stood at the door of the
+flats, and Sophie Guyner, hatted and cloaked, waited by it.
+
+“I’ve told the man where to go,” she said.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham made no remark. She got into the cab, and the maid
+followed her. The mistress preserved silence all the way to Jermyn
+Street, where Mr. Carsdale kept his bachelor state; the maid amused
+herself by looking out on the still busy streets. And as they pulled
+up near the back of St. James’s Church, another taxi-cab came from the
+opposite direction and stopped to allow Carsdale to alight from it. The
+three met on the pavement.
+
+“Hullo!” said Carsdale. “We arrive together. Come along.”
+
+He led the way into an adjacent house and up the stairs into his rooms.
+In what was obviously his dining and breakfast-room, he pointed the
+maid to an easy chair and to the evening newspapers which lay on a
+table at its side, and going to the sideboard, he poured out a glass of
+wine, and picked up a biscuit-box.
+
+“There, Sophie, you can amuse yourself with a drink and a biscuit,
+while your mistress and I talk business,” he said good-humouredly.
+“Come this way, Mrs. Walsingham.”
+
+He opened a door and led his visitor through one room into another--a
+small apartment evidently used as an office--and turned up the electric
+light.
+
+“May as well have as much space as possible between ourselves and
+Sophie’s sharp ears,” he said. “Now, what is it, Sylvie? Something, of
+course, of the deepest dye, at this hour of the night. Hullo!--you look
+a bit white and upset. Have a whiskey-and-soda?”
+
+“No!” she said. “Sit down, Jack. There’s a lot to say. I wanted to tell
+you to-night. Besides, I know you never go to bed before two. Listen--I
+went to Bigiano’s this evening to dinner--alone.”
+
+“Well?” said Mr. Carsdale.
+
+“And whom do you think I suddenly caught sight of?”
+
+“Heaven knows!”
+
+“Sandy Kinahan.”
+
+Mr. Carsdale’s eyebrows arched themselves almost to the roots of his
+hair, and his mouth opened.
+
+“Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “Back again!”
+
+“Yes. He was dining at a table nearly opposite mine,” continued Mrs.
+Walsingham. “Now I come to think of it, I expect he’d seen me and
+followed me. I recognized him at once, but I didn’t show any sign
+of it, and he didn’t show anything, either. Then I pencilled a line
+telling him to meet me in Soho Square, and he picked it off my table as
+he passed. And when we met, he told me straight out that--that--that
+he’s dead!”
+
+“He! Dead?” exclaimed Carsdale. “Dead?”
+
+“Dead! Shot in a fight, a brawl, at a place called Carville, in Nevada.”
+
+Carsdale stood staring at her for a full minute. Then he smote his
+hands together. “God, Sylvie!--if it’s only true!” he said.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham unclosed her right hand. In the palm, tightly
+compressed, lay the cablegram. She began to unfold it.
+
+“That’s what I said to--to Sandy. He told me to cable to the sheriff.
+I did, there and then, and prepaid a reply. Here it is--it came just
+before I telephoned to you at the Electherium.”
+
+Carsdale took the much-creased paper and read the message twice over.
+He nodded his head several times.
+
+“That seems right--that seems right--that seems all right!” he said.
+“Lord, what a blessing--what a blessing, Sylvie! But remember,” he
+suddenly added, “remember, you must have it verified--verified beyond
+all possible doubt. Because----”
+
+“Yes?” she said. “Yes, Jack?”
+
+“You’ll marry again,” he concluded. “You’re sure to marry again.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham looked at the door and lowered her voice, in spite of
+the fact that there was no possibility of any other person overhearing
+what she said.
+
+“That’s another matter I wanted to speak to you about at once,” she
+said. “Jack--the boy’s asked me to marry him.”
+
+Carsdale’s eyebrows again arched themselves.
+
+“Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “Seriously?”
+
+“Seriously,” she answered.
+
+“When?”
+
+“To-night,” she said. “I--I hadn’t the least notion that he would.
+But--he did.”
+
+“Well?” said Carsdale. “And--you?”
+
+“I said I--would. He--he made me say I would,” she answered. “I--I
+never thought he could be so--well, masterful.”
+
+“It strikes me that young Master Hopeful is finding his feet,” observed
+Carsdale. He dropped into a chair and surveyed his companion carefully
+and speculatively. “Well, I don’t know why you shouldn’t marry him,
+Sylvie,” he said presently; “you’re a clever woman, and you can, if
+you like, be a very decent woman, and play a straight game, and all
+that----”
+
+“I will--if I marry him,” she said, a little indignantly.
+
+“That’s all right--I said you could, and that’s as good as saying
+you would,” said Carsdale. “Um! Well, but this is a serious affair.
+There’ll be this Walsingham myth to settle up and explain--that
+can be done, yes, it can be done satisfactorily, I think, quite
+satisfactorily--but, I’ll tell you what, there’s always the danger
+of--Kinahan.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham regarded him anxiously.
+
+“You think he might be dangerous?” she said.
+
+“I think Sandy Kinahan is a man who might be inclined to indulge in
+blackmailing tactics,” replied Carsdale. “I must think. Now, where is
+Kinahan to be got hold of?”
+
+“I’m to meet him in Soho Square to-morrow--no, this evening,” said Mrs.
+Walsingham.
+
+“Well, I must have a talk to him. There’s one blessing about it,” he
+continued, “I’ve got a bit of a hold on that gentleman--not much, but
+sufficient. You must induce him to see me--tell him I’m going to do him
+good. Can you manage that?”
+
+“Leave that to me,” she answered.
+
+“Then you’d better bring him here,” said Carsdale. “I don’t want him
+going to Norfolk Street. Bring him here this evening--I’ll be in from
+eight until ten.”
+
+“I’ll bring him here at half-past eight,” she said. “I can manage him.
+From what I saw, I should say he’s looking out for somebody to do good
+to him. Now I’ll go.”
+
+She rose and moved towards the door, but seeing that Carsdale was in
+deep thought, she paused, and stood, waiting. He, too, presently rose,
+and looked at her as if he was trying to recollect something.
+
+“Yes?” she said. “What is it?”
+
+“I was trying to--recall a few things,” he answered. “Let’s
+see--Kinahan was the only man--beside myself--who ever knew, wasn’t he?”
+
+“Yes,” she replied. “No one else ever knew anything.”
+
+“Then there’s only Kinahan to settle with,” he said. “That makes it
+easier. To-morrow night, then. I think the two of us will be able to
+square him satisfactorily. Come along. I’ll see you safely to your cab.”
+
+In the outer room, Sophie Guyner had dropped asleep. Carsdale, as he
+entered, looked at her keenly, wondering if she was really dozing or
+only pretending to doze. He silently indicated her to her mistress;
+Mrs. Walsingham nodded reassuringly, seeing what was in his mind.
+
+“She’s had a long day,” she said. “Sophie!”
+
+But at that moment a loud knock at the outer door roused the sleeping
+woman and made Carsdale and Mrs. Walsingham start.
+
+“Now, who’s this?” growled Carsdale. “Some night-bird or other, I
+suppose, who thinks I’ll give him a drink. Stay there a moment.”
+
+He went out into his lobby, drawing the door of the room after him
+without shutting. Opening this outer door, he found himself confronted
+by a policeman in uniform, who drew back on seeing him.
+
+“Yes?” said Carsdale.
+
+“Beg pardon, sir--are these Mr. Carsdale’s rooms?” he said.
+
+Carsdale nodded curtly.
+
+“What is it?” he asked.
+
+“You’re Mr. Carsdale, sir? I’ve come on from Charing Cross Hospital.
+There’s a man been taken in who’s had a bad accident--motor-bus. They
+say there’s no chance for him--in fact,” added the policeman, “I was
+to say he was dying fast. He asked for you--had this address in a
+pocket-book. And I was to ask you, if you could, to bring a lady name
+Sylvia, or Sylvie, or some such----”
+
+Carsdale stopped him.
+
+“Come in,” he said. He led the way into the room, where Sophie, now
+wide awake, was staring at Mrs. Walsingham. And Mrs. Walsingham nodded
+at Carsdale as he and the policeman entered.
+
+“I heard,” she said. She turned to the policeman. “What is he
+like--this man?”
+
+“A tall, loose-built man, looks and speaks like an American, but with
+a bit of Irish accent in him,” answered the policeman. He turned to
+Carsdale. “You’d best come quick, sir--the doctors said he couldn’t
+last long. He said you were to get the lady if she was handy--if not,
+to come yourself. There was something he had to tell.”
+
+“This is the lady,” said Carsdale. “Come along at once.”
+
+“I’ve a taxi-cab outside,” said the policeman.
+
+Carsdale motioned them all outside the room, turned down the light, and
+followed them. They got half way to the hospital before he spoke. Then
+he turned to the officer.
+
+“How was it?” he asked. “Do you know?”
+
+“Picked him up,” answered the policeman, laconically. “Stepped straight
+off the curb into a motor-bus coming down the Haymarket.”
+
+Carsdale nodded and bent over to Mrs. Walsingham.
+
+“It’s Kinahan, of course,” he said. “And I’m wondering what he has to
+say.”
+
+At the hospital somebody put the two women into a reception-room, and
+bidding them wait, took Carsdale outside.
+
+“You’re too late,” said an official, coming forward. “The man’s dead.
+He died soon after the officer went off to you. Is he a relation of
+yours or of any friend of yours?”
+
+“No,” answered Carsdale, “but I can identify him.”
+
+“This way, then,” said the official.
+
+Ten minutes later Carsdale came back to the waiting-room and took Mrs.
+Walsingham aside into a quiet corner.
+
+“It was Kinahan,” he whispered. “He’s dead--I’ve seen him. He said
+nothing here--not a word. And now there isn’t a man living, Sylvie, who
+knows the secret but me, and you’re--safe!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+THE BOND STREET JEWELLER
+
+
+Richard Shrewsbury awoke next morning to suddenly remember two
+things--the first, that Captain Burgoyne was coming to breakfast; the
+second that he was engaged to be married.
+
+Now that the first excitement was over, he found himself not a little
+puzzled as to how the affairs of the previous evening had come
+about. He was well aware that he had come to be very fond of Sylvie
+Walsingham’s society, that she was the most important factor in his
+small world, that she had become, in a sense, necessary to him, that
+he liked and admired her, and was always well content when he was with
+her, that she always amused and interested him, and that she was just
+the sort of smart and pretty woman that he liked to be seen about with.
+And he was also very well aware that when he went to her that evening
+the idea of marrying her had never so much as entered his head. He felt
+equally sure, being as yet very innocent and unlearned in the ways of
+the world, that it had never entered hers.
+
+“I persuaded her,” he said to himself as he began to dress. “I expect
+it was one of those things that are bound to be. And after all----”
+
+He turned to a new photograph of Mrs. Walsingham, which he had put
+up on the mantelpiece of his bedroom only the day before, and Kedgin
+having gone out of the room, he took it down and looked carefully at
+it. Yes, there was no doubt that he would have one of the prettiest
+wives in London, and she would do credit to him, and to all the finery
+and luxury that he could give her, and he was very, very fond of her,
+and they had always got on like a house on fire, and ... and then
+he put the photograph back in its place and wondered vaguely why he
+had been very much attracted to Frances Leverton, and why there was
+something about her that had made him feel very down in the mouth when
+she dismissed him so curtly and very cock-a-whoop when, through the
+lame girl’s intercession, he had obtained permission to call at Acacia
+Mansions again.
+
+Now, he thought, that engagement would perhaps not be quite so
+important as it had seemed--he would have to devote himself to his
+fiancée more than ever; perhaps--he was well aware that there was
+no love lost between Mrs. Walsingham and Miss Leverton--perhaps she
+would not allow him to go to Acacia Mansions. At the notion of that he
+laughed, a little cynically, and proceeded to complete his toilet.
+
+Burgoyne came punctually to the moment of his appointment, alert,
+hungry, and bustling, and gave his surroundings an all-embracing and
+comprehensive stare.
+
+“You seem to have lodged yourself in magnificence, young gentleman,”
+he said, gazing at the pictures, the books, and the old china. “Who
+inducted you into all this grandeur?”
+
+“Carsdale--the man you saw yesterday,” replied Richard. “Carsdale is an
+awfully useful man to know.”
+
+“Evidently,” said Burgoyne, still looking round. “But you didn’t find
+all these things--the books and pictures and ornaments--here?”
+
+“No, they’re mine--I bought ’em,” answered Richard, gazing at his
+possessions with the pride of a child who owns valuable toys which it
+does not quite understand.
+
+“I congratulate you on your taste. And pray, who helped you to form
+it. Somebody who knows something about these things, I think,” said
+Burgoyne. “I don’t believe you brought an epicurean taste in bindings,
+a nice discernment in pictures, or an even superficial knowledge of old
+china from Trinidad, young man.”
+
+“No,” answered Richard, frankly. “I didn’t. I don’t know much about any
+of those things. Mrs. Walsingham helped me in that direction.”
+
+“Oh, Mrs. Walsingham, the lady I saw at Carsdale’s, eh?” said Burgoyne.
+“Then I congratulate her on her taste--I possess a little, a very
+little, myself--just enough, Master Richard, to know when I encounter
+people who have more. I think your friend, Mrs. Walsingham, must be
+very clever.”
+
+Richard glanced at the door of the room in which they were standing.
+In the next room Kedgin was moving about the breakfast table. Richard
+watched him until he disappeared to other regions.
+
+“Oh, ah, yes!” he said shortly. “Yes--I believe so. The--er--fact is,
+Burgoyne, I wanted to tell you--you’re the first to know, really--the
+fact is, Mrs. Walsingham and I are--er--engaged to be married.”
+
+Burgoyne, who had screwed an eye-glass into his right eye in order to
+examine a pair of exquisite water-colour sketches, turned and let it
+drop.
+
+“Oh!” he said. “You and Mrs. Walsingham are engaged to be married, eh,
+Dick? Ah! Really! Now do you know, when those sort of announcements
+are made to me, I never know how to reply to them? One is supposed to
+shower congratulations on the persons who make them--and that sort
+of thing. I never do. You see, I don’t know Mrs. Walsingham. I saw
+yesterday a very pretty and smartly-gowned lady--but I don’t know any
+more. The great thing, dear boy, is--are you satisfied?”
+
+“Quite!” answered Richard, emphatically. “Quite!”
+
+Burgoyne slapped his young friend’s shoulder and shook hands with him.
+
+“Then that’s all right, and I’ll be your best man,” he said. “That is,
+if you’ll have me. And here’s the welcome news of breakfast.”
+
+Over the breakfast table, the elder man occasionally stole a keen look
+at the youngster, as if he were endeavouring to penetrate through the
+air and atmosphere of cheery good-humour which hung all over Richard.
+He was wondering what had happened since the previous day to bring this
+engagement about; that it had not been then made he was quite certain,
+knowing well that Richard was not the sort of young man to keep secrets
+from his friends. But he observed that his host’s appetite was not only
+unimpaired, but healthy and vigorous, and from that fact he concluded
+that Richard’s mind was quite easy on all matters of whatever nature,
+and he accordingly dismissed his friend’s affairs from him, and began
+to think of his own.
+
+“And so Carsdale’s a smart business man, Dick?” he asked when they had
+settled down to breakfast and Kedgin had taken himself away. “A really
+clever man at his work, eh?”
+
+“Carsdale’s one of the cleverest men in London,” answered Richard, with
+deep assurance.
+
+“Is that his general reputation, or do you speak of your own opinion?”
+asked Burgoyne.
+
+“I can only tell what I know,” answered Richard. And he entered into
+a plain account of what Carsdale had done for him in the way of
+investing the major portion of his fortune, not forgetting to repeat
+the encomiums passed upon the transaction by the highly respectable
+bankers. But in detailing the magnitude and the soundness of this
+transaction, he forgot to mention that he had given Carsdale ten
+thousand pounds to play with, and Burgoyne was consequently impressed.
+
+“Well, that seems highly satisfactory,” said Burgoyne. “Carsdale may be
+of use to me. I want some man of his sort as a sort of medium. I meant,
+of course, to go to Leverton.”
+
+For a moment Richard’s thoughts turned to Frances Leverton. Here was a
+chance of introducing business to her. Carsdale, whether by intention
+or not, had taken away his, Richard’s, business from her; it would be
+doing her a good turn to get Burgoyne to give her a chance.
+
+“Miss Leverton is carrying on some part of her father’s business,” he
+said. “I don’t quite know what she does, but I think she advises people
+about investments, and----”
+
+“No!” said Burgoyne. “I wouldn’t employ a woman in business matters
+under any consideration. But I think Carsdale might do for what I want.”
+
+“What do you want?” asked Richard.
+
+“To form a company for developing the district which I’ve been
+exploring,” replied Burgoyne. “There’s an enormous trade to be done in
+that corner of the world. Oh, I’m going to do it, of course! I shall
+put a good deal of money into it myself, now that I’ve come into this
+rather unexpected wealth. You’d better come in with me, Dick. In two
+years any company formed on lines I propose, and with the capital I’m
+thinking of, will be getting twenty, aye, thirty per cent. on its
+money. There’s a veritable virgin gold mine there.”
+
+“Oh, I’ll come in,” said Richard. “That is, of course, if Carsdale
+approves. I’ve left everything in his hands, you see.”
+
+Burgoyne smiled.
+
+“I think Carsdale will see the possibilities when I talk to him,” he
+said. “I must make an appointment. For a few days I’m about filled up.”
+
+“Can you give me half an hour this morning?” asked Richard, a little
+shyly and diffidently. “Do, if you can, Burgoyne.”
+
+The explorer pulled out his watch.
+
+“I’m due at the Royal Geographical Society’s place at half-past
+eleven,” he said. “And it’s now half-past ten. What is it, Dick?”
+
+Richard laughed and looked somewhat shame-faced.
+
+“I--well, I suppose I’ve got to buy an engagement ring,” he said. “I
+thought perhaps you’d go with me to Levanter’s place in Bond Street.”
+
+“That’s on my way,” answered Burgoyne. “Levanter’s, eh? That’s a very
+swell establishment, isn’t it? Perhaps they could do something for
+me. I want to have my necklace valued--the expensive luxury which I
+redeemed yesterday, you know. I really don’t know what it’s worth, and
+I believe I shall sell it.”
+
+“Sell it to me!” said Richard, eagerly. “I’ll buy it.”
+
+Burgoyne gave the young gentleman a queer look. He was not precisely
+aware of the full amount of Richard’s fortune, and it seemed to him
+that the buying of diamond necklaces was not a thing to be lightly
+entered upon.
+
+“What would you do with it?” he asked, smiling.
+
+“Why give it to Sylvie, of course,” answered Richard.
+
+“A pretty name,” commented Burgoyne, and secretly wondered who Mrs.
+Walsingham had been. “Well, we’ll see, Dick. Of course, if you want to
+buy diamonds----”
+
+“All women love diamonds,” interjected Richard, with an air of wisdom.
+
+“True, my son,” said Burgoyne, gravely. “They do. And,” he added to
+himself, “they love young men who can afford to give them diamonds.
+Well,” he said aloud, “suppose we go round, then?”
+
+“But--your necklace?” said Richard.
+
+Burgoyne laughed, and tapped the breast of his buttoned-up coat.
+
+“I have it--here,” he answered. “Here, in a wash-leather bag. The fact
+is, I’ve never had it off me since I took possession of it again,
+yesterday. I--slept with it under my pillow. I’m not sure that I didn’t
+dream of it.”
+
+Closeted with the Bond Street jeweller, who already knew him very well
+as a good customer whose purchases so far had been chiefly for himself
+in the way of sleeve-links, scarf-pins, and such-like adjuncts to a
+rich young man’s personal adornments, Richard proved hard to please.
+
+He asked Burgoyne’s advice, he asked Mr. Levanter’s advice; he
+endeavoured to combine their ideas and their taste with his own.
+Finally he decided on a plain ring in which were set five stones of the
+purest quality. The price made Burgoyne jump, but Richard drew out his
+cheque-book, and paid the sum demanded without comment. He put the ring
+in his pocket, and rose with a sigh of relief.
+
+“Now it’s your turn,” he said, looking at Burgoyne.
+
+“And you’ve been so long at making up your mind that you’ve left me no
+time,” said Burgoyne. He drew out his wash-leather bag from an inner
+pocket of his vest, and handed it to the jeweller. “I want you to do
+something for me, Mr. Levanter,” he said. “In this bag, which, as you
+see, is sealed, you will find a diamond necklace which has been in my
+family for about a hundred years and is now my property. I’ve never had
+it properly valued, and I want to know what it is really worth. Look it
+over this morning. I can’t stay now, but I’ll come in before lunch.”
+
+Then he got Richard out, bidding him carry his newly-acquired bauble
+to his fiancée, and he himself hurried away to his appointment. He
+was kept by it longer than he had anticipated; then a fellow-explorer
+carried him off to lunch at the _Bristol_; it was not until the middle
+of the afternoon that he remembered the jeweller and the task he had
+entrusted to him. He went off to Bond Street, and entered the shop with
+a careless smile.
+
+“Well, Mr. Levanter?” he said.
+
+Mr. Levanter led him into the room in which Richard had inspected the
+rings, and unlocked a safe. He took out the wash-leather case and
+looked at Captain Burgoyne with a curious expression.
+
+“You meant me to value these as--as diamonds?” he said.
+
+“As diamonds? Why, of course!” answered Burgoyne. “Of course! Diamonds!”
+
+“Well, Captain,” said Mr. Levanter, drawing out the necklace, “I
+thought so. But these, sir, are not diamonds. These things are paste!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+BURGOYNE STARTS A NEW TRAIL
+
+
+On hearing the jeweller make this remarkable pronouncement, Burgoyne,
+who had been glancing around the room in a careless fashion, suddenly
+became very serious, and sitting down on a chair which happened to be
+placed immediately behind him, crossed his hands on the crook of his
+umbrella, and stared hard at the man who confronted him from the other
+side of the table.
+
+“I--perhaps I didn’t quite catch what you said, Mr. Levanter,” he
+remarked. “I am a little absent-minded, and sometimes think about one
+thing when I ought to be attending to another.”
+
+Mr. Levanter cleared his throat and laid a finger on the diamond
+necklace.
+
+“I said, Captain Burgoyne, that these are not diamonds,” he repeated.
+“They are paste.”
+
+Burgoyne nodded.
+
+“Paste, eh?” he said. “Paste! You are--certain?”
+
+The jeweller shrugged his shoulders and smiled. And Burgoyne suddenly
+remembered Mr. Levanter’s reputation.
+
+“Of course, of course!” he made haste to say. “Of course you will
+know. Dear me! But this is very extraordinary, Mr. Levanter--it is
+exceedingly extraordinary.”
+
+Mr. Levanter looked a polite inquiry.
+
+“You were quite under the impression that these were--genuine stones?”
+he suggested.
+
+Burgoyne indulged himself in a second of sardonic laughter.
+
+“I will tell you a little story, Mr. Levanter,” he said. “That
+necklace--which is believed, on the best evidence, to have belonged
+to the Empress Maria Louisa--has been in possession of my family for
+a good hundred years. I can testify that ever since I was a small boy
+it had never been out of the hands of my father or myself until three
+years ago, when I lost sight of it under circumstances which I will
+tell you of. But first let me tell you that, not long before his death,
+my father had that necklace valued--it was then said to be worth about
+ten thousand pounds.”
+
+Mr. Levanter tapped the necklace again.
+
+“If these had been real stones,” he said, “I should have valued this
+necklace at between eleven and twelve thousand pounds.”
+
+“Very good,” said Burgoyne. “Well, now, Mr. Levanter, I am perfectly
+certain, absolutely certain, that what I had put into my hands by my
+father on his death-bed was the necklace which had been valued at about
+ten thousand. And it never went out of my personal possession until,
+three years ago, I deposited it with an acquaintance as security for
+a loan of five thousand pounds. That acquaintance is now dead, but
+he took great pains to ensure that I should recover my necklace. And
+yesterday I paid his executors the amount of the loan and the accrued
+interest, and the necklace was then fetched from the bank in which it
+had been deposited. As I thought of selling it, I brought it to you for
+valuation. And--you tell me it is paste. No--what you really tell me,
+Mr. Levanter, is that that is not my necklace at all, but is--what?
+Surely, something that has been substituted for it!”
+
+The jeweller shook his head and, picking up the object which lay
+between them, looked at it narrowly and thoughtfully.
+
+“You thought, of course, that this was your necklace when you recovered
+possession of it yesterday?” he asked.
+
+“It seemed to me the exact article with which I parted three years
+ago,” answered Burgoyne.
+
+“The setting, now?” suggested the jeweller. “Do you recognize that? It
+is, you see, obviously old, of an old-fashioned pattern, a good deal
+worn, and somewhat discoloured. But of such a setting as this it would
+be quite easy to make an exact duplicate in a few days.”
+
+“I am not certain that what you now hold in your hands is the setting
+of my diamonds,” said Burgoyne.
+
+“Then the matter is plain,” said Mr. Levanter. “During the time that
+your necklace was in the hands of--of the acquaintance you referred
+to, it was taken out of his safe, and a very well and cleverly made
+imitation was substituted for it. That--er--acquaintance, now--was he
+quite honest, Captain Burgoyne?”
+
+“I believe he was perfectly honest,” replied Burgoyne. “I can’t bring
+myself to think that he would do what you suggest has been done.”
+
+“What certainly has been done,” said the jeweller. “But do you know
+what became of your necklace while it was in the hands of this
+acquaintance?”
+
+“Yes, I do. In my presence it was sealed up and deposited in his
+safe,” Burgoyne answered. “There it remained until his death, when, in
+consequence of written orders from him, his daughter and his solicitor
+removed it to the bank from which it was fetched yesterday morning. And
+to cut matters short--both solicitor and daughter are above suspicion.”
+
+“Quite so,” said Mr. Levanter. “Then I think one can come to only one
+conclusion: the substitution of the false for the real was done by some
+person who had access to your acquaintance’s safe--during his lifetime.”
+
+Burgoyne looked steadily at the jeweller for a moment as if taking in
+the full effect of his words, as if realizing all that they meant.
+
+“Ah!” he said at last. “Yes--I think you’re right. During his lifetime,
+eh? Yes--it must have been. During his lifetime, of course.”
+
+Mr. Levanter coughed discreetly behind his white fingers.
+
+“May I ask if this--er--acquaintance was a business man?” he said.
+
+“He was--a business man.”
+
+“Employing clerks--assistants?”
+
+“Yes--some.”
+
+Mr. Levanter nodded as if he wished to confirm his opinions to some
+person whom he saw in his mind’s eye.
+
+“He was a very foolish man, your deceased acquaintance, to keep such
+valuable property in an office safe,” he remarked.
+
+Burgoyne rose from his chair. He picked up the necklace and looked at
+the imitation stones half-carelessly.
+
+“Now that I think of things from the present standpoint,” he said, “I
+am afraid he was foolish. However, as there is nothing very valuable
+about the necklace now, I am going to ask you to lock it up in your
+safe, Mr. Levanter. Wrap it securely, and let us both affix our seals
+to the package--until it is wanted.”
+
+“You are going to track down your thief?” asked the jeweller as he
+produced materials for complying with Burgoyne’s request.
+
+“I am going to try,” answered Burgoyne. “Certainly, I am going to try.
+But until I give you permission, Mr. Levanter, not a word of this to a
+soul. I am going to see what a little quiet work will do.”
+
+He walked slowly along Bond Street when he emerged from Mr. Levanter’s
+shop, and was so much engrossed with his own thoughts that he failed
+to see a great many people who would fain have caught the famous
+traveller’s eye. And at the corner of Piccadilly he got into a taxi-cab
+and bade the driver go to Norfolk Street. He lounged back in the cab,
+his hat pulled over his eyes, and thought. And by the time he had come
+to Abbotsbury House he had tabulated his ideas in rough but fairly
+comprehensive fashion.
+
+  1. He was sure that what he had handed to Barclay Leverton was a
+       necklace of real diamonds.
+
+  2. He found it impossible to believe that Leverton would cheat him.
+
+  3. It was equally impossible to believe that either Mr. Winch or Miss
+       Leverton would cheat him.
+
+  4. It would be ridiculous to even wonder if the substitution of the
+       imitation for the genuine could have been made while the bank had
+       possession of the necklace.
+
+  5. The crime must have been committed at or engineered from
+       Leverton’s office.
+
+“And don’t I remember that they told me that Leverton had been ill and
+away from this office for some time before his death, and that the
+necklace was only removed on the very morning of his death?” he mused.
+“Ah, ah! I had need find out for myself what it is that goes on behind
+all the plate glass and polished mahogany! This may be a more tortuous
+and puzzling path than any I ever trod. However, here goes for the
+first footsteps. Let me see--I want Mr. John Carsdale. On business, of
+course--quite innocent business.”
+
+Mr. Carsdale was in--as events proved, Mr. Carsdale was partaking of a
+cup of afternoon tea in Mrs. Walsingham’s room, with Mrs. Walsingham
+and Mr. Shrewsbury. Richard dragged Burgoyne in without ceremony; he
+had taken to doing as he liked at Carsdale’s, and Griffkin adored him
+because he was generous in the matter of half-crowns. And hearing
+Burgoyne’s voice through the half-open door, he darted out and ushered
+him in as if he himself were lord and master.
+
+“But I came to see Mr. Carsdale on business,” said Burgoyne, accepting,
+nevertheless, a cup of the best China tea and a slice of cake at Mrs.
+Walsingham’s hands.
+
+“That’s all right,” said Richard. “Carsdale isn’t a conventional man
+of business. He can do business over a tea-pot. And if its about the
+company you’re thinking of getting up, Burgoyne, I’ve already given him
+a hint of it--I knew you wouldn’t mind.”
+
+Burgoyne glanced at Carsdale. Although his own doings in the world
+had been confined to his military duties and to his travels, he had
+cultivated whatever opportunities had ever been afforded him in respect
+to watching other men, and of deducing from their expression of lip
+or eye what their inner thought might be, and he now fancied that he
+detected on Carsdale’s face a certain suggestion of wariness. Therefore
+he himself assumed an air of almost careless indifference.
+
+“I don’t know what our young friend there may have told you,” he said,
+addressing Carsdale. “Something very _couleur de rose_, no doubt. But
+the fact is, that all I wanted to ask you at present is--supposing I do
+decide to go in for forming a company to develop my ventures in South
+America--may I consult you in the initial stages? I know nothing of
+company promoting, and I understand you do.”
+
+“Oh, with pleasure, with pleasure!” responded Carsdale. “Pray command
+me at any moment, Captain Burgoyne--I shall be only too pleased to give
+you the benefit of whatever experience I may have.”
+
+“And he has more experience than any man in London!” declared Richard,
+confidently. “Put the matter in Carsdale’s hands, and you’ll be all
+right, Burgoyne.”
+
+Burgoyne replied that he would certainly call on Mr. Carsdale when the
+matter was ripe, and would make an appointment with him. And presently
+he rose to go. Whereupon Richard said that he and Mrs. Walsingham
+were going up town in his motor, which was down below, and offered
+his friend a lift to anywhere in their direction. Burgoyne declined
+the lift, but went down to the street with them, and there took the
+opportunity of offering his congratulations to Mrs. Walsingham, upon
+whose hand he had already noticed the ring which Richard had bought
+that morning. Mrs. Walsingham received his polite sayings with becoming
+modesty; she seemed, however, at a loss for words wherewith to answer
+them, and her youthful cavalier cut in upon her confusion in his usual
+impetuous manner.
+
+“I say, Burgoyne!” he exclaimed. “What about those diamonds of yours?
+If you’ll sell them, I’ll buy them. Will you?”
+
+Burgoyne turned upon him slowly.
+
+“Oh!” he said. “Those diamonds, Dick? No--I’ve decided not to sell
+them, after all. Not even to you.”
+
+Richard manifested disappointment.
+
+“Oh, well!” he said. “Of course, they are family heirlooms, aren’t
+they? By the by, what were they valued at?”
+
+“You’re not a buyer, you know,” said Burgoyne, with a laugh. “Oh,
+well--I don’t mind telling you. My diamonds, Dick, are worth twelve
+thousand. But, as I said, I’m not going to sell them--just yet, anyway.
+So restrain your covetous soul.”
+
+Then he raised his hat to Mrs. Walsingham, who had stepped into the
+car, and went off towards the Strand, once more engrossed in thought.
+And presently he muttered to himself a certain question, which had been
+repeating itself in his brain for the last hour: “Who was it opened
+that safe when Leverton was ill--who--who?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+MRS. WALSINGHAM ADMITS
+
+
+Mrs. Walsingham had listened to the brief conversation between Burgoyne
+and Richard with an interest which she had taken care not to show. She
+had had an idea that Burgoyne was watching her while he talked, as if
+he had wanted to observe the effect of the conversation upon her; the
+same feeling had been upon her upstairs. And it had seemed to her that
+when Richard had first mentioned the diamonds, Burgoyne had given her a
+sharp glance, which she had pretended not to see.
+
+“And yet,” she thought, as the car got away from Norfolk Street, “it
+may have been all fancy, all nervousness, on my part. Didn’t I hear
+him say that his diamonds were worth twelve thousand? If he thinks
+that, then, of course, he hasn’t found out anything, and I dare say
+everything is all right--yet.”
+
+But Mrs. Walsingham was not the sort of woman to leave any concern of
+hers, however small, to chance, and she meant to know precisely where
+she was. Wherefore, later in the evening, when she and Richard were
+dining at a very fashionable restaurant to which they had taken a fancy
+because it was so exclusive as to be very quiet, she brought round the
+conversation to the events of the afternoon, intent on improving her
+knowledge.
+
+“What were those diamonds that you and Captain Burgoyne were talking
+about this afternoon, just before you got into the car?” she asked,
+with a good assumption of fairly interested indifference.
+
+“Oh!” answered Richard, who had already forgotten all about the
+diamonds. “Didn’t I tell you? Burgoyne has a diamond necklace which is
+believed to have been the property of--what was the name of Napoleon’s
+wife, or, at any rate, one of them?”
+
+“I don’t know,” answered Mrs. Walsingham. “I’m not good at the history
+of anything that doesn’t concern me.”
+
+“I remember, now,” continued Richard. “Maria Louisa. It’s been in the
+Burgoyne family over a hundred years--you’ve never heard of it, then?”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham favoured her fiancé with an upward glance of her
+beautiful eyes.
+
+“How should I have ever heard of it?” she asked. “I never saw Captain
+Burgoyne until he came to the office the other day.”
+
+“Oh, I thought, perhaps----” began Richard, and then he paused. It had
+been on the tip of his tongue to tell her that the famous necklace
+had lain in pawn in Leverton’s safe, within a yard or two of herself,
+for three years, but a sudden instinct stopped him as he reflected
+that no one but Burgoyne, Francis Leverton, Mr. Winch and himself knew
+of the transaction. “No, hang it!” he thought. “I mustn’t talk of
+Burgoyne’s private affairs. Oh, I fancied you might have heard of it,”
+he continued, aloud, “seeing that it’s a bit famous, you know. However,
+Burgoyne was talking of it this morning when he breakfasted with me,
+and he said he thought he’d sell it, and I offered to buy it--that’s
+all.”
+
+“He said it was valued at twelve thousand,” said Mrs. Walsingham. “What
+did you want to buy a diamond necklace worth that for?”
+
+“To give to you, of course,” answered Richard. “Every man gives his
+wife diamonds.”
+
+“Every man does nothing of the sort. You must not think of such a
+thing, Richard,” said Mrs. Walsingham with a fine air of wifely
+protection. “I should be miserable if I thought that you believed me to
+be that sort of woman who is perpetually expecting gifts of that sort.
+Do be a sensible boy!--I suppose that if Burgoyne had been willing to
+sell, you’d have written a cheque for twelve thousand there and then?”
+
+Richard laughed. At that time, what with his knowledge of his
+investments, his prospects, and his boundless faith in Carsdale, twelve
+thousand pounds seemed a mere bagatelle to expend on the woman one was
+going to marry.
+
+“I suppose I should!” he said.
+
+“How foolish--and how thoughtless!” exclaimed Mrs. Walsingham. “Pray,
+what do either you or Burgoyne know about the value of such things? I’m
+sure you, at any rate, couldn’t tell whether a stone such as this, for
+instance, is worth five pounds or five hundred pounds.”
+
+“No,” said Richard, “I couldn’t. But,” he added, with a smile of
+great wisdom, “jewellers can, being experts. Burgoyne took his
+necklace to Levanter’s this morning, just to have it valued. You know
+Levanter’s?--I should think they know the worth of diamonds!”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham, who was just then eating an ice, and qualifying its
+coldness with her own pet liqueur, received with seeming indifference
+the highly important information which she had been angling for.
+
+“Oh!” she said. “So Levanter valued it at twelve thousand, did he? Of
+course he would know. But promise me, Richard”--here she took advantage
+of the fact that they were quite alone in a nook-and-corner to lay a
+hand on Richard’s and to give his a slight pressure--“promise me that
+you’ll never, never, never buy these or any other diamonds without
+consulting me? You see, I know how impetuous you are, and there are so
+many dishonest people about.”
+
+Richard felt touched at this kindly desire to shield him.
+
+“All right, Sylvie,” he said. “Of course, I won’t. I know you know a
+lot more than I do. Though it would have been all right buying these
+things from Burgoyne on Levanter’s valuation, wouldn’t it?”
+
+“Oh, of course!” replied Mrs. Walsingham, sweetly. “But you are not to
+buy them--on Levanter’s valuation or anybody else’s.”
+
+Levanter’s valuation! That was what puzzled her. When she was alone
+that night she sat down to think things out. Like all people who live
+by their wits, she was more or less of an adept at presenting matters
+to herself, as well as to others, in a clear and lucid fashion, and
+it did not take her long to sum up the present position of affairs.
+And when the summing up was done, Mrs. Walsingham’s pretty face was
+puckered with lines which indicated that she was puzzled and doubtful.
+She knew that she ought not to allow her face to be puckered, that
+she ought not to frown, that, whatever happened, she ought to keep on
+smiling, since smiles are conducive to a youthful appearance and frowns
+are not. But the situation was embarrassing, even if it was not awkward.
+
+This was how Mrs. Walsingham summed it up. There was now no doubt in
+her mind that Burgoyne had redeemed his pledge from Frances Leverton
+and Mr. Septimus Winch acting as executors of Barclay Leverton. He had
+taken what they handed to him as being the real necklace which he had
+deposited with Leverton. And what he had been so handed he had that
+very morning--according to Richard--shown to Levanter, and Levanter
+had valued it at twelve thousand pounds.
+
+This was what puzzled Mrs. Walsingham more than anything had ever
+puzzled her in her life--that Levanter should put such a value on
+something which she knew only too well was worth--well, never mind
+what. And she had smoked several cigarettes before she came to the
+conclusion that Levanter had never really examined the necklace. She
+reconstructed the scene for herself. Burgoyne had probably had the
+necklace on him; he had pulled it out, shown it to the jeweller, and
+asked, in an off-hand way, what such an article should be worth. And
+Levanter, not examining it over carefully or critically, perhaps not
+even handling it, but forming a rough idea from long experience, had
+answered that it should be worth about twelve thousand--and Burgoyne
+had put his property in his pocket again. That was it, that must be
+it!--there could be no other explanation.
+
+But--that did not answer the question which she was putting to
+herself, had been putting to herself ever since she had found out that
+what passed for the genuine necklace was undoubtedly in Burgoyne’s
+possession. That question was a plain one. It was an unmistakably plain
+question. And it was packed easily into five simple words--
+
+“How long am I safe?”
+
+She went on reckoning up all the pros and cons of the case as she sat
+there, long after midnight, smoking. The whole place was very quiet,
+for Sophie Guyner had gone to bed, and there was not even the ticking
+of a clock to disturb her. But she thought so intently that she never
+noticed whether the quietness was deep or not; she would have thought
+matters out in the crowded streets of the City.
+
+How long was she safe? Burgoyne might change his mind--he might decide
+to sell the necklace. The purchaser-in-prospect would certainly have
+the valuable article valued on which he was to lay out so much; then
+would follow inevitable inquiry--not as to everything, but as to so
+much of everything as would certainly lead to unpleasant investigations
+into the character, history and antecedents of everybody who had been
+in connection with Barclay Leverton during the past three years. And,
+as one of the people who had been very closely connected with the top
+floor of Abbotsbury House, but much more as the prospective bride of a
+young man who was worth three hundred thousand pounds, Mrs. Walsingham
+had no desire for inquiries or investigations of any sort, and she knew
+quite well that Mr. John Carsdale would share her feelings.
+
+She threw away her last cigarette as she thought of Carsdale. And her
+puzzled countenance suddenly cleared as she began to make ready for her
+night’s rest.
+
+“I may as well make a clean breast of it to Jack,” she thought. “After
+all, two heads are better than one.”
+
+Then she slept like an innocent child--and in the morning awoke
+refreshed and ready for the fray. And beginning to exercise her
+generalship at once, she telephoned to Richard, and told him that
+he was on no account to present himself at Abbotsbury House before
+five o’clock that day: she had arrears of work, she said, which had
+accumulated through his habit of dropping in at any hour he chose to,
+and they must be cleared off. She spoke imperatively, and Richard
+promised to obey; she was just as imperative later on, at the office,
+when, at noon, Miss Rousby and Griffkin being out, taking much needed
+refreshment at neighbouring places of popular resort, she informed
+Carsdale that she wanted to have a talk to him.
+
+Carsdale knew from experience that a certain tone in Mrs. Walsingham’s
+voice, a certain look in her eye, meant that she wanted to have his
+most serious advice on some equally serious matter. He followed her
+into her room, and took a chair at her desk.
+
+“There’s nobody can interrupt,” said Mrs. Walsingham. “The girl and
+the boy are out, and I’ve put up the notice at the door. Jack--I’m in
+a devil of a mess! It may spoil all--for both of us. So each of us has
+just got to think pretty hard.”
+
+Carsdale lighted a cigar--it was his way of showing that he was all
+attention. And Mrs. Walsingham proceeded.
+
+“You remember when Captain Burgoyne first came here the other day?” she
+asked.
+
+“Of course,” replied Carsdale.
+
+“But you didn’t know why he came?”
+
+“Came to see Leverton--who happened to be dead.”
+
+“He came to redeem something on which Leverton had advanced him some
+money,” said Mrs. Walsingham. “It wasn’t here, of course. Frances and
+old Winch took it away the day of Leverton’s death.”
+
+“What was it?” asked Carsdale, still only mildly curious. “Anything
+good?”
+
+“It was a diamond necklace, worth about eleven or twelve thousand
+pounds,” replied Mrs. Walsingham.
+
+Carsdale stared.
+
+“Great Scott!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know that Leverton ever did
+anything of that sort. How did you come to hear of it?”
+
+“Found it out,” answered Mrs. Walsingham. “He lent Burgoyne five
+thousand pounds towards the expenses of his expedition and held the
+diamond necklace as security. Burgoyne came to pay principal and
+interest the other day, and as Leverton was dead, of course, he had to
+go to Winch’s.”
+
+“I remember--I remember!” said Carsdale. “Yes--of course, I didn’t know
+why he came here. Oh, yes, to be sure, Shrewsbury went over there to
+Winch’s with him.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham gave her _vis-à-vis_ a keen look.
+
+“That, of course, is how I have been able to supplement what
+information I already had,” she observed; “the boy and Burgoyne are
+friends.”
+
+“Just so,” said Carsdale. “Yes? Well--I suppose Burgoyne paid his money
+and took his security. Yes?”
+
+“He paid the five thousand pounds and the interest on it for three
+years,” replied Mrs. Walsingham. “And they handed over to him what
+they and he believed to be the diamond necklace which he had given to
+Leverton.”
+
+Carsdale suddenly started and faced sharply round.
+
+“Believed!” he exclaimed. “Then--it wasn’t?”
+
+“It wasn’t,” said Mrs. Walsingham.
+
+“Then where--where is the real one?” demanded Carsdale.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham bent over the desk and sank her voice to a whisper.
+
+“I’ve got it!” she answered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+CONSPIRATORS
+
+
+Carsdale was not often surprised, but he was so much surprised by Mrs.
+Walsingham’s frank admission that he dropped his cigar. And when he had
+picked it up and again confronted her, his eyes were still wide with
+astonishment.
+
+“You’ve got it?” he exclaimed. “You?”
+
+“I!” answered Mrs. Walsingham, calmly. “I!”
+
+Carsdale took a few pulls at his cigar, regained his composure, and lay
+back in his chair.
+
+“Oh!” he said at last. “Very well. Now, as we’re quite free from
+interruption, you’d better tell me all about it. Of course, Sylvie,
+you--stole it?”
+
+“I took it from Mr. Leverton’s safe--certainly,” she answered. “It
+wasn’t difficult to do that. What wasn’t easy was to get a duplicate
+made--a duplicate of such good workmanship as to the setting, and such
+fine paste as to the stones, as to be a perfect facsimile.”
+
+Carsdale slapped his knee.
+
+“A facsimile--a duplicate?” he said. “I see--I see! Then--it is the
+duplicate which Burgoyne carried away from Winch’s?”
+
+“Precisely,” she answered.
+
+“You substituted the imitation for the original in Leverton’s safe,
+then?” said Carsdale, with a nod at the wall. “That was clever. Ah! And
+the duplicate----”
+
+“Was so good that nobody could have seen any difference between it and
+the real thing,” said Mrs. Walsingham. “But you know, Jack, all these
+things come to light in the end, and the first time Burgoyne has that
+duplicate examined by an expert, or even by a good jeweller, he’ll find
+out he’s been cheated.”
+
+“Well?” said Carsdale. “Well? I knew that, of course.”
+
+“And he won’t suspect Leverton,” continued Mrs. Walsingham, “and he
+won’t suspect Frances, nor Winch, and, of course, he won’t suspect the
+bankers. He’ll suspect--you and me!”
+
+“Good God!” exclaimed Carsdale. “Why us?”
+
+“Because we had free access to Leverton’s room, there, during his
+illness--and at other times,” replied Mrs. Walsingham.
+
+Carsdale nodded his agreement of this view.
+
+“Yes,” he said, after due deliberation. “Yes, I suppose he will. And
+then----”
+
+“And then he’ll begin inquiring and investigating, and no doubt setting
+private agents to work,” continued Mrs. Walsingham, “and a good deal
+might, or, rather, would be found out that----”
+
+“Yes, yes!” interrupted Carsdale, impatiently. “Cut all that out--I
+know it by heart. Well, Sylvie?” Mrs. Walsingham looked at him fixedly.
+
+“Well?” she said. “Well, then it wouldn’t be well! It would be all up
+with my engagement to the boy, and he’d take all his business out of
+your hands, and----”
+
+“And it seems to me you’ve gone a good way to land both of us in a nice
+mess!” he broke in, half-angrily. “Why did you do it? It was--theft!”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham’s lip curled.
+
+“Oh, don’t let’s get to fine distinctions,” she said scornfully. “There
+are all sorts of ways of thieving--you know the delicately polite
+ones. I took it because--I wanted it.”
+
+Carsdale growled inarticulately and began to look sullen.
+
+“Where is the damned thing?” he asked. “Sold, I suppose?”
+
+“Pawned,” answered Mrs. Walsingham.
+
+“How much?” he asked.
+
+“A thousand,” she said. “It’s a private arrangement, and the thing’s
+safe. Never mind that--I want us to use our brains.”
+
+“In what way?” asked Carsdale, gazing at her sulkily. “The thing’s
+done.”
+
+“No!” she said. “It’s beginning. The great thing is to prevent any
+scandal arising. Now, listen, Jack. It’s evident that Burgoyne believes
+himself to be in possession of the real thing. He isn’t. How would
+it be to put him in possession of it--I mean the absolutely, real
+thing--before his suspicions are aroused?”
+
+Carsdale’s ears pricked at the suggestion of intrigue and craft. He sat
+up in his chair and threw away his cigar.
+
+“How?” he asked, with newly-awakened interest.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham picked up a sheet of paper from her desk and began to
+tear it into strips--a sure sign in her, as Carsdale knew, that she
+was devising plans. He let her take her time, and meanwhile made some
+mental reflections of his own on her revelations, which had taken him
+not a little aback.
+
+“Well,” she said, at last, having torn two or three sheets of
+note-paper into ribbons. “There are ways. I could, for instance, redeem
+the necklace----”
+
+“Naturally, if you’ve got the money,” said Carsdale. “That’s an
+important detail, Sylvie.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham gave him a glance which was intended to warn him not
+to interpolate irrelevant remarks, and went on.
+
+“I could, I say, redeem the thing and send it to him in such a fashion
+that he would never know where it came from,” she continued. “But that
+would never do, because we’re not concerned with making restitution,
+and, so far, he doesn’t know that he hasn’t got the real necklace. What
+I want to do is put the real necklace back into his possession before
+he even finds out that it’s ever been--stolen. Do you see that--do you
+understand it?”
+
+“Perfectly,” answered Carsdale. “This is the position. The
+gentleman--we’ll call him B--doesn’t know that he has been robbed. C,
+who has robbed him, doesn’t want him to know. Therefore C designs to
+restore to him that of which he has been robbed before he discovers his
+loss. That’s it, eh?”
+
+“You’ve got it,” said Mrs. Walsingham.
+
+Carsdale lighted another cigar.
+
+“Unfortunately,” he said, dryly, “unfortunately, there’s a serious
+feature of the case. The gentleman believes himself to be in actual,
+material, bodily possession of the very article which has been
+abstracted. In plain English, Sylvie, Burgoyne thinks he’s got the
+necklace. How’re you going to get over that, eh?”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham laughed gently.
+
+“That’s my great plan, Jack,” she said. “By--substitution.”
+
+“Substitution?” he said. “You mean----”
+
+“I mean by substituting the necklace which I have for the one he has,”
+replied Mrs. Walsingham. “Giving him the real in exchange for the
+false, don’t you see?”
+
+Mr. Carsdale did see, and he nodded his head admiringly.
+
+“That’s a clever notion, Sylvie,” he said, “and you’re a clever woman
+for hitting on it. And--a mere detail--how are you going to put it into
+execution?”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham again began to tear up sheets of paper. And, when she
+next spoke, she bent her eyes over her task instead of looking at her
+companion. “Haven’t you got some hold over that man, Kedgin, Richard’s
+valet?” she asked, a little diffidently.
+
+Carsdale laughed--and there was something in his laugh, which she did
+not like. “Well?” he asked.
+
+“Burgoyne is taking up his quarters with Richard for a few weeks,” she
+went on, still busied with her task. “Kedgin will valet him.”
+
+“According to what Richard says, Burgoyne always carries that necklace
+in his pocket,” Mrs. Walsingham continued, “so that I thought that
+if----”
+
+Carsdale laughed again.
+
+“Let me finish your sentence for you,” he said. “You thought that as I
+have a hold on Kedgin I could get him to substitute the true necklace
+for the false one. Good, Sylvie--but it won’t do. And for a very simple
+reason--it is quite true that I have a hold on Mr. William Kedgin, as
+you say. But I don’t propose to give Mr. Kedgin a hold on me.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham looked up and threw away her scraps of paper.
+
+“Very well,” she said. “Then I must do it myself.”
+
+Carsdale nodded approvingly.
+
+“Better, much better, Sylvie!” he said. “But--how?”
+
+“I haven’t quite thought that out yet,” she answered. “But I shall. It
+can be done. It’s got to be done--and done soon.”
+
+Carsdale got slowly out of his chair and began to stride about the
+room, puffing out clouds of cigar-smoke.
+
+“I’ll tell you what,” he said, after a period of thought. “An idea
+occurs to me. Didn’t Shrewsbury say something about giving a dinner to
+Burgoyne, and asking you and me to meet him? Yes--well, get him to give
+it at his rooms--you can persuade him to anything--tell him we shall
+be more comfortable--no, tell him you’ve taken a fancy to dine there.
+He’s floods of wine, and he can have the dinner sent in. That’s point
+one--d’you see?”
+
+“I see,” she answered.
+
+“Very well. Point two,” continued Carsdale. “We dine. Over the wine
+and walnuts, or their modern equivalents, we lead the conversation to
+diamonds, and you express a wish to see the famous necklace which once
+encircled the throat of--never mind who she was--Marie Antoinette?--oh,
+Maria Louisa. Very good--Burgoyne cannot refuse a lady. The necklace is
+produced and handed round--eventually it comes into my hands, Sylvie.
+Do you remember that I used to amuse myself with conjuring tricks?”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham’s eyes suddenly brightened. She nodded eagerly.
+
+“Yes--yes!” she answered. “I do!”
+
+“Well--I’m still good enough to do a few good tricks at children’s
+parties,” said Carsdale, laughing. “Now, listen. The imitation
+necklace, I say, comes into my hands. You have already provided me with
+the real one. Hey presto!--the thing is done! I change one for the
+other.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham rose.
+
+“That seems the plan of campaign, Jack,” she said. “Very good. I’m
+going to redeem the real thing now, and then I’ll set to work on the
+dinner business--there’ll be no difficulty about that.”
+
+“You’ve got the money?” asked Carsdale. “If not--”
+
+“Thanks, but I have,” she said, tapping her handbag. “And it’s my own,
+too. I only pawned it for a thousand--to keep it safe.”
+
+“I’m not yet quite sure why you--annexed it!” said Carsdale.
+
+“For a reserve fund--in case anything ever happened,” she answered,
+looking steadily at him. “I figured the whole thing out, and I saw that
+I stood to win. Burgoyne might never have come back, you see.”
+
+“Yes,” said Carsdale. “Yes, of course. It was a good, sporting
+chance.” He leaned his arms over the top of the desk and smiled at her
+whimsically. “I’ve a notion,” he said. “If Burgoyne would have sold,
+why not have let Shrewsbury buy the imitation necklace as the real one?
+Then you have ’em both in your possession, and you destroy the false
+and keep the genuine--and diamonds don’t lose much value, you know.”
+
+“Yes, but Burgoyne won’t sell,” she answered. “I’d had some idea like
+that. At first he thought he would sell, and then, yesterday afternoon,
+he said definitely, in my presence, that he wouldn’t. But that would
+have been a good plan. The great thing is to so arrange matters that he
+never knows--the truth.”
+
+“Ye-es,” agreed Carsdale. “Ye-es, that’s so. I should say, from the
+looks of him, that if that chap were set on a trail he’d keep his nose
+to earth until he’d run something down. Better get on with everything
+as quickly as possible, Sylvie--especially the dinner. And--leave the
+conjuring to me.”
+
+So Mrs. Walsingham went out, and it being lunch time, she ate and
+drank with a relieved mind. She had been seriously concerned when she
+thought of what might--nay, would!--happen if Ralph Burgoyne discovered
+the truth; now, knowing Carsdale’s powers, resource and coolness in
+emergencies, she felt that the gods were fighting for her. It would
+be no difficult matter for a sharp man like Carsdale to substitute one
+necklace for the other: he would do it easily. And that done, no one
+would ever know of what she had done, and she would marry Richard and
+his money--and be safe.
+
+She went off after she had lunched, and redeemed the precious necklace,
+and she carried it back to Abbotsbury House in her handbag, and
+there--Carsdale being out--locked it up in a secret drawer until she
+went home. After which, she condescended to business for the rest of
+the afternoon.
+
+But at five o’clock Richard came in, and she saw at once, from a mere
+look at his face, that he had something to tell her.
+
+“I say, Sylvie!” he exclaimed. “I lunched with Burgoyne--he came for
+me to the club. And, I say, he says that he’ll sell me that necklace,
+after all--it’s a white elephant to him. And he swears that he won’t
+take more than ten thousand for it. I told him I wouldn’t do anything
+without consulting you, so he gave it to me to show you. Here it
+is!--and you must let me give it to you, Sylvie--you must!” And he
+placed on the blotter-pad before her the counterfeit of the real thing
+which lay in security only a few feet away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+A STUDENT OF PROBLEMS
+
+
+When Burgoyne left Mrs. Walsingham and Richard Shrewsbury at the door
+of Abbotsbury House and went off asking himself the ever-recurring
+question as to the opening of the safe, he was also conscious that
+another very unpleasant impression was rapidly forcing itself to an
+absolute conviction in his mind--namely, that Richard was in the hands
+of unscrupulous people. Long habit had helped Burgoyne to sum up
+character quickly; he was well aware that he had not been favourably
+impressed by either Carsdale or Mrs. Walsingham; what he had seen of
+them that afternoon had not impressed him any more favourably. He had
+been quick to observe a certain wariness in Carsdale’s manner towards
+himself; a certain watchfulness in Mrs. Walsingham’s beautiful eyes:
+each, in some strange and subtle fashion, seemed to suggest, more than
+to show, a certain suspicion of him, as if they secretly wondered what
+he was after. The more he thought over the signs, circumstances, facts,
+the less he liked their look; he had privately thought his young friend
+from Trinidad a fool for becoming engaged to a woman of whom it was
+impossible he could know much; now he became seriously alarmed about
+him.
+
+“I’m afraid my diamond necklace is a mere detail, a paltry incident,”
+he thought, as he strolled westward along the crowded Strand. “If those
+people really have had a hand in cheating me out of it, they’re quite
+capable of helping themselves pretty freely to Master Dick’s money.
+The woman can do it by settlements, and presents, and heaven knows
+what, and all in a legal way; the man seems as astute a person as I’ve
+seen in my time. And the question as usual, is--what to do?”
+
+Burgoyne began to cast about in his mind for some answer to this
+question. And looking in one direction after another, and turning up
+one path only to retrace his steps and take a second, he suddenly
+thought of a name, and at the thought threw up his head with an
+involuntary exclamation thereby arousing the wonder of sundry
+approaching pedestrians who had been attracted by his bronzed face and
+keen eyes.
+
+“By Jove!” he said. “Gavin Blair!”
+
+Then, as he shouldered his way along, a little more quickly, he
+muttered: “The very man--if I can lay hands on him.”
+
+At the thought of Gavin Blair, Burgoyne’s mind turned a long way back.
+He remembered days at Sandhurst, when he and Blair were boys together;
+he remembered after-days at Aldershot, and at various more or less
+dismal garrison towns in England and Ireland, when they were subalterns
+in the same foot regiment; he remembered certain foreign stations, and
+at any rate, one little experience of active service in which Blair had
+lost his left arm, and thereby got his dismissal from all soldiering
+for ever. But more than these things, he remembered Blair’s peculiar
+bent from his earliest years. Although he was a keen and hard working
+soldier, he had many other interests--he had always shown a great taste
+for literature, for art, and for music. And when he had been obliged to
+leave the Army, he had turned to what had been his hobbies as subjects
+for the serious business of life, and before Burgoyne had left England
+on his last expedition, had become widely known as the author of two
+or three remarkable novels in which psychology played a considerable
+part, and as an art critic of no mean order.
+
+But beyond his creative and critical faculties, Blair possessed another
+which just then appealed to Burgoyne with particular force. He had
+always taken a delight in working out curious and intricate problems,
+and on more than one occasion had achieved results so surprisingly true
+and accurate, that Burgoyne had put his ability down to some remarkable
+hereditary gift not unconnected with his Gaelic ancestry. Amongst his
+friends Blair had made a reputation for seeing to the bottom of things
+with amazing clearness and speed; difficult problems which puzzled
+really clever heads were solved by him with a sureness that was almost
+uncanny. And Burgoyne remembered his name with a great sense of relief.
+Gavin Blair was the very man he wanted.
+
+Turning a little aside from the throng, Burgoyne took out a much-worn
+pocket-book, and found a page on which the pencilled memoranda had
+grown almost illegible. But he was able to make out Blair’s address,
+and he drew out his watch.
+
+“Half-past five,” he murmured. “I’ll drive down there on the chance.”
+
+Blair lived--or had lived when the address which Burgoyne had just
+consulted was written--in a palatial building, given up to flats,
+which overlooked the Thames from the excellent vantage point of the
+Chelsea Embankment. Burgoyne, entering the hall of this building from
+his taxi-cab, was greatly relieved to see his old friend’s name still
+showing on the list of tenants; he was still more relieved when, on
+knocking at Blair’s outer door, it was opened almost immediately, by
+Blair himself--a tall, athletic-looking man, grizzled of hair and
+moustache, who, but for the empty sleeve pinned up to his tweed jacket,
+would have been taken for one who was continually engaged in something
+that required physical exertion. He stretched out a big hand, looking
+steadily at his visitor out of steel-blue eyes.
+
+“Come in, Burgoyne,” he said quietly. “I was expecting you.”
+
+Burgoyne gripped the big hand and followed its owner across an entrance
+hall into a wide spaced room overlooking the river--a room which seemed
+to be full of books and pictures and papers, and of a grand piano in a
+wonderful case, and yet communicated an idea of airiness and breadth.
+He dropped into the chair which Blair drew forward and looked at his
+old friend with a certain curious questioning in his eyes.
+
+“You were expecting me!” he said. “Do you mean--now?”
+
+“Now,” replied Blair. “It is not five minutes since, writing at that
+desk, I suddenly said to myself, ‘Ralph Burgoyne is coming here--he
+is almost here.’ So I put the writing aside. Have a drink--and help
+yourself to what you want in the way of tobacco.”
+
+Burgoyne picked a cigarette out of a box and lighted it thoughtfully.
+
+“So the old instinct, or power, or whatever it is, is still there?”
+he said. “But I supposed it would be. And that’s why I came down just
+now. Of course, I was coming to find you as soon as I could. I’ve a lot
+to do, as you’ll readily understand. But I want your advice. I’ve a
+difficult problem before me, and I believe you’re the one man in London
+who can help to a proper solution of it. Do you mind if I tell you
+about it--now.”
+
+Blair filled a big briarwood pipe out of a curious old tobacco jar, and
+sat down in an easy chair in front of Burgoyne.
+
+“Now, go ahead,” he said. “And don’t forget to begin at the very
+beginning, and to tell everything, and don’t hurry--my time is my own.”
+
+“Thanks,” said Burgoyne. “Very well, then--to begin at the
+beginning....”
+
+Blair had smoked three pipes and the evening was drawing on by the
+time Burgoyne made an end of his story. He told it as clearly, yet as
+fully, as he could, from the time of his negotiations with Barclay
+Leverton to that afternoon; he told of how he had come to know young
+Richard Shrewsbury; he reiterated his belief in Barclay Leverton and
+in his daughter, and in Mr. Winch; he expressed his curious suspicions
+of Carsdale and of Mrs. Walsingham. And Blair listened quietly and
+steadily, rarely interrupting except to ask a question on some point of
+fact.
+
+“And that’s all,” said Burgoyne, at last. “Now you know everything.
+Tell me what you think when you’re ready to tell.”
+
+Blair took his big pipe out of his mouth and blew a spiral of smoke
+towards the ceiling.
+
+“I can tell you something of what I think now,” he said. “I think your
+necklace is going to be a means of salvation for that youngster.”
+
+Burgoyne gave his friend a puzzled look.
+
+“Yes?” he said. “I should be glad to think that anything of mine would
+do him good. But--how?”
+
+“Because I have not the slightest doubt in the world that she is the
+guilty party,” answered Blair. “The man--Carsdale--may be in it, but I
+should say not. Now, if you can establish the woman’s guilt, establish
+it so completely that there can be no doubt about it, there will be
+no marriage. No lad of that sort, however chivalrous he may be, and
+however impressionable, will marry a thief.”
+
+“Well,” said Burgoyne hesitatingly, “--ye-es--I see that.
+But--supposing there is a hasty marriage?”
+
+“There won’t be a hasty marriage, in all probability, so long as her
+suspicions are not aroused,” answered Blair. “Wherefore, it behoves you
+to move with great caution. Alarm her, and you’ll have the boy rushing
+off to Doctors’ Commons for a special licence. Go slow, Burgoyne. But
+I think you need not fear a hasty marriage, on other grounds. She will
+want settlements, and so on. You have time.”
+
+“But what’s to be done?” asked Burgoyne. “I don’t want publicity. I’m
+not going to call in police and detectives and all that sort of thing.”
+
+“By no means,” said Blair. “I don’t think there’s any need: I think
+you can do much yourself. There are certain questions which suggest
+themselves to me at once. Let me tabulate them:--
+
+  “_First._ Who are Mr. John Carsdale and Mrs. Sylvie Walsingham in
+      reality, and what were their relations with the late Barclay
+      Leverton?
+
+  “_Second._ Under what conditions was Mrs. Walsingham living previous
+      to the arrival of Richard Shrewsbury?
+
+“And I have a third notion, which I will tell you of a little later.
+Now----”
+
+“I can answer the second myself, at present,” said Burgoyne.
+“Shrewsbury has told me that Mrs. Walsingham lives in--well, a fairly
+luxurious state in an expensive flat.”
+
+“Very well,” said Blair. “That is something to know. Now, as to the
+first question--you tell me that you met Miss Frances Leverton at the
+solicitor’s when you redeemed your property. What sort of young woman
+is she?”
+
+Burgoyne gave himself up to a moment’s reflection.
+
+“I should say a cool-headed, practical, business-like young woman,” he
+answered.
+
+“The sort that can keep counsel if necessary?” asked Blair.
+
+“I should say, emphatically, yes,” replied Burgoyne.
+
+“You said that young Shrewsbury told you that Miss Leverton is, in some
+fashion, carrying on her father’s business. Do you know where?”
+
+“Yes, at her private residence in Maida Vale,” said Burgoyne. “I know
+that, because Shrewsbury wanted me to entrust some of my business to
+her, and I said I wouldn’t.”
+
+“Did you? Well, but I want you to do some business with her, now,” said
+Blair. “I have formed the opinion that Miss Leverton will prove most
+useful to you in this affair. Don’t ask me the whys and wherefores,
+but sit down at that desk and write what I am going to dictate. Now,
+write:--
+
+  “DEAR MISS LEVERTON,--
+
+  “I understand that you are in some sense your father’s successor
+  in business, and I should be glad to have an interview with you.
+  I will call upon you to-morrow morning at 11 o’clock, and I shall
+  take the liberty of bringing with me a friend, Captain Blair, who is
+  interested in the matter.
+                                            “Yours faithfully,
+                                                       “RALPH BURGOYNE.”
+
+“Now, Burgoyne,” continued Blair, “you will write that out on your own
+note-paper as soon as you get home, and post it to-night. To-morrow
+morning, I shall call for you at Shrewsbury’s rooms at half-past ten,
+and on our way to Maida Vale I shall coach you in what you’re to say to
+Miss Leverton on our arrival. And now, old boy, run away, for I have
+an article to finish before dinner--you must tell me all about your
+travels when--well, when we’ve got this very nasty affair over.”
+
+So Burgoyne went off, not a little mystified by Blair’s advice, but
+fully trusting in it and wholly confident of his old friend’s powers,
+and in due course he transcribed the letter to Frances Leverton, who
+was as much surprised in receiving it as Burgoyne had been in taking
+it down from Blair’s dictation. She was a little nervous and fluttered
+when the two gentlemen were announced, but she remembered that her
+great desire in life was to cultivate a sternly business-like manner,
+and Blair was secretly amused at the somewhat off-hand manner in which
+she received them, pointing them to chairs, and resumed her seat at her
+desk.
+
+“What can I do for you, Captain Burgoyne?” she asked, almost brusquely.
+
+Burgoyne, carefully coached by Blair, looked into the lining of his
+hat. He showed signs of embarrassment.
+
+“Well, the fact is, Miss Leverton,” he said, “the fact is--I wished to
+see you on a most important matter, which is also an unpleasant one.”
+
+“Unpleasant?” said Frances.
+
+“Unpleasant for me,” answered Burgoyne, still repeating his lesson.
+“You remember that I received from you and Mr. Winch the other day what
+purported to be the diamond necklace which I had deposited with your
+father?”
+
+“Purported!” exclaimed Frances. “Purported, Captain Burgoyne?”
+
+“I said purported, Miss Leverton,” repeated Burgoyne quietly. “You see,
+what I really did receive was a mere counterfeit--quite valueless--of
+my own property.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+BLAIR’S THIRD NOTION
+
+
+It required no particular powers of observation on the part of the two
+men who were watching her to see that Burgoyne’s announcement gave
+Frances Leverton the greatest surprise of her life. It was a surprise
+which did not show itself by any sudden rush of colour to her face, by
+any sudden starting of her body; rather, it left her outwardly calm and
+motionless, as if she had been turned into a statue. But presently,
+amidst the silence which had fallen upon all three of them, she lifted
+her hands to the elbows of her desk-chair, and, bending forward towards
+Burgoyne, spoke in what was little more than a whisper.
+
+“Do you mean to tell me that what you took away from the bank was not
+your necklace--the Maria Louisa necklace?” she said. “Do you?”
+
+Burgoyne was beginning to hate the situation. He thought there was
+something to admire in this girl; in her direct gaze, her candid and
+fearless expression; it was unpleasant to feel that she was being
+dragged into all this miserable and sordid story of theft.
+
+“I’m sorry,” he said. “But--it wasn’t.”
+
+Frances bent still nearer.
+
+“It was not what you gave my father?” she said in intent tones.
+
+“No,” answered Burgoyne. “No!”
+
+“Then--it was an imitation, a duplicate?” she asked.
+
+Burgoyne inclined his head--for speech he was feeling less and less
+desire. But the girl went on.
+
+“Then this imitation must have been substituted for the real article
+while it was in my father’s possession?” she said.
+
+“I’m afraid so,” replied Burgoyne, miserably, and beginning to wish
+that he had never heard of the Maria Louisa necklace. “I’m afraid so.
+You see, Miss Leverton, I----”
+
+But Frances suddenly interrupted him. She was sitting upright now, and
+there was a bright spot of colour on each cheek. She nodded at Captain
+Blair.
+
+“Who is this gentleman?” she asked. “A detective?”
+
+There was something in the girl’s tone that made Burgoyne wince. But
+Blair smiled and responded to Burgoyne’s direct glance at him.
+
+“No, I am really what my card describes me to be, Miss Leverton,” he
+said. “But I am also a very old friend of Captain Burgoyne, to whom he
+came for counsel and advice in this matter. I advised him strongly to
+come straight to you and to tell you what has happened, and to----”
+
+“And look here, Miss Leverton,” broke in Burgoyne, careless whether he
+interrupted Blair or not, “I want to tell you at once that I have no
+suspicion of--of----”
+
+“Hush!” said Blair. “Miss Leverton need not be told that you have no
+suspicion of any one into whose hands the necklace came legitimately.
+She understands that by your coming to her.”
+
+“If the real necklace is stolen, somebody must have stolen it,” said
+Frances coldly. “And it must have been stolen, and the false one
+substituted for it, while it was in my father’s possession.”
+
+“Just so,” agreed Blair. “But--I think other people than your father
+had access to his room, from what Captain Burgoyne tells me. There
+were--pardon me--people about your father----”
+
+“There were people about my father whom I wouldn’t have trusted with
+the value of a penny-piece!” the girl suddenly broke out. “My father
+was far too easy-going. People about him! My God--yes! What are you
+going to do?” she asked, turning on Burgoyne. “Tell me--what are you
+going to do?”
+
+But it was Blair who answered.
+
+“We are going to consult with you,” he said gently. “That’s what we
+came for. Captain Burgoyne does not want to make this matter public--he
+wants to pursue his own course. And--to begin with--he wants you to
+tell him all you know of two people who seem to have been considerably
+mixed up in your father’s affairs--I am sure you know whom I mean.
+And--there is a particular reason why he should know all about
+the--woman.”
+
+Frances was watching Blair’s strong face with a growing interest. She
+felt that here was a personality.
+
+“Why--about the woman?” she asked in a low voice.
+
+Blair looked her directly in the eyes.
+
+“Because young Mr. Shrewsbury has promised to marry her,” he replied.
+
+For an instant a sudden flush of colour flamed into the girl’s cheeks,
+and Blair, after one quick glance at her, turned as quickly away to
+look at Burgoyne. And he was thankful to see that the explorer, who
+was evidently much troubled and concerned over the affair, or, rather,
+over the unpleasantness of bringing Frances into it, was at that moment
+engaged in the double task of endeavouring to gnaw off a part of the
+handle of his umbrella and at the same time to see something or other
+in the immaculate lining of his silk hat. And Blair himself, continuing
+to talk, kept his eyes for a while on the hearthrug at his feet,
+tracing out its pattern with his walking-cane. He had seen enough in
+that swift glance at the girl’s face, and he wanted her to regain her
+composure.
+
+“Mr. Shrewsbury has become engaged to Mrs. Walsingham,” he continued.
+“Now, Mr. Shrewsbury is a very young, a very inexperienced man. He had
+no friends in this country when he arrived here; he was to be taken in
+easily by clever and unscrupulous people. Probably Captain Burgoyne
+has the greatest right of any one in England to consider himself Mr.
+Shrewsbury’s friend, for he knew him before the boy came here, and he
+knew his father, and had been his father’s guest, and he does not like
+to think that this very innocent youth is contracting a marriage with a
+woman of whom he knows nothing.”
+
+He paused and looked at Frances. She had recovered herself by that
+time, and she was looking at him with an expression which he did not
+quite understand. Was she asking him to keep a secret which she had let
+slip for a moment, or--what? He turned to Burgoyne.
+
+“Have I put that correctly, Burgoyne?” he said, still trifling to give
+Frances more time.
+
+“Quite correctly, from my point,” answered Burgoyne, tearing himself
+away from the umbrella and the hat. “I’d rather forfeit the necklace
+altogether than know that the youngster was marrying a woman who--well,
+a woman that his father wouldn’t have liked him to marry. The father
+was a fine old chap.”
+
+Blair turned again to Frances.
+
+“Who is this woman, Miss Leverton?” he asked bluntly.
+
+Frances opened out her hands.
+
+“But I don’t know!” she answered. “I--I don’t know anything whatever
+about her except that she is--there.”
+
+“Your father----” began Blair. But Frances stopped him.
+
+“I’ll tell you, willingly, all I know about Mr. Carsdale and Mrs.
+Walsingham,” she said. “I have no liking for either of them, because I
+honestly believe them to be--well, anything but straight--but I won’t
+let that influence me in what I say. I first heard my father speak
+of Carsdale about six years ago, when I was thirteen or fourteen; my
+father used to tell me little business things, even then, because my
+mother was dead, and he had no one else to talk to. He said that he
+and Carsdale had entered into some sort of partnership in certain
+things, and that Carsdale was a very smart man, who could introduce
+business. Carsdale began coming here about that time, and I never liked
+him, though I never knew why. Then, about three years ago, my father
+said that he and Carsdale were going to have a lady secretary, a Mrs.
+Walsingham, who was Carsdale’s cousin, and a young widow, and that she
+was very clever in many ways. And so she came--and that is practically
+all I know.”
+
+“Carsdale’s cousin, and a young widow?” said Blair. “Widow of whom?”
+
+“Dick Shrewsbury,” broke in Burgoyne, “says that she’s the widow of
+some chap named Walsingham, who was making an expedition into Arabia or
+somewhere taking her with him, where he was killed by the natives, she
+being rescued by a friendly chief. But,” he added, with a sly glance
+at his companions, “although I said nothing to the youngster, I never
+heard of that affair, and I think I should have done.”
+
+“A romantic story,” remarked Blair. “And one that could, I suppose, be
+traced to its origin. But, Miss Leverton--you are a business woman,
+and you doubtless have a good many business relations with City folk.
+The great thing to be desired in this matter is--privacy. Could you
+not find out--quietly--what Carsdale’s career was before he became
+associated with your father? He must have been occupied previous to
+that, you know.”
+
+“But I believe he came from New York,” said Frances. “I don’t think he
+had been long in England when my father met him.”
+
+Blair looked at Burgoyne.
+
+“But Carsdale’s not an American, is he?” he asked.
+
+“I should say, decidedly not,” answered Burgoyne. “He uses an
+occasional American phrase, but I should take him for a genuine
+Londoner, or, at any rate, an Englishman.”
+
+Blair gave himself up to a moment’s reflection.
+
+“The position seems to be this,” he said after awhile. “Carsdale
+appears to have floated over the present horizon six years ago; Mrs.
+Walsingham, his cousin, three years ago. During that time--in spite of
+your instinctive dislike of them, Miss Leverton--they seem to have run
+straight. Your father, for example, never complained of them?”
+
+“No--never,” answered Frances. “No--never as regards himself. He used
+to laugh sometimes and say that Carsdale was as sharp as a Sheffield
+blade, and now and then he would make reference to Mrs. Walsingham
+as being a remarkably clever woman, but that was all. My father was
+somewhat curious in temperament--when he pleased he could be extremely
+close and reserved.”
+
+“And when he died, I suppose the partnership accounts between himself
+and Carsdale were all right?” asked Blair.
+
+“Oh, yes--that was easily adjusted and settled,” answered Frances. “Of
+late, my father had done little partnership business with Carsdale.”
+
+“In short, you know nothing against Carsdale--or against the woman?”
+said Blair.
+
+“Nothing--at least, nothing positive,” she replied.
+
+“Then, for the present, let us turn our attention to the question of
+the necklace,” said Blair. “Now, Miss Leverton, as the genuine necklace
+was undoubtedly stolen while it was in your father’s keeping, you are
+naturally anxious that we should discover who stole it. I may take that
+for granted?”
+
+“I am so anxious,” replied Frances, with emphasis, “that I will do
+anything I can to help in the discovery.”
+
+“Very good,” said Blair. “Then first of all, let us all three
+understand that we are under a pledge of secrecy to each other. Now,
+Burgoyne, I told you that I had a third notion, and, as Miss Leverton
+is now well aware that we believe the real necklace is in Mrs.
+Walsingham’s possession, I will tell you what that notion is. You have
+told me that Shrewsbury wanted to buy your necklace, Burgoyne; that you
+were at first inclined to sell; that on finding what it was that you
+really had got, you refused to sell. Now, then, you are to follow my
+advice. You are--at once--to tell Shrewsbury that you have changed your
+mind, and that he can have the necklace for ten thousand pounds.”
+
+Burgoyne who had fallen to contemplation of his hat’s lining, looked up
+with sheer amazement in his eyes.
+
+“What on earth does that mean?” he exclaimed.
+
+“Never mind,” replied Blair. “You are to do what I say. On leaving
+here, go straight to Levanter’s, get the paste necklace, contrive to
+see Shrewsbury as soon as possible, make him your offer, and hand the
+necklace to him--to be shown to Mrs. Walsingham. Do you follow all
+that?”
+
+“I follow it--and I’ll do it, since you tell me to do it,” answered
+Burgoyne. “But I’m hanged if I know what it means.”
+
+“Again, never mind--for the time being,” said Blair. “You will know.
+Now, I may as well tell you that Mrs. Walsingham will advise Shrewsbury
+to buy the necklace----”
+
+“What, ten thousand pounds for mere paste!” exclaimed Burgoyne.
+
+“She will tell him to buy,” continued Blair, imperturbably. “And he
+will buy, and he will give you his cheque. Lock the cheque up in
+safety--don’t even endorse it. And when that transaction is over, see
+me again.”
+
+Blair rose, and Burgoyne slowly followed his example.
+
+“Well, I really don’t know what you’re after, Blair,” he said, with
+a mystified shake of the head, “and I don’t know if Miss Leverton
+does--do you, Miss Leverton----?”
+
+“I have a dim notion,” admitted Frances, with a glance at Blair.
+
+“Very well--you’re cleverer, both of you, than I,” said Burgoyne. “I’ll
+follow the instructions to the very letter.”
+
+“And later on,” said Blair, turning to Frances, “we shall--know more.”
+
+Then they went away and drove back towards Bond Street, and for a time
+both men kept silence. But at last Blair turned to Burgoyne with a
+queer look.
+
+“I believe we’re at the beginning of a striking episode, in which we
+shall rescue young Master Richard from the Philistines,” he said. “And
+I’ve a pretty good notion that we shall receive yeoman help from the
+young woman we’ve just left.”
+
+“From her? Why?” demanded Burgoyne.
+
+“Because I think she’s in love with the young gentleman,” answered
+Blair, drily.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+THE MAN AT THE THEATRE DOOR
+
+
+Mrs. Walsingham, confronted with the object which Richard had placed
+before her, recognized that here was one of those critical moments
+in life in which one has to think quickly, clearly, and decisively,
+and, keen-witted and hard-headed as she was, she wished heartily that
+she could put it off. In the few seconds which she permitted herself
+before she spoke, she saw half a dozen possibilities and eventualities,
+and she was puzzled and confused by them. Then she suddenly heard
+Carsdale’s swift step in the ante-room outside, and she became calm
+and cool-headed again, and knew that she would be able to save the
+situation. And before Richard had time to notice any hesitation on her
+part, she had gathered up some papers and risen from her chair.
+
+“Dear boy!” she said. “I really can’t be bothered with that just
+now--I’m waiting for Carsdale with these papers, and he’s just come in
+and may be off again in a minute, and I must see him. I shan’t be ready
+for you for a quarter of an hour--will you wait here?”
+
+“Oh, I’ll wait,” answered Richard, a little surprised at her
+indifference to ten thousand pound’s worth of diamonds. “I’ll wait.” He
+picked up the precious package from the blotting-pad and thrust it into
+his pocket. “Mustn’t leave that lying about,” he said. “It isn’t yours,
+yet, Sylvie.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham made no answer. She vanished into the outer office,
+and Richard heard her voice and Carsdale’s. Then he heard a door slam
+and knew that they were closeted together. He had learnt that he was
+never to interrupt these two when they were engaged in business,
+nor to murmur if he was kept waiting until their conferences were
+over--sometimes those conferences extended to considerable and
+vexatious periods. And so, on this occasion, Richard, profiting by past
+experience, lighted a cigarette, and seating himself in a very easy
+chair--a recent present from himself to Mrs. Walsingham--proceeded to
+skim through a pile of French illustrated journals which lay handy.
+
+But Mrs. Walsingham was losing no time. Once within the safe harbour
+of Carsdale’s private room, with the sound-proof door closed upon Miss
+Rousby and Griffkin, she turned to its occupant with the look which he
+knew to signify important business.
+
+“Yes?” said Carsdale, always ready and receptive. “Well?”
+
+“The boy’s here,” she said. “You remember what you said about the--the
+duplicate? That it would be a good thing to buy it from Burgoyne?”
+
+“Yes, I remember,” he answered. “I remember. So it would.”
+
+“Burgoyne’s offered to sell,” she said. “Ten thousand. That proves
+that--that he doesn’t know. He thinks he’s selling the real thing.”
+
+“Yes,” said Carsdale. “Yes.”
+
+They remained looking at each other for a full minute.
+
+“The boy’s got the thing with him,” she said suddenly.
+
+Carsdale’s eyebrows arched themselves.
+
+“That’s sure proof that he thinks it’s the genuine article,” he said.
+“If he’d found out that what he held was a sham, he’d never have
+parted with that! Unless he was a fool.”
+
+“Well?” she said, after a pause. “What’s best to be done?”
+
+Carsdale took a turn or two about the room, biting the corners of his
+moustache. Suddenly he turned and threw out his hands.
+
+“Buy it!” he said. “You’ve got ’em both now in your power--real thing
+and imitation. That makes you safe, don’t you see, Sylvie? Tell the
+young ’un to buy it, and be done with the matter. Not a soul will
+ever know, then. That’s better than my scheme of exchanging them. Oh,
+yes--buy!”
+
+“All right,” she said, and went out without more words. And Richard,
+surprised at her speedy return, looked up to see a different Mrs.
+Walsingham to the business-like one who had gone out five minutes
+earlier with apparently no thought for anything but the papers in her
+hand.
+
+“Now, child,” she said, when her door--which, like Carsdale’s was
+sound-proof--was carefully closed, “about this necklace. I suppose you
+were bad enough to tease Burgoyne into selling them--not that you’ve
+bought them yet, remember. But weren’t you?”
+
+“Honour bright, no!” replied Richard. “I met him at lunch, and he said,
+‘Oh, look here, Dick, I’ve changed my mind, and you can have that
+necklace; but I won’t take more than ten thousand from you, though the
+jeweller says the stones are worth twelve.’ Then I told him I wouldn’t
+buy them without consulting you, and he said, ‘Well, here, show them to
+Mrs. Walsingham--I dare say she knows a diamond when she sees it--most
+women do,’ and he gave me the necklace.”
+
+“He meant, ‘some women do,’” murmured Mrs. Walsingham. “Well, it’s a
+wicked temptation, but--let me see it.”
+
+It was with difficulty that she could restrain her laughter when the
+imitation necklace emerged from its wrappings and was solemnly handed
+to her by Richard.
+
+“Put it on!” he urged.
+
+“But it belonged to Maria Louisa--and didn’t she have her head cut
+off?” said Mrs. Walsingham.
+
+“No--that was Marie Antoinette. Put it on!--I want to see you in it,”
+he said.
+
+And Mrs. Walsingham put the necklace on, and managed to restrain her
+inclination to laugh, and she even contrived to look a little--or a
+good deal--sentimental when she allowed Richard to kiss her in her new
+bravery.
+
+“Do you really want to give them to me very, very much?” she asked,
+half-plaintively, half-wonderingly.
+
+“I’m going to give them to you,” declared Richard stoutly. “That
+settles it, now that I’ve seen them on you.”
+
+“Ah, but you can’t tell the effect in daylight,” she said. “Wait until
+night.”
+
+She was unusually tender to Richard that evening, and the young
+gentleman went home to Berkeley Square in a state of high delight.
+Burgoyne had taken up his quarters with him for a time on Richard’s
+urgent solicitations; there was abundance of room there, he said, and
+Kedgin, with the assistance of a younger valet, could look after both.
+And when Richard entered, Burgoyne was enjoying the end of a quiet
+hour over a pipe and a novel--on the open page of the novel the youth
+dropped a once-folded slip of pink paper.
+
+“There you are, old chap!” said Richard. “Prompt cash on delivery, eh?
+It was awfully good of you, though Burgoyne, not to take more--I don’t
+know whether it’s a commercially honest transaction.”
+
+Burgoyne looked lazily down at the cheque.
+
+“Oh, ah, thanks,” he said. “So the lady approved the gew-gaws.”
+
+“Looked ripping in ’em,” replied Richard.
+
+Burgoyne yawned.
+
+“Fair women do,” he said. And then added: “And I suppose dark women do,
+too. In fact, all shades. Well--I’m off to bed, young ’un--hard day
+to-morrow. Pleasant dreams!”
+
+But once within his bedroom, Burgoyne’s lazy indifference disappeared,
+and his face grew stern and his eyes hard as he looked down at the
+cheque which Richard had handed him so debonairly.
+
+“And so, Madam thinks that Fortune has thrown a fine turn in her
+favour!” he muttered. “All right--but we’ll save that boy from her yet.
+But--how?”
+
+Towards the further solution of that question he next morning repaired
+to Chelsea and told Blair of the result of his scheme.
+
+“Though I’m still absolutely in the dark as to what you intend to do
+next,” he said. “It seems to me--I’ve been thinking it out all the way
+down--that the lady’s got everything and we’ve got nothing.”
+
+“We want to be quietly and unobtrusively certain as to what the lady
+really has got,” retorted Blair. “How were you going to make sure that
+she has your necklace without all the machinery of Scotland Yard and
+the police and all the wearisome, tedious rest of it? You can’t walk
+into her flat and search her belongings.”
+
+“Well--how are we going to be certain now?” asked Burgoyne, with
+something approaching scepticism.
+
+“Wait,” said Blair. “The next step is--you are going to give a little
+supper-party. You will take a box at some theatre--you will bespeak a
+private supper-room at--wherever you and Shrewsbury decide. For it is
+of the very essence of things that your young friend and his inamorata
+should be there--especially the lady. I also shall be there. That will
+make four of us--a pleasant number.”
+
+“Well?” said Burgoyne. “That’s all right--I can fix that. What then?”
+
+“Oh, well, I think that’s all at present,” answered Blair,
+nonchalantly. “Except this little detail, which is perhaps the most
+important of all: You might hint to Shrewsbury that you would like to
+see how Mrs. Walsingham looks in the necklace which formerly encircled
+the fair throat of Maria Louisa. Eh?”
+
+Burgoyne pulled at his moustaches, and looked thoughtfully at his
+friend.
+
+“I believe I see what you’re getting at,” he said at last. “Um--good
+idea!” And he went off to waylay Richard and sound him about a theatre.
+
+“Choice of house and supper place to rest with Mrs. Walsingham, of
+course,” he said gallantly, when he had made known his desire to show
+hospitality to Richard and his fiancée. “Hope she’ll like to come.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham, duly informed of Captain Burgoyne’s polite wish to
+entertain her, was only too well disposed to be gracious to the last
+degree. She had, as she fondly imagined, just got rid of two affairs
+which had long caused her uneasiness, and she was disposed to enjoy
+herself to the full. And so she sent her prettiest thanks to Captain
+Burgoyne, and having also thanked her stars that she had a new theatre
+gown which she had never worn, she communicated to Richard the
+important intelligence that she meant, out of compliment to their host,
+to wear the famous necklace.
+
+“Yes,” said Richard, who had been astute enough, in spite of his
+callowness, to wait a little before giving the hint, “yes, that would
+be a sort of delicate attention, wouldn’t it? And besides, I’d like it.”
+
+So the box in which Mrs. Walsingham and her three cavaliers were seated
+that night attracted some attention, not merely because of the lady’s
+good looks, but also because the diamonds at her white throat sparkled
+like white fire in the glow of the electric lamps. And, of all the men
+and women there who occasionally looked in her direction, none were so
+much interested when they did look, as a certain man who sat in a dark
+but a convenient corner of the pit, and took good care that whatever he
+knew of the movements of the people on the stage, he kept himself fully
+conversant with the doings of the people in that particular box.
+
+Ten minutes before the curtain rose on the first act of the drama which
+Mrs. Walsingham had selected, this man was walking aimlessly along the
+Strand. He was distinctly of the partially-broken-down order, but his
+tightly-buttoned tweed jacket was still quite presentable, his linen
+was clean and fresh, his boots were polished and uncracked. His dark,
+clean-shaven face bore the signs of a hard life; there were queer seams
+and wrinkles in it and a sinister, watching look in the gleaming eyes
+that showed themselves under the rim of a hat which had not originated
+on this side of the Atlantic. As he strolled along, he seemed to look
+at nothing--in reality, he was looking at every face he met.
+
+The stroller came to the porticoed door of one of the theatres just
+as an electric brougham drove up and set down Mrs. Walsingham and her
+faithful Richard. The lights fell full on the woman’s face, and the
+strange man saw it for a full second as it moved past him and into the
+theatre. And with a subtle instinct he drew back, quickly, silently.
+When he looked again, Richard and his charge had disappeared amidst the
+blaze of lights within.
+
+The man turned back on his steps and lounged a few yards up the
+Strand. He thrust his right hand into his trousers pocket and fingered
+some loose silver that lay there; he put a finger into the pocket of
+his waistcoat and rubbed the milled edge of a half-sovereign which
+nestled in solitude in a corner. And, half-doubtfully, and staring
+at the coloured lights which blazed over the pavement, he went back
+and approached the uniformed functionary who contemplated patrons and
+public from the lobby steps.
+
+“What’s it cost to get into this place, anyway?” he asked.
+
+The functionary looked his man up and down and gained an impression of
+him.
+
+“Gallery one shilling--first turning on the right,” he answered.
+
+“Guess I prefer the ground floor,” said the questioner, calmly.
+
+“Pit--two shillings. First turning to the left,” said the uniform.
+
+The stranger turned without further word, and finding a side-alley,
+lighted by one miserable lamp, walked up it until he ran into a small
+knot of people who were struggling to enter an almost indiscernible
+door, over which a feeble gas-jet threw out the word “Pit.” Within,
+the house was nearly full; at first he saw no sign of a seat. That
+concerned him little; he began to wander round the semi-circle at the
+back of the pit, searching the regions above for as far as he could
+see them. And suddenly, seated in a box on the dress-circle tier, with
+three men grouped about her, he saw Mrs. Walsingham. Also, now that she
+had removed her dainty cloak, he saw the diamonds which glittered round
+her dainty neck.
+
+“That’s Sylvie, sure!” he said. “Well, that was real luck!”
+
+Then he slid into a favourable seat, near a pillar, which was greatly
+of use to him when the lights went up. There he stayed all the evening,
+watchful. But when the final curtain fell, he was quickly outside, and
+he watched the little party of four emerge, and he followed them across
+the Strand until they passed into the courtyard of the _Hotel Cecil_.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+MR. CARSDALE IS CONFRONTED
+
+
+The stranger drew back from the outer boundaries of the vast hotel with
+a quick, comprehensive glance at its size and splendour. He knew well
+enough that any one who once passed its portals was safe from such
+as he, or at any rate from such as his well-worn attire proclaimed
+him to seem to be. The woman he had been watching with curiosity and
+speculation during the last three hours was not only secure within
+those walls, but was lost as completely as if she had been but one
+amidst a whirl of leaves or a flock of sheep; he was well aware that
+he had small chance of seeing her again that night. Yet, as long as
+he dared, he lingered about the entrance to the courtyard, shuffling
+indeterminate feet, casting irresolute glances, and always wondering
+and considering in his purposeless mind.
+
+He drew away to the edge of the pavement at last, and stood looking
+up and down the glaring Strand, busy and bright at that moment as at
+high noontide. For the second time that night he thrust a hand in one
+pocket and fingered the loose silver; poked a finger into another and
+ran his nail along the milled edge of his half-sovereign. He was saying
+to himself as he went through these mechanical performances that these
+coins were all he had in the world, and that he was not too certain,
+nor as a matter of fact, too sanguine, about the very necessary matter
+of picking up more.
+
+“However, I guess it’ll run to a glass of ale and a crust of bread and
+cheese,” he suddenly muttered, half-aloud. “If a man knows that he’s
+going to starve Saturday, that’s no reason why he should fast Friday,
+so long as he’s got a shilling in his pocket.”
+
+Then he remembered, with a dim remembrance of other days, that down
+Fleet Street about midnight, there are places where a man can get a
+good and a satisfying supper at very moderate cost--cheap eating-houses
+and restaurants frequented by printers and proof-readers and the lesser
+satellites of the Press. In that direction he moved, hands in pockets,
+the keen eyes still observing every face that came along in the crowd.
+And in the quieter stretches which lie between Wellington Street and
+St. Clement Danes, he suddenly came face to face with John Carsdale,
+and stopped dead before him in the full glare of a neighbouring lamp.
+
+Carsdale’s nerves were always in good condition, and he himself was
+proud of the fact that he was rarely surprised, but on this occasion he
+not only jumped, but he gave voice to the first words that came to his
+lips.
+
+“Good God! Sydney Werrick!” he exclaimed. “It--it isn’t you?”
+
+The stranger put out a cool and steady hand.
+
+“Sure!” he answered quietly. “How’re you, Jack?”
+
+Carsdale glanced around him as he took the man’s hand. Just then few
+people were about; those who were, gave no more than a passing glance
+at the meeting of two men, one of whom, at any rate, was surprised to
+see the other. His presence of mind came back to him.
+
+“Good Heavens!” he said, with a sharp laugh. “You--you knocked me over
+a bit. I thought you were dead, Sydney.”
+
+“Who told you I was dead?” asked the other.
+
+“Sandy Kinahan said you were dead,” answered Carsdale.
+
+“Sandy Kinahan is a wicked liar,” said Werrick. “He always was.”
+
+“Well, Sandy Kinahan is dead,” remarked Carsdale, with emphasis.
+“There’s no doubt about that, because I saw him lying dead in Charing
+Cross Hospital, there, not so many days ago. He was killed in a motor
+smash.”
+
+“That saved me from killing him,” said Werrick. “Sandy was a bad man.
+If he said I was dead, he was playing some trick. But I don’t want to
+talk about that now. Have you a cigar on you?”
+
+Carsdale drew out a cigar case and offered it.
+
+“You don’t mean to say you’re so down that you can’t buy tobacco?” he
+said.
+
+Werrick calmly selected a cigar, bit off the end, and began to smoke
+before he replied to his question.
+
+“I’m not so down that I can’t buy tobacco, nor pay for my supper and my
+bed,” he replied, “but my capital is strictly limited, and I have to
+exercise the greatest economy. I had to lay out two shillings to-night
+in an unforeseen manner.”
+
+“How,” asked Carsdale.
+
+“To have a look at--Sylvie,” replied Werrick, with a direct glance.
+
+Carsdale started.
+
+“After all, it was money well laid out,” murmured Werrick. “Only I
+hadn’t reckoned to lay it out.”
+
+Carsdale was thinking as fast as he could, and he was not quite sure
+what he ought to say as the result of his thoughts. What he did say
+eventually was tame and colourless enough.
+
+“So you’ve seen her?” he said.
+
+“I have. I caught sight of her going into that theatre behind
+there--the Odalium, isn’t it?--with a young fellow that seemed to
+be mighty anxious she shouldn’t fall down and break herself,” said
+Werrick. “Wherefore I spent two good shillings in order to sit in the
+pit and feast my eyes on her beauty. Also, I feasted on a diamond
+necklace which she was wearing, and which I reckoned up on pretty
+carefully. I should say that diamond necklace is worth every penny of
+eleven thousand pounds. That’s good--Sylvie with all that money on her,
+and me with about seventeen shillings and sixpence in the world!”
+
+“Well?” said Carsdale.
+
+“Ill, you mean,” said Werrick. “Very ill--for me.”
+
+“Where is Sylvie, now?” asked Carsdale. “I’m certain you know.”
+
+“Well, yes, I do, unless she’s cleared out. She’s in that big hotel,
+the _Cecil_, with the young ’un and two swells who look like military
+men, only one of ’em’s lost a wing,” answered Werrick. “I guess
+Sylvie’s busy with the champagne and the lobster salad, and to-morrow
+she’ll have a liver.”
+
+“How did you come over?” asked Carsdale, who had been watching his man
+narrowly.
+
+“Cattle-boat,” replied Werrick, laconically.
+
+“And where are you going now?” said Carsdale. “Anywhere?”
+
+Werrick flipped away the ash from the end of his cigar.
+
+“Until I met you,” he said, “I was going down Fleet Street to find a
+cheap and satisfying supper place. Now that I have met you, it depends
+on you where I’m going.”
+
+“Why on me?” asked Carsdale
+
+“Merely because you’ll tell me where Sylvie is to be found,” answered
+Werrick, quietly.
+
+Carsdale laughed.
+
+“And suppose I don’t?” he suggested.
+
+“In that case,” replied Werrick, “in that case I shall be sorry--for
+somebody.”
+
+Carsdale laughed again.
+
+“You’d better come home with me and have some supper,” he said. “I’m
+tired of standing here.”
+
+“So’m I,” said Werrick. “I thought you liked it. Is your place far?”
+
+“Not in one of these things,” answered Carsdale, and he hailed a
+passing taxi-cab, and, motioning Werrick to enter, bade the driver go
+to Jermyn Street. “And when did you strike town, Sydney?” he asked, in
+friendly fashion. “Not long since, I suppose?”
+
+“Early hours of this afternoon,” answered Werrick. “Two o’clock, maybe.”
+
+“Any object?” continued Carsdale.
+
+“Only to find Sylvie--and you,” answered Werrick. “I reckoned I could
+do a good deal in that way in twenty-four hours. And so, Sandy Kinahan
+set forth that I was departed, did he?”
+
+“Sandy Kinahan told Sylvie that you were dead,” answered Carsdale.
+“Moreover, he said how you died. He said that you were shot in some
+scrap or other in some mining town--Nevada, or Colorado, or somewhere.
+Moreover, Sandy Kinahan said that if Sylvie would cable to the sheriff
+she would get confirmatory news, and she did so, and she got the news,
+sure enough.”
+
+“Then Sandy Kinahan and the sheriff had put up some game,” said
+Werrick, slowly. “I was in that place, and Sandy Kinahan was there,
+too, only he cleared out before I did. And I would like to know what
+their game was. Also, I would like to know what Sylvie’s game is with
+the young fellow and the diamonds. But that, of course, you are going
+to tell me.”
+
+And Carsdale knew that this last assertion was a true one. He had a man
+by his side with whom it was not safe to trifle, and he rapidly sized
+the situation up and formed his plans.
+
+“I always take care to be provided in case I come home hungry, and want
+anything in a hurry,” he said, when he and his unexpected guest had
+safely reached the Jermyn Street chambers. “Bachelor as I am, I keep
+larder, and at this moment I have a fine cold pigeon-pie in it, and a
+cut of ripe old Stilton cheese, which couldn’t be beaten from here to
+the Mansion House. As to the drinkables, you can open that cupboard,
+cast your eye over its contents, and select whatever strikes your
+fancy.”
+
+And in his usual bustling way, Carsdale spread his own table, laid out
+the supper, and attended to his guest as if he were delighted to see
+him. The truth was, that he had been quick to recognize the inevitable,
+and was rapidly making up his mind to make the best of it. And when the
+two men had eaten, he produced whiskey and cigars, and settled down to
+business.
+
+“Now, Sydney,” he said, “let’s be frank and business-like. You saw the
+young fellow with Sylvie to-night?”
+
+“I saw him,” answered Werrick.
+
+“He wants to marry her,” said Carsdale. “And he’s worth--well, a tidy
+lot.”
+
+“How much?” asked Werrick.
+
+Carsdale knew it was useless to evade or prevaricate.
+
+“A good quarter of a million, anyhow,” he replied.
+
+Werrick examined his cigar with the air of a connoisseur.
+
+“Well, that’s a great pity for Sylvie,” he said. “I’m sorry for her,
+but I don’t just see how it’s going to be done. Because, as I say,
+Sandy Kinahan was a wicked liar.”
+
+“She didn’t accept the boy until she’d seen Sandy Kinahan,” remarked
+Carsdale. “Of course, she believed the cable from the sheriff.”
+
+“Naturally. But he’s a wicked liar, too,” said Werrick. He smoked
+meditatively for a time, staring hard at the ceiling. “It’s a delicate
+situation,” he said, at last. “I’m awfully sorry for Sylvie, but I
+don’t propose to go and make a hole in the Thames or in my own head
+simply because she wants to marry the boy’s money-bags.”
+
+“I don’t know what’s to be done,” said Carsdale. He began to drum on
+the table before him. “It’s awkward--awkward!” he murmured.
+
+“Well,” said Werrick, speaking with slow deliberation, “I never yet
+heard of any situation that couldn’t be turned to somebody’s advantage.
+I reckon that if this youngster has a quarter of a million there must
+be something very wrong indeed with you and me and Sylvie if we don’t
+profit by the fact.”
+
+“I knew you’d want to share,” commented Carsdale, with a chuckle.
+
+“Certainly, I want to share,” said Werrick, with quiet determination.
+“I reckon, all things considered, that I have a moral right to share.”
+
+Carsdale’s eyes twinkled.
+
+“And supposing you’re taken into partnership, what capital do you
+propose to invest?” he asked with a grin.
+
+Werrick eyed him sideways over the point of his cigar.
+
+“I guess you know what I can invest,” he said. “It’s something that
+neither you or Sylvie could ever invest, with all your cleverness.”
+
+“All right, my son, all right,” said Carsdale. “Well, of course, Sylvie
+must be consulted.”
+
+“Oh, of course, of course!” agreed Werrick. “Didn’t you always find me
+a reasonable man?”
+
+“I always found you able to keep quiet in tongue and body till the time
+for action came,” said Carsdale. “Now where are you going to-night?
+Anywhere? Then why not stop here? There’s a spare room--a more
+comfortable one than you’d get in any cheap hotel.”
+
+“I’ll accept that offer,” said Werrick.
+
+“Very good,” said Carsdale, rising. He glanced at his watch. “Now,
+then, I’ve got to go out for an hour or two, midnight though it is. In
+there you’ll find everything you want. Make yourself at home, Sydney.”
+
+Werrick merely nodded, and Carsdale, picking up his hat and
+walking-cane, went off without further ceremony. Once in the street,
+he paused for a second and swore softly to himself; then, knowing he
+had plenty of time, he set out at a steady pace and walked all the
+way to Bloomsbury, and to the flats in which Mrs. Walsingham resided.
+From a convenient vantage point there he watched until he saw Richard
+Shrewsbury’s motor-car arrive, and he made sure that Mrs. Walsingham
+entered the mansions alone. He let ten minutes elapse, and then he
+entered. The night-porter was used to seeing him at all hours, and
+merely gave him a nod which signified that Mrs. Walsingham had come in.
+And Carsdale went up quietly and with his mental activities braced by
+his walk through the cool night.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham opened the door to him herself. She was still in all
+her theatre finery, save for the diamond necklace. Carsdale laid his
+finger to his lip, and softly followed her into the dining-room. And it
+was she who first spoke.
+
+“What is it?” she whispered. “There’s something--I know there is! What
+is it?”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+A WEAVING OF WEBS
+
+
+Carsdale looked round him with the stealthy care of a man who fears
+that even the most unlikely things may shelter an eavesdropper.
+
+“Sophie?” he whispered.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham shook her head.
+
+“Fast asleep,” she said. “It’s all right--there’s no danger. What is
+it, Jack! I know something’s happened. Not so much because you’re here,
+but because of--your look. Tell me!”
+
+Carsdale took off his hat and, putting it down, wiped his forehead. Now
+that he was here, away from his own place, matters looked worse.
+
+“It’s--bad,” he went on, in the same low tones. “You remember what
+Sandy Kinahan told you?”
+
+He was watching her keenly, and he saw her suddenly put her hands
+behind her and grasp the edge of the table against which she had backed
+when they entered the room, and he knew from the whitening of the
+knuckles that she was gripping it hard. And then she whitened to the
+lips.
+
+“Take it easy, now,” said Carsdale. “You’ve got to know. What Sandy
+Kinahan told you wasn’t--true.”
+
+She tried to swallow once or twice, and then to speak; and Carsdale
+went over to the sideboard, quickly mixed her a drink, and forced it on
+her.
+
+“You mean--he isn’t dead!” she whispered.
+
+“He’s not dead,” answered Carsdale, with a cynical laugh. “It was all
+a plant of Kinahan’s and somebody else’s, for some reason. No, Master
+Sydney is very much alive!”
+
+She stood staring at him with dilated eyes and parting lips.
+
+“He’s--here?” she said.
+
+“He’s here,” replied Carsdale.
+
+“In--London?” she whispered.
+
+Carsdale made a grimace.
+
+“To tell you the truth, my girl,” he said, “he’s at my rooms, and
+he’s either enjoying himself with my whiskey--though he’s too fond
+of keeping his wits to touch much of that--or he’s safe between the
+sheets. That’s where Syd Werrick is!”
+
+She threw up her head with a gesture of despair and dropped into the
+nearest seat.
+
+“My God!” she muttered. “What’s to be done?”
+
+“Heaven knows!” answered Carsdale. “I don’t.”
+
+“Where on earth did you find him?” she asked.
+
+“Find him! We met--met in the Strand. He hailed me, cool as a
+cucumber,” said Carsdale. “And he’d just come from seeing--you.”
+
+“Seeing--me!” she exclaimed.
+
+“He happened to catch sight of you and the boy going into the Odalium,
+and so he bought a pit ticket and feasted his eyes on you and the
+necklace,” answered Carsdale grimly. “And, naturally, when you left the
+theatre he watched you over the road to the _Cecil_. You know Master
+Syd’s tricks.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham had taken a filmy handkerchief from her bosom and was
+twisting and untwisting it in her jewelled fingers--it was suddenly
+torn violently in two as if by mere will-power. And Carsdale laughed.
+
+“It’s no good, Sylvie,” he said. “The thing is, to keep calm and cool.
+Sydney’s a rock that you’re up against--I, too, perhaps. According to
+the law of this blessed land, he’s your husband, and he’s done nothing
+that you can rid yourself of him for. That’s flat. Now that he’s back,
+the best thing is to make the best of a bad job, and see what we can
+do. One thing’s certain--if your lord and master is to be kept quiet,
+we shall have to take him into partnership.”
+
+“Partnership!” she exclaimed.
+
+Carsdale sat down and tapped her knee.
+
+“You must see,” he said, quietly, “you must see that the serious affair
+with the boy is off--off, as far away as Cape Horn! You can’t commit
+bigamy. All that we can do now is to make as much as we can out of him.
+And--unpleasant as it is--Sydney Werrick will have to come in at it.”
+
+She sat staring at him in silence for a full minute; then, with a low,
+harsh laugh she rose, and, going over to the sideboard, mixed herself
+another drink.
+
+“Play light,” said Carsdale, warningly.
+
+“Give me a cigarette,” she said, coming back to her seat. “Thank you.
+Now, then--what do you propose?”
+
+Carsdale again looked cautiously and suspiciously around the room.
+
+“You’re sure that girl is really asleep--and safe?” he whispered.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham made an impatient gesture.
+
+“Certain!” she answered. “Never mind her. Get to business.”
+
+Carsdale fingered his moustache for a minute or two, staring fixedly at
+an exact point of the ceiling.
+
+“Well,” he said at last, “well, if we’ve got down to plain and brutal
+fact, I think we both know what we intended about the young ’un when
+that letter to Barclay Leverton fell into our hands. Things ran well
+for us, Sylvie--especially when Sandy Kinahan brought that news which
+wasn’t true. As they ran, you were going to get your share through
+marriage--and an excellent way it would have been, and would have saved
+an awful lot of trouble. But now that Sydney’s turned up, that’s all
+off--it’s impossible, it’s quite----”
+
+“Couldn’t Sydney be bought out and packed off for good?” she suggested.
+
+Carsdale shook his head with unmistakable dissent.
+
+“That’s still more impossible,” he replied. “You’d never know when he’d
+come back. No--it’s off--off! And so--well, we must reap our harvest in
+another way. Fortunately, we’ve so engineered things that it won’t be
+very difficult to reap. And, if you want to know the truth, I shan’t be
+sorry to make a new development. Things are not good.”
+
+She looked at him quickly.
+
+“You mean--you want to get out?” she asked.
+
+“Something very like it,” he admitted. “The young ’un’s coming was a
+godsend, and, if we only play our cards properly, we can start in fresh
+fields and new pastures to big advantage. But don’t forget this--Syd
+Werrick will have to be in at it.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham made no immediate reply. She sat smoking cigarette
+after cigarette, tapping her slippered feet impatiently on the
+hearthrug, her eyes sombre with thought.
+
+“What’s gone wrong with you?” she suddenly demanded.
+
+Carsdale shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“It’s not that anything has gone absolutely wrong,” he said. “It’s
+simply that nothing seems doing or coming along. And if you want to
+know, it’s my belief that that young vixen, Frances Leverton, has her
+knife into me, and is somehow, but I don’t know how, doing me harm. I
+couldn’t put my finger on any precise spot--but I’ve an uneasy feeling
+that she’s up to no good.”
+
+“Could she do anything?” asked Mrs. Walsingham.
+
+“Well,” replied Carsdale, stirring a little uneasily in his seat,
+“there is one affair, if only she was cute enough to understand the
+papers which she’d doubtless find in her father’s effects. It may be
+that.”
+
+“She’s cute enough for anything,” remarked Mrs. Walsingham. She
+reflected a little, and then turned to him with an odd look. “I--I’ve
+been made rather uneasy to-night,” she said.
+
+“Where? At the theatre?” he asked. “The supper-party?”
+
+“It may be all nothing, but I was uneasy,” she answered. “You know
+I put on the--the real necklace. I saw no danger in that, now that
+I’ve got both. Well, Burgoyne had a friend there--another Army man, a
+Captain Blair, but retired, because he’s lost an arm.”
+
+“Blair--ex-Army man--lost an arm?” said Carsdale, musingly. “Seems to
+me I know something about that man. Describe him.”
+
+“A tall, well-built, handsome man, with very remarkable eyes, who seems
+as if he were looking clean through you and turning you inside out,”
+answered Mrs. Walsingham. “He made me uneasy and uncomfortable.”
+
+“I know him,” said Carsdale. “He’s a writing fellow. Well?”
+
+“Well, when we went to supper at the _Cecil_,” continued Mrs.
+Walsingham, “the talk somehow got on to the necklace, and, of course,
+the boy was full of the Maria Louisa legend, or whatever it is. Then
+this Captain Blair asked to be allowed to look at the necklace because
+of its historic interest, and I had to take it off--we were in a
+private room, you know--and let him examine it. And that was where I
+got uneasy.”
+
+“Why?” asked Carsdale. “It was probably only curiosity.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham shook her head.
+
+“No!” she said. “I don’t think so. He examined that necklace in a way
+that showed me he was an expert in diamonds. He was a little bit too
+careful about it. Now--why?”
+
+Carsdale manifested signs of impatience.
+
+“Oh, I don’t see anything in that, Sylvie!” he said. “You’ve got
+fidgety and suspicious because of all the recent circumstances. I don’t
+suppose the man had any ulterior design--what ulterior design could he
+have? Now I come to think of it, this Captain Blair, after he left the
+Army, took to writing, and I remember--I was trying to recall it while
+you talked--he did write a series of articles or something about the
+precious stones, in one of those collectors’ journals. He was probably
+examining the thing as a connoisseur--that’s all. By the by, where is
+the necklace?”
+
+“Here, of course--locked up in my safe,” she answered. “I shall bring
+it to the office to-morrow.”
+
+“Better take it to your bank,” said Carsdale. “At any rate, don’t leave
+it here. However much you may trust that maid of yours, I shouldn’t
+trust her to the extent of diamonds worth twelve thousand. Now
+then--as to what we are going to do. There are two persons to think of
+first--Sydney and this boy Shrewsbury.”
+
+“Well?” she said with a sigh. “What of them?”
+
+“Let’s get a clear notion,” said Carsdale. “Now, first as to Syd
+Werrick. There will be no trouble with him, Sylvie, so long as he’s
+kept in clover. I’ll take care that he gives you no trouble. He can
+put up with me, down there in Jermyn Street. He shall have as much
+money as he likes--in reason--and he shall enjoy himself. He’ll be
+made to understand that he’s to behave himself in every way. I expect
+there’ll have to be a talk between the three of us----”
+
+“I don’t want to see him--I won’t see him!” broke in Mrs. Walsingham.
+“At any rate, not yet.”
+
+“Certainly not yet,” said Carsdale, soothingly. “Leave it to me--I can
+manage him. It’s very fortunate that there’s nothing against the young
+gentleman on this side, so he’ll be able to go around town and amuse
+himself, and do what he likes with his liberty----”
+
+“Yes, and then he’ll some day get too much to drink, and then he’ll
+turn ugly, and then--oh, then, I know!” she said.
+
+“He doesn’t look as if he’d been at that game lately, anyway,” said
+Carsdale, thoughtfully. “He looks as hard and fit as a man of his age
+should be, and his eyes are as clear as a child’s, and----”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham suddenly laid a hand on her companion’s arm.
+
+“Jack!” she said in a tense whisper. “Don’t you ever forget this: Syd
+will never forgive you and me because we cleared out and left him
+to face the music in New York. He may play that he’s forgotten and
+forgiven, but he hasn’t and he won’t. Oh, don’t I know him! You’re too
+easy-going; too optimistic.”
+
+“Oh, I think he’ll be all right if he’s decently treated now,” said
+Carsdale, hopefully. “I say--leave him to me. Now, as to the other.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham shook her head; it was evident that she had small
+belief in Carsdale’s anticipations.
+
+“Well--go on,” she said.
+
+“As to the young ’un,” continued Carsdale, in a lower voice, and again
+looking about him as if he mistrusted the very walls, “you’ll see how
+beautifully my policy will work out. He’s a complete belief in me, and
+he’ll trust me to the last extent. The thing to do is to gradually get
+his securities into my absolute control, and then----”
+
+“Then you’ll do what you like with them!” she said, with an ironic
+laugh. “And what am I to do in the meantime?”
+
+“Keep the game going,” answered Carsdale. “Keep the game going. I’ll be
+answerable for your husband while it’s being played.”
+
+“I wish my husband had gone to the bottom of the Atlantic!” she said,
+clenching her hand. “I wish what Sandy Kinahan said had been true!”
+
+Carsdale laughed, rose, and picked up his hat.
+
+“So do I!” he said. “Heartily--heartily! But--it isn’t true. The young
+gentleman is here. That, my dear Sylvie, is a fact. Fact, remember!”
+
+Then he left her, and finding a belated taxi-cab near the mansions,
+chartered it and drove home to Jermyn Street, thinking hard all the
+way. And his chief thought was that, if he hadn’t a sentimental feeling
+for Sylvie he would quickly feather his own nest and clear clean out.
+
+Carsdale’s sitting-room was tenantless. He picked up the whiskey
+decanter, and gave it a quick look. He had eyed it before he left, and
+he knew that Werrick had drunk no more after his departure. And he
+shook his head solemnly and meaningly.
+
+“That argues mischief!” he said to himself. “He means to keep a cool
+head. And when Sydney Werrick’s head is cool, the devil himself
+wouldn’t be a match for him!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+A COUNCIL OF WAR
+
+
+Captain Burgoyne went away from his little supper-party with feelings
+which yielded him anything but pleasure. Blair’s third notion, as he
+called it, had worked out--just as Blair had believed it would work
+out. There was now no doubt whatever as to the actual thief of the
+diamond necklace--Mrs. Walsingham had fallen into the trap so cunningly
+set for her as easily and completely as her worst enemy could have
+wished. She had become possessed of the paste imitation; she had worn
+the real article. And this was the woman to whom young Dick, generous,
+impetuous, unsuspecting, woefully ignorant of the world and its
+wickedness, had plighted himself in the most serious obligation which
+life knows! It was dreadful, it was unspeakable, it was--Burgoyne could
+find no words in which to express what he felt.
+
+“But, by God, it must not and shall not be!” he said, half-aloud, as he
+tramped steadily up St. James’s Street, having walked homewards to cool
+his head and to think. “The youngster shall be got out of the hands
+of that woman and that man if I spend my last penny in effecting his
+release. But--how’s it to be done?”
+
+That question was still agitating his mind when he, Blair, and Frances
+Leverton met next morning at the flat in Acacia Mansions. He listened
+in silence while Blair gave Frances a crisp and clear account of the
+happenings of the previous evening--how that Mrs. Walsingham had
+appeared at the theatre in a necklace; how that at supper she had
+been induced to take it off and to let him examine it as a historical
+curiosity; how that he, an expert in precious stones, had known at
+once that it was formed of genuine and valuable diamonds. The case,
+said Blair, was plain as plain could be: the real necklace had been in
+her possession when Richard Shrewsbury bought the imitation one, and,
+having both at her command, she had appeared in the real one, and had,
+all unconsciously, proclaimed her guilt to Burgoyne and himself.
+
+“And the whole question now, Ralph,” concluded Blair, turning from
+Frances to Burgoyne, “is--what are you going to do?”
+
+“Save the boy!” snapped out Burgoyne. “Save the boy!”
+
+“Just so,” agreed Blair. “That’s the end in view, but what about the
+means? You can prosecute this woman if you choose--it will make a fine
+and an interesting story to tell in a criminal court. The ins and outs
+may seem a little involved and intricate, but that will add to the
+fascination, and give the newspapers some excellent copy. But--your
+young friend is so impulsive, and so quixotic, and so generous of
+heart, and the woman evidently has so much power over him that the
+probability is that at the first note of danger she would turn to him,
+claim his protection, and force him into an immediate marriage. And
+that is what you want to prevent at all costs.”
+
+“Of course!” said Burgoyne. “All that I want is to save the boy. Hang
+the necklace, and hang prosecuting the woman!--though I think she ought
+to be put out of the way of doing these things. What I want is to get
+that youngster out of the clutches of those two. Isn’t--isn’t there
+some way by which we could do it quietly, but very thoroughly?”
+
+Blair looked at Frances, who had been listening to everything with
+quiet but concentrated attention.
+
+“Well,” he said. “We’ve certainly got a hold on the woman. We’re in
+this position--we can go to her and say, ‘Now, my good lady, we know
+and we can prove who stole Captain Burgoyne’s necklace from the late
+Mr. Leverton’s safe--you did! Unless you agree to drop Mr. Richard
+Shrewsbury, we shall call in the police.’ That much we can do as
+regards her--what attention she would give to our threat I don’t know.
+I think she might show fight, or, at any rate, want to bargain. But as
+regards Carsdale, which case is, in certain respects, the more serious
+of the two, seeing that he has full command of the youngster’s money,
+the matter is different. We--that is, you and I, Burgoyne--know nothing
+against Carsdale to give us any hold on him. Now, if Miss Leverton, as
+I shrewdly suspect, has anything against him, has any hold on him----”
+
+He paused and looked narrowly at Frances. And Frances turned away and
+looked out of the window by her desk.
+
+“If it is really necessary,” she said after a pause of silence, “if
+it is really necessary to do something to--to save Mr. Shrewsbury, I
+have, or I could have, a hold on Carsdale. I did not mention it to you
+before, but I have been slowly going through my father’s papers, and at
+last, with some difficulty, I have found out--something. Something that
+is--well, quite sufficient. He robbed my father.”
+
+Blair uttered a sharp exclamation.
+
+“Ah! You have proof of that?” he said.
+
+“So much proof,” replied Frances, “that Mr. Winch has advised me to
+prosecute him.”
+
+“Mr. Winch knows all the facts?” asked Blair.
+
+“He has known them since yesterday afternoon,” Frances answered. “I
+was not certain of them myself until yesterday morning--as soon as I
+was certain, I consulted Mr. Winch, who, it seems, had had some notion
+of the truth.”
+
+“And you have decided upon--what?” said Blair.
+
+Frances shook her head.
+
+“Upon--nothing,” she replied. “Nothing--until I had seen you. And--if
+I am to be frank with you--my own personal feeling is that if I alone
+were concerned, I should do nothing. If you really want to know, I do
+not wish to have my father’s name brought up. He is dead, and it would
+do no good to prosecute Carsdale, and--if it were left to me--I should
+let the whole matter drop. But----”
+
+She paused, and the two men, watching her narrowly, saw that she felt
+more than an ordinary diffidence in saying what was in her mind.
+
+“I think we know what you mean, Miss Leverton,” said Blair. “Isn’t
+it that if your hold over Carsdale could be potential in saving Mr.
+Shrewsbury from him you wouldn’t feel justified in refusing to let him
+know positively that you have that hold?”
+
+Burgoyne suddenly started into voice and activity.
+
+“Yes, but look here, Blair, Miss Leverton can’t go and say to this
+fellow, ‘Give up interfering with young Shrewsbury, or I’ll hand you
+over to the police!’” he said. “Of course she can’t. The thing’s
+impossible. He’d say at once, ‘What concern is it of yours?’ No,
+no--that won’t do.”
+
+Frances thanked him with a look for putting her own thoughts into
+words. But Blair smiled quietly.
+
+“My dear Ralph,” he said. “I hadn’t the slightest intention of asking
+Miss Leverton to go to Carsdale in order to deliver any such ultimatum.
+You have got to remember that, up to now, so far as we know, so far as
+we believe, Carsdale’s relations with your young friend are strictly
+sound and honourable, though we have a firm conviction that they will
+not continue to be so. No--I was not thinking of asking Miss Leverton
+to do any such thing. But there is a person who might put matters to
+Carsdale plainly and unmistakably.”
+
+“Who’s that?” asked Burgoyne, uneasily. “You don’t mean myself?”
+
+“Not I!” laughed Blair. “I mean Mr. Winch. Mr. Winch is a solicitor,
+Mr. Winch is a co-executor under the will of the late Mr. Barclay
+Leverton. Mr. Winch, in going into the affairs of the late Mr.
+Leverton, has discovered that Mr. Leverton was defrauded by
+Carsdale--am I justified in saying that?” he added, turning to Frances.
+
+“Mr. Winch called it fraud,” she answered. “Yes--fraud.”
+
+“Very good,” said Blair. “Then Mr. Winch is in a position--the
+strongest possible position--to go to Carsdale and say, ‘I find, on
+the clearest proof, that you have defrauded the estate which I am
+administering. You are liable to serious punishment. I give you the
+alternative. You must make restitution; you must admit your guilt in
+writing; you must cease to act for young Mr. Shrewsbury, whose business
+you acquired by wrongly appropriating a letter which was intended for
+my late client and should have been given to his legal representatives.
+Unless you do this I shall hand you over to the police!’ Nothing could
+be clearer. The immediate point is--will Mr. Winch consent to do this?”
+
+“Yes,” replied Frances. “Mr. Winch will consent, if I put the whole
+matter before him. And he will do it thoroughly, too.”
+
+“Good!” said Blair. “Then that disposes of Carsdale. Now for the woman,
+Mrs. Walsingham.”
+
+Burgoyne groaned and looked down at his toes, and Blair smiled at
+Frances. “Mrs. Walsingham,” he repeated. “Don’t be afraid, Ralph. I was
+about to remark that I will see Mrs. Walsingham myself.”
+
+Burgoyne sat erect, staring his surprise.
+
+“You don’t mean it!” he exclaimed.
+
+“I mean it, quite seriously,” answered Blair. “I will see her, and talk
+to her, and when I have finished I think she may have something to say
+to me which may be interesting. But there is one thing that must be
+done--must!--before Mr. Winch sees Carsdale and I see Mrs. Walsingham.”
+
+Burgoyne and Frances looked their interrogation.
+
+“Shrewsbury must be got out of the way for a few days,” continued
+Blair. “That’s absolutely necessary. And you, Burgoyne, must manage it.”
+
+“And perhaps you’ll tell me how to manage it!” said Burgoyne, a little
+irritably. “From what I’ve seen of affairs, it’s very evident to me
+that the youngster runs to either Carsdale or this woman on even the
+smallest matters. Besides, I haven’t even the smallest excuse for
+taking him away for a few days.”
+
+“Surely you can make one,” said Blair, laughing. “Come--isn’t there
+some part of the country in which you were deeply interested as a boy
+and would like to see again and don’t want to visit all by yourself?
+Your old home--your old school--anything, anywhere will do.”
+
+“And that shows how little you appreciate the state of things,” said
+Burgoyne with a grim smile. “If I so much as mentioned the matter,
+I know what he’d do. He’d immediately be for making a motor trip of
+it, and for taking the woman along. He’d be sure to say, ‘Bring your
+friend, Captain Blair, and we’ll have a grand old time!’ No, that
+won’t do, Gavin--you’ll have to think of something better than that.”
+
+“Get him to run over to Paris with you for a few days,” suggested
+Blair. “He’s never been there, and it might appeal to him.”
+
+“And I say to that,” answered Burgoyne, “that just the same objection
+applies. He would be for making a party. If I were dead, or dying, or
+lying in a ditch with a broken limb, he’d come anywhere like a shot,
+but----”
+
+“Then you must go somewhere and have a fictitious accident,” said
+Blair. “That boy must be away at the time of these interviews. You must
+go across to France, invent something, and get him over. You must!”
+
+Burgoyne knitted his brows and frowned, and for a moment appeared to be
+thinking hard. At last he looked up and slowly gazed from one to the
+other of the two faces before him.
+
+“I won’t!” he said stoutly. “But I’ll tell you what I will do. I’ll go
+over to Paris whenever you like, and I’ll send the boy a message that
+will bring him there--alone--without inventing any fibs. And--if you
+two think it wise--I’ll then take upon myself to tell him the plain
+truth about this woman. The proof you can give him when we come back.
+I’ll do that, and, by Gad, he’ll believe me! Now, what do you say to
+that? That seems to me the straight thing to do.”
+
+Frances nodded her complete assent with a readiness which did not
+escape Blair’s watchful eyes. And Burgoyne suddenly spoke again.
+
+“It won’t be an easy job, Gavin,” he said. “I’d rather do--well, most
+of the things I have done, than do it. But it seems to me the straight
+thing to do. I hate to have to do it--he’ll take it hard, sir!”
+
+“I don’t know,” remarked Blair, quietly. “I don’t know.”
+
+Burgoyne stared at him.
+
+“You don’t know?” he said. “Why, he’s infatuated----”
+
+“Better say bewitched, and have done with it,” said Blair. “My own
+impression is that, in his quieter moments, the lad’s regretting what
+he’s done, and----”
+
+Frances rose and began to shuffle her papers, bending her head over
+them.
+
+“Is there anything else that you gentleman require me for?” she asked.
+“Remember--I’m a business woman, and I’ve all my morning’s work before
+me.”
+
+Blair was quick to appreciate a situation; he saw that the girl had
+no desire to have Richard Shrewsbury’s feelings for Mrs. Walsingham
+discussed before her. And so, in a few words, the interview was brought
+to an end and an understanding arrived at. Burgoyne was to go across
+to Paris and get Richard over; on the day of his arrival there Mr.
+Winch was to see Carsdale and Blair was to call on Mrs. Walsingham; the
+result of those visits was to be wired to Burgoyne.
+
+“And then we shall see--what we shall see,” said Blair, as he and
+Burgoyne parted, a little later. “But--we shall save him.”
+
+Burgoyne turned into Richard’s rooms feeling sick at heart about the
+whole sordid business. And there Kedgin presented him with a sealed
+note, which, on opening, he found to be from Mr. Levanter, of Bond
+Street. And Mr. Levanter presented his compliments, and if Captain
+Burgoyne would do him the honour to call, Mr. Levanter had news to
+communicate which he believed would interest Captain Burgoyne greatly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+THE EVE OF THE BATTLE
+
+
+Mr. Levanter, receiving Captain Burgoyne in his elegant front shop in
+full view of assistants and customers, was a bland, suave, and polite
+gentleman; Mr. Levanter, closeted with Captain Burgoyne in his private
+sanctum at the rear of the establishment, became a man of deep mystery.
+Burgoyne saw at once that the jeweller was burning to communicate some
+news which he believed to be of importance, and he waited calmly to
+hear it.
+
+“Take a seat, Captain,” said Mr. Levanter, cordially polite. “I--the
+fact is, I have something to tell you which I think you will like to
+hear. I would have stepped round to you myself, but I was not sure that
+I should find you alone, you understand, and so----”
+
+“Quite right,” said Burgoyne. “What is it, Mr. Levanter?”
+
+Mr. Levanter hummed and hawed two or three times, and went through the
+pantomimic gestures which are invariably indulged in by persons who
+desire to make communications that in their opinion are tinged with
+mystery. He smiled on his visitor.
+
+“The fact is, Captain,” he said, “I was at the Odalium Theatre last
+night.”
+
+“So was I,” said Burgoyne bluntly.
+
+“Yes,” said Mr. Levanter. “Yes. In fact I saw you. Hem!--I also noticed
+your friends, Captain.”
+
+“Well?” said Burgoyne.
+
+“Yes,” continued Mr. Levanter. “Yes. Hem!--this is a difficult and
+delicate matter, Captain. Er--may I ask if the--the lady in whose
+company you were is a very personal friend of yours?”
+
+“You may,” answered Burgoyne. “You may ask me anything you like. She is
+not.”
+
+“A--mere acquaintance, shall we say?” suggested Mr. Levanter.
+
+“About that,” said Burgoyne. “Why?”
+
+Mr. Levanter rubbed his hands together.
+
+“That makes matters much more simple,” he said. “I may say anything I
+like?”
+
+“Anything,” replied Burgoyne.
+
+“Very well,” said Mr. Levanter. “Er--I observed that the lady was
+wearing the necklace, Captain.”
+
+“You observed that the lady was wearing a necklace,” said Burgoyne.
+
+Mr. Levanter started.
+
+“Ah!” he said. “Just so. _A_ necklace? Yes. Now, Captain, was that the
+necklace--the imitation one which you brought here, you know--or was it
+the--real one?”
+
+Burgoyne gave Mr. Levanter an inquiring look. Mr. Levanter smiled
+again, and again rubbed his hands.
+
+“You’ve got something to tell me about--that?” said Burgoyne. “I see.
+Well, now, did you observe a gentleman who was with me in that box last
+night?--a gentleman who has lost his left arm?”
+
+“I did, sir, and I know him,” answered Mr. Levanter. “Captain Blair. He
+is an occasional customer of mine.”
+
+“Very good,” said Burgoyne. “Now, Mr. Levanter, I have given you a
+great deal of my confidence and I am going to give you more. The real
+reason why my friend Captain Blair and I were at the Odalium last night
+with young Mr. Shrewsbury and that lady was that----”
+
+Mr. Levanter suddenly put up a hand.
+
+“Pardon a moment, Captain,” he said. “I ought to say that I know the
+lady, Mrs. Walsingham. She has been here often with Mr. Shrewsbury.”
+
+“Then that simplifies matters,” said Burgoyne. “I was going to say that
+Captain Blair and I were where we were because of the necklace. The
+fact is that Captain Blair is helping me to investigate matters. And if
+you have anything to tell me I should like Captain Blair to hear it.
+He is at his club in Dover Street at this moment, and if you have no
+objection I’ll fetch him.”
+
+“No objection whatever, Captain,” said Mr. Levanter. “Not at all, sir.
+I shall be at your disposal as soon as you return.”
+
+The friendliness of the jeweller’s intentions was evidenced by the fact
+that when Burgoyne and Blair came back together he had set out on the
+table in his private room a decanter of sherry and a box of cigars, and
+that he pressed hospitality upon his visitors in a fashion which could
+not well be refused.
+
+“Allow me to offer you a glass of wine, gentlemen,” said Mr. Levanter.
+“I believe you would find it hard to improve upon this sherry in the
+town. And these cigars are as good, but if you prefer cigarettes,
+gentlemen, here is an excellent brand. When one has a little
+confidential talk in view, gentlemen, it is as well to be comfortable.”
+
+“And what is it that you have to talk to us about, Mr. Levanter?” asked
+Blair when they had settled down behind a door which looked to be as
+safe and sound-proof as the door of a Bank of England vault. “Captain
+Burgoyne has told me what you have already told him.”
+
+Mr. Levanter looked approvingly at the smoke which curled from his
+cigar.
+
+“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “it’s a rather curious story, and in my
+opinion it throws a sidelight on the question of the diamond necklace
+which belongs to Captain Burgoyne, about which, Captain Blair, I
+understand you know all that I do?”
+
+“Yes,” answered Blair. “I do.”
+
+“Well, gentlemen,” continued Mr. Levanter, “it so happened that last
+night I went to the Odalium Theatre with a friend of mine. I am not
+going to tell you his name, but he is a well-known jeweller, who is
+also a pawnbroker. The reason why we went to the theatre was that he
+and I had just done a very pretty little bit of business together,
+so we decided to have an evening at the play, and a little supper
+afterwards. We went to the Odalium because it was musical comedy--my
+friend loves musical comedy. We sat in the dress-circle--rather far
+back, for the seats were nearly all taken when we got to the theatre.
+And we saw you, and Mr. Shrewsbury, and Mrs. Walsingham. And, of
+course, I noticed that Mrs. Walsingham was wearing the necklace.”
+
+“A necklace, Mr. Levanter,” said Burgoyne.
+
+“I beg your pardon, sir--a necklace,” said Mr. Levanter. “Well, of
+course, knowing all that I do, I wondered a bit about this. After a
+time, my friend drew my attention to your box. ‘You see the woman there
+with the diamond necklace, my boy?’ he said. ‘Yes,’ said I. ‘Wait till
+we’re having our bit of supper,’ said he, ‘and I’ll tell you something
+about that necklace and her, too,’ he said. Eh, gentlemen?”
+
+Burgoyne and Blair exchanged looks, and Mr. Levanter, greatly enjoying
+his rôle of story-teller, proceeded.
+
+“You will easily understand, gentlemen,” he said, “that I naturally
+pricked up my ears at that, especially as I saw that my friend--whose
+name, as I say, I can’t give, though I may as well tell you that it
+is to be given, if absolutely necessary, which depends, I take it,
+entirely on you, Captain Burgoyne--as I saw, I say, that my friend was
+a good deal--well, interested in seeing the lady and the necklace on
+full show, as it were. However, I never believe in asking a man to tell
+anything until he’s ready to tell it, so I said nothing. I noticed,
+however, that at frequent intervals during the evening my friend’s eyes
+were turned on your box, gentlemen, and that whenever he looked that
+way, he sighed deeply.”
+
+“We had no idea that we were attracting so much attention, I am sure,
+Mr. Levanter,” observed Blair. “But I interrupt you--pray proceed.”
+
+“Not at all, sir,” said Mr. Levanter, politely. “Well gentlemen, in
+due course my friend and I went to have our bit of supper, and as
+we had had a profitable deal during the day, we treated ourselves
+to champagne. And after a glass or two, my friend’s spirits seemed
+to rise. ‘You sighed a good deal in the theatre,’ I said to him.
+‘Especially when you looked at the lady with the necklace.’ ‘Ah, my
+boy,’ said he, ‘so would you have sighed if you knew all that I do! I
+had that necklace in pledge, my boy,’ he said, ‘for nigh on two years,
+and I was always hoping that it would eventually drop into my hands, my
+boy, but it never did. And it’s worth, my boy, it’s worth every penny
+of twelve thousand of the best, my boy, it is, indeed!’ he said. And
+then he fell to sighing again.”
+
+Here Mr. Levanter begged permission to refill the gentlemen’s glasses,
+and incidentally refilled his own.
+
+“Well, gentlemen,” he continued, “the whole story then came out. It
+appears that about two years ago--rather more than two years ago, to be
+exact--this Mrs. Walsingham visited my friend, who is, as I told you,
+but had better remind you again, a jeweller who is also a pawnbroker
+in a first-class line of business, and told him she wanted to pledge
+a diamond necklace, which she there and then produced, and which he
+declares to be the one she was wearing at the Odalium last night. He
+at once saw that the necklace was of great value; as he observed to me
+over the supper-table, he valued it at not less than twelve thousand
+pounds, and he is a knowing man and an expert. Greatly to his surprise,
+when he asked her how much she wished to borrow on it, she replied that
+she wanted a thousand pounds, and----”
+
+“Only a thousand!” exclaimed Blair.
+
+“Only a thousand pounds, sir,” replied Mr. Levanter. “And she wanted
+a special contract, on the terms of which she was to pay the interest
+every six months. The transaction was put through on those terms, and
+when it was completed, my friend, who, I must tell you, gentlemen, is
+fond of a bargain, began to sound her as to buying the necklace. Of
+course, she wouldn’t hear of it, and she took her thousand pounds and
+went away. When she came again, six months later, to pay her interest,
+he sounded her again, but with no result. The same thing happened at
+six-monthly intervals. Finally, when the necklace had been in his hands
+two years, and she came to pay the fourth six-months’ interest, my
+friend made a determined attempt to buy from her--he offered her a big
+sum.”
+
+“How much?” asked Blair.
+
+Mr. Levanter smiled and shook his head.
+
+“That, sir, he did not tell me,” he answered. “But I gathered that it
+was a good deal. However, she would not listen to him then, but he
+confided to me that at that time he certainly had hopes of getting her
+to sell it to him for seven or eight thousand--he knew, if she did,
+that he could get ten thousand for it at once.”
+
+“A nice profit!” said Burgoyne.
+
+“A very pretty profit, sir,” assented Mr. Levanter, calmly. “But while
+he was still anticipating this, the lady turned up one morning--it is
+only a few days ago that this happened--and said that she had come to
+redeem her pledge. You may imagine, gentlemen, how deeply concerned my
+friend was to hear this! He had never given up hope of being able to
+persuade the lady to sell, and he gave me to understand last night that
+he was so anxious to acquire the necklace that he actually increased
+his offer until it reached a sum which would only have left him a
+nominal profit--say fifteen hundred pounds.”
+
+“And yet without result,” observed Blair, drily.
+
+“Without result, sir!” said Mr. Levanter. “Imagine a lady--ladies never
+have much ready money--refusing eight thousand five hundred pounds in
+solid cash! However, this lady would listen to nothing: she paid the
+thousand pounds and what trifle of interest there was, and carried her
+necklace off. And my friend assured me, gentlemen, that he felt the
+transaction almost as much as if he’d lost a favourite child!”
+
+“I should think so,” remarked Blair. “Yes, I should think so.” He
+glanced at Burgoyne, who was staring fixedly at the jeweller, and then
+turned to Mr. Levanter again. “Well, this is a very interesting story,
+Mr. Levanter,” he said. “How does it seem to you?”
+
+Mr. Levanter smiled slyly.
+
+“Well, sir,” he said, “I should just like to ask Captain Burgoyne--or
+you, for you know all about it--a plain question. Was that necklace
+which Mrs. Walsingham was wearing at the theatre last night the real
+genuine article which Captain Burgoyne lost, or was it the imitation
+one which he brought to me?”
+
+Burgoyne answered promptly--“The real one!”
+
+Mr. Levanter rose, still smiling.
+
+“Then, gentlemen, I think you know who annexed the real one when it
+was--annexed,” he said. “There’s no need to say more.”
+
+“Except that for the present the secrecy between us must remain,” said
+Blair. “You quite understand that, Mr. Levanter.”
+
+Mr. Levanter answered with many smiles and reassuring nods that he
+understood, and presently the two friends went away and walked up Bond
+Street together.
+
+“Now, Ralph,” said Blair. “You must be off to Paris at once. There’s
+no use in delaying this affair. Get off this afternoon. Do nothing
+to-morrow, except to wire for the youngster. Wire me as soon as he
+arrives. Tell him what you’ve got to tell him the day after his
+arrival. While you’re tackling him, Winch shall tackle Carsdale, and
+I’ll tackle the woman. I shan’t see you again. Where will you stay?”
+
+“_Bristol_,” answered Burgoyne, laconically.
+
+“Very well,” said Blair. “Now, be off. Remember, this is the eve of
+battle.”
+
+“I wish it were against honest enemies!” said Burgoyne. And he strode
+away, growling.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+MISS GUYNER INTERVENES
+
+
+Carsdale, interviewing his guest over the breakfast table on the
+morning following their chance meeting in the Strand, found Mr. Sydney
+Werrick extraordinarily amenable to reason. It appeared that at that
+moment he wanted nothing that was out of the way, beyond the immediate
+advancing of a sum of money which would re-attire his person in
+garments suited to his new environment, and leave something over to
+jingle in his pockets. He had no desire to interfere with Carsdale or
+with Mrs. Walsingham just then; let them play whatever game they were
+after, so long as they remembered him in connection with it.
+
+“I may want you to take a hand in it,” said Carsdale. “It’s very
+probable I shall want you. But you shan’t be left, Sydney.”
+
+“I don’t propose to be left,” remarked Mr. Werrick, helping himself
+to another of the excellent lamb cutlets, which adorned Carsdale’s
+breakfast table. “I didn’t come across to be left.”
+
+Carsdale took no notice of this quiet intimation. He drew out a
+pocket-book. It was a characteristic of his that he always carried a
+considerable amount of money about him in cash. He began to count some
+bank-notes, and finally tossed a wad of them over to Werrick.
+
+“You’ll want some money to be going on with, Sydney,” he observed.
+“There’s a hundred.”
+
+Werrick cast a careless glance at the present.
+
+“Pounds or dollars?” he asked lazily.
+
+“Pounds, of course!” answered Carsdale. “You want a new fit-out. Do you
+know where you can get what you need, ready for wear?”
+
+“If I don’t, I’ll soon find the place,” said Werrick, picking up and
+pocketing the notes. “All right. Then--you don’t want me for anything,
+just yet, at all events?”
+
+“No,” replied Carsdale. “What I want you to do is to keep quiet. You’re
+not to bother Sylvie, you understand. You’re to abstain from any
+interference. I’ll see you’re all right at the proper moment. You can
+look round the town, and you can put up here. Of course, you don’t know
+where my office is?”
+
+“That,” answered Werrick, “is just what I was going to find out--if you
+had one--this very morning.”
+
+“Well, there’ll be no necessity,” said Carsdale. “My office is in
+Abbotsbury House, Norfolk Street, Strand. And, you’re not to come
+there, remember. What transactions you and I have can be done here. But
+if you ever want to ring me up, you can do so. There’s the telephone
+number.”
+
+Werrick took the letter-heading which Carsdale threw him and put it in
+his waistcoat pocket with a nod. And Carsdale presently went off to
+business, leaving his guest alone, with an intimation to him to take
+care of himself. Werrick lighted a cigar, put his feet on a chair,
+and read the newspaper. The woman who attended to Carsdale’s rooms
+appeared, removed the breakfast things, made the beds, tidied and
+dusted, and removed her presence. Werrick was alone, with a hundred
+pounds in his pocket, and the day before him. He smiled grimly as he
+turned over to the sporting page, and he informed himself, rolling the
+thought over in his mind as if he extracted much pleasure from its
+intellectual stimulus, that there was nothing in this life so certain
+as the unexpected.
+
+Werrick was still considering this thought when a gentle, but decisive
+knock sounded on the outer door of Mr. John Carsdale’s chambers. The
+guest paid no attention to the first summons, but when it was repeated
+he asked himself lazily whether he had not better see who stood
+without. He was quite certain that no one could want him, but it might
+be interesting to know who wanted Carsdale. So, newspaper in hand and
+cigar in mouth, he lounged forth and opened the door to find a slim,
+neat-figured young lady, heavily veiled, confronting him. Mr. Werrick
+gazed curiously at her features and could make nothing of them. He felt
+somewhat astonished, too, at the fact that the visitor did not speak.
+Accordingly he himself gave voice.
+
+“Mr. Carsdale?” he said, taking it for granted that the caller wanted
+his host. “Well, he doesn’t happen to be in.”
+
+The only effect of this intimation was that the veiled lady walked into
+the chambers and that Werrick retreated before her. And as she crossed
+the threshold, she raised her veil and revealed to Werrick’s astonished
+eyes the keen, yet pleasing features of Miss Sophie Guyner. Werrick, in
+sheer surprise, dropped his cigar.
+
+“Great Scott!” he exclaimed. “So, it’s you?”
+
+Miss Guyner, with characteristic presence of mind, pointed to the outer
+door, and her host made haste to shut it. He looked at his visitor a
+little doubtfully.
+
+“I say,” he said. “Carsdale might come back any minute, you know.”
+
+“No!” said Miss Guyner. “He won’t. I know his habits--I ought to. And
+it wouldn’t matter if he did. I’m equal to any Carsdales. Sit down.
+No--give me a drink, for I’m thirsty with the heat. Something with a
+fizz in it. But not champagne, though I dare say there’s plenty in that
+cupboard. See what else there is.”
+
+Werrick opened the cupboard door in silence, wondering all the time
+what Sophie wanted. At her command he mixed her a tumbler of light wine
+and mineral water; he refreshed himself, having the consciousness of a
+solid breakfast behind him, with something a little stronger. And then,
+perched on the edge of the table, he looked at Miss Guyner, who had
+installed herself in Carsdale’s easiest chair, and his look was full of
+inquiry. Nevertheless, Miss Guyner’s first remark was also of inquiry.
+
+“So you’re here, are you?” she said.
+
+“I’m here,” answered Werrick. “Right here.”
+
+Miss Guyner looked him carefully up and down, from tip to toe.
+
+“Well,” she observed, reflectively. “You look like as if it was time
+you’d got somewhere. I’ve seen you much worse, but still, you do look
+as if it would soon be time you went where they keep things ready to
+put on as soon as you lay down the cash.”
+
+“If you’d only looked in this afternoon,” remarked Mr. Werrick,
+slapping his trousers pocket, “you’d have found me in purple and fine
+linen.”
+
+“A nice tweed suit--grey or brown--and a coloured shirt would look
+better,” said Miss Guyner. “Quiet patterns, of course.”
+
+Mr. Werrick took another pull at his tumbler, and mentally
+congratulated Carsdale on his taste in whiskey and his make of
+soda-water.
+
+“And how did you find me, Sophie?” he inquired, almost affectionately.
+
+“I heard Carsdale tell her last night--or, rather, this morning,”
+answered Miss Guyner. “She thought I was asleep, but I wasn’t. I’m
+often--very often--awake when she thinks I’m asleep. It pays me to keep
+my ears open. I didn’t hear all that they said, but I heard plenty to
+learn that you were here. And so, naturally, I came to see you.”
+
+Mr. Werrick left his seat on the table, took one on the arm of Miss
+Guyner’s chair, and putting his arm round her shoulders, kissed her.
+
+“You were always a good sort to me, Sophie,” he said. “I’ve thought an
+awful lot about you.”
+
+“And I’ve thought a good lot about you,” said Miss Guyner. “A good deal
+more than you deserve. Now, then, that’ll do for the present. What are
+you up to, Sydney Werrick?--what’ve you come over here for?”
+
+Mr. Werrick re-seated himself on the edge of the table, having first
+chosen and lighted a fresh cigar.
+
+“What did I come over here for?” he repeated reflectively. “What am
+I up to? Well, I just guess that I’m going to make John Carsdale and
+Mrs. Sylvie Werrick do something in the way of compensating me for the
+trick they played on me over there in New York. And I also guess that
+Carsdale, at any rate, knows it. So he was with her last night, was he?”
+
+“He was there last night,” answered Miss Guyner, “and I heard enough to
+know that he impressed it upon her that whatever it is they’re up to,
+you’d have to come in at it. But----”
+
+She paused abruptly and gave her hearer a nod full of meaning.
+
+“Yes?” asked Mr. Werrick, interestedly. “Yes? And----”
+
+“You keep your eyes skinned,” said Miss Guyner. “Not so much for him
+as for her. She gets cunninger and cunninger every day. She’s up to
+something now, or I’m a Hottentot.”
+
+“Um!” said Mr. Werrick. “About this young dude, now? Was she going to
+marry him, straight?”
+
+“She was,” affirmed Miss Guyner.
+
+Mr. Werrick looked into his tumbler.
+
+“She can marry him to-morrow, for anything I care,” he remarked
+carelessly. “But of course, she can’t. Has she had much out of him,
+now?”
+
+“There hasn’t been time,” replied Miss Guyner.
+
+“Last night I saw her wearing a diamond necklace,” observed Mr.
+Werrick. “Real, Sophie?”
+
+“Real enough! It’s worth every cent of ten thousand pounds, that
+necklace,” said Miss Guyner, with enthusiasm. “But--she carried it off
+to the bank this morning.”
+
+Mr. Werrick emptied his tumbler and set it down with a deep sigh.
+
+“Ah!” he said. “That’s a pity. If that bit of property, Sophie, had
+come into my hands, and had been converted, as it would have been,
+into good solid cash, the proceeds would have gone a long way towards
+advancing a certain little scheme which I have in view, and in hearing
+of which you would be greatly interested.”
+
+“Why should I be interested?” inquired Miss Guyner, watching him
+narrowly.
+
+“Because you may be inclined to take a partnership in it,” answered
+Mr. Werrick. “The fact is, Sophie, I’m sick of knocking about, and I
+want to settle down. I’ve been right away out West, and I’m returning
+West--as soon as I’ve collected capital. I came over here to collect
+capital, and I was highly gratified, when I met Carsdale last night,
+to find that I was going to have a better time than I’d anticipated. I
+hadn’t figured on it that Carsdale would be able to command so much
+money. Now that I know he can, well, I’m just going to have what I
+want, and then I’m going back--to settle down.”
+
+“At--what?” asked Miss Guyner.
+
+“At fruit farming,” replied Mr. Werrick. “Fruit farming. California.
+The loveliest climate in the world, and the most dependable. You’ve
+nothing to do but see your fruit grow, ship it off, and rake in the
+dollars. That’s what I’m going to do. And you shall come with me,
+Sophie.”
+
+“We’ll see,” answered Miss Guyner in matter-of-fact tones. “I might, if
+it seems to promise well. But your present game, Syd, is to watch those
+two. Both Carsdale and her will do you if you’re not sharp. I tell you
+she’s up to something now. And I dare say he is.”
+
+Mr. Werrick’s eyes grew sombre and his brow threatening.
+
+“I’ll watch ’em!” he observed.
+
+“You thought to watch ’em in New York, and they were up and out to
+Europe, leaving you there to face the music, before you as much as knew
+they were after anything,” said Miss Guyner.
+
+“Yes, that’s so,” agreed Mr. Werrick; “but I believe Carsdale wants to
+sort of make up for that trip. In fact, I think he’s got something for
+me to do that’ll be useful to him.”
+
+“Mind you’re paid in advance, then,” said Miss Guyner. “Now, about
+her. I can keep an eye on her as long as she stops at the flat. And I
+can post you up. And that’s the real reason why I came down here this
+morning--we must meet somewhere.”
+
+“Sure,” said Mr. Werrick. “But where? You know best.”
+
+“Yes,” remarked Miss Guyner. “We mustn’t write, and it isn’t safe to
+telephone, because, after all, I’m never certain when she mayn’t be in.
+Do you know Tottenham Court Road, Sydney?”
+
+“I know there is such a street, and maybe I’ve been in it,” replied Mr.
+Werrick. “Off Oxford Street, isn’t it?”
+
+“It is, and a few doors along it, and on the left-hand side, there’s
+a little restaurant called Cyrano’s,” answered Miss Guyner. “Now, for
+the present, you drop in there at twelve noon, and at nine in the
+evening, and meet me there, and I’ll give you the news. Start to do
+that to-night. And now I’m off, and you’d better do your shopping and
+smarten up.”
+
+So Miss Guyner returned to Bloomsbury, and Mr. Werrick went out to
+expend some of his hundred pounds, and he bought himself two good and
+quiet suits, and a complete furnishing of linen and small articles. He
+amused himself for the rest of the day in sober and innocent fashion,
+but he contrived to walk down Norfolk Street and to view Abbotsbury
+House from the outside. And after dining quietly at an unpretentious
+café, he set out for Cyrano’s Restaurant, and in Oxford Street was
+seen by an American-looking person who immediately took such interest
+in him that he turned and followed him. The interest increased; the
+American-looking person followed Mr. Werrick to the very trysting-place
+and, having watched him enter, entered after him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+THE BLANK CHEQUE
+
+
+Left alone to her own reflections, and with the sure consciousness that
+the castle in Spain which she had recently been building had fallen
+into dust and fragments about her ears, Mrs. Walsingham, on Carsdale’s
+departure, immediately set to work to consider her position. She knew
+that everything had gone wrong, that the pleasant and easy-going
+present had vanished like a morning’s dream. It had seemed to her, for
+at any rate a few days, that all was going well with her. She meant
+to marry young Richard; what was more, she had made up her mind that
+she would be a good wife and would take care of him and his money; she
+would even manage Carsdale in respect to the last matter. It would be
+very easy, in her opinion, to live a godly and sober life when you were
+married to an equable-tempered young man who had twenty thousand a year
+at his command, and she proposed to live up to the standard of high
+respectability. And now, without warning, all that fair prospect had
+vanished, been blotted out, and she was faced with the naked and ugly
+fact that once more she would have to fight for her own hand. And for
+the space of two minutes she heartily cursed the dead Sandy Kinahan and
+the living Sidney Werrick and the evil fortune that had brought matters
+to this untimely pass.
+
+The most serious factor in the sum of Mrs. Walsingham’s difficulties
+was, of course, the man who by the laws of England was her husband.
+She allowed herself to remember certain previous incidents of her
+life. She remembered a boy-and-girl marriage, and a whirl of gaiety and
+excitement afterwards as long as Sydney Werrick’s money lasted; then
+a period of adventure which was always exciting but seldom pleasant.
+She remembered a shifty and daring time in New York, in which John
+Carsdale played a considerable part, and from which she and Carsdale
+escaped by the skin of their teeth, leaving Werrick to fall into the
+hands of justice and to find an asylum in Sing Sing. They had heard
+of him afterwards as having drifted West, and Sandy Kinahan’s news of
+his death had filled them both with joy, for Sydney Werrick alive,
+was always a menace and a danger, and all the more so because he had
+a quiet and subtle way of doing ugly things. Mrs. Walsingham had an
+attack of cold perspiration as she thought of her legal lord and
+master as he might be if an ugly fit took him, and he felt inclined
+to turn nasty over the remembrance of the New York affair, and her
+first instinct was to rise and flee, the middle of the night though it
+was. She fought that impulse down, but the mere knowledge that Sydney
+Werrick was alive, that he was there in London, that he was once more
+in touch with her and her world, was quite enough to keep her out of
+bed and to make her reckon things up with unusual care. After all, she
+informed herself, self-preservation is the first law of well-regulated
+nature.
+
+In that moment of cool calculation Mrs. Walsingham calmly blotted out
+everybody and everything but herself from her world. She dismissed
+Werrick, and Carsdale, and Richard Shrewsbury--the one and only
+question was--what was she herself to do in order to safeguard herself?
+And upon that followed the no less important question--what was she to
+do it on? In other words, how did she stand financially.
+
+There was little difficulty in arriving at an answer to that
+question--women of the Sylvie Walsingham type always know how their
+private ledger shows itself. She knew what she could command. She
+had about three hundred pounds in ready cash lying at her bank; she
+possessed jewellery which was possibly worth another six or seven
+hundred. She had the diamond necklace, and she was very well assured
+that any jeweller would give her at least nine or ten thousand pounds
+for it. And she had a blank cheque, which Richard Shrewsbury had
+forced upon her only two days before, commanding her to fill it up for
+whatever sum she liked in order to fit herself out for the wedding,
+which was not to be long delayed. She knew that when he had given her
+carte blanche in the matter of filling up the cheque he had meant a few
+hundreds of pounds, or a thousand pounds, and even something more. But
+there was the cheque, with his bold signature at its foot--and, so far,
+she had made no use of it. In that cheque lay vast potentialities.
+
+She was still considering these matters, still planning, scheming,
+debating, when she rose next morning. She had been thinking of them
+half through what had remained of the night, but she rose at her
+usual hour and set off for Norfolk Street according to her accustomed
+routine, carrying the diamond necklace with her and depositing it at
+her banker’s on the way. And she went through the day’s business calmly
+and methodically, though the planning and scheming was going on in her
+mind all the time. The more she thought, the more she was resolved to
+consider herself and to be free.
+
+Carsdale did not come to the office that day until nearly noon. When
+they were alone, she looked an eager, if silent, inquiry. Carsdale
+nodded reassuringly.
+
+“It’s all right,” he said. “He quite understands that he is not to
+interfere until I want him. You can make your mind easy--he won’t come
+here, and he won’t interfere with you. Of course, I’ve had to square
+him with liberal promises, and to give him cash to be going on with.
+But you’re all right.”
+
+“Where is he?” she asked.
+
+“Left him at my place,” answered Carsdale, carelessly. “With a hundred
+pounds in his pockets--to fit himself out with. I tell you, there’s no
+need to worry. Sydney is all right for the present.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham shook her head.
+
+“You forget,” she said, “that he saw that necklace last night. He would
+have a very good idea of its value. And if his cupidity is aroused----”
+
+“He fully understands that there’s a bigger game on than that,”
+interrupted Carsdale, “and he’ll wait. By the by, where is the
+necklace?”
+
+“At my bank,” she replied.
+
+“Good,” said Carsdale. “Now, don’t worry. Let’s see--is the youngster
+coming in this morning?”
+
+“He comes in any time, as you know,” she replied. “He may be in--I
+don’t know.”
+
+“I want to see him if he does come,” said Carsdale. “Don’t let him go
+until I’ve seen him.”
+
+On that day, however, Richard did not come to Abbotsbury House until
+after five o’clock. When he arrived he looked surprised and mystified,
+and he threw a note on Mrs. Walsingham’s desk.
+
+“I’ve been out trying a new car most of the day,” he said, as he
+dropped into a chair, “but I called in at Berkeley Square as I came
+along, and found that from Burgoyne--Kedgin says he scribbled it in a
+big hurry just before he rushed off to catch the afternoon train for
+Paris. Read it--I don’t understand.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham read the note which Burgoyne had hastily scrawled on a
+half-sheet of note-paper.
+
+  “DEAR DICK,” it ran, “I am off to Paris at a moment’s notice--most
+  important business. I may want you to run over, and if so, will wire
+  you to-morrow before noon--in that case you can catch the 2.20 at
+  Charing Cross. Expect wire about noon in any case.
+
+                                           “In haste, yours affectly.,
+                                                                 “R. B.”
+
+“What does it all mean?” said Richard. “I don’t know of any important
+business in Paris about which Burgoyne could want me, unless, indeed,
+it’s something about his company--I know he has some French people
+interested in it, though I’m shot if I know what use I can be in a
+business matter. What do you make of it, Sylvie?”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham secretly made of it that Burgoyne’s note was highly
+convenient to herself. She wanted Richard Shrewsbury out of the way for
+a few days, and she had been cudgelling her brains all the afternoon
+as to how she could get rid of him--here, wonderful to relate, was the
+very means she had wished for.
+
+“Of course you’ll go if he sends for you?” she said, folding up the
+note.
+
+“Oh, I suppose so, of course,” he answered, half unwillingly. “Though,
+don’t you know, I was going to take you down to Brighton in this new
+car to-morrow.”
+
+“That can wait,” she said. “There will be plenty of time for trips to
+Brighton, later. Of course, I know what Captain Burgoyne wants. He has
+gone over to Paris to meet the people he mentioned to you as being
+interested in his South American company, and he no doubt feels that
+it will give him moral support if you’re at the back of him in his
+interviews with them. That’s it.”
+
+“Oh, is that it?” said Richard, innocently. “Oh, well, of course, I’ll
+go--it’ll be rather fun, as I’ve never been in Paris. But I should have
+thought Carsdale would have been much more likely.”
+
+At that moment Carsdale, bustling and busy, put his head into the room.
+
+“Hullo, Shrewsbury!” he said. “That’s lucky--I just want you--some
+papers to sign--mere formalities.”
+
+“All right,” said Richard. “Look here”--and he tossed Carsdale the note
+which Mrs. Walsingham had just read. “Sylvie says Burgoyne probably
+wants me to give him moral support with the Frenchmen,” he said,
+laughing. “Don’t you think you’d do better?”
+
+Carsdale read the note at a glance. He, too, was glad to have Richard
+out of the way for a while. He gave Mrs. Walsingham a glance, and saw
+that the same thought was in her mind.
+
+“By no means,” he said. “You must go yourself if he sends for you. The
+probability is that Burgoyne wants to be able to introduce you to some
+French capitalists as a friend of his who is about to invest largely
+in his South American company. Oh, you must go, Shrewsbury, of course.
+Just come into my room and sign those papers, will you?”
+
+Richard, who never asked any why or wherefore of Carsdale, followed his
+man of business obediently and dashed off his signature at the foot of
+the documents which Carsdale placed before him. He never read anything
+that he signed, never asked questions about anything; his faith in
+Carsdale was complete and absolute. Now, as he pushed the papers away
+from him, he began to talk about the new car, which was waiting at the
+door; he induced Carsdale to go down to see it; finally, he whirled
+Mrs. Walsingham away in it, to dine at an idyllic country hotel which
+he had recently discovered in Surrey, and Carsdale watched them depart,
+and laughed as he hastened back to his office.
+
+“That note of Burgoyne’s is a piece of sheer good luck!” he said to
+himself. “I only hope he’ll send for the youngster.”
+
+By noon the next day Carsdale knew that his hope was fulfilled. Richard
+turned up at the office with an intimation that he was off to Paris by
+the two-twenty from Charing Cross. He carried Mrs. Walsingham off to
+lunch with him, and, meeting Carsdale on the steps, assured him that he
+should be back within forty-eight hours. Carsdale laughed and clapped
+him on the shoulder.
+
+“You’ll be an ass, Shrewsbury, if you don’t stay at any rate a week
+while you are there,” he said. “I shan’t expect you for a week.”
+
+“Of course, he’ll stop a week,” said Mrs. Walsingham. And a little
+later, when she and Richard were lunching in a private room at the
+hotel, she checked a tendency to sentiment on his part by telling him
+that he was silly in wishing to hasten back: he and Captain Burgoyne,
+she said, would easily find plenty wherewith to occupy and amuse
+themselves in Paris for a week, or for a fortnight, if they were so
+minded.
+
+“I wish you were going with me!” said Richard.
+
+“I wish I were, but I’m not, so there’s an end of it,” she answered,
+quietly. And she remained in the same quiet mood during their
+leave-taking; and when she had seen the train move away from the
+platform, and had gracefully waved her hand in reply to Richard’s
+generous gesticulations, she turned and walked away to the motor-car,
+which awaited her pleasure, as unconcernedly as if she had just said
+farewell to a favourite dog or cat which was being shipped to the
+Antipodes. For always before her was the consciousness of her present
+perilous situation, and the fear of what might happen if Sydney Werrick
+suddenly took into his head to play the part of the bad man.
+
+She calmly reviewed the whole state of things that night, and she
+resolved on her line of conduct for the next day. She consulted a
+Bradshaw with great care and attention; she made some shorthand notes
+in her little private memorandum book. And in the privacy of her own
+room, securely locked in for the night, she took Richard Shrewsbury’s
+blank cheque from her secret drawer, and laying it on her desk, filled
+it in with a steady hand for the sum of fifteen thousand pounds.
+
+That night Mrs. Walsingham went to bed and slept long and well.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+EVERY WOMAN FOR HERSELF
+
+
+Mrs. Walsingham went out early the next morning fully conscious that
+she had a hard and a trying day before her. But her excellent night
+had fitted her for whatever lay in front; now that the critical moment
+had arrived, she felt something of the joy of battle in her veins; she
+rose to the occasion with a zest which gave her positive pleasure.
+She was going to fight for her own hand; by nightfall she hoped to
+be in a position from which she could, metaphorically, snap her
+fingers at anything which savoured of the past. So she tripped out of
+Bloomsbury flats, and went Strand-wards, all unconscious of the fact
+that Mr. Sydney Werrick, who to his many other accomplishments added
+that of being able to cleverly disguise himself, watched her emerge
+and sauntered after her at a comfortably easy pace and distance. But
+Mr. Werrick, in his turn, was equally unconscious that he, too, was
+shadowed by a keen-eyed person who had no intention of losing sight of
+him.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham, following her usual habits, crossed Russell Square,
+went down Southampton Row and Kingsway to Norfolk Street, and entering
+Abbotsbury House, remained there for a good hour, during which time
+Mr. Werrick killed the slow moments by various devices, in which
+tedious occupation he was imitated by his shadow. Werrick knew already
+that there was but one entrance and one exit to Abbotsbury House; on
+it, however much he lounged about Norfolk Street, however deeply he
+professed to be interested in the kaleidoscopic life of the Strand,
+as seen from the two corners of the street-top, he kept the eye of a
+lynx. And at length he saw Mrs. Walsingham emerge, and he followed
+her to a neighbouring bank; and when she came out of its doors, a few
+minutes later, he followed her along the Strand. Then Mrs. Walsingham
+openly and boldly walked into the shop of Mr. Wiertz, and Mr. Werrick
+took up a position on the opposite side of the street, and wondered
+what she was doing in the establishment, which was ornamented by the
+unmistakable sign of the pawnbroker.
+
+Mr. Wiertz, who happened to be in his shop when Mrs. Walsingham
+entered, was surprised to see her, though he was not sure why he was
+surprised. That her visit was connected with financial reasons he felt
+assured, but for the moment he could not surmise what particular kind
+of financial reasons they might be. He greeted Mrs. Walsingham with
+great politeness, however, remembering the magnificence in which he
+had recently beheld her at the Odalium Theatre, and he came bowing and
+smiling towards her as she entered and fixed an inquiring gaze upon
+him. Mrs. Walsingham, however, knew that what Mr. Wiertz was really
+bowing and smiling at was the diamond necklace, or his recollections of
+it.
+
+“I want to see you in private, Mr. Wiertz,” she said, without preface.
+
+“With pleasure, madam,” replied Mr. Wiertz. He led the way to his
+sanctum at the extreme rear of the premises, and carefully shut
+the door upon himself and his customer before he placed his most
+comfortable chair at her disposal. “We shall not be disturbed here,
+madam,” he said. “But you are familiar with my little den.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham laid her handbag on the table and rested an elbow upon
+it.
+
+“You remember my diamond necklace, Mr. Wiertz?” she said, going
+straight to her subject. “Of course you do.”
+
+“I remember it, Mrs. Walsingham, and I had the pleasure of seeing you
+wear it the other night,” answered Mr. Wiertz.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham started and looked a question.
+
+“At the Odalium--close by,” said Mr. Wiertz. “Yes--I indulged myself
+with a seat at the play. And very beautiful it was--the diamond
+necklace, I mean, of course.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham laughed.
+
+“I suppose you couldn’t take your eyes off it?” she said.
+
+Mr. Wiertz bowed. He also smiled, blandly.
+
+“It would, of course, attract you much more than anything you saw on
+the stage,” continued Mrs. Walsingham. “Yes, I remember that you always
+had a great liking for my necklace, Mr. Wiertz. You also wanted to buy
+it. Very well--I want to sell it.”
+
+This blunt announcement produced two effects on Mr. Wiertz. A great
+wave of joy leapt up in his soul; it was followed by a mightier
+wave of caution. He took off his spectacles and began to polish
+them. Previously, Mrs. Walsingham had not wished to sell; now, Mrs.
+Walsingham did wish to sell. That difference made--all the difference.
+
+“Ah!” he said. “Yes? Now, when I wanted to buy the necklace, I had a
+customer in view. Now I have no customer in view.”
+
+“That’s of no consequence,” said Mrs. Walsingham, with fine
+indifference. “It doesn’t make the slightest difference in the value of
+the stones, you know. I remarked that I want to sell the necklace, just
+as it is. How much will you give me for it, Mr. Wiertz--prompt cash?”
+
+“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Mr. Wiertz. “I--I am not thinking of buying
+anything so very----”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham stopped him with a glance.
+
+“Don’t let’s waste time in foolish talk, Mr. Wiertz,” she said. And, as
+if to show how practical she meant to be in the matter, she unlocked
+her bag, took out a case and unveiled the diamond necklace before him.
+“You know you want to buy this,” she continued, “and now I’m prepared
+to sell it to you. You made me an offer once before--I didn’t really
+know the worth of the stones, then. Now, I do. And so--how much are you
+going to offer me--cash?”
+
+Mr. Wiertz took up the diamond necklace and examined it carefully. His
+fingers trembled a little as he put it down again.
+
+“I had an immediate customer at that time,” he protested. “Now, it is
+too late, and if I bought this, I should have to wait, and to look
+about me, and----”
+
+“Stuff!” said Mrs. Walsingham. “And nonsense, too. You know as well
+as I do that if you buy that necklace you can sell it again within
+twenty-four hours and make an enormous profit. What you’re calculating
+at this moment is how you can beat me down so that you can increase
+that profit. But you won’t, Mr. Wiertz. I’ve got my own price on that
+diamond necklace, and I’m going to have it. It doesn’t matter whether
+you give it to me or not. Because, if you don’t somebody else will.”
+
+Mr. Wiertz rubbed his hands together and smiled feebly.
+
+“How--how much do you want?” he asked.
+
+“Ten thousand--cash,” answered Mrs. Walsingham, promptly.
+
+“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Wiertz. “Oh, really, it’s--impossible.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham swept the necklace, case and all, into her handbag. She
+made signs of departure.
+
+“Impossible!” repeated Mr. Wiertz. “I--I couldn’t sell at a profit on
+that. Say--we’ll say eight thousand, dear lady.”
+
+“I’ve said what I want,” replied Mrs. Walsingham. “And what I want,
+I’ll have. Ten thousand is my price.”
+
+“I might go to eight thousand five hundred,” said Mr. Wiertz. “You
+see----”
+
+“I only see that you’re wasting time,” responded Mrs. Walsingham. “I
+tell you I can get ten thousand elsewhere.”
+
+Mr. Wiertz hesitated. Finally he stretched a hand towards the bag.
+
+“Well, well, let me see it again,” he said. “Really, you are very
+extortionate, you know, and my profit would be----”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham handed the necklace to him again.
+
+“Ten thousand--not a penny less,” she said.
+
+The jeweller examined the necklace still more closely. At last he
+turned to his desk.
+
+“How do you want it, then?” he asked. “A cheque?--or I can send out and
+get you notes if you like?”
+
+“If you please,” said Mrs. Walsingham. She sat back in the easy chair,
+and put the tips of her fingers together. “You’ve got a good bargain
+there, Mr. Wiertz--you know you have.”
+
+“But I shall have to find a customer,” said Mr. Wiertz, as he began to
+write a cheque. “You ladies are so cruel when it comes to bargaining.”
+
+The keen-eyed gentleman who was watching Mr. Sydney Werrick had by
+this time become aware that Mr. Werrick was watching some other person,
+and he accordingly waxed anxious to know who that other person was. So
+when Werrick suddenly woke up from lazy contemplation of the Strand and
+its crowds, and turned eastward again, his shadow looked about him to
+see whom he shadowed, and he was not long in deciding that Werrick’s
+attentions were fixed on the neatly-gowned little lady who made her
+way back to Norfolk Street. And his sharp eyes saw that she carried a
+handbag which was secured to her wrist by a chain which was something
+more than ornamental. After that, he watched his man more keenly than
+ever.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham re-entered Abbotsbury House and stayed there for half
+an hour. When she came out she went up into the Strand and boarded a
+City omnibus. She boarded it at a moment when there was a block in the
+traffic; Werrick, superbly confident in his disguise, took advantage
+of this to board the same bus. Mrs. Walsingham got a seat within the
+vehicle; Werrick climbed to the top and took good care to see who got
+on and who got off whenever the bus stopped between that point and the
+City. As for the man who was following Werrick, and who knew him quite
+well in spite of his disguise, he openly followed Mrs. Walsingham into
+the bus, being assured by that time that if he kept an eye on her he
+would also be keeping an eye on the man who rode above their heads.
+
+In this close companionship these three people rode down into the
+heart of the City. At the Mansion House, Mrs. Walsingham got out of
+the omnibus, and betook herself into Threadneedle Street. Werrick
+followed; the shadow followed him. Mrs. Walsingham entered the doors
+of a well-known private banking firm; Werrick lounged past them,
+turned, retraced his steps and met his shadow face to face. The shadow
+knew that he was safe; Werrick showed no sign of sudden recognition;
+showed nothing: he did not, indeed, seem to see the man whose eyes
+met his. And the man congratulated himself, and passing on, paused at
+a convenient point, and thenceforward kept a look-out for the grey
+Homburg hat which crowned his quarry’s dark face.
+
+The private bank into which Mrs. Walsingham had gone was that whereat
+Richard Shrewsbury kept his account. She was known there, for she had
+often transacted business over its counters for both Richard himself
+and for Carsdale, and when she presented her cheque for fifteen
+thousand pounds, accompanied by a slip stating what notes she wanted
+the amount in, it was duly honoured with no more delay than was
+necessary in counting and checking the notes. And if the two men who
+were watching outside, each with different motives, had but known it,
+Mrs. Walsingham presently went off with twenty-five thousand pound’s
+worth of Bank of England notes in her handbag. But whatever Werrick
+might guess and the other man wonder at, they knew nothing certain,
+and the chase began again, Werrick following Mrs. Walsingham, and the
+keen-faced man following Werrick.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham went away to Lombard Street, and there turned into
+the Anglo-Austrian Bank. The man who was shadowing Werrick saw her
+enter; he also saw Werrick pass the door in his sauntering, seemingly
+purposeless fashion. He himself, hesitating as to what he should do
+next, turned his attention from his quarry for a moment; when he looked
+round again, Werrick had disappeared. The shadow hastened his steps
+looking everywhere; Werrick was nowhere to be seen. Then the shadow,
+hastily inventing an excuse, entered the bank, and asking a question
+over the counter of the first clerk he saw, contrived to take a view
+of the people about him. His man was not amongst them, nor was the
+woman his man had been following. And though the shadow hung about
+for some time, he saw neither Mrs. Walsingham nor Werrick again. The
+truth was that Mrs. Walsingham, having come there by appointment, was
+transacting some private business in an inner room, and that Werrick,
+having found out all that he wanted just then, had slipped round a
+corner, negotiated some courts, and was going back West to meet Sophie
+Guyner. Eventually, the shadow, who knew very well that Werrick was
+living at certain chambers in Jermyn Street, and who had no concern
+with Mrs. Walsingham, went away. Mrs. Walsingham remained some time
+at the Anglo-Austrian Bank; when she came out she walked in leisurely
+fashion as far as the Mansion House. There she was about to board
+another bus, but instead of doing so, she turned away to a telephone
+box and spoke to Sophie Guyner, telling her that she was sending
+Griffkin up to the flat with a couple of theatre tickets for that
+evening, and that she herself should not be home until late. That done,
+she found a bus and went back to Norfolk Street, and employed herself
+in her usual avocations until the end of the afternoon, when she
+repaired to her favourite Soho restaurant and dined. She gave more time
+to her dinner than was her wont, and it was twenty minutes to eight
+when she rose and departed, and went home to Bloomsbury. And there,
+as he came along the corridor from the direction of her own door, she
+found herself face to face with Captain Blair.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+PLAIN TRUTH
+
+
+The man and the woman, meeting thus suddenly in the silence of the
+big, barrack-like building, paused involuntarily, and looked at each
+other in a questioning surprise. To the man, all the difficulty, the
+delicacy, the undoubted unpleasantness of his position rose up with new
+and telling force; he realized how thankful he would be to run away
+from his self-imposed task, and it was only when he thought of the
+seriousness of that task that his face grew set and his eyes stern. It
+needed no second glance at set face and stern eyes to tell the woman
+that trouble stood in her path; she had felt that as soon as she saw
+the military figure, rendered more striking by the vacant sleeve which
+was pinned up to the square, well-thrown-out chest advancing upon her.
+For a moment she blanched, and a sudden pang shot through her heart.
+She noted it with a vague curiosity, wondering, amongst all her other
+thoughts, if her heart had become affected. But her woman’s wit, the
+sense of her own danger, the knowledge that she herself, having got
+Sophie Guyner out of the way, had only come to the flat to obtain
+certain articles before leaving it for ever, steeled her nerves. She
+summoned up a smile of astonishment.
+
+“Captain Blair!” she exclaimed.
+
+Captain Blair made a stiff and ceremonious bow.
+
+“Good evening, Mrs. Walsingham,” he said politely. “I have just called
+at your flat, but I could get no response to my ring. May I see you
+for a few moments?”
+
+“Certainly, Captain Blair,” answered Mrs. Walsingham. “I’m sorry you
+got no answer, but I believe my maid has gone to the theatre. I am
+usually home before this time, but I’m a little late to-night.”
+
+“I am informed that you were generally to be found at home about a
+quarter to eight,” said Blair following her along the corridor.
+
+“As a rule,” said Mrs. Walsingham. She produced a latch-key, and
+opening the door of her flat, motioned her visitor to enter. “Come
+in, Captain Blair,” she said, and she pointed to the open door of the
+drawing-room.
+
+Blair walked in, again wishing that he could run away. He glanced
+rapidly around him and noted the abundant evidences of refinement
+and taste--the books, the pictures, the old china and glass. But he
+suddenly remembered another side of his hostess’s character, and he
+became ice-cold to all but the needs of the moment, which were, after
+all, that he should speak plainly and firmly.
+
+“Sit down,” said Mrs. Walsingham. She dropped into an easy chair, with
+her back to the light, and looked at her visitor. And it seemed to
+Blair that in her eyes there was something of an amused speculation, if
+not of a careless defiance.
+
+“Mrs. Walsingham,” he began. “I--I have called to see you upon business
+which is--er----”
+
+“Unpleasant!” she said quickly. “Unpleasant!”
+
+“How do you know that?” asked Blair.
+
+“Because I cannot suppose you would call on any other business,” she
+answered. “Well, let us discuss it, then--I am pressed for time, for I
+have to go out again.”
+
+Blair looked at her steadily. He saw that he was dealing with a woman
+who would probably care little for anything he might say--it would
+be best, then, perhaps, to be brief and plain, even to the verge of
+brutality.
+
+“I have called, Mrs. Walsingham, on behalf of my friend, Captain
+Burgoyne,” he said. “You are doubtless aware that Captain Burgoyne is
+very much attached to young Mr. Richard Shrewsbury, to whom you are
+engaged to be married?”
+
+“Well?” said Mrs. Walsingham.
+
+“Captain Burgoyne,” continued Blair, “does not approve of that
+engagement.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham laughed.
+
+“He would be glad to see Mr. Shrewsbury released from it,” said Blair.
+
+Mrs. Walsingham laughed again.
+
+“In fact,” said Blair, “Mr. Shrewsbury must be released from it. Must!”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham ceased to laugh. She sat up, and an angry spot showed
+itself in each cheek.
+
+“Must!” she exclaimed. “And why ‘must,’ Captain Blair? What right has
+Captain Burgoyne to say ‘must’ to me?”
+
+“I am here to explain to you why Captain Burgoyne says ‘must,’”
+answered Blair. “The fact is, Mrs. Walsingham, Captain Burgoyne,
+whether you know it or not, has got what is commonly called the whip
+hand.”
+
+“Over me?” she said.
+
+“Over you!” said Blair, quietly. “Over you. Unmistakably and
+undoubtedly, over you. So he gives you an alternative. Either you will
+give up, dismiss, get rid of--anything you like to call it, so long as
+the reality is there--young Shrewsbury, or----”
+
+“Or--what?” she demanded sharply.
+
+“Or you go to prison,” answered Blair. “To prison.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham drew in her breath sharply. She favoured her visitor
+with a cool and a long stare. Finally she shook her head.
+
+“I am not good at riddles, Captain Blair,” she said. “Will you have the
+goodness to tell me what this is about.”
+
+“I am quite sure that you know what it is about,” answered Blair.
+“What I think you do not know is that Captain Burgoyne knows more than
+you think he knows. You made a false step, Mrs. Walsingham, when you
+allowed young Shrewsbury to buy the imitation necklace from his friend.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham showed no sign of agitation or fear. By that time she
+was ready and prepared for anything, and she turned apparently innocent
+and wondering eyes on her visitor.
+
+“This is so much Greek to me,” she said lightly. “Be plain, if you
+please, Captain Blair.”
+
+“Very good,” responded Blair. “Then perhaps I had better tell you what
+we know----”
+
+She interrupted him with an arch laugh.
+
+“‘We!’” she repeated. “Oh--so you, too, are concerned. I thought as
+much, the other night.”
+
+“I speak as Captain Burgoyne’s friend,” continued Blair. “What we
+know is this--Before he left England for South America, three years
+ago, Captain Burgoyne deposited with your late employer, Mr. Barclay
+Leverton, a diamond necklace as security for a loan of five thousand
+pounds. That necklace Mr. Leverton placed in his safe. You abstracted
+that necklace from that safe very shortly afterwards; you had a
+facsimile of it skilfully manufactured, and you put the facsimile where
+the real article should have been. Then you----”
+
+“Wait a minute, if you please,” said Mrs. Walsingham, interrupting him
+with a lifted hand. “Is this all surmise or is it knowledge?”
+
+“That you shall see for yourself,” replied Blair, “Let me go on.
+You then went to a well-known jeweller and pawnbroker, who is quite
+prepared to give evidence against you--ah, I thought that would
+surprise you, Mrs. Walsingham!--and you pawned the real necklace for
+a thousand pounds on a special contract, under the terms of which you
+paid so much interest every six months. Frequently, that jeweller
+endeavoured to buy the necklace from you, but you would never consent
+to a sale, and eventually you redeemed the necklace by paying back the
+thousand pounds which had been lent to you. That was quite recently.
+You had a deep scheme in your mind. And you believed, Mrs. Walsingham,
+that Captain Burgoyne was unaware that what had been delivered to
+him by the late Mr. Leverton’s executors was mere paste! But Captain
+Burgoyne was not unaware. He discovered that fact almost at once.
+And--he quickly suspected you. And then, a trap was laid for you. You
+are a very clever young woman, but you walked into that trap as easily
+as we could wish.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham made no answer. She had none to make. For one of the
+few times in her experience, she was genuinely surprised. She had
+firmly believed that her dealings and transactions with Mr. Wiertz
+were sacredly secret--yet here was this man with the stern eyes fully
+cognizant of them. It might be that he was also cognizant of what had
+taken place between her and Mr. Wiertz that morning. So she remained
+silent, listening intently.
+
+“I say you walked into that trap,” continued the level-toned voice.
+“We were sure that you had the genuine necklace, and so we contrived
+that you should have the sham one also. We knew that when you had both
+in your possession you would feel safe. We also knew that you would be
+sure to begin wearing the real necklace. And we gave you an opportunity
+of wearing it, and you did wear it. Then, of course, we knew all. It
+would make a very pretty story in a criminal court, Mrs. Walsingham.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham gazed at her persecutor with sullen eyes.
+
+“I believe you engineered all that,” she said suddenly. “I’m sure you
+did. Burgoyne hasn’t the brains to have done it. But you can’t prove
+anything of it. Whatever it was that Burgoyne sold the boy, the boy
+bought for genuine, and Burgoyne sold for genuine, and the boy paid his
+money--ten thousand pounds. What do you say to that, pray?”
+
+“Only that Mr. Richard Shrewsbury’s cheque for ten thousand pounds has
+never been presented by Captain Burgoyne, and never will be, and that
+we can prove that what was handed to him was the imitation necklace
+which you had caused to be manufactured and of which, at that very
+moment, you possessed the original,” answered Blair. “It’s no use
+quibbling, Mrs. Walsingham--the case against you is complete. You had
+better take our terms while we are inclined to be merciful.”
+
+“What do you want?” she asked.
+
+Blair drew out his pocket-book.
+
+“A mere written acknowledgment of the fact that you abstracted the
+necklace from Mr. Leverton’s safe will do,” he said, producing a sheet
+of note-paper on which some lines were written. “Perhaps you will read
+this.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham looked the confession over.
+
+“I will sign that,” she said. “I did take the necklace.” And she took
+up a pen from her writing-desk close by and dashed off her signature,
+and handed the paper back. “And I suppose that’s all?” she asked.
+
+Blair was more than a little astonished at her coolness. The matter
+seemed to be one of absolute indifference to her. He began to wonder if
+she was tricking him in some way. Yet--there was her signature.
+
+“All,” he said, “except--the return of the genuine necklace. You must
+give me that.”
+
+But Mrs. Walsingham shook her head.
+
+“No!” she said firmly. “I shall do no such thing. It is not yours, at
+any rate. If I give it back to anybody it will be to its legal owner,
+whether that’s Captain Burgoyne or Dick Shrewsbury. It may belong to
+one of the two, but it certainly doesn’t belong to you.”
+
+“Captain Burgoyne is at present in Paris,” said Blair.
+
+“And so is the boy,” she remarked. “And I dare say I can guess what has
+taken him there--now. Burgoyne has got him over so that you could do
+this dirty work in his absence. All right!--but you’ll get nothing out
+of me. If either of them want the thing, let them come to me for it.”
+
+“You understand,” said Blair, speaking very slowly, “you understand
+that this paper which you have signed will be shown to Mr. Shrewsbury.
+It is scarcely probable that he will care to see you after he has read
+it and realized what it means.”
+
+Mrs. Walsingham burst into a peal of silvery laughter.
+
+“What do I care whether he cares to see me or not?” she retorted
+defiantly. “That’s all over and done with. But I can tell you this, you
+solemn-faced old goose, that in spite of that paper, and in spite of
+what you say, and in spite of Burgoyne, and of all of you, if I cared
+to lift a finger, I could have the boy at my feet again--yes, and keep
+him there! Do you hear that, Captain Blair?”
+
+“I hear it, and I doubt it,” replied Blair.
+
+“Well, I don’t, then,” she said. “However, I’m not going to argue with
+you. I have business to attend to, and I want to go out. I dare say you
+can open the door for yourself.”
+
+Blair unconsciously moved a little towards the door.
+
+“I think that even now you scarcely appreciate your position,” he said.
+
+“I appreciate it only too well,” she replied. “Am I to ask you to leave
+me? Or can’t you take a hint?”
+
+“The necklace----” began Blair, “the necklace----”
+
+“Isn’t yours,” she retorted. “Now, go!”
+
+Blair shook his head, went to the door, let himself out, and left her
+alone. She sprang to the door and locked it after him. Then, moving
+quickly, she went into her bedroom, and opening a small safe which was
+let into the wall, she took from it certain articles of jewellery which
+she had no mind to leave behind her, together with a pocket-book which
+contained money.
+
+Suddenly, as she placed these things in her bag, Mrs. Walsingham heard
+a slight sound in the room she had just left. She turned, and in the
+gathering gloom saw the door being slowly pushed open towards her.
+Round its edge were the fingers of a man’s hand--square-nailed, strong,
+suggestive. She looked, hesitated; then her own hand stole into a
+pocket of her gown, and her fingers grasped the tiny revolver which she
+always carried.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+A QUESTION OF ACCOUNT
+
+
+On the morning which followed Richard Shrewsbury’s departure for Paris,
+Carsdale, turning over the letters which lay on his desk at Abbotsbury
+House found, on looking at the flap of one envelope, the old-fashioned
+seal of Mr. Septimus Winch, who kept up the old-time habit of securing
+his correspondence in a thoroughly dependable way. He tore it open with
+an exclamation of impatience.
+
+“What does this old ass want?” he muttered, running his eye over the
+enclosure. “More about Leverton’s affairs, I expect.”
+
+Mr. Winch’s letter, however, gave Carsdale no information: it merely
+stated that Mr. Winch would feel much obliged if Mr. Carsdale would
+call upon him at eleven o’clock. Carsdale glanced at his watch, it was
+already ten minutes to the hour named. He went to his safe, took out
+the papers which Richard had signed so hastily the previous day, put
+them into his breast pocket, and caught up his hat and umbrella.
+
+“Mrs. Walsingham been in?” he asked as he strode through the outer
+office.
+
+Griffkin replied that Mrs. Walsingham had been in, and had gone out
+again, before Mr. Carsdale arrived.
+
+“Tell her, when she comes in, that I shall be in and out all day, but
+out most of the time, and that she isn’t to make any appointments for
+me,” said Carsdale. “I may be out all the time.”
+
+Then he hurried off to Lincoln’s Inn, wondering what Mr. Winch wanted,
+and grumbling because he himself was anxious to get down to the City in
+order to carry out certain plans which he had been maturing in his mind
+since the previous day. He was not well pleased, on reaching the old
+lawyer’s office, to be kept waiting five minutes beyond the appointed
+time, nor did it increase his good temper, when he was admitted to Mr.
+Winch’s private room, to find Frances Leverton there. He bade solicitor
+and client a curt good-morning, and he was too much preoccupied with
+his own affairs to notice that neither offered to shake hands with him.
+
+“Good morning, Miss Leverton; good morning, Mr. Winch,” said Carsdale,
+in his usual rapid manner. “I have very little time to spare this
+morning, and I only got your note as I was starting out for the City,
+but I thought I would call in. What can I do for you, Mr. Winch?”
+
+Mr. Winch waved his hand to a chair.
+
+“Sit down, Mr. Carsdale, sit down,” he said. “I dare say we shall not
+detain you very long: it depends largely on yourself. Miss Leverton had
+asked me to see you on her behalf, but all things considered, I thought
+it best that she should see you with me. So she is here.”
+
+“Yes?” said Carsdale, impatiently. “Yes?”
+
+Mr. Winch put the tips of his fingers together.
+
+“The fact is, Mr. Carsdale,” he said slowly, “the fact is, Miss
+Leverton, who has, as I believe you know, a sure aptitude for business
+matters, has been gradually going through her late father’s papers and
+winding up his concerns since his death.”
+
+“Just so,” said Carsdale. “So I understand. I offered my assistance to
+Miss Leverton.”
+
+“I think Miss Leverton has done very well without it,” said Mr. Winch,
+dryly, “though I am sure it might have been most valuable. Now, Mr.
+Carsdale, Miss Leverton has naturally brought to light certain matters
+with which she had not been familiar during her father’s life. With
+some of those matters you were concerned; with one or two of them very
+intimately concerned.”
+
+Carsdale showed signs of impatience.
+
+“No doubt, no doubt,” he said. “There are still matters between us
+which are not cleared up. I have more than once put myself at Miss
+Leverton’s disposal in those matters, but she has never taken advantage
+of my offer.”
+
+“No, sir, because those matters were not worth attending to!” said Mr.
+Winch. “But there was a matter which was worth attending to that you
+did not mention to Miss Leverton, nor to me, nor to anybody.”
+
+Carsdale, under his impatient surface, was all attention. He had a
+clear notion of what was coming, and he was thinking hard as to how to
+meet it, what to say, and what to do.
+
+“To what do you refer, Mr. Winch?” he asked calmly.
+
+“I refer, sir, to the matter of the Chilwhele Mine Concession,” replied
+Mr. Winch, with a stern glance. He laid his hand upon a pile of papers
+at his side, tapping it significantly. “Here are the documents, sir. It
+is only by the greatest skill and the utmost patience, Mr. Carsdale,
+that Miss Leverton has got at the truth of that matter--her father
+never knew it. But we, his legal representatives, know it. Now, sir,
+I am going to tell you the plain truth, and I tell you it advisedly,
+staking my reputation as a solicitor upon what I say. You subjected my
+late client, Barclay Leverton, to a mean fraud!”
+
+“Fraud is a strong word, Mr. Winch,” said Carsdale.
+
+“It is a strong word, and an ugly word, and a nasty word, sir!”
+retorted the old solicitor. “And it is the only word to use in this
+case. Fraud!”
+
+Carsdale shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Abuse me, if it pleases you, Mr. Winch,” he said quietly. “All the
+abuse you can shower on me is a matter of indifference to me. And----”
+
+“It will not be a matter of indifference to you, sir, when a Scotland
+Yard man taps you on the shoulder,” said Mr. Winch, angrily. “I know a
+case of common fraud when I see one. It is a wonder you have been found
+out, for you are a clever fellow, Mr. Carsdale, but found out you are,
+and you shall learn it.”
+
+“And you may threaten me as you please,” said Carsdale, “for all
+your threats are as indifferent to me as your abuse. But perhaps you
+and Miss Leverton will allow me to give my version of this matter--I
+believe that even a prisoner may speak in his own defence. This affair
+of the Chilwhele Mine Concession, Mr. Winch, is a mere question of
+account. Now, hear me,” he continued, as the old solicitor raised a
+hand in protest. “Whatever you say, it is a question of account, and
+nothing else: it is a question of very intricate account, and that is
+the reason why there has been so much delay in settling it. I told you
+just now that there were matters between us--that is, between you, as
+Mr. Barclay Leverton’s executors, and myself, as an informal partner
+of his--which were not yet settled up. This is one of them. Now, as it
+so happens, Mr. Winch, I completed the statement of accounts in that
+matter only yesterday, and I have it in my pocket-book, and here it is.”
+
+And from amidst the numerous papers in his pocket-book, Carsdale
+selected one and laid it on Mr. Winch’s desk. It looked to be newly
+type-written; it was very neat, and precise, and business-like; in
+reality, it had been in the pocket-book ever since Barclay Leverton’s
+death, ready for any emergency. The emergency had arisen; the document
+accordingly made its appearance.
+
+Mr. Winch picked it up with a frown and glanced it carefully over,
+motioning Frances, who sat at his side, to look at it at the same time.
+And Carsdale, knowing his advantage, went on in his glib and plausible,
+and, just then, slightly-injured tones.
+
+“That is a full statement of the matter,” he said. “My books are open
+to your inspection. You will perceive that there is a balance due
+to the late Mr. Leverton’s estate of two thousand seven hundred and
+eighty-five pounds. I was going to send you a cheque for that amount
+at the end of this week, Mr. Winch. As I am here, and as you have said
+what you have said, I will give you the cheque now.”
+
+Carsdale drew out his cheque-book and turned to an adjacent table. But
+Mr. Winch threw down the statement and raised his voice.
+
+“Stop, sir!” he said. “I decline to receive that cheque until I have
+had this matter fully investigated. I have proof here of what you did
+in this matter, sir, and it cannot be settled by your sitting down and
+writing a cheque. I won’t have that cheque, sir--you shall not write
+it!”
+
+Carsdale laughed contemptuously and went on writing.
+
+“You can no more stop me from writing a cheque, Mr. Winch, than you can
+stop me from making it payable to you,” he said calmly. “There it is,
+on your desk--and if you send it back to me, I shall post it to you.
+You have now statement and cheque, and the matter is closed as far as
+I’m concerned. And as regards your charge of fraud, Mr. Winch, let me
+hear of it again, and you shall hear from me. Good day, sir, and good
+day, Miss Leverton.”
+
+“Stop, sir, stop, I say!” exclaimed Mr. Winch. “I tell you, sir, I----”
+
+But Carsdale only laughed and strode out, and the old solicitor and
+Frances looked at each other. Mr. Winch suddenly ceased fuming, and
+shook his head. “That,” he said, “is a man who will always escape by
+the skin of his teeth! My dear, I am afraid he has been too sharp for
+us. I wonder if he was speaking the truth? I wonder if he really meant
+to render an account?”
+
+“If he did, why did he never mention the matter before?” asked
+Frances. “No--he has been too sharp, as you say. He must have been
+prepared--I’ll swear we should never have heard word or whisper of the
+Chilwhele Concession from him if he hadn’t suddenly been plumped with
+it.”
+
+“Well, well, after all, there’s the cheque,” observed Mr. Winch. “See,
+he’s left it open--I’ll send it round and see if we can get cash for
+it.”
+
+“Then we shall accept his version of it and have done with him,” said
+Frances. “The cheque will be met all right.”
+
+“Let us see--let us see!” said Mr. Winch, a little skeptically. “And
+after all, my dear, it is the money we want, you know.”
+
+But Frances wanted more than that, and when Mr. Winch’s clerk had been
+to Carsdale’s bank and had come back with a sheaf of bank-notes, she
+went away discontented. Carsdale, it seemed to her, had slipped out of
+the noose she wanted to keep around him. But she had other concerns
+connected with him to see to, and she went off to see to them.
+
+In a suite of palatial rooms, at the top of an equally palatial
+building, Frances was soon closeted with a well-gowned, smart woman who
+might have been the head-mistress of a girl’s high school instead of
+what she was--the soul and brains of a private detective agency.
+
+“You are still keeping Mr. Carsdale under close observation?” said
+Frances, who had taken it upon herself to institute a particular
+surveillance over the movements of her late father’s partner two days
+before.
+
+“Quite so, Miss Leverton,” replied the head of affairs cheerfully. “I
+have two of my very best people devoting themselves to him, and there
+will be a third--a very smart girl who has just joined my staff--on the
+work this afternoon, when one of the others comes off. And as you are
+not particular about expenses, I have an especially good man detailed
+for the evening and night work. Oh, yes!--from the moment Mr. Carsdale
+left his rooms in Jermyn Street this morning until he goes back to
+them to-night, he will be continually under observation. We can’t, of
+course, penetrate into the offices and places of business where he may
+go, but we shall always know where he is, and whom he calls to see, and
+so on. Now, here, for instance, is his record of yesterday, you see.”
+
+Frances took the detailed report which the principal handed her and
+glanced it over with all the awe which attaches to the reading of a
+secret document. It set forth all Carsdale’s movements of the day
+before, and she was bound to confess that they all seemed to be very
+innocent and ordinary, and such as he might reasonably have been
+expected to make in the way of business. She gave it back without
+comment.
+
+“I rather gathered,” said the principal, “that you are afraid of this
+man leaving the country suddenly.”
+
+“Yes,” replied Frances. “I think it very likely that he may do so.”
+
+“Well, it’s a very easy thing for a man to do that, you know,” remarked
+the principal. “He’s nothing to do but jump into a train or take a
+swift motor-car down to the coast. And if we should detect him in
+either of those acts, how are we to stop him? It isn’t as if the police
+had any warrant out against him. I’m afraid all we can do is to keep
+you thoroughly posted in his movements while he is in England.”
+
+“That will be a great deal,” said Frances. “I want to know where he is,
+what he is doing, what is likely to happen. I can tell a good deal from
+merely knowing where he goes on business.”
+
+Then she went away, reflecting on the wiliness of Carsdale. She was
+certain in her own mind that if he had not been confronted with the
+matter by Mr. Winch he would never have mentioned the affair of the
+Chilwhele Mine Concession to her, never have sent her a cheque. Putting
+two and two together, she began to get at a gleam of the truth.
+Carsdale was one of those clever folk who can see rocks ahead and
+exercise great ingenuity in steering clear of them. And in his hands
+rested Richard Shrewsbury’s fortune!--why, it might vanish into thin
+air at any moment, and Carsdale with it. She went home feeling that
+the events of the morning had been all in the adventurer’s favour. She
+and Mr. Winch had failed. She had no hold on Carsdale now--the mere
+cashing of his cheque had destroyed whatever hold she had had, and she
+recognized that he had gone away from New Square more powerful for
+trickery than ever.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+THE SILENT TENANT
+
+
+Carsdale went away from his interview with Mr. Winch and Frances
+Leverton conscious of mixed feelings. He was triumphant, and yet he
+was annoyed; he had scored a success over two people whom he cordially
+disliked, but his victory had cost him the greater part of three
+thousand pounds. Although he had always been prepared for this sudden
+onslaught, he was not a little surprised when it came, and as he walked
+out of New Square he was puzzling his brains to make out how Frances
+had worked up the evidence against him, for he himself had begun to
+believe that he was safe. That young woman, he decided, was a great
+deal too clever; he began to regret that in past days he had not made
+up to her; it was evident that she possessed a good business head and
+knew what figures meant, and she might, under favourable conditions,
+have been very useful to him. Instead of that, she was his enemy, and,
+as events had just proved, a formidable one. “Lucky that I was always
+able to keep a reserve at the bank in case that ever did come up!” he
+muttered as he made for Fleet Street. “There’d have been the devil to
+pay with old Winch if I hadn’t taken the upper hand. Well, that’s two
+thousand seven hundred gone, anyway.”
+
+This amount, however, seemed a mere nothing in comparison with the
+potentialities which Carsdale carried in the inner breast pocket
+of his immaculate morning coat. They were simple enough matters in
+themselves--only two or three papers with Richard Shrewsbury’s
+signature hastily scrawled at the foot of each, but they--and the
+signature--gave Carsdale full and entire power to deal with his young
+client’s fortune. Carsdale, as he chartered a taxi-cab at Temple Bar,
+was master of a quarter of a million of what was as good as ready money.
+
+The bank at which Richard Shrewsbury kept his account, and whereat
+the securities lay which Carsdale was now hastening to lay hold of,
+was an old-established, old-fashioned private concern, belonging to
+two families, the respective heads of which were staid and sober old
+gentlemen whose business concerns were of such an eminently respectable
+nature that they were neither of them given to suspecting evil. And
+accordingly, when Carsdale interviewed one of them in the private
+parlour, and presented an order from Richard which empowered him to
+take such securities as he thought fit, they regarded the matter as one
+of ordinary business, and made no remark when he selected two hundred
+thousand pounds’ worth of stock which was convertible into ready money
+on sight. Polite old gentlemen both, they simply took Richard’s written
+order and Carsdale’s receipt, and expressed a polite hope that young
+Mr. Shrewsbury was well and enjoying himself. “Quite well, thank you,”
+replied Carsdale, in his pleasantest matter. “The fact is that Mr.
+Shrewsbury contemplates matrimony, and I am accordingly going to put
+the bulk of his property on a rather better footing. I shall have some
+even stronger securities for your care presently, gentleman.”
+
+The two old gentlemen said they should always be glad to take care
+of anything for Mr. Shrewsbury or for Mr. Carsdale. Anything sounder
+than the present securities they could hardly conceive of; however,
+if Mr. Shrewsbury was about to marry, perhaps an extra one, or even a
+half per cent., would be an advantage, and no doubt Mr. Carsdale had
+something in his eye.
+
+“Oh, an excellent readjustment, excellent--a rare opportunity,
+gentlemen,” said Mr. Carsdale, cheerily. “One that I must not miss on
+my young friend’s behalf--a stock that is seldom on the market.”
+
+“We hope Mr. Shrewsbury is making a good marriage?” said one of the
+partners. “He is still young.”
+
+“Oh, a most excellent marriage--excellent!” answered Carsdale. “A very
+wise marriage--delightful and clever lady.”
+
+Then he took the securities and went off and plunged into the
+labyrinths of that mysterious City wherein men play with the signs and
+symbols of money as children play with pebbles and broken potsherds,
+and within an hour the securities were sold and Carsdale was commanding
+two hundred thousand pounds, and had, moreover, so disposed it that it
+was safely in his own keeping. There was nothing more to do then but
+to put half the world between him and London, and he meant to do that
+at once. He had exploited London quite sufficiently, and had not done
+well out of it; his eyes were turned now to other and uncultivated
+pastures, where a man of capital might do wonders. And it being then
+about luncheon time, he turned into a famous City restaurant, and
+ate and drank with a good heart, and over his subsequent cigar and
+coffee he consulted certain shipping lists, quite unaware that an
+innocent-looking, well-dressed gentleman, who had lunched in close
+proximity to him and had afterwards followed him into the smoking-room,
+was keeping a close observation on all that he did.
+
+Carsdale like all men of his type had a soft spot, and his particular
+soft spot was for Mrs. Walsingham. She was not only his cousin, but his
+pupil in his particular school of finance, and when, as a school-girl,
+she had made a fool of herself by running away with and marrying Sydney
+Werrick, he had stood by her, helped her when hard times came, and had
+eventually taken her and Werrick into a sort of partnership with him
+in New York, where the three had indulged in certain shady pursuits
+which had landed Werrick in jail and brought the other two perilously
+near to the same fate. Carsdale and Sylvie, both filled with a strong
+and intensely selfish notion of the virtues of self-preservation, had
+escaped that fate and jumped quickly for England, and there each had
+met with big strokes of luck and for a time done well. But the luck had
+died down; Leverton’s death had taken business away from Carsdale; he
+had made two or three bad speculations; people were beginning to fight
+shy of him; certain investors were saying nasty things about him; it
+was time to seek an entirely new field. And the question which chiefly
+concerned him as he sat in that City smoking-room, idling away the time
+which he had no mind to spend at his office, was--what was to be done
+about Sylvie?
+
+He was not going to desert her, he said to himself. That was
+certain--but he was equally certain and determined that he was not
+going to be saddled with Sydney Werrick. And the only way in which to
+get rid of that inconvenient person was to make a prompt start on the
+part of Sylvie and himself. So far he had said nothing to her of his
+definite plans, but he knew her well enough to be assured that she
+would do exactly what he advised and asked her to do. And so, when he
+had finished his coffee, he walked out once more into the City, and
+repairing to Moorgate Street, entered the offices of the Royal Mail
+Steam Packet Company. When he came out, half an hour later, he carried
+away with him two first-class tickets for Buenos Aires, available by a
+boat which was due to leave Southampton next morning.
+
+Carsdale now proposed to himself to cut clean adrift from everything.
+His notion was that if you have done with a thing, you have done with
+it. He had no need to return for even a moment to the old life. He
+was carrying upon him two hundred thousand pounds in a form which
+could easily be converted into cash in any civilized country in the
+world, and at a moment’s notice; in addition to that he also carried
+a very considerable sum in notes and a sufficiency in gold. There was
+no reason whatever why he should revisit his office in Norfolk Street
+nor his rooms in Jermyn Street. He knew that as Richard Shrewsbury had
+gone to Paris he would be sure to find Mrs. Walsingham in at night--ten
+minutes’ conversation with her would be sufficient for his purposes.
+Never for a moment did it cross his mind that Mrs. Walsingham might be
+playing her own game, might be making plans of her own. He had become
+so accustomed to her continual appeals to him for advice that it never
+occurred to him that she would do anything on her own initiative. So
+he continued to take all that for granted, and went on making his
+arrangements under the firm impression that she would readily and
+willingly fall in with them.
+
+The man who was shadowing Carsdale formed certain conclusions after
+he saw his quarry enter and leave the shipping office. When, after
+following him up West, he saw him go to a well-known outfitter’s,
+whose boast it was that they could supply everybody with anything at
+a moment’s notice, his conclusions grew stronger, and, taking his
+chances in his hands, he entered a telephone box, and ringing up his
+principal, asked for an assistant to be sent to him at once, explaining
+that he believed his man was contemplating a bolt. Thus, for the rest
+of the day, Carsdale was shadowed by two men instead of one. But, all
+unconscious of this, he went steadily on with his preparations. He
+bought all that was necessary for a sea-voyage at the outfitter’s,
+had his purchases packed into two portmanteaux, and drove with the
+portmanteaux to a certain motor-garage in Long Acre. The men who
+followed him saw the portmanteaux carried inside.
+
+“That’s a sure tip,” said one. “He’s going off by motor. What’s to be
+done? We can’t stop him.”
+
+“Wait a bit,” replied the other. “He mayn’t be going now. If he leaves
+those portmanteaux there, we shall know that he means to go from here.
+That’s the main point. Then we can report.”
+
+Carsdale was steadily carrying out his policy of cutting everything
+adrift. He possessed a motor-car of his own, a good, serviceable car,
+which was at that moment standing idle in a West-End garage, and could
+have been used at once. But he was not in the mood to revisit any of
+his old and accustomed haunts, and he purposely chose an establishment
+whereat first-class cars were let out on hire, because he was not
+known there. He explained carefully what he wanted--a first-rate road
+car that would run him down to Southampton that night, and he made a
+selection out of the cars shown him which showed that he knew what he
+wanted in the way of speed, convenience, and comfort. He paid the hire
+there and then, saw his portmanteaux deposited in the car, and ordered
+it to be in readiness at any hour after nine o’clock. Then he left, and
+the men who were shadowing him saw that he had left his portmanteaux
+behind, and drew their own conclusions. He meant to come back; he
+meant to go away--so much was evident. One of them went off to report
+progress to the principal of the private detective agency; the other
+continued to follow Carsdale.
+
+It was then getting towards evening, and Carsdale had nothing more
+to do. He knew that he would probably find Sylvie at her favourite
+restaurant in Soho if he went there, but he had no mind to be seen
+anywhere where he was likely to be known or recognized. So he lounged
+away from Long Acre half-aimlessly, and turning up St. Martin’s Lane
+continued to kill time by looking at the wares displayed in the
+second-hand book shops. Between six and seven he strolled into Oxford
+Street, and suddenly catching sight of Frascati’s decided to go in and
+dine. That, at any rate, would bridge the time until he went round to
+Sylvie’s flat.
+
+The man watching Carsdale, seeing him enter Frascati’s, and judging
+that he meant to dine there, promptly rang up the office, said where
+he was, and asked for his relief. The relief presently came along in
+a taxi-cab; the smart young woman of whom the principal had spoken to
+Frances in the morning. She had shadowed Carsdale for three hours on
+the previous evening, and she was quite eager for more work of the same
+sort. When she heard that her man was probably dining, she decided,
+having high ideas of doing a thing thoroughly, that she would enter the
+restaurant herself and embrace the opportunity of inspecting Carsdale
+at close quarters while she, too, dined. She quickly found him and got
+a seat near him; Carsdale, if he noticed her at all, probably put her
+down as a well, but quietly-dressed young woman who had taken it into
+her head to come out and dine by herself. And she, watching him without
+seeming to do so, decided that, whatever he was after, he was a cool
+and matter-of-fact individual, for he ate and drank in methodical and
+leisurely fashion, showed no signs of haste or of unusual thought, and
+looked indeed for all the world like nothing but a smartly-dressed man
+who had finished his business and meant to enjoy his evening.
+
+It was a little after eight o’clock when Carsdale finally walked out of
+Frascati’s and turned towards Tottenham Court Road. The girl slipped
+out after him, and, before she had gone many yards, was joined by the
+man whom she had relieved.
+
+“I had an idea that I might be useful to-night,” he said, “so I got
+some dinner close by, and came back. If he’s going to bolt to-night,
+two of us will be needed.”
+
+Then they separated, and continued to watch their man from distinct
+points. And Carsdale, all unconscious of the espionage, went on.
+
+He had not a doubt that all his plans would succeed--a firm faith in
+his own star had always been one of his chief characteristics, and it
+was as firm as ever. A very brief conversation and explanation with
+Sylvie, and they would be off, and by that time next day they would be
+well on their way down the Channel. His spirits, always sanguine, rose
+at the thought, and he walked along more briskly, humming a tune.
+
+There were two entrances to the block of flats in which Mrs. Walsingham
+lived; Carsdale went in by the first he came to, and made his way to
+her door. He always carried a latch-key to that door, for he sometimes
+made use of the flat when its occupant was not in. And now, never
+dreaming of anything untoward or wrong, he opened the outer door, and
+walking in, and seeing inner doors open, called Mrs. Walsingham’s name.
+There was no answer to his call, and something in the silence of the
+place suddenly struck him with a sense of uneasiness. He hesitated;
+then walked into the nearest room. And there, lying across the
+threshold of Sylvie’s bedroom, he saw a huddled and motionless figure,
+and knew it instinctively for that of a dead man.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+BURGOYNE FACES THE MUSIC
+
+
+Captain Ralph Burgoyne, installed at the _Hôtel Bristol_, in Paris,
+awaited young Richard Shrewsbury’s arrival with about as much
+pleasure as a dentist’s patient, sitting in a luxuriously-appointed
+reception-room awaits the summons to that other room in which the
+practical part of the business is transacted. He had been in some tight
+places in his life, he said to himself, but never in a hole which was
+so absolutely detestable to all his tastes and ideas as this was.
+He had been in action more than once; he had known the tortures of
+hunger in one continent and the agonies of thirst in another; he was
+not quite sure whether he would not have undergone battle, thirst and
+hunger again rather than tell young Dick Shrewsbury what he had to tell
+him. For Burgoyne knew that the lad believed in Carsdale and in Mrs.
+Walsingham, and like all simple and honest men, he hated to be obliged
+to prove to a very young man that the pillars on which the edifice of
+his trust had rested were of uncommonly rotten clay. That revelation,
+that discovery, might, he felt, sour and embitter the youngster for
+life. But--it had to be done.
+
+It was all the harder to do because of Richard’s high spirits. It was
+late at night when he arrived, but nothing would content him but to
+drag Burgoyne out in order to get a glimpse of this wonderful Paris
+at once, especially at midnight. He kept Burgoyne out of bed until an
+unholy hour; even then, when they had got to their rooms, he began to
+be inquisitive about Burgoyne’s reasons for fetching him over.
+
+“Business, of course,” he said.
+
+“Well, of course, I don’t know anything about business, but whatever it
+is, depend on me, old chap. Carsdale said it must be business--you’d a
+lot better have had Carsdale here, Burgoyne. But what is it, anyway?
+Your company, I expect.”
+
+Burgoyne succeeded in producing a prodigious yawn.
+
+“Oh, to-morrow!” he said. “Time enough to-morrow--I’m half asleep.”
+
+But he slept little when he got to his bed and his countenance was
+melancholy when he met Richard at breakfast. The younger man rallied
+his senior on it, and Burgoyne made an excuse about his liver. The
+truth was that he was fighting down an inclination to put off the evil
+moment; as he looked at the boy’s young and eager face he felt as if
+he were going to stab him in the back. And yet, Heaven knew, he was
+only anxious, desperately anxious, to save him from a fate at the mere
+thought of which he himself shuddered.
+
+“Hang it all, pull yourself together, man!” he said, addressing
+himself, and cursing his own cowardice. “The thing’s got to be done,
+and it’s best to do it at once.”
+
+He carefully engineered his charge to the Bois du Boulogne when they
+went out after breakfast, and got him to himself on a seat in a quiet
+corner. The air was full of summer, and the trees were green, and there
+was water splashing like diamond sprays in the sunlight, and there
+were children and their nursemaids about, and everything was gay and
+pleasant, and Burgoyne miserably contrasted it with the sordid story
+which it was laid upon him to unfold. And suddenly, after he had spent
+some silent moments in tracing patterns upon the gravel at his feet,
+he burst into his subject, violently and awkwardly.
+
+“I say, Shrewsbury!” he said. “About this--this business that I asked
+you to come over and see me about, you know.”
+
+“Yes?” answered Richard.
+
+“I--you see, it wasn’t about my business that I wanted to speak to
+you,” said Burgoyne. “It was about--yours.”
+
+Richard turned from the contemplation of a nursemaid, who was flirting
+with a portly policeman, to stare at his companion in astonishment.
+
+“Mine?” he said.
+
+“Yes, by Jove, yours!” replied Burgoyne. “I--look here, youngster, you
+look on me as a friend, don’t you? You trust me, eh?”
+
+Richard stared more than ever. Then, with a sudden impulse, he
+stretched out a hand and laid it on the elder man’s arm.
+
+“Dear old chap!” he said. “I look on you as--why, as a sort of second
+father. Of course!”
+
+“I’m deuced glad to hear it, boy,” said Burgoyne, fervently. “Deuced
+glad! It--it makes it come easier, what I’ve got to say. Got to say,
+you understand, Dick? I don’t want to say it--hate to say it, by
+Gad!--but I’ve got to.”
+
+Richard began to have an idea that something as unpleasant as it seemed
+to be important was in the air.
+
+“What is it, Burgoyne?” he asked quietly.
+
+“It--it’s a damned nasty thing to have to talk about, sir,” said
+Burgoyne, viciously assaulting the gravel with his walking-cane. “I
+wish I could talk of something else. It’s about--about Mrs. Walsingham.”
+
+Richard stiffened.
+
+“What about Mrs. Walsingham?” he asked. “Remember, I’m engaged to be
+married to her.”
+
+“I do remember it, sir, and that’s what makes things so confounded
+awkward, and--and ugly,” said Burgoyne. “It’s only because I’m--fond
+of you, and anxious about you, and all that, don’t you know, that I’m
+speaking to you. You see, I know what you don’t know. It’s--it’s about
+that damned diamond necklace, which I wish to Heaven I’d never seen.”
+
+Richard was staring at a fountain which was throwing up sprays of
+liquid fire amongst the trees in front of them. He knew by that time
+that Burgoyne had some revelation to make to him; he guessed from his
+manner and his reluctance that it was something unpleasant.
+
+“You’d better tell me straight out what all this is,” he said.
+
+“Then I’ll ask you to understand that every word I’m going to say
+to you is the truth, lad,” said Burgoyne, emphatically. “Not what I
+believe to be the truth, but the absolute, provable truth. Every word
+that I say to you can be substantiated. You know that I left my diamond
+necklace in pledge with Barclay Leverton.”
+
+“Yes,” replied Richard.
+
+“You were with me when I redeemed it--or thought I did--from Leverton’s
+executors--his daughter and his solicitor?”
+
+“I was.”
+
+“What I got there wasn’t my necklace at all,” said Burgoyne. “It was
+a paste imitation. I found that out the morning I went with you to
+Levanter’s, in Bond Street, to buy that ring. Or, rather, Levanter
+found it out. Paste, sir! I didn’t say a word to you, but I had some
+suspicion, and I began to make inquiries. My necklace, Dick, had been
+stolen while it was in Barclay Leverton’s possession, though he knew
+nothing about it. And--take it steady, my boy, hard though it is!--it
+was stolen by Mrs. Walsingham. That’s the absolute truth--truth!”
+
+Richard made no answer. He, too, leaned forward and began to trace
+unmeaning patterns in the gravel. And Burgoyne, scarcely daring to look
+at him, went on hurriedly.
+
+“The real necklace, sir, my necklace, was stolen by Mrs. Walsingham
+from Barclay Leverton’s safe,” he continued. “She pawned it at once.
+She got it back after I returned home; she had it in her possession all
+the time I had the paste thing--which she got made--at Levanter’s. What
+I sold you was the paste thing, and I knew it at the time. Your cheque
+is here, in my pocket-book--see, here it is, and there you are--you
+can tear it up, or keep it, or do what you like with it. It was by
+selling you that paste affair that we found out the truth, or, rather,
+established it.”
+
+“‘We’?” said Richard. “Whom do you mean by ‘we’?”
+
+“Blair and myself. We laid the trap--we knew, really, by then, but for
+your sake, we wanted to make absolutely certain,” replied Burgoyne.
+“I’ll tell you all the details--you’ll see, then, youngster, that
+you’re getting the truth, ugly as it is. And I hope I shall never be
+mixed up in such a dirty business in my life again, sir, never!”
+
+Richard sat in stony silence while Burgoyne told him the whole story.
+He knew Burgoyne: he knew he was hearing the truth. And he was
+conscious, all the time that he listened, of a certain feeling of
+restored freedom. He had often realized, in moments when he had time to
+think calmly, that he had asked Mrs. Walsingham to marry him through
+sheer impulse, and, in spite of a naturally loyal disposition, he had
+been tempted to ask himself if he would have made her that offer in a
+calmer mood. Now, he knew that he would never marry her, and he asked
+himself whether he was glad or sorry to know it.
+
+“There, that’s all, and now I’ve done my duty!” said Burgoyne, when he
+had made an end. “Gad, sir, it’s the most unpleasant thing I’ve ever
+done in my life--but, my lad, it’s what your father would have had me
+do, don’t you know.”
+
+Richard laid his hand on Burgoyne’s arm and pressed it.
+
+“Thank you, Burgoyne,” he said. “I know you. Now, why didn’t you tell
+me all this in London? Why get me over here?”
+
+“We thought it best, Blair and I,” answered Burgoyne. “We thought you’d
+better be clear of things for a day or two, while Blair spoke to--her.”
+
+“Ah!” said Richard. “So Blair is going to speak to--her?”
+
+“He is, sir,” said Burgoyne. “My boy, don’t you see, you must be got
+out of the hands of those two. You’ve taken this well--you’re a good
+lad--and you must hear me out. You must have no more to do with this
+woman, or with Carsdale.”
+
+“Carsdale?” exclaimed Richard. “Carsdale!”
+
+Burgoyne was quick to note the surprise in the lad’s tones; he was
+somehow conscious of a shrewd suspicion that Richard would feel it more
+to hear of Carsdale’s treachery than of the woman’s.
+
+“Yes,” he said. “I know you’ve a great belief in Carsdale. But it’s
+no use denying it, Dick, the man has a bad reputation. You don’t know
+all that I know. To keep up any business relations with him is to be
+cheated in the end--perhaps ruined. Indeed, my boy, you don’t know!”
+
+Richard stood up; a far-away look came into his eyes, and his lip
+curled.
+
+“It seems to me,” he said, slowly and bitterly, “it seems to me,
+Burgoyne, that I don’t know anything. I have had one blow this
+morning--now I get another. I have trusted in Carsdale fully. He
+was kind and obliging to me when I came, a stranger, and my bankers
+complimented me on the excellent investments he made for me. I’ve never
+found him untrustworthy in anything.”
+
+Burgoyne groaned and shook his head.
+
+“My dear Dick!” he said. “My dear boy! I know how beastly it is to hear
+these things. But I’m telling you the truth--I’ve wormed things out
+for your sake. Carsdale is a deep dog--a crafty dog, sir. It has never
+struck you that from every one of the tradesmen he took you to he would
+get a very handsome commission; it has never occurred to you that it
+was his policy at first to make those investments so as to establish
+confidence. But now, tell me, Dick, as you’d tell your father--have you
+ever entrusted money to him to do as he liked with?”
+
+“Yes--ten thousand pounds,” replied Richard promptly.
+
+“You’ll never see it again, my lad, you’ll never see it again!”
+exclaimed Burgoyne. “Tell me further, since we’re at it--have you ever
+signed any papers for him that you didn’t read?”
+
+“I signed some papers yesterday afternoon,” answered Richard. “I didn’t
+read them.”
+
+“Oh, my God!” said Burgoyne. “I wish I’d spoken sooner. Boy, the
+man’s a swindler! He defrauded Leverton out of a considerable sum of
+money--Frances Leverton has found it out, she’s going to hold it over
+him--hold the threat of prosecution over him, I mean--for your sake.”
+
+Richard flushed.
+
+“For my sake?” he said. “Miss Leverton?”
+
+“Winch is tackling him to-day on it,” answered Burgoyne. “It’s the only
+hold we have on him. If he doesn’t give up all connection with you,
+release everything he has of yours, they’ll prosecute him on the other
+matter. It was the only way, lad. If your friends don’t save you from
+the fellow, you’ll be ruined--ruined! I got you over here to keep you
+out of the way while--while Blair and Miss Leverton did what they could
+with the woman and him. What is it, boy?”
+
+Richard was sternly motioning him to rise.
+
+“Come on, Burgoyne,” he said. “I’m off back to London. You all mean
+well--kindly--all of you. But I’ll fight for myself, though I won’t
+refuse the help of any of you. You meant well, old chap, but oh, why
+didn’t you tell me of this on the spot? Come on--let’s be off!”
+
+But Burgoyne had a business appointment for the afternoon which he was
+bound to keep, and it was not until late in the evening that they could
+leave Paris. Richard fumed and fretted at the delay, and was moody and
+taciturn throughout the journey. It was early morning when they reached
+Charing Cross and turned into the hotel for breakfast. And there
+Burgoyne, taking up a morning newspaper, saw the first brief news of
+what had happened on the previous evening at Mrs. Walsingham’s flat.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+WAS IT MURDER?
+
+
+Carsdale, arrested in his progress across Mrs. Walsingham’s
+drawing-room by the sight of the still figure which lay on the
+threshold of the inner door, knew with a sure prescience of coming evil
+that here was trouble--bad, black trouble. He stood staring around
+him, astonished, afraid. The whole place was so still, so very quiet,
+that he knew he was absolutely alone there with the thing which lay
+almost at his feet--the thing which he knew, from its attitude, its
+motionlessness, to be dead. His lips suddenly grew dry, his tongue
+parched, his fingers began to twitch aimlessly--Carsdale was badly
+upset and frightened; the exclamation that presently burst from him
+seemed to rattle in his mouth.
+
+“My God!” he whispered. “What--what’s this?”
+
+The room was dull and sombre in the fast-gathering twilight; although
+the dead man lay face upward, his hands clutching frenziedly at the
+top of his waistcoat, Carsdale could not distinguish his features from
+where he stood. But he presently crept nearer, holding by the edge of
+the table, and at last, getting close up to the body, he bent fearfully
+down and looked at the face, and recoiled as he recognized it.
+
+“Sydney Werrick!” he said. “Sydney Werrick! God in Heaven!--he’s dead.”
+
+Then he braced himself and stretched out a finger, and touched the dead
+man’s forehead and one of the clenched hands. And again he started
+back, for the flesh was still warm. And then Carsdale knew that he had
+arrived just too late to avert a tragedy. His bewildered mind began
+to clear; some dim realization of what had happened woke up in him.
+Mechanically he moved to the wall, and, pressing a switch, turned on
+the electric light. In its full glare he looked from where he stood at
+the dead man’s face. And he was thankful, then, to see that the eyelids
+were closed.
+
+Carsdale turned back out of the drawing-room, went into the
+dining-room, and going to the cellaret in the sideboard, found brandy,
+and tossed off half a tumbler at a gulp. The spirit steadied his shaken
+nerves; his natural resourcefulness began to assert itself. He stood
+for a moment, thinking. The question was--what was to be done?
+
+He realized by that time that a tragedy had happened of which he had
+never conceived the possibility. He knew very well that this was no
+case of suicide--Sydney Werrick was not the man to take his own life
+under any circumstances; he was much too fond of it, especially when
+he had money in his pocket and the prospect of more coming to him. He
+had been shot--possibly by accident, perhaps by intention. And who
+could have shot him but Sylvie? And where was Sylvie--and where was
+Sophie Guyner? And how had Werrick come there? But the last question
+was unimportant; the really pertinent fact was that Sydney Werrick was
+there--dead.
+
+Carsdale took a hurried look around him. There was nothing in the
+appearance of the dining-room to show that there had been any struggle,
+any disturbance. He went back into the drawing-room; everything there
+was in order, too. And now, having got over his fright, he went up to
+the body and examined without touching it. Except for a slight frown
+which had puckered the forehead between the eyes and parted the lips
+a little, the face was calm; Carsdale judged from that that death had
+been instantaneous. The hands were gripping the clothing about the
+chest; looking more closely, Carsdale saw a single spot of blood that
+had oozed out through the under-clothing and the shirt to the fancy
+waistcoat and had spread a little over the light material. He knew then
+that Werrick had been shot through the heart, probably as he crossed
+the threshold between the two rooms, and that he must have spun around,
+clutching at his breast, and have fallen dead in the attitude in which
+he then lay.
+
+Carsdale stepped carefully over the dead man and entered the bedroom.
+That, as it faced some high building at the rear of the flats, was
+in greater gloom than the drawing-room. He switched on the electric
+light and looked about him before going further. There were traces of
+recent occupancy there. On the bed were thrown a coat and skirt which
+he recognized as Sylvie’s; he had seen her in them only a day or two
+before, noticing them particularly because they were new. Near them,
+also on the bed, lay a hat which he knew as hers--it had evidently been
+thrown down in haste, as had also the walking costume. Carsdale argued
+a good deal from the appearance of these things; he knew Sylvie to be
+tidy, orderly, and careful of her clothes and hats to a fault, and he
+realized that she must have been in desperate haste to be gone when
+she flung her gown and hat aside in that fashion. If it were she who
+had shot Werrick, he said to himself, then she had changed her attire
+afterwards, hurrying to get away from the dead man, and the scene of
+his death.
+
+Going further into the room, Carsdale saw that the small safe which
+Sylvie had had built into the wall, was open. He saw papers and books
+lying inside; one of the two drawers was pulled out and was left unshut
+and empty. Within the safe lay a satin-lined jewel case, also empty.
+
+“Collected her money and her jewels and hurried off,” muttered
+Carsdale. “And she can’t have been gone many minutes when I came.”
+
+He turned to the dressing-table, still prying and examining. And
+suddenly his eyes caught sight of the revolver, a toy weapon which he
+himself had given to Sylvie, a year or two before, when there had been
+burglars in the flats, and she had expressed a fear of them. It lay
+on the edge of the dressing-table, as if she had dropped it there as
+soon as the fatal shot was fired. He picked it up and examined it. One
+chamber had been discharged; the others were still loaded.
+
+As Carsdale stood, handling the revolver, and wondering what he was to
+do next, he heard the outer door of the flat open, a light footstep in
+the hall, and then in the dining-room. He stood waiting; then, still
+unconsciously holding the revolver, stepped towards the door. He heard
+the footstep again; the next instant he found himself standing on one
+side of the dead body, and saw, confronting him from the other, Sophie
+Guyner.
+
+It seemed to Carsdale a whole eternity before the maid spoke. Her eyes
+went from him to the dead man; from the dead man to him; back to the
+dead man. She leaned forward trembling violently; it seemed to him that
+the mere glare of her frightened eyes was potent enough to call life
+back to the lifeless limbs. Slowly she raised her head, shrank back,
+and stared at Carsdale.
+
+“It’s--it’s Syd!” she gasped. “He’s--dead. You’ve killed him! Oh! Oh!”
+
+Carsdale saw what was coming and made a half-step towards her.
+
+“Hold your tongue!” he said in a fierce whisper. “Don’t you see----”
+
+Sophie backed away from him; suddenly all control went out of her.
+She turned and darted through the door and the corridor rang with her
+shrieks. “Help! Murder! Help!”
+
+“Come back, you hell cat!” shouted Carsdale, leaping after and trying
+to clutch her. “Come back! You’ll have the whole----”
+
+But already doors were opening on either side, and a uniformed official
+was running towards Sophie from the head of the stairs, while the lift,
+just then passing, came to a sudden stop, and excited faces looked out
+of its barred door. The ugly cry seemed to be taken up all round--the
+very walls seemed to echo it.
+
+Carsdale uttered a hearty and fervent curse, and, re-entering the flat,
+swallowed some more brandy. Then he suddenly remembered that he was
+holding the revolver in his left hand, and he went back and laid it on
+the dressing-table, just where he had found it. As he stepped over the
+dead man again, Sophie Guyner and a porter in uniform, and a lift-boy,
+and a couple of policemen came pouring in, and beyond them, at the
+outer door, Carsdale saw a crowd of eager and excited faces.
+
+Sophie stretched out an accusing finger.
+
+“That’s him!” she shouted. “I found him standing over him with the
+revolver, smoking in his hand. Oh, see if he’s really dead!”
+
+One policeman stooped and examined the dead body; the other looked at
+Carsdale. And Carsdale shook his head.
+
+“Take no notice of what that woman says,” he said. “She knows nothing
+about it. I came in here a few minutes ago, and found this man lying
+dead here. I was just coming out to raise an alarm when she came in.”
+
+“There’ll be an inspector and a doctor here in a minute,” said the
+policeman. “You’d better tell the inspector. Is he dead, Jim?”
+
+The second policeman got up and straightened himself.
+
+“Been dead half an hour, I should say,” he answered laconically. “So
+I don’t think you saw any smoking revolver,” he added grimly, turning
+to Sophie. “Keep quiet, now; no row. Move away from there, ladies and
+gentlemen, if you please.”
+
+Carsdale leaned against the edge of the table and waited in silence
+until the inspector and the police-surgeon came hurrying in. The
+policemen, having turned everybody else out, also waited in silence,
+watching Carsdale. As for Sophie Guyner, she had sunk into a chair near
+the dead man, and was sobbing and moaning inarticulately. And Carsdale,
+watching her, began to form an idea that there might be matters
+connected with this death of Werrick of which he as yet knew nothing.
+
+The police-surgeon said exactly what the policeman had said--that
+Werrick must have been dead half an hour, at least; the inspector,
+having heard, in silence, what his men had to say, turned to Carsdale,
+looking him over inquiringly and noting his appearance.
+
+“What do you know about this, sir?” he asked. “I understand you were
+here when this was discovered. You needn’t say more than you wish to
+say, you know.”
+
+“I’ll say all that I know, readily,” answered Carsdale. He had been
+thinking everything over, and had made up his mind to tell the whole
+plain truth, for his own sake. He knew by that time that all his plans
+were broken in upon, if not destroyed; he would have to reconstruct
+everything, and he was not going to be incriminated, even for Sylvie’s
+sake. “It’s a simple story, so far as I am concerned.”
+
+“You’ve shot him--you know you’ve shot him!” cried Sophie, suddenly
+waking into vicious energy. “One of you’ve shot him, at any rate.”
+
+“Be quiet!” said the inspector. “Now sir--what is it?”
+
+“I’ll tell you the plain facts,” answered Carsdale. “This flat is
+tenanted by a lady who is my cousin and my secretary--there’s my card,
+inspector. The lady’s name is Mrs. Walsingham. That woman, Sophie
+Guyner, is her maid. I have a key to the flat--here it is. I came here
+about twenty or twenty-five minutes ago to call on my cousin, and
+I let myself in. I heard nothing and saw no one in the hall or the
+dining-room, so I stepped in here. The electric light wasn’t on then.
+I found this body lying where you see it--it hasn’t been touched. The
+man was dead, then. I looked round the place--in the bedroom, there,
+I found a revolver, of which one chamber had been discharged--it’s in
+there now. I was examining it when this woman came in and at once went
+off screaming murder. That’s all I know.”
+
+“Do you know the man?” asked the inspector.
+
+“I do,” replied Carsdale promptly. “He is Sydney Werrick, and he has
+been living with me at my rooms in Jermyn Street for several days. And
+he is, in fact, the husband of my cousin. She goes under the name of
+Mrs. Walsingham, but she is, in fact, Mrs. Werrick.”
+
+“Yes, and she and him,” exclaimed Sophie Guyner, excitedly, “she and
+him have always been against Sydney, and I can see what it is--they’ve
+got him here and shot him, and----”
+
+“Will you keep quiet, now?” said the inspector. He stepped into the
+bedroom, looked around him, and came back with the revolver. “This
+cousin of yours,” he asked, turning to Carsdale, “where is she?”
+
+“I don’t know,” replied Carsdale, firmly. “I have not seen her to-day
+at all. I came here, expecting to find her in. There was no one in.”
+
+The inspector turned to Sophie.
+
+“Do you know where your mistress is?” he asked.
+
+But Sophie shook her head and again pointed viciously at Carsdale.
+
+“Ask him!” she said loudly. “I tell you it’s all a plant. I expect
+they got him here and shot him--I know they wanted to get rid of him.
+She got me out of the way--she sent me off to the theatre, and I only
+happened to come back because I wasn’t well. Shot him?--of course
+they’ve done it! I tell you they wanted to get rid of him--he’s been
+dangerous to them ever since they ran away from New York and left him
+to go to prison for what they did. I can tell you a lot about the whole
+thing, I’ll warrant you.”
+
+“That,” said the inspector dryly, “seems very evident. However, you
+must tell it at the station, for you’ll have to go round there. And
+you, too,” he continued, turning to Carsdale.
+
+“You don’t mean to say that you attach any importance to what this
+foolish woman says?” said Carsdale. “Surely you must see----”
+
+“I see that we shall want to know a good deal more before we can let
+either of you out of our sight,” answered the inspector. “It’s no good
+arguing--you’ll have to come along.”
+
+And so the watchers outside saw Carsdale taken off by the police, and
+presently the tidings of the murder spread out to them and to the world
+at large.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+SLEUTH HOUNDS
+
+
+Carsdale went to the police-station readily enough. He knew that his
+policy in this unforeseen matter was to play the straightest game
+possible. He could do no more for Sylvie; she, by shooting Werrick,
+with whatever object, had done for herself. Now he must look after
+himself, and the only way to do it was to tell plain truth. And he
+told all he knew, frankly and unreservedly, to the authorities at the
+station, and to a pleasant-looking man, who in appearance was something
+between a country gentleman and a sporting publican, and whom Carsdale
+quickly found to be the celebrated Detective-Inspector Skarratt, from
+New Scotland Yard, famous for his skill in unravelling mysteries,
+and just arrived, hot-foot, and prepared to begin the unravelling of
+another.
+
+The men who listened to Carsdale’s story of how he came to be in the
+flat believed it. Nevertheless, there were questions arising out of it,
+and as their present proceedings were informal, they asked them.
+
+“What about what this maid says?” asked the police-inspector who had
+first come to the scene. “She referred to some doings in New York.”
+
+Carsdale had no objection to telling all about that--he had already
+reflected that it would all come out, sooner or later, and he might
+just as well be first in the field with his version.
+
+“I’ll tell you everything in connection with that affair,” he said.
+“It brings no discredit on anybody except the dead man, Werrick. My
+cousin--the lady in whose flat I found the body just now--married this
+man when they were little more than boy and girl. He had some money--so
+had she. They very soon got through it--extravagance, and that sort of
+thing. Then they were on their beam-ends, for they had no relations or
+friends who could help them. At that time I was starting a business in
+New York, and I got them over there to help me--really to provide for
+them. She turned out a smart business woman; he got mixed up with a lot
+of gamblers, and we had great trouble with him. Finally the police laid
+hold of him--that’s what the maid, Guyner, was referring to.”
+
+“What charge?” asked the police-inspector.
+
+“Forgery,” answered Carsdale, promptly. “He was an expert forger--he
+forged my name more than once, and I forgave him for his wife’s sake.
+Well, he got five years. Just then I transferred my business to London,
+and I brought my cousin back with me. I soon went into partnership
+with the late Mr. Barclay Leverton, of Norfolk Street, and my cousin
+became our private secretary. Most City folk knew our firm--Leverton
+& Carsdale--and know me now. After Leverton died I kept the offices
+on--go down to Abbotsbury House, and you’ll find that I have the top
+floor, the whole of it. My cousin, of course, remained with me. We had
+heard that this man, her husband, had been released from prison in
+America, and had gone out West. Not long since we heard that he was
+dead--shot in some brawl in a mining town. That turned out to be false.
+One night, quite recently, I met him by accident in the Strand. He
+was down on his luck, of course; nearly broke. I took him home to my
+rooms in Jermyn Street, and put him up there. I made him promise that
+he wouldn’t molest his wife, and I promised him that I’d get him up
+again if he kept his promise to me. I gave him a hundred pounds to fit
+himself out and for pocket money, and up to now he’s behaved himself.
+How he came to be in that flat, I can’t think. My impression is that he
+watched the maid out, followed his wife in, and that she shot him in
+mistake or self-defence--she was always frightened about burglars, ever
+since there was a burglary in a flat close by. That’s all I can guess,
+and all I can tell you.”
+
+“You saw nothing of her when you entered?” asked Skarratt, speaking for
+the first time.
+
+“Nothing. I haven’t seen her since last night, when she left Norfolk
+Street,” replied Carsdale. “I have been out of my office all day
+to-day--at least since eleven o’clock this morning. I know she had been
+in then, and gone out again. My people there can tell you about her
+movements, but they won’t be there until ten o’clock to-morrow.”
+
+“You’d better give me a description of her,” said the police-inspector.
+
+Carsdale gave a full and elaborate description of Sylvie--again he
+said to himself that it was no use keeping anything back. If he didn’t
+describe her, somebody else would.
+
+Skarratt waited until the description was finished. Then, after a word
+or two with the inspector-in-charge, he went out. The inspector turned
+to Carsdale. “I’m afraid we shall have to detain you awhile at any
+rate,” he said. “It can’t be helped.”
+
+“I suppose not,” answered Carsdale. “I quite understand.”
+
+And he resigned himself to waiting and to wondering what really had
+happened in the flat before he got there, and where Sylvie had fled
+to, and how she had got away. His head ached with the mystery of the
+whole affair.
+
+Meanwhile, Skarratt went away to the flats, and patiently made himself
+master of the details. He quickly found out that there were two
+entrances to the building, and that the porters on each had been on
+duty during the whole of the evening. Within a few minutes he elicited
+from them certain important facts:--
+
+  1. One porter, stationed at Entrance A, had seen Mrs. Walsingham
+       enter the building about a quarter to eight o’clock. She was then
+       wearing the costume which he was shown lying on the bed in her
+       room.
+
+  2. The other porter, stationed at Entrance B, recognized the dead man
+       as having entered the building about twenty-five minutes to
+       eight. He had inquired his way to Number 29--which was the number
+       of Mrs. Walsingham’s flat.
+
+  3. This porter had seen Sophie Guyner go out through his entrance
+       at seven o’clock. She had then told him that she was going to the
+       theatre. A little after eight o’clock she had returned, and had
+       told him that she had such a bad attack of headache that she had
+       been obliged to return home.
+
+  4. Neither porter had seen Mrs. Walsingham leave the flats during the
+       evening. Of that they were positive. Certainly, a large number of
+       people were perpetually passing in and out, but each man knew
+       Mrs. Walsingham so well that he was positive that she had not
+       gone out again after her coming in at Entrance A.
+
+  5. The porter at Entrance B remembered Carsdale coming in very well
+       indeed, because Carsdale, as he often did, had presented him with
+       a cigar. That would be just about eight o’clock.
+
+  6. In one of the dead man’s pockets Skarratt found a key which
+       admitted to the outer door of the flat. It was newly made, and
+       looked as if it had never been used.
+
+Skarratt, who by that time had summoned an assistant from New Scotland
+Yard, examined surface matters at the flat quickly but thoroughly. He
+particularly noted the condition of the bedroom--the revolver, of which
+he now took charge; the unclosed safe, with its open drawer; the hat
+and garments hastily thrown on the bed.
+
+“Where is that maid?” he asked of the police who had remained in charge
+of the flat.
+
+Sophie was in the dining-room, crying--on her, too, a policeman was
+keeping an eye. At his bidding she came into the bedroom, glancing
+fearfully, as she passed through the drawing-room, at Werrick’s
+body, which had now been laid out on a sofa and covered with a sheet
+in readiness for removal to the mortuary. She looked at Inspector
+Skarratt’s friendly and good-humoured face with a queer mixture of
+shrewdness and suspicion and defiance.
+
+“Now, my dear,” said Skarratt, “I want a little help from you. As
+you’re Mrs. Walsingham’s maid, you, of course, know all her gowns and
+dresses?”
+
+“Every one,” answered Sophie. “Every stitch she has!”
+
+“Then just look round here and tell me which costume, or gown, or
+dress, or whatever she wears for going out, is missing,” said Skarratt.
+“Be particular--don’t forget anything.”
+
+Sophie entered on this task with zest, she opened wardrobes, she threw
+back the doors of cupboards, she examined drawers and trunks. And
+finally she turned to Skarratt with undisguised amazement.
+
+“There’s nothing missing!” she exclaimed. “There’s every gown that she
+has, here.”
+
+“Oh, come, come!” said Skarratt. “That can’t be. You’ve forgotten
+something. She can’t have left the flat without some gown or other, you
+know.”
+
+“I don’t know what she’s gone in, then,” said Sophie. “I know every
+stitch she has, I tell you, and here’s everything here. There’s the
+coat and skirt and hat she had on this morning,” she continued,
+pointing to the bed, “and you can see for yourself that she’s taken
+them off in a hurry and thrown them there.”
+
+“I can see it, and I want to know what she put on in their place,”
+answered Skarratt. “Come now--there’s a pretty big wardrobe here, you
+know--twenty-five different gowns, at least. Don’t you think you’ve
+forgotten one?”
+
+“I’ve forgotten nothing,” said Sophie, doggedly. “I know every gown she
+has.”
+
+“Well, has she gone out in anything of your own, then?” suggested
+Skarratt. “Go and see if you miss anything.”
+
+Sophie went off, still police-attended, but suddenly returned excited
+and glowing.
+
+“I know!” she exclaimed. “I’ve just remembered. She’d a complete nun’s
+dress--a Sister of Mercy’s, you know--all black, with white hood, and
+all that--that she went to a fancy-dress ball in once, with Carsdale.
+She’ll have gone in that. That’s it!”
+
+“Probably,” said Skarratt. He took down such details as Sophie could
+remember, and then, with his assistants, went off to see the two
+porters. The man at Entrance A had no recollection of seeing any woman
+dressed as a nun or a Sister of Mercy enter or leave, the man at
+Entrance B had a dim notion that such a figure did either go in or out
+during the evening. But both men pointed out that it was no uncommon
+thing at all for nuns and Sisters of Mercy to visit the flats--some had
+relations or friends there; some came in cases of sickness; some came
+begging for charity. And both men reminded him that they had come on
+duty at seven o’clock--they could not say who had gone in before that,
+and they were not very clear as to particular persons who had left or
+entered after. But each agreed that Mrs. Walsingham in her own clothes
+was always noticeable. “She was a stylish dresser you see,” added one.
+
+Skarratt sent his man off with some instructions. If Mrs. Walsingham
+had escaped in the disguise of a nun, they would have to keep a wide
+look-out, and they must especially watch the railway stations and the
+docks. But they had a clue now, and a good one.
+
+He was turning away from the entrance at which he had been talking
+to one of the porters, when he heard his name called, and turning,
+saw Miss Norshaw, the principal of the private detective agency which
+Frances Leverton had employed. Skarratt had more than once been brought
+into touch with this lady, and he immediately joined her, guessing that
+she had something to tell him. They walked away down the street.
+
+“I’ve heard something of this case, Mr. Skarratt,” said Miss Norshaw.
+“And I’ve some information that may be useful to you. You’re detaining
+a man named Carsdale, aren’t you! Yes--well, we’ve had that man under
+observation for the last two days on the instructions of a client of
+ours, and I have a strong suspicion, from to-day’s reports, that he
+was going to leave the country to-night. Now, you’ve done me a good
+turn more than once, and I’ll do you one--I’ll just run over Carsdale’s
+movements to-day, briefly.”
+
+Skarratt listened eagerly to all that Miss Norshaw had to tell him.
+When she had finished, he jumped into a taxi-cab and went down to Long
+Acre to the motor-garage where Carsdale had been seen to leave his
+portmanteaux. He was not long in there, and when he came out he drove
+back to the police-station and had a talk to the inspector-in-charge.
+And presently they went in to see Carsdale.
+
+“Now, Mr. Carsdale,” said Skarratt, in the cheery and breezy manner
+which characterized him in his professional dealings, “I’m afraid
+you’re in a very unpleasant position. I’m not going to charge you with
+anything just now, but I’m afraid I may have to, later on. In the
+meantime, will you turn out whatever you have on you in the way of
+papers, documents, money? It will be best for you if you do, and if you
+don’t--well, you don’t want to be searched, anyway.”
+
+And Carsdale once more determined to resign himself to the straight
+course, believing that he could give a good and plausible reason for
+the presence of the things he would have to show. And so it came about
+that the two officers were presently examining certain matters which
+represented two hundred thousand pounds and were noting that Carsdale
+carried two first-class tickets for Buenos Aires by the steamer which
+was to leave Southampton next morning.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+SANCTUARY
+
+
+For once in a way the newspaper men had got a murder case in which
+there was very little mystery. Carsdale had spoken the truth so freely,
+Sophie Guyner had treated everybody to her mind on the matter with
+such abandon, that there was opportunity for the writing of columns of
+plain narrative. And, departing from their usual modes of procedure,
+the police had kept nothing back, had, rather, given the reporters
+every information they could and every facility for obtaining more.
+This was on Inspector Skarratt’s initiative--it had readily occurred to
+him that no good could be done by concealment, for the one thing that
+was important was to find the lady who called herself Mrs. Walsingham,
+and was in reality Mrs. Sylvie Werrick. Therefore, argued Skarratt,
+use the press as a medium; circulate the whole story as widely and as
+circumstantially as possible; everybody, from idlers to errand boys,
+will then be on the outlook for a woman in a nun’s dress, and it will
+be a wonder if an arrest does not speedily follow. The newspaper men
+blessed Skarratt, and every paper came out with as much stuff about the
+Bloomsbury Mystery as ever perspiring sub-editors and worried foremen
+could cram into it.
+
+Richard Shrewsbury, breakfasting with Burgoyne in a private room at the
+_Charing Cross Hotel_, read the first news before his friend came in;
+Burgoyne, when he entered, found him trembling with excitement. He
+thrust the paper into Burgoyne’s hands.
+
+“She--she was married!” he cried. “Married, all the time! And--they say
+she’s shot her husband. Look!”
+
+“What are you raving about?” asked Burgoyne, taking the paper and
+seeing the headlines. “Steady, man!”
+
+“Steady enough,” retorted Richard. “I’m talking about--Sylvie. See
+there--she was married to a fellow named Werrick--and they say she’s
+shot him--murdered him. Good God!--what a lot seems to be happening!
+I’m going out to get some more papers--there may be something with
+later news. Read it--read it all!”
+
+Burgoyne sat down and read steadily. The newspaper which Richard had
+thrust upon him had favoured its readers with a résumé of the matter,
+and had printed it in large type; within a few minutes, therefore,
+Burgoyne was in full possession of the outstanding facts.
+
+This is what he read:--
+
+  A tragedy, which still has certain elements of mystery about it,
+  occurred about eight o’clock last evening at a flat in Marengo
+  Mansions, Bloomsbury.
+
+  The flat, Number 29, has for some time--nearly three years, it is
+  understood--been tenanted by a lady known as Mrs. Walsingham, who
+  lived there with a maid named Sophie Guyner. Mrs. Walsingham, who
+  appears to have been comfortably off, judging from the appearance
+  of her rooms and from her general style of living, was engaged in
+  financial work, and had for some time acted as secretary to the firm
+  of Leverton & Carsdale, general agents, of Abbotsbury House, Norfolk
+  Street, Strand. The senior partner died recently, and the business
+  was then carried on by Mr. John Carsdale, Mrs. Walsingham retaining
+  her secretaryship.
+
+  Yesterday afternoon, Mrs. Walsingham telephoned to her maid, Sophie
+  Guyner, from the City, saying that she was sending her two tickets
+  for the Hyperion Theatre for last night, and that she herself should
+  not be home until very late. The tickets duly arrived by the hands
+  of Griffkin, the office-boy at Mr. Carsdale’s offices, and Guyner
+  proceeded to the theatre with a friend. She--Guyner--was not feeling
+  very well, however, and almost as soon as the performance began, she
+  was obliged to leave the theatre and to go home.
+
+  Upon entering the flat, Guyner was horrified to find the body of a
+  man lying across the threshold of her mistress’s bedroom, apparently
+  dead. On the other side of it, and in the bedroom, she saw Mr. John
+  Carsdale, holding a revolver in his hand, which, Guyner alleges,
+  was still smoking. [This latter fact the police do not credit for a
+  moment, as it has been abundantly proved that at the time of Guyner’s
+  entrance the man had been dead quite half an hour, and only one
+  chamber of the revolver had been discharged.]
+
+  Guyner immediately raised an alarm, and some of the porters of the
+  building, together with the police, were quickly on the scene. It was
+  then found that the man had been shot through the heart, and that
+  death must have been instantaneous. To the police, Mr. John Carsdale
+  at once gave a full and unreserved account of his presence at the
+  flat. He explained that Mrs. Walsingham was his cousin, and that she
+  was really the wife of the man whose body lay before them, and whose
+  name was Sydney Werrick. According to Mr. Carsdale, Werrick had been
+  convicted of forgery in New York and sent to prison there; since his
+  release he had lived in America. Recently he had turned up in London,
+  and had been befriended by Mr. Carsdale on the condition that he
+  should not molest his wife.
+
+  Mr. Carsdale’s theory is that Werrick by some means obtained an
+  entrance to the flat yesterday evening when Mrs. Walsingham (Werrick)
+  was alone, and that she shot him in self-defence or on the spur of
+  the moment. There had recently been a burglary at Marengo Mansions,
+  and she had been very much alarmed about it, and Mr. Carsdale had
+  brought her the revolver with which Werrick undoubtedly had been shot.
+
+  Mr. Carsdale says that he entered the flat--to which he had a
+  private key--a little after eight o’clock last night, and that there
+  was no living person in it. He at once discovered the body of the
+  dead man, and he had just picked up the revolver, and was examining
+  it, when the maid, Sophie Guyner, returned.
+
+  An examination of the flat and of Mrs. Walsingham’s (Werrick’s)
+  belongings show that she must have gone away from Marengo Mansions
+  wearing the dress of a nun, a full description of which will be
+  found below. Up to a late hour last night, no trace of her had been
+  met with. It is believed that she will endeavour to escape to the
+  Continent, and the cross-Channel boats will be closely watched at the
+  various ports this morning, as also will all railway stations.
+
+  In consequence of certain facts not yet made public, Mr. John
+  Carsdale has been detained by the police authorities.
+
+Burgoyne had just finished reading this condensed narrative, when
+Richard burst into the room with an armful of newspapers.
+
+“Have you read that?” he demanded, excitedly. “Have you read it? Have
+you ever read anything like it? To trick me like that!--And Carsdale
+knew all the time!”
+
+“Keep cool, Dick,” said Burgoyne. “It’s no use getting excited--we
+shall want all our wits. There’s one thing I can see very plainly
+already.”
+
+“What?” demanded Richard, who was feverishly turning over his bundle of
+papers. “What?”
+
+“That my diamond necklace has probably vanished with the woman,”
+answered Burgoyne grimly. “She wouldn’t be very likely to leave that
+behind her. And whether she meant to shoot her husband or not, I should
+say that as she knew he was in London she was probably preparing for
+flight. I suppose she hadn’t any property of yours, Dick, beyond what
+you’d given her?”
+
+“No,” answered Richard. “Except that I gave her a blank cheque the
+other day which she was to fill up.”
+
+Burgoyne whistled.
+
+“By Jove!” he said. “Well, you can soon find out what’s happened to
+that by telephoning to the bank as soon as it’s open. Of course, if
+Carsdale knew that the husband was in town, he would tell her. I should
+say she meant to be off. And in that case, she would feather her nest.
+I dare say the man tried to stop her. Then she shot him, and----”
+
+Richard suddenly uttered a sharp exclamation.
+
+“Listen!” he said. “Here’s some more in a late morning edition. It’s
+about Carsdale.
+
+  “We understand that, in consequence of certain information supplied
+  to them last night, the police have formally arrested the Norfolk
+  Street financial agent, John Carsdale, on a charge of being concerned
+  in the death of Sydney Werrick at Mrs. Walsingham’s or Werrick’s flat
+  in Marengo Mansions, Bloomsbury.
+
+  “It is said that upon Carsdale there were found certain securities
+  valued at two hundred thousand pounds, and that he was also in
+  possession of two first-class tickets for passage to Buenos Aires,
+  available by the Royal Mail Steam Packet Company’s steamer which
+  leaves Southampton this morning. It appears that Carsdale had
+  chartered a motor-car from a well-known firm in Long Acre, and had
+  ordered it to be in readiness for him at a certain hour last night,
+  and the theory of the police now is that he and Mrs. Walsingham
+  intended to leave the country in this way; that he went to her flat
+  to fetch her, and that Werrick interrupted their final preparations,
+  with the fatal result now known. It should, however, be pointed out
+  in relation to this, that there seems no reason why Carsdale should
+  not have escaped as readily as Mrs. Walsingham, or Werrick, did, and
+  that the police-surgeon who was on the spot within a few minutes of
+  Carsdale’s being found in the flat is positive that Werrick had then
+  been dead half an hour.
+
+  “According to our information, the securities found upon Carsdale
+  are probably the property of a young gentleman of fortune, for whom
+  he seems to have recently acted as financial agent, and who is, we
+  learn, at present travelling on the Continent.
+
+  “Up to the hour of going to press, no news had been heard of Mrs.
+  Walsingham, for whom a strict look-out is being kept at all railway
+  stations and ports.”
+
+“Dick,” said Burgoyne. “You must be down at your bankers as soon as
+ever their doors open. That’ll be nine o’clock. Come, let’s breakfast,
+and then to business. We are back on the very nick of time.”
+
+“You think that Carsdale’s robbed me?” said Richard quietly.
+
+“What does it look like?” asked Burgoyne. “You must make sure. I’ll
+drive down with you.”
+
+They were in the City before the clocks began to chime nine, and within
+the bank before the chimes had finished. The manager seemed in no wise
+surprised to see Richard; he had read the papers on his way from home.
+He began to answer Richard’s question before it was completely voiced.
+
+“Mr. Carsdale was here yesterday, Mr. Shrewsbury,” he answered. “He
+saw the two principals. He produced to them a written order from you
+authorizing them to deliver up whatever securities of yours we held.
+He selected two hundred thousand pounds’ worth. I was present. He said
+that he was going to re-invest on your behalf. Of course, he gave a
+receipt. Wasn’t your order a genuine one? The signature looked all
+right.”
+
+“I signed some papers the other day without knowing what I signed,”
+replied Richard, bitterly. “I trusted him fully, as you know.”
+
+The manager looked at Burgoyne, and shook his head. He turned to
+Richard again.
+
+“There’s another matter I may mention,” he said. “The--er--lady who
+figures in these newspaper reports this morning cashed a cheque of
+yours here yesterday afternoon, not so very long after Carsdale had
+been here. It was for fifteen thousand pounds. Was that in order?”
+
+“That’s all right,” answered Richard. He took an unceremonious leave,
+and went out. Burgoyne followed him.
+
+“Look here, Dick,” he said. “Let’s go down to Blair--he’ll advise. Come
+along!”
+
+“No!” replied Richard. “I’m going home--there’s something I want to
+look into. You go to Blair, if you like.”
+
+“Then I shall bring him along to Berkeley Square,” said Burgoyne. “We
+want advice, I tell you.”
+
+Richard nodded, and got into a taxi-cab. He drove West in a whirl of
+thoughts and emotions; his world seemed to have been turned upside
+down. At that moment he forgot even Burgoyne’s devotion.
+
+Kedgin met him at his own door. And Kedgin, usually the most
+self-possessed of men, heaved a great sigh of relief when he saw his
+master.
+
+“Oh, sir!” he exclaimed. “I’m--I’m thankful you’ve come home, sir!--I
+haven’t known what to do--I daren’t telephone to Paris. Sir--Mrs.
+Walsingham’s here--she’s been here since last night!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV
+
+KNIGHT-ERRANT
+
+
+Of all the eventualities which might spring out of the affair which
+was just then monopolizing all his thought, this was the last of which
+Richard would ever have dreamed. He stood in the hall of the flat
+staring at Kedgin as if the man had given him unbelievable news. It
+was only with difficulty that he brought his mind round to an accurate
+comprehension of what Kedgin meant.
+
+“Here?” he said at last. “Here?”
+
+Kedgin coughed behind an uplifted and trembling hand.
+
+“Yes-es, sir--here,” he answered. “In the--the smaller bedroom, sir.
+I--I haven’t seen the lady this morning. But--I know she’s there, sir.”
+
+Richard continued to stare at his servant. He was not looking at
+Kedgin, however--he was seeing probabilities and possibilities.
+
+“If--if you would kindly step inside, sir,” suggested Kedgin,
+diffidently, “I would tell you all about it, sir. The fact is, sir,
+I am thoroughly upset--especially since I read the newspapers this
+morning, sir, which I dare say you have seen?”
+
+“I’ve seen them,” answered Richard. He walked into the dining-room,
+motioning Kedgin to follow him. “Tell me all about it,” he said. “Sit
+down, man--and help yourself to a drop of brandy first--why, you’re
+trembling like a leaf! Here--I’ll give you some.”
+
+“I’m very sorry, sir--it’s weak of me, no doubt,” said Kedgin, taking
+the glass which Richard handed him, “but I’ve been that frightened.
+You see, sir, I didn’t know what to do--and I couldn’t help thinking
+that--that Mrs. Walsingham, sir, had gone--mad, sir!”
+
+“Mad?” exclaimed Richard. “Why?”
+
+“General behaviour, sir,” replied Kedgin. He sipped at the brandy,
+and shook his head. “I never got a wink of sleep all night, sir,” he
+continued. “You see, sir, my wife is away just now, as perhaps you
+remember, so I’d nobody to talk to about--about this. And then, when I
+got the newspapers this morning, of course, I was worse alarmed than
+ever. It gave me quite a shock, sir, when I heard your key in the
+latch.”
+
+“Well, I’m here, now,” said Richard. “Tell me how Mrs. Walsingham came
+here. When was it?”
+
+“It was last night, sir,” answered Kedgin. “It must have been about
+ten o’clock. It was dark, anyhow. As I said, my wife is away, so I was
+getting a bit of supper alone. Most of the doors were open--I’d left
+them open because it was a close night and I wanted to air the rooms.
+I heard a latch-key in the outer door; then I heard somebody come in,
+very light of foot, sir. I knew it wasn’t either you or the Captain,
+sir, because of that. Whoever it was, walked into the drawing-room,
+and, of course, I followed. And you could have knocked me down, sir,
+when I saw a nun standing there--all black, sir--it gave me a real
+turn!”
+
+“Well?” said Richard.
+
+“Then, sir, it spoke,” continued Kedgin, “and I recognized Mrs.
+Walsingham’s voice. ‘Well, Kedgin,’ she says, ‘did you think I was
+a ghost?’ ‘Well, ma’am,’ I says, ‘you gave me a fright.’ ‘Then you
+can give me a brandy-and-soda, Kedgin,’ she says. ‘That’ll be a fair
+exchange,’ and she laughed in a very queer way, sir. ‘It’ll look
+odd to see a nun drinking brandy-and-soda,’ she says; ‘but never
+mind--there’s nobody but you to see, Kedgin.’ ‘No, ma’am,’ I says,
+and I went to get her what she wanted; but first, I turned the light
+on. And then I was more frightened than ever, sir, for she was nearly
+as white as the white thing about her face, and her eyes glowed like
+coals, and she smiled at me--it makes me queer to think of it, sir!”
+
+“Then don’t think of it. Go on with your story,” said Richard.
+
+“Well, sir, I got her what she wanted,” said Kedgin, “and she sat
+down there and drank it, but she didn’t say anything for some time,
+though I waited about wondering what she was after. And at last she
+says--‘Kedgin,’ she says, ‘Mr. Shrewsbury and Mr. Burgoyne are in
+Paris, aren’t they?’ she says. ‘They are, Mrs. Walsingham,’ I says.
+‘Then,’ says she, ‘I’m going to stay here all night. It’s no use
+talking to me about it,’ she says, ‘nor asking me any questions about
+it,’ she says. ‘I’m dead tired out,’ she says, ‘and I’m going to have
+the small room.’ And she walked straight over to it, sir, and opened
+the door, and looked in, and then she looked back at me and put her
+hand in her bag, and brought out something and threw it on the table.
+‘I don’t know whether your wife is in or not, Kedgin,’ she says, ‘but
+if she is, there’s something for both of you. Only hold your tongues
+until morning, and don’t disturb me for--anything,’ she says, giving
+me a queer look. ‘I’m dead beat,’ she says. And with that, sir, she
+went into that room, and locked the door, and out of it she hasn’t been
+since. And, of course, sir,” concluded Kedgin, looking fearfully at the
+closed door, “of course, I read the newspaper this morning, and then I
+knew what had happened.”
+
+“You’ve not seen nor heard of her since she went in there?” asked
+Richard.
+
+“Neither sight nor sound, sir,” replied Kedgin. “I was getting
+uncommonly afraid when you came. You--you don’t think she’s--made away
+with herself, sir, do you?”
+
+Richard started at the suggestion. After all, it was possible. In spite
+of the deception which she had practised on him, he believed that he
+knew something of Sylvie, and he thought her not unlikely, if forced
+into a tight corner, to end everything by ending her own life.
+
+“I hope not, Kedgin!” he said anxiously. “You say you’ve heard nothing
+of her this morning?”
+
+“Nothing, sir. I’ve been in and out since--oh, since a very early hour,
+and I’ve heard not a sound,” answered Kedgin. “I thought, sir, as how
+she might have taken some of those sleeping things--there’s a good many
+ladies does, nowadays.”
+
+“Of course, nobody knows that she’s here?” said Richard.
+
+“So far as I know, sir,” replied Kedgin. “It was dark when she came.
+She may have slipped in unobserved. I’ve been down to the door twice
+this morning, and the porter hasn’t mentioned it. About the time she
+came in he goes off to get his supper, as a rule, so he probably wasn’t
+there, sir.”
+
+“Well, we’ll wait a little,” said Richard. Then he remembered that
+Burgoyne had spoken of bringing Blair to the flat. “They mustn’t come
+at present,” he thought, and he went to the telephone and rang Blair
+up. Burgoyne, he found, had just arrived at Blair’s rooms--he invented
+an excuse for putting them off coming round to Berkeley Square and made
+an appointment to meet them at lunch later on. And this done, he went
+back to Kedgin, and incidentally looking at his watch, saw that it was
+ten o’clock.
+
+“I’ll knock at the door, Kedgin,” he said. “I don’t like to think
+there’s anything wrong, but surely she can’t be sleeping--at least,
+naturally--all this time.”
+
+There was no response to Richard’s first summons, and a second and
+louder knock also produced no answer. And then, just as Richard was
+beginning to be seriously concerned, and Kedgin was hinting at the
+probable necessity of breaking into the room, the door suddenly opened
+and Mrs. Walsingham confronted them.
+
+She was still in the nun’s garments in which she had escaped from her
+flat, and their sombre hue made her white face look all the whiter. But
+Richard drew back from her not so much in surprise at her white face as
+at the change which had come over her since he had last seen her. She
+seemed to have been suddenly transformed into a worn and haggard woman
+of uncertain age. There was no colour in her cheeks now; the sparkle
+had gone out of her eyes; her lips were almost bloodless; about her
+mouth were heavy wrinkles. She seemed altogether transformed, and, as
+he gazed at her, Richard found himself wondering that a human being
+could be so suddenly changed.
+
+For a moment the three stared at each other in a painful silence; then
+the woman pointed to Kedgin.
+
+“Go away,” she said. “I want to speak to your master.”
+
+Kedgin, at a nod from Richard, went out, and Mrs. Walsingham came
+into the dining-room and sat down, with a weary gesture. She looked
+at Richard out of dull eyes; never had he seen her so apathetic, so
+listless, before. And when she spoke he was astonished at the altered
+tone of her voice--she spoke as if she had no energy left in her.
+
+“I had a sort of notion that it might be you,” she said, gazing at him
+as she might have gazed at some inanimate object. “I suppose you were
+surprised to hear that I was in the place. But I’d nowhere to go--I
+couldn’t get out of London last night. Perhaps I shan’t be able to get
+out this morning. I don’t know what may be known. And I’m forgetting--I
+don’t know whether you know anything.”
+
+There was a copy of a morning newspaper lying on the table by which
+she was sitting, and Richard silently pointed her to it. She drew it
+towards her and looked at the big letters which ran across the top of
+half a page. Even then her listlessness and apathy never seemed to
+leave her; she read without seeming interest, and Richard, watching her
+narrowly, looked in vain for any sign of excitement or fear or, indeed,
+of any emotion.
+
+“Yes,” she said presently, as if in comment on what she read, “but
+Carsdale hadn’t anything to do with it. I didn’t know Carsdale was
+coming. I expect you’ve read all that?--it seems to have been found out
+very soon,” she continued, turning to Richard.
+
+“I have read it,” he answered.
+
+“It’s quite true I shot Werrick,” she said. “I shot him on the spur of
+the moment--I fired at him as soon as I saw his face. Well--and I don’t
+wonder that I did. Last night I felt keen about getting away--I thought
+I could from here. But this morning I feel--I don’t know. I suppose
+I had better give myself up. I’m beaten. I’m tired. I had to take a
+sleeping-draught last night. Perhaps it hasn’t worn off. Will you give
+me some tea?”
+
+Richard hastily gave Kedgin an order and went back to the dining-room.
+She was bending over the newspaper again--it was that in which he had
+seen the later news of the discovery of the securities and the tickets
+for Buenos Aires on Carsdale. She looked up, tapping the paragraph.
+
+“What’s this mean?” she said. “I don’t know anything about that.
+Carsdale must have been on his way to ask me to go with him. What a
+muddle! But I didn’t know. Two hundred thousand! That would be your
+money. I’ve got a lot of that, too. Never mind--you’ll get it back,
+because I don’t think I shall get away, now.”
+
+“What are you going to do--what am I to do for you?” asked Richard. “We
+must do something. Tell me--what were you going to do?”
+
+She looked at him out of dull eyes for a few seconds as if she did not
+comprehend his question. He repeated it.
+
+“Yes,” she answered suddenly. “I was going to Vienna. Now I remember.
+I made arrangements about transferring money to Vienna at the
+Anglo-Austrian Bank. Yes--Vienna. I should have got on there.”
+
+Kedgin came in with the tea. She glanced at him sharply.
+
+“Give me some brandy in it,” she said.
+
+Richard moved uneasily, but Kedgin, with a meaning glance at his
+master, poured a liberal dose of brandy into the cup before he handed
+it to her. And at the first sip Richard saw her eyes brighten and more
+intelligence come into her face. She looked at him with a strange,
+doubtful glance.
+
+“You see, I hadn’t anywhere to turn to but--this,” she said. “I knew
+I should be safe here for the night--I managed to slip in unobserved.
+I--I suppose I shall have to give myself up now, though.”
+
+“I wish I knew what to do!” groaned Richard. “Can’t--can’t we think of
+some way of getting you out of the country?”
+
+She looked down at her clinging garments.
+
+“What--in these?” she said. “Not very likely.”
+
+“But--in some other way?” he suggested. “Come--think!”
+
+She looked at him dully, and shook her head.
+
+“I can’t,” she said. “I’m tired out. You don’t understand--nobody could
+understand. It’s the--the strain. I feel as if I didn’t want anything
+but--to sleep.”
+
+Then she suddenly drank off the tea and, with another strange look at
+Richard, went into the room in which she had passed the night. And
+Richard sorely disturbed and perplexed, sought Kedgin. For something
+would have to be done, some help sought. Neither Burgoyne nor Blair,
+seemed to be the right sort of persons to turn to.
+
+Richard, turning things over in his mind, received an inspiration.
+Bidding Kedgin to keep strict guard over the flat and its inmate, he
+hurried out, hailed a passing taxi-cab, and drove off to Maida Vale to
+seek the help of Frances Leverton.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV
+
+FOR SYLVIE’S SAKE
+
+
+Richard went off to Maida Vale with no very clear or precise idea of
+what it was that he wanted Frances Leverton to do for him--all that
+he was really conscious of was that he had a vague desire to save the
+woman who had taken refuge under his roof and that it was necessary to
+have another woman’s help. He was too much agitated at the moment to
+recollect that Frances Leverton had no love for Mrs. Walsingham: all
+that he remembered was that he knew no other woman in London to whom he
+could turn; he therefore set off to the one he did know with a certain
+blind confidence. All the chivalry in his nature had been aroused by
+the sight of Sylvie’s distress, and it seemed to him that Frances,
+being a woman, must share it. He fully believed Sylvie’s story that the
+shooting of Werrick had been unintentional, and, if he could compass
+it, he meant to save her.
+
+Frances, at the moment when Richard Shrewsbury was announced, was
+discussing the matter with Lizzie Bryce. The report of the detective
+agency with respect to the doings of Carsdale on the previous day
+lay on her desk; numerous newspapers, giving more or less complete
+circumstantial accounts of the affair at Marengo Mansions, were
+scattered about the room. And Frances knew that probably nothing
+but the shooting of Sydney Werrick had prevented the flight of both
+Carsdale and Sylvie Walsingham with the greater bulk of Richard’s
+money. She was pondering over this fact when her maid came in to
+announce that Mr. Shrewsbury was there and begged to see her.
+
+Frances looked round at Lizzie Bryce in sheer wonder and dismay. She
+believed Richard to be in Paris, and she was sure that his coming
+to her implied some extraordinary turn of events. And Lizzie Bryce
+recognized the situation and prepared to quit the room. Before Frances
+had recovered her wits, Lizzie had spoken.
+
+“I’ll go, Frank,” she said. “Mr. Shrewsbury will want to see you on
+business.”
+
+“No--don’t,” exclaimed Frances. “I--I haven’t any business with
+him.” Then, remembering that the maid was still waiting, she looked
+uncertainly at Lizzie and said, “I don’t know what to do!”
+
+“You will see him, of course,” said Lizzie. “You may be sure it is
+important business. Tell Jane to bring him in at once.”
+
+Frances made a sign to the girl, and Lizzie Bryce disappeared into
+an inner room. And Richard, entering hurriedly, found Miss Leverton,
+seated at her desk, turning over papers and letters with an energy
+which a closer observer than the visitor would have quickly seen to be
+assumed. She looked up; even then Richard was too much preoccupied with
+his business to notice her heightened colour. He hurried towards her
+desk; Frances tried to look at him with professional coolness.
+
+“Miss Leverton,” he began, without preface or greeting. “I----” But
+there he stopped, looking anxiously around him.
+
+“Good morning,” said Frances. “What can I do for you, Mr. Shrewsbury?”
+
+She was anxious that he should feel that she looked upon his call as
+a purely business one, and the assumed frigidity of her tone struck a
+chill to him. He began to wonder what she would say when she heard
+what he wanted her to do.
+
+“I wanted to speak to you,” he said, feebly. “I suppose we are alone.”
+
+“I see no one else in the room,” said Frances, half-satirically. “What
+is it, Mr. Shrewsbury?”
+
+“You must pardon me if I seem flustered, or--or queer, you know,” he
+said. “I only got in from Paris at half-past five this morning, and
+I’ve been rushing about ever since.”
+
+“Then you’d better sit down,” she said, pointing to a chair.
+
+“Thank you,” said Richard, dropping into the nearest chair with a
+profound sigh. “The fact is--I’ve hurried to you because I want some
+help, and--I thought of you first.”
+
+Frances affected great interest in her letters.
+
+“Would not Captain Burgoyne--or Captain Blair--be more likely?” she
+suggested.
+
+“No!” replied Richard. “I--I want a woman’s help. Look here--I’m
+going to be frank with you, because--well, because I believe in you.
+I’ll try to be as plain as possible, though I’m an awful hand at
+explaining things. You see, I feel in a muddle, because it’s only just
+now that I’m beginning to learn the truth. I see that you’ve read the
+newspapers, so you know what happened at--at Marengo Mansions last
+night?”
+
+“I know,” answered Frances.
+
+“Of course, I hadn’t a notion of--anything,” said Richard. “It seems,
+however, that Burgoyne and Blair had found out a lot, and Burgoyne got
+me over to Paris to tell me all about it. And--then, I insisted on
+coming back, and we travelled all night, and we went into the _Charing
+Cross Hotel_ on arrival, and very soon we saw the morning papers, and
+read--all that. And about Carsdale, too. And then I drove to my bank,
+and had that confirmed. Then Burgoyne went to Blair, and I went home
+to Berkeley Square. And--I know you will wonder what it is that I am
+explaining to you, but I wanted to make everything quite clear--there,
+at home, I found----”
+
+“Mrs. Walsingham,” said Frances, quietly and suddenly.
+
+Richard started.
+
+“How--how did you know that?” he exclaimed.
+
+“I didn’t know it--I guessed it,” she said. “I suddenly realized what
+you were leading up to. Am I right?”
+
+“You are quite right,” he answered quietly. “I found her there. It
+appears that she came there after dark last night, and Kedgin admitted
+her, and she took possession of a room. Yes--she is there. I have seen
+her.”
+
+“Well?” said Frances, with well-assumed indifference. “And what then?”
+
+Richard leaned forward and looked at her gravely.
+
+“You know how I have been deceived,” he said. “I--I don’t understand
+it all, but I suppose I have been a great fool ever since I came to
+England. But I don’t bear her any grudge, you know, or ill-will, and
+I don’t like to see a woman hunted. She told me this morning that she
+shot that man unintentionally, and though she’s lied to me so much, I
+believe she told me the plain, real truth about this affair. And, if I
+can, I want to get her away--to help her to escape.”
+
+“And why have you come to me?” asked Frances, looking steadily at him.
+
+“Because I want you to help me,” he replied. “You’re clever--you can
+think of things, of ways of doing it. I couldn’t take her off in that
+nun’s dress she’s wearing--I thought you could suggest something in the
+way of disguise--that I could get her away in to-night, don’t you know.”
+
+Frances laughed--intentionally. She wanted to know what Richard
+Shrewsbury was really thinking.
+
+“That seems a very cool and calm request,” she said. “I think you
+forget that, in the first place, you are asking me to commit a crime,
+and, in the second, that Mrs. Walsingham and I are--enemies. Why should
+I do this for a woman who has injured me more than once?”
+
+Richard looked at her for a moment. Then his face changed, and he
+slowly rose from his chair.
+
+“I am sorry,” he said. “I thought----” But then he stopped and began to
+move towards the door. “At any rate you’ll forgive me for bothering you
+about the matter.”
+
+With his hand on the door, he suddenly heard Frances’ voice.
+
+“Mr. Shrewsbury!” she said.
+
+Richard turned quickly.
+
+“Yes?” he answered.
+
+“Is it really because you only pity this woman that you want to help
+her?” she asked.
+
+Richard stared.
+
+“It is certainly for nothing else,” he replied. “I’m sorry for her--as
+I would be for anybody placed as she is.”
+
+Frances bent over her letters.
+
+“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you,” she said in low tones. “But--do you
+realize what it means? You know that the police are scouring London for
+her, that all the railway stations and seaports are being watched, and
+that there is very little chance of her getting away. And to aid and
+abet her in it--well, whoever does that, and is detected, will run
+great risks. If I help you, we’re both liable to punishment, and all
+our professions of pity for her won’t palliate our offences.”
+
+“I don’t want you to run any risk,” said Richard quickly. “That mustn’t
+be! What I wanted you to do was to help me about getting her some other
+clothing, or some disguise, or----”
+
+At that moment the maid entered and glanced at her mistress. “Captain
+Blair,” she said.
+
+“Show Captain Blair into the breakfast-room for a moment,” said
+Frances. She turned to Richard when they were alone again. “Mr.
+Shrewsbury,” she continued earnestly, “do take some good advice from
+me. Tell this to Captain Blair. He will respect your confidence, and
+he will know what ought to be done. Indeed, you don’t know what a
+serious matter this is--don’t be rash about it. And don’t think that I
+was unsympathetic with you, just now,” she added hurriedly. “I think
+it’s very good of you to feel like that about it, but--do tell Captain
+Blair.”
+
+Richard looked at her steadily.
+
+“Since you say so,” he said, “I’ll tell him. I’m surprised he’s here--I
+thought he was with Burgoyne. Yes--I’ll tell him.”
+
+Blair, coming in, explained that Burgoyne had been with him, but had
+left soon after getting Richard’s telephone message, and that he
+himself had been about to call on Richard after seeing Miss Leverton.
+
+“And Shrewsbury may as well know that I wanted to see you about
+Carsdale, Miss Leverton,” he said, “and I think you’ll have to tell him
+what you know and have taken trouble to find out.”
+
+Frances looked a little annoyed and a good deal disturbed.
+
+“Time enough for that, Captain Blair,” she said. “I think Mr. Carsdale
+is safe enough at present. Mr. Shrewsbury has something to tell you
+which he has just been telling me.”
+
+And Richard told Blair everything of what he had discovered at the flat
+and of what he wished to do. But Blair, having listened quietly and
+attentively, shook his head.
+
+“My dear boy,” he said, “that’s very good and disinterested of you, and
+all that sort of thing, but you can’t do it. Supposing you dress this
+unfortunate woman in anything Miss Leverton procures for you, how are
+you going to get her away? Drive her in your own motor to some quiet
+seaport? That would never do--the descriptions are everywhere, and
+the quieter the place the more likely that detection would follow. Do
+what you may, the fact that you were engaged to be married to her will
+come out--has, of course, come out to the police by now, through the
+maid, Sophie Guyner--and you will see that you will be interviewed and
+questioned and probably watched. I don’t think you’d get her out of
+London without being stopped.”
+
+“Then what am I to do?” asked Richard. “Whatever she may have been or
+have done, she turned to me for shelter and help. Am I to open my door,
+and turn her out to the police, or turn them in upon her? Those things
+don’t appeal to me, either of them!”
+
+“The best thing to be done,” said Blair, “is to quietly persuade her
+to give herself up. If she gives her explanation of how this affair
+occurred, it may be accepted--at present I don’t see any risk of her
+life, or even of heavy punishment. It is quite conceivable that, being
+alarmed at the presence of a strange man in her flat, she shot at and
+killed him. But she will do no good by flight. Better far to give
+herself up and state her version of the matter.”
+
+“Will you come and talk to her, then?” asked Richard, gloomily. “I’m a
+poor hand at persuading--besides, I’m in the position of host to her,
+anyway.”
+
+“Very well,” answered Blair. “I’ll go with you. Then our conversation,”
+he continued, turning to Frances, “must wait a few hours. You think
+there is no danger of Carsdale--that he’ll be detained awhile?”
+
+“I think Carsdale is quite safe,” replied Frances, meaningly. “Quite
+safe.”
+
+Blair nodded, and went off with Richard to Berkeley Square. And at the
+door of his rooms they found a stranger, a big, pleasant-faced man,
+who, after one sharp look at them, addressed Mr. Shrewsbury by name.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI
+
+INSPECTOR SKARRATT INVESTIGATES
+
+
+To one person, closely concerned in it, the affair which before morning
+had come to be famous as the Marengo Mansions Mystery, provided very
+little mystery at all. Inspector Skarratt did not believe for one
+moment that John Carsdale had had anything to do with the actual
+killing of Sydney Werrick. After interviewing the porter who had seen
+Carsdale arrive at the Mansions and getting the deliberately given
+opinion of the doctor who had first been called to Mrs. Walsingham’s
+flat, he came to the conclusion that Carsdale’s story was true, and
+that he had arrived there some little time after Werrick was shot and
+his wife fled. But he was also convinced, from the reports furnished
+to him by the friendly principal of the private detective agency,
+that Carsdale had been engaged in some strange transactions, and he
+was not without hope that through further inquiry into them he might
+elucidate some dark points of the primary affair and get upon the track
+of the escaped woman. And accordingly, having arranged for Carsdale’s
+detention, and caused descriptions of Mrs. Walsingham and suggestions
+as to her supposed flight to be circulated, he prepared, late as it
+was, to find out a little more about Mrs. Walsingham’s recent history.
+
+Naturally, his thoughts turned to Mrs. Walsingham’s maid. Sophie Guyner
+had been kept at the police-station, entertained by a female searcher;
+more than once she had wanted to know when she would be at liberty to
+depart. And at last Skarratt himself went to her.
+
+“Well, I think we shan’t want you any more to-night, Miss Guyner,” he
+said. “Of course, you’re not going back to that flat?”
+
+Sophie tossed her head. Except that she must visit it sooner or later
+to collect her wardrobe and possessions, she had no desire to see the
+flat Number 29 in Marengo Mansions again.
+
+“But you must give me an address,” said Skarratt. “I shall probably
+want you in the morning. And so will the coroner’s officer.”
+
+“I’m going to a friend’s who lives up Hampstead way,” answered Sophie,
+and she gave the address. “They’ll take me in there.”
+
+“I’m walking up Tottenham Court Road,” observed Skarratt. “In fact, I’m
+going to get a little supper at a quiet restaurant I know of. You look
+as if you’d do with something yourself. Will you come?”
+
+Inspector Skarratt was a good-looking man, with a pleasant and engaging
+manner; Miss Guyner had no objection to accompanying him especially as
+supper was in view. Moreover, she wanted to talk about the event of the
+evening. And Skarratt, who had sized her up pretty conclusively before
+he invited her to supper, let her talk as they walked up the street,
+and he got a very retired corner in the quiet restaurant, and, without
+seeming to do so, encouraged her to talk still more; and he was treated
+to all her views, listening to them without agreeing with them. Amongst
+all the chaff of the maid’s conversation he knew that he would probably
+find some grain of wheat.
+
+Miss Guyner was still convinced that Carsdale and Mrs. Walsingham
+had lured Werrick to the flat to kill him, after which they meant to
+escape. They had always wanted to be rid of him; they had deserted
+him in New York; now, when he had turned up again, they had meant to
+be rid of him for ever. Skarratt let her talk on, and refrained from
+pointing out the unlikelinesses and inconsistencies of her narrative.
+But when she had made an end he began to ask a quiet question or two,
+and so presently came to hear the story of Richard Shrewsbury, and of
+many things connected with him.
+
+“And a nice surprise it will be for him,” said Miss Guyner. “He’s about
+as green as grass, or he’d have seen through more things than one.
+But this’ll wake him up, I should think--I expect he’ll see it in the
+newspapers to-morrow, won’t he? But perhaps not--he’s abroad just now.
+Paris.”
+
+“Oh, they get the English papers in the gay city,” observed Skarratt.
+“Abroad, is he? And where does he live in London?”
+
+Sophie gave full particulars of young Mr. Shrewsbury’s palatial flat in
+Berkeley Square. She had visited it twice with her mistress; the flats
+at Marengo Mansions were nothing to it. She enlarged upon its grandeur,
+its furniture, its appointments, and the detective listened eagerly and
+quietly. And as he listened and learnt, he began to see certain things
+and to understand others, and he congratulated himself on having asked
+Miss Guyner to sup with him.
+
+“Ah!” he said. “Much gone on this young fellow, was she--your mistress?”
+
+Sophie expressed her feelings in a sniff of contempt.
+
+“Much gone on his money, you mean,” she said. “Talk about spiders and
+flies!--he was a fly, right enough, and she had him in her net right
+enough. Went for him dead from the first--I saw what the game was.”
+
+“Got a good deal out of him, I suppose?” said Skarratt, carelessly.
+“Jewels and so on, of course?”
+
+“She’d a diamond necklace out of him that was worth ten thousand,”
+answered Sophie, carelessly.
+
+“And a lot of other things besides. He must have spent a lot of money
+on her--he was taking her out to dinner and to theatres, and so on,
+nearly every night.”
+
+“And you say he’s in Paris?” asked the detective. “Now, between you and
+me, do you think she’ll try to get across there to him? I mean to say,
+if she can get over there, is he the sort that she could get round?”
+
+“She got round him easy enough before,” replied Sophie. “Yes--if she
+could get to him there, I dare say she’d get round him all right. But
+what use would that be?--I mean, what use would it be now?”
+
+Skarratt shook his head and looked knowing.
+
+“Ah, you don’t know all the ins and outs of our trade!” he said. “You
+see, if this young fellow is really infatuated with her, he’ll believe
+her before anybody, and he’s rich, he would try to get her clean away.
+Money can do a lot, you know.”
+
+“She wouldn’t be without money herself,” remarked Sophie. “She was a
+keen hand at making a purse, I can assure you.”
+
+“Ah, well, I shouldn’t wonder if she makes for Paris,” said Skarratt.
+“However, there’ll be a good watch kept at all the ports from which the
+boats sail to France.”
+
+Then, the little supper having come to an end, he gallantly escorted
+Miss Guyner to the top of Tottenham Court Road and put her in a bus
+going Hampstead way, asking her at the same time to attend at the
+police-station early next morning. And when the bus had gone on its
+journey, he stood for a moment reflecting on what he had heard, and
+then he pulled out his watch, and finding that it was just eleven
+o’clock, he hailed a passing taxi-cab and gave orders to its driver
+to take him to the Mount Street end of Berkeley Square. But before
+he had gone a hundred yards he changed his mind and altered his
+instructions--he would now go to New Scotland Yard.
+
+At New Scotland Yard Skarratt picked up a subordinate, and gave the
+chauffeur his original instructions again. He wanted to make certain
+inquiries at the flats wherein Richard Shrewsbury lived, and it seemed
+to him that he might as well make them at once. Arrived in Berkeley
+Square, he bade his companion keep the cab and await his return; he
+himself got out and went to find the flats. He soon saw the object of
+his search, and perceived that it was a fine town house which had been
+divided up into select residential suites; he judged from that fact
+that his task would be of no great difficulty.
+
+There was a hall-porter on the ground floor of the house--a military
+looking man who sat in a sort of glass-walled box near the entrance and
+was reading a newspaper. Perceiving Skarratt, he laid the newspaper
+aside and came out. His face suddenly changed: Skarratt saw that he
+himself had been recognized. That in no way displeased him--it made his
+task much easier.
+
+“Good evening,” said Skarratt. “A word with you. Look here,” he
+continued, having followed the man into his box, “I’m from New Scotland
+Yard--here’s my card--Inspector Skarratt, you see.”
+
+The hall-porter nodded.
+
+“I know you by sight, Mr. Skarratt,” he said. “I used to be in the
+Metropolitan force until I had an accident. What is it, sir?”
+
+“There’s a young gentleman named Shrewsbury lives in this building,
+isn’t there?” asked Skarratt.
+
+The hall-porter looked surprised, and Skarratt noticed the look, and
+smiled.
+
+“Nothing against him,” he said, reassuringly. “He’s away just now,
+isn’t he?”
+
+“I believe he’s in Paris,” said the hall-porter. “His man said
+something about it.”
+
+“Man live at the flat?” said Skarratt.
+
+“Man and wife--name of Kedgin,” answered the hall-porter. “Mrs. Kedgin
+is away.”
+
+“Ah, well, I don’t think I want to see Kedgin to-night,” said Skarratt.
+“I think you’ll do. I suppose you’ve been on duty here all the evening,
+eh?”
+
+“Ever since eight o’clock, sir,” replied the hall-porter.
+
+“Uninterruptedly?” asked Skarratt.
+
+“Uninterruptedly,” answered the hall-porter.
+
+“You’ve seen everybody who came in and went out, I suppose,” said
+Skarratt.
+
+“So far as I know, Mr. Skarratt,” said the man.
+
+“Well, now,” continued Skarratt, “you needn’t mention a word of what
+I’m going to say to you, but have you seen a woman enter who was
+dressed as a nun or a Sister of Mercy?”
+
+The hall-porter reflected. But he could remember nothing of the sort
+suggested by the detective, nor did he remember a very important
+matter--namely, that, it being a very warm evening, he had dropped
+asleep for some eight or ten minutes just when twilight was fading into
+darkness. Therefore he shook his head.
+
+“No, sir. I’ve seen nobody answering that description,” he said. “I
+remember everybody who went in and out to-night.”
+
+“All right,” said Skarratt. “Well--look in the paper to-morrow morning,
+and you’ll see why I asked you. By the by, have you ever seen a lady
+come here to see Mr. Shrewsbury--a lady who had her maid with her?”
+
+“That’ll be the lady he’s going to marry,” said the hall-porter.
+“Kedgin told me about her. Name of Mrs. Walsingham. Yes, sir, I’ve
+seen her a time or two, and the maid as well--pert young woman.”
+
+“You haven’t seen Mrs. Walsingham here to-night?” asked Skarratt.
+
+But the man shook his head. No--it was quite a week since he had seen
+Mrs. Walsingham. And Skarratt bade him keep silence as regards his,
+Skarratt’s visit, and mentioned that he should very likely call round
+in the morning to see Kedgin, and again referred the hall-porter to the
+morning newspaper, and went away to dismiss his subordinate as being of
+no use to him that night and to go home himself. For Skarratt had no
+idea of stopping out of bed to think and plan and scheme.
+
+But he was up and at work next morning at an early hour. There was no
+news of Mrs. Walsingham. Strict watch was being kept at seaports and
+railway stations, but nobody answering to her description had been
+seen. It was drawing near to noon before Skarratt heard any news. And
+what he heard then came from an unexpected quarter--the hall-porter at
+the flat in Berkeley Square.
+
+The hall-porter sent Skarratt a wire which took him hurrying around. He
+found the man looking puzzled and doubtful.
+
+“I don’t know how it could be, Mr. Skarratt,” he said when he and the
+detective were alone, “but I’ve heard that a woman dressed like a nun
+did come in here last night. I say I can’t make it out, for----”
+
+“Never mind that,” said Skarratt. “What have you heard?”
+
+“Well, sir, Jympson, who’s caretaker of that house across there,
+didn’t happen to see the papers until late this morning,” answered
+the hall-porter. “As soon as he did, he hurried across to me and said
+that last night, just about dark, he saw a nun come in here--certain
+of it--but thought nothing of it. Then I wired you at once. But how I
+could miss seeing----”
+
+“All right,” said Skarratt. “Now, have you seen anything this
+morning--of such a woman, I mean?”
+
+“Nothing, sir. But Mr. Shrewsbury’s back. Came in about two hours ago,
+and went out again soon afterwards,” said the man. “I haven’t even seen
+Kedgin to-day.”
+
+“I’m going up, then,” said Skarratt. “By the by, is this the only
+entrance to this place? No back entrance, is there?”
+
+The hall-porter replied that there was no other entrance than that, and
+Skarratt went on his way upstairs. He had knocked twice at the door of
+the flat without receiving any answer, when Richard and Captain Blair
+came up and joined him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII
+
+THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR
+
+
+Richard came to a halt as Inspector Skarratt addressed him. He glanced
+sharply at the detective and instantly guessed his profession and his
+business. Skarratt smiled pleasantly and politely and drew out a card.
+He presented it with a slight bow.
+
+“You will see that I am a police-officer, Mr. Shrewsbury,” he said. “I
+called here to make some inquiries of you, sir.”
+
+“What is it?” asked Richard. He glanced from the card to the door,
+wondering vaguely why it was not opened, for he had heard Skarratt’s
+second and loud summons as he came along the corridor. “Has no one
+answered you?” he said, without waiting for Skarratt’s reply to his
+first question.
+
+“I’ve knocked--loudly--twice,” he said, “and no one has appeared yet,”
+answered Skarratt. “Perhaps your servants are out?”
+
+Without replying, Richard drew his key from his pocket. But on the
+point of inserting it in the latch, he paused and glanced at Skarratt.
+He had little doubt of what the detective was after, but he wanted to
+make sure.
+
+“What do you want with me?” he asked brusquely.
+
+“Very little,” replied Skarratt. “And I’ll tell you in a few words. You
+have doubtless read the morning papers, Mr. Shrewsbury, and so you’re
+aware of what took place last night at Marengo Mansions. You’ll also
+be aware that the woman known as Mrs. Walsingham escaped from her flat
+in the dress of a nun. I have information that she was seen to enter
+this building about dark last night, in that dress, and I cannot find
+that she has ever left it. And naturally I conclude that she is hiding
+in your rooms. I think that’s all clear, Mr. Shrewsbury?”
+
+Richard turned and looked at Blair. And Blair made a motion of lips and
+eyes which said as plainly as words could have said: “Tell him!”
+
+“Very well,” said Richard. He turned to Skarratt. “Yes,” he said, “I
+think your information is right. I found Mrs. Walsingham here when I
+came in from Paris this morning, and I left her here while I went out
+to get some advice from friends. Captain Blair, here, came back with me
+to advise her to give herself up to the police.”
+
+“Best thing she can do, sir!” said Skarratt, heartily. “The very best
+thing--if she’s still there, Mr. Shrewsbury.”
+
+“Still there?” exclaimed Richard. “What do you mean?”
+
+Skarratt smiled.
+
+“I’ve knocked--loudly--twice,” he said, “and no one comes. Hadn’t we
+better go in, Mr. Shrewsbury?”
+
+Richard opened the outer door of his rooms with a curious presentiment
+of coming surprise, if not of evil. As they stepped into the hall a
+strange consciousness that the place was deserted came over him. He
+called Kedgin’s name, loudly. There was no answer, and he looked at his
+companions wonderingly.
+
+“That’s queer,” he said. “I gave Kedgin strict instructions not to
+leave the place until I returned.”
+
+Skarratt was already looking into one doorway after another--he passed
+into the servants’ part of the chambers, and came hurriedly back.
+
+“No one there,” he said. “Where did you leave this woman, sir?”
+
+Richard walked into the dining-room, with Skarratt at his heels, and
+pointed to a door.
+
+“She was in that room,” he answered. “She had locked herself in.”
+
+Skarratt crossed to the door which Richard had indicated and tried the
+handle. It turned easily; he pushed the door open and looked within the
+room.
+
+“Ah!” he said. “Look here, gentlemen!”
+
+Blair and Richard, following him, also glanced into the room from over
+his shoulders. And there, thrown carelessly across the rail of the bed,
+was the black garb of a nun, with all its accessories.
+
+“I thought so!” exclaimed the detective, entering the room. “I thought
+so, gentlemen. I’m too late--she’s off! Flown!”
+
+“But--how?” said Richard. “How?”
+
+Skarratt glanced at Captain Blair, and turned to Richard with a dry
+laugh.
+
+“How, sir?” he said. “Didn’t you leave your man to act as gaoler?”
+
+“Yes--yes!” answered Richard. “But----”
+
+“No buts about it, Mr. Shrewsbury,” said Skarratt. “She’s only
+done what prisoners in much safer places sometimes do with their
+gaolers--she’s got round him.”
+
+“But I tell you,” said Richard, impatiently, “I tell you that when I
+left her she was ill, worn out--she said she’d been obliged to take a
+sleeping-draught and hadn’t got over it. She was too weary to talk to
+me, and----”
+
+“Pardon me for interrupting you, sir, but I should say that was
+all clever acting to deceive you and get you out of the way,” said
+Skarratt, cynically. “No, sir--she’s got round the man. Who is he, and
+where did you get him?”
+
+“His name is William Kedgin, and he was highly recommended to me by Mr.
+Carsdale,” answered Richard.
+
+“No great recommendation I should think, sir,” observed Skarratt, who
+had been looking round the bedroom. “See here, gentlemen!--the lady’s
+been making up a bit for her new part,” and he picked up from the
+dressing-table a stick of grease-paint. “It was a mistake on her part
+to leave that. Now we must find out in what sort of garments she made
+her exit. Wasn’t this man, Kedgin married, sir, and isn’t his wife away
+just now?”
+
+“Yes,” answered Richard, who was feeling by that time that he wished
+he had never heard of Carsdale or Mrs. Walsingham, or even of London.
+“Yes, that’s so in both cases.”
+
+“Then I suppose this woman has gone off in some of Mrs. Kedgin’s
+clothes,” said Skarratt. “The probability is that the flight had been
+arranged when you got here, that they both acted to you, and that they
+were off very soon after your back was turned. Now then, sir, let
+me give you a piece of advice. I dare say you’ve plenty of portable
+property in these rooms?”
+
+Richard stared at him blankly.
+
+“Portable property?” he said. “What do you mean?”
+
+“I mean jewellery, silver, anything worth money that’s easily carried
+away,” answered Skarratt, smiling in pity at the young man’s slowness
+of comprehension. “Perhaps, also, you’ve such matters as valuable
+pictures, wines, cigars, and so on.”
+
+“Well?” said Richard.
+
+“Then, while I pursue certain investigations of my own,” continued
+Skarratt, “let me advise you to have a careful look round and see if
+you’ve lost anything.”
+
+And he went out of the room, with a look at Blair which was as much to
+imply that Richard was not fit to look after himself.
+
+Richard sat down on the side of the bed and stared at the sombre
+garments which the fugitive had cast aside.
+
+“Damn!” he said suddenly. “If that’s true about Kedgin I think I shall
+chuck believing in people. I thought he was a thoroughly dependable
+chap!”
+
+“Come and see if it is true,” said Blair. “I don’t think there’s any
+doubt that Kedgin has helped this woman to get away. Where will you
+begin?--have you any jewellery in the place?”
+
+Richard stared at his companion as if he could scarcely comprehend how
+a sane man should ask such a question.
+
+“Only two or three thousand pounds’ worth,” he answered laconically.
+“I--I used to buy things on--on her advice.”
+
+“Well, where is it?” asked Blair.
+
+A moment later, each man knew that that was not a question which was
+going to be easily answered. It appeared that Richard, full of belief
+in the Kedgin standard of honour, had kept his valuables in a drawer
+in his bedroom which he confessed to leaving unlocked. The satin-lined
+cases were in the drawer, but pins, rings, sleeve-links, odds and ends
+of pearls, diamonds, and good gold, had vanished.
+
+“Now, then, where did you keep your silver?” asked Blair, making no
+comment on the disappearance of the jewellery.
+
+The silver was gone, too. Blair made no comment on that, either: he had
+expected it. The silence grew deep between Richard and himself as they
+continued their work of exploration. And the result, tabulated, was
+appalling. Blair, always practical, jotted things down, and handed the
+list to Skarratt when he made his reappearance.
+
+  _Articles of jewellery, worth approximately, £3000._
+  _Silver, worth £500._
+  _Wine, worth £300 or £400._
+  _Cigars, worth £200._
+  _Linen, worth unknown._
+  _Clothing, worth £100._
+  _Pictures and old China, £1000._
+
+“Kedgin’s work, of course,” observed Skarratt, “but he couldn’t carry
+these things away with him now, you know, sir. No wonder he seemed
+agitated when you turned up this morning. He’s had these got off in
+readiness for his departure. Mrs. Walsingham most likely interrupted
+him last night; you interrupted him again to-day. And the probability
+is that she detected him, and that they made common cause together, and
+that they went together as soon as you were clear of the place a few
+hours ago. And now, gentlemen, I’ll show you how they went.”
+
+“You’ve found that out?” said Blair.
+
+“I think I’ve found it out,” answered Skarratt. “But come and see for
+yourselves.”
+
+He led the way into the servants’ part of the flat and into the Kedgin
+sitting-room, where everything was neat, orderly, and comfortable. And
+there he went to the window and drew aside a curtain.
+
+“Now, gentlemen,” he said, “look out there. You will see that this room
+looks upon a sort of small square or opening, and that this house in
+which we now are, and of which this flat of Mr. Shrewsbury’s forms the
+entire top floor, is at an angle of that square. You can also see, by
+looking from this corner, that the next house is empty. Now, come with
+me.”
+
+Skarratt took them through other rooms to one which had been used as
+a box and lumber room and pointed to an iron ladder that led to a
+skylight in the roof. He began to climb; the others followed.
+
+“They went this way, gentlemen,” he said. “Come up--now we step on the
+leads of the empty house; now we go down another ladder. And now we are
+in the empty house itself!”
+
+To Blair and Richard the sense of being in a house which was empty of
+life struck with a cold and unpleasant feeling. Moreover, the house
+was obviously old and damp and malodorous; the staircases down which
+Skarratt led his companions creaked so much that they would not have
+been surprised if they had suddenly found themselves sinking through
+the rotten timbers. But Skarratt went cheerily onward.
+
+“Property all coming down, gentlemen,” he said. “And time it did--there
+used to be some old property as bad as this where your house is now,
+Mr. Shrewsbury. Well, here we are now in the hall--now come to the
+back. Now, then, you see--here’s a side door, and it’s--open. And it
+admits, you see, to a passage which runs away into a side-street.
+That’s how they got off--in my opinion.”
+
+“Probably,” said Blair. He looked about him with dislike. “Let’s get
+out of this,” he said. “It gives me the horrors.”
+
+“Yes,” said Richard. “It’s beastly.”
+
+Skarratt said nothing. He smiled, and led the way back up the creaking
+and gloomy staircase, looking about him with sharp, keen glances as he
+went. And suddenly, as they turned at a landing, on which the doors of
+the empty rooms stood half or wholly open the detective stepped back on
+his companions with an exclamation of horrified surprise.
+
+“My God, gentlemen!” he said. “What--what’s that?”
+
+Following his pointing and trembling finger, Blair and Richard glanced
+through an open door into a dusk-filled chamber. Through a crack in the
+shutters came a single shaft of light, and it fell full on a woman’s
+hand and arm, lying within their range of vision. Nothing else was to
+be seen, and for a moment the three stared. And neither hand nor arm
+moved.
+
+Then, with a sudden cry of comprehension, Skarratt leapt into the
+room, the others after him. One tore open the shutters. And so they
+recognized the woman who was wanted, and saw that Kedgin had lured her
+into this lonely house, and had left her there--dead.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII
+
+SALVING A FORTUNE
+
+
+In the hasty, yet careful reckoning up of chances which he made as
+soon as his victim was dead Mr. William Kedgin came to the conclusion
+that it would be some time before her body was discovered in the empty
+house. He considered that there were two things in his favour. The
+first was that when Shrewsbury’s rooms came to be found empty, the
+impression would be given that he, Kedgin, had helped Mrs. Walsingham
+to escape, and that the police would give all their attention to her
+and none to the place which had harboured her for the night--therefore,
+some little time would necessarily elapse before suspicion would
+rest on him for the theft of his master’s property. The second--and
+perhaps more important one--was that he saw no immediate prospect of
+any examination of the empty house. Kedgin knew all about that house:
+he had made himself master of it and its history as soon as he came
+to reside under Richard’s roof. He knew it as a poor old derelict,
+left to itself until the housebreakers were ready to demolish it, and
+that event was not yet to come off. He foresaw no possibility of its
+being entered at once, of the immediate discovery of the body of the
+woman upon whom he had turned as he led her down the dark stairs,
+and accordingly believed that he had a clear and a serviceable start
+of the hounds of Justice which would sooner or later be let loose on
+his track. His preparations had already been made--made before Sylvie
+Werrick came on the scene and interrupted them. Then he had seen a
+further chance of increasing his spoil--that her death was necessary
+to that increase was, in Kedgin’s opinion, a mere trifling detail. Now
+that it was over, and her realizable possessions in his power, he could
+go on with his precious scheme.
+
+So Kedgin went away from the empty house, leaving by the passage which
+Skarratt had shown to his companions. The passage led him into certain
+by-ways at the rear of the big houses--finally he emerged into Conduit
+Street. No one of all the hurrying throngs there, or in Hanover Square,
+through which he presently sauntered, or in Regent Street, across which
+he presently hurried, knew him for a murderer: if they saw him at all,
+they took him for a respectable gentleman’s gentleman, going, no doubt,
+about his business. He was calm, he was serene--there was nothing on
+him to show the work in which he had been engaged so recently. Nor did
+the landlady of the little house in the small side-street off Golden
+Square, to which Kedgin repaired, and wherein he had tenanted a room
+for some time past, notice anything out of the way or peculiar about
+her lodger when he came in, and in passing her on his way upstairs
+observed that he was going away for a day or two and must pack his
+portmanteau. She had known Mr. Kidd, she said afterwards, as a very
+quiet gentleman whom she understood to be engaged at nights, as a rule,
+and who was only in now and then during the day; who always paid his
+rent promptly and generously and had a kind word and a sixpence for the
+children: that he could strangle a lady in a lonely house was more than
+she could believe.
+
+Kedgin had everything in readiness for his flight. He had soon come to
+see that young Mr. Shrewsbury was not only callow, but careless, and
+after Mrs. Kedgin--a lady of whom her husband was weary--had retired
+to the country to visit a friend, it had been an easy thing to rob
+him and to turn the proceeds of the robbery into good money. He had
+the good money in such a form that it was easily carried and always
+available, and now there was nothing to do but add to it the proceeds
+of the robbery and removal (he did not care to call it murder) of
+Sylvie Werrick, who, doubtless, would have been highly disgusted could
+she have known that her own carefully-laid plans had been made for
+the benefit of another. So, once in his room, he went about his final
+preparations quietly, methodically, and without hurry. He was under
+the firm belief that he had at least twenty-four hours’ start of any
+pursuit, and he knew where he would be in twenty-four hours from that
+time.
+
+It was not in Kedgin’s scheme to leave his room just yet, for he had
+mapped his movements out to a minute. So when he had finished his
+packing, and had strapped his portmanteau, he indulged himself with a
+small cigar--one of Richard’s--and a glass of wine--also Richard’s--and
+idled about his room, destroying whatever small traces of his occupancy
+still happened to be in it. And after a time he chanced to be near the
+window and to look out of it. Then he saw something that made the cigar
+drop from his lips and sent him staggering against the wall at his side.
+
+On the opposite side-walk, following the very track by which he himself
+had approached the house only an hour before, came a great dog, a
+blood-hound, red of eye and mouth, straining at a leash held by a
+big man who hurried behind it. And behind him were other men: Kedgin
+knew some of them--Captain Burgoyne, and Captain Blair, with his one
+arm, and Richard Shrewsbury and others. They were excited, they were
+talking. And the great beast before them came steadily on, came just
+where he himself had come; if the path had been dripping with blood he
+could not have come in a straighter line, said Kedgin with a curse.
+Now he was straining across the street; now the men behind him were
+pointing upward ... they had seen Kedgin’s white face at the window.
+
+Then Kedgin stepped back and drew a revolver from his pocket. This had
+been beyond all his calculations. And there was no back way out of this
+house. This was--the end.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“That was an inspiration of yours, getting that hound, Captain
+Burgoyne,” said Skarratt, later on in the day, “and it was lucky, sir,
+that you could put your hand on him there and then. You’ve got to
+thank Captain Burgoyne, Mr. Shrewsbury, for that notion--if it hadn’t
+been for that, it strikes me that we might have had some difficulty in
+running down Kedgin and such property of yours as he had on him and at
+his command. A cool, determined customer, that, gentlemen!”
+
+Nobody made any reply to the detective’s remarks. They were all back in
+the rooms at Berkeley Square, and Richard was feeling as if the events
+of the last few hours had been too much for him. The woman who had
+deceived and robbed him had met her death at the hands of a murderer;
+the murderer had taken his own life; it was little satisfaction to him
+to know that his property was being salved in this fashion. So he gave
+no answer to Skarratt; instead, he glanced at Burgoyne. And suddenly he
+jumped up.
+
+“I can’t stand this, Burgoyne!” he said. “I shall choke if I stop
+in these rooms any longer. I’m going out where I can breathe--and
+to-night I shall stay at the _Ritz_. I shan’t come back here--I’m sick
+of this place--I never want to see it again.”
+
+“There are matters to clear up, you know,” replied Burgoyne, slowly.
+“You can’t do everything at once. There’s--Carsdale, for instance.”
+He paused and looked at Skarratt. “What are you going to do about
+Carsdale?” he asked. “There’s no doubt that the property you found on
+him is Mr. Shrewsbury’s, you know.”
+
+Skarratt smiled.
+
+“No doubt, sir,” he answered. “And, of course, Mr. Shrewsbury can
+deal with Carsdale when we’ve done with him. And that reminds me of
+two matters which this morning’s events had put out of my mind for
+the moment. I may as well tell you that we have just about finished
+with Carsdale. I, personally, haven’t the least doubt that he told the
+truth about his presence at Marengo Mansions. We can’t connect him with
+Werrick’s death. And so--we shall let him go. That’s one thing. And the
+other is that this morning Carsdale sent for me and asked me to arrange
+for an interview between himself and a solicitor who would act on your
+behalf, Mr. Shrewsbury, in your absence. He wants to hand over those
+securities, and so on, and to explain what he was doing with them. He
+mentioned a Mr. Winch of Lincoln’s Inn, as a likely man. But as you’re
+back, Mr. Shrewsbury, hadn’t you better see him yourself and take up
+your property?”
+
+Richard shook his head. He looked appealingly at Burgoyne.
+
+“No!” he said stoutly. “I won’t see him--it’s no good asking me to
+see him--I trusted him. Burgoyne--won’t you act for me? Let him give
+up what he’s got: he’s welcome to anything beyond that. Only let him
+understand that I don’t want to see him again. Take Winch if you
+like--do anything you like. You’ll find me at the _Ritz_. I’ll never
+come into these rooms again.”
+
+“Very well,” said Burgoyne. “I’ll see him.”
+
+So Richard went out of his palatial residence for the last time, a
+much disillusioned young man, and locked the door and put the key in
+his pocket, and went away, resolved to sell all the belongings he
+left behind him, and to clear matters up generally, and when that was
+done to go back to Trinidad or somewhere equally remote and begin a
+new life. He was still cogitating these projects when Burgoyne found
+him at the hotel later in the afternoon. He looked up at Burgoyne
+apathetically, and watched him without interest as he produced a packet
+of papers which he laid on a table and placed his hand upon.
+
+“That man, Carsdale,” said Burgoyne, without preface, “is the most
+plausible person I ever met! Winch and I saw him, in Skarratt’s
+presence. To any one who did not know him as well as I do, now, his
+story would have seemed the most straightforward thing in the world.
+He produced papers signed by you which gave him full power to deal
+with your securities at the bank. He explained his action in dealing
+with two hundred thousand pounds’ worth of them by saying that he
+wished to re-invest. He handed over the papers relating to his
+transactions--they’re all here, and Winch says you’re all right as
+regards the two hundred thousand. Then, of course, there’s the fifty
+thousand worth at the bank, which he didn’t touch. It seems to me that
+what you’ll lose, Dick, my boy, will be the ten thousand you gave him
+to play with, as he called it. I should say that’s gone.”
+
+“Let it go!” exclaimed Richard.
+
+“Just so,” agreed Burgoyne. “After all, you’ve bought your experience
+fairly cheaply in comparison with what you might have paid for it. But,
+my boy, it was a near touch-and-go. Do you know whom you’ve to thank
+for keeping an eye on Carsdale?--he’d have got away but for a friend
+that you haven’t thought of. He swears now that he got those tickets
+for Mr. and Mrs. Werrick, and was going to send them off, and start
+them afresh in life, but that’s all rot!--he meant them for himself and
+the woman. And he’d have got away but for two things on which he didn’t
+reckon--first the affair at Marengo Mansions, and, second, that he was
+being watched on your behalf, and that he’d have been arrested that
+very night. That’s a fact, my son!”
+
+Richard stared at his informant for a full moment of silence.
+
+“Who was watching him on my behalf?” he asked at last.
+
+Burgoyne smiled and passed Richard the packet of papers.
+
+“Miss Leverton,” he answered. “And you ought to thank her that you’ve
+got--those!”
+
+Richard jumped to his feet, thrusting the papers into his pocket. He
+seized his hat and made for the door.
+
+“I’ll do that--now!” he said.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He had thought of a thousand things to say as he hurried to Maida
+Vale, but when he was alone with Miss Frances Leverton, young Mr.
+Shrewsbury’s ideas and thoughts seemed to have become utterly confused,
+and he soon felt that he was making a mess of everything. And suddenly
+he gave up the task.
+
+“That isn’t a bit what I wanted to say,” he said, despairingly.
+“I’m no good at saying--anything. Only, I wanted you to know that
+I’m--grateful, you know, because you thought of me, and so on.
+And--there was a thing I wanted to ask of you.”
+
+“Yes?” said Frances.
+
+“You--you said I might come to tea one Sunday--oh, it seems ages ago,
+now!--and I didn’t come,” he said. “Will you let me come, some other
+time?”
+
+Frances turned away, smiling, and touched a bell.
+
+“We are just going to have tea,” she said, quietly. “Won’t you stop?”
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+_The novels of_
+
+J. S. FLETCHER
+
+“_Without question the supreme detective story writer of
+today._”--_Brooklyn Eagle_
+
+
+DEAD MEN’S MONEY
+
+  “Murder and attempted murder and abduction, missing heirs, false
+  impersonation, and other complications, the unravelling of which
+  makes an entertaining tale for those who seek relaxation.”
+
+                                        --_Philadelphia Public Ledger_
+
+
+THE MIDDLE TEMPLE MURDER
+
+  A peculiarly puzzling murder story in which the finger of suspicion
+  darts about from one person to another as erratically as flashes of
+  lightning.
+
+
+THE CHESTERMARKE INSTINCT
+
+  Concerns the sudden and inexplicable disappearance of the manager of
+  a country bank.
+
+
+THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM
+
+  The peculiarly moving story of a young man who gets on in life by
+  hook or crook, with no objection to crime or deception, remarkably
+  resourceful, and who takes life as a game to be played while the
+  playing is good.
+
+
+THE PARADISE MYSTERY
+
+  The quiet repose of an old English cathedral town is suddenly
+  shattered by a series of remarkable crimes whose deep laid mystery is
+  involved with a charming love story.
+
+
+THE ORANGE-YELLOW DIAMOND
+
+  “A rattling good yarn ... the excellence does not depend entirely
+  however upon its plot ... an uncommonly well written tale.”
+
+                                                    --_New York Times_
+
+
+THE BOROUGH TREASURER
+
+  An ingenious tale of crime, cleverly and logically developed. The
+  absorbed reader will find it difficult to turn his attention to other
+  matters until he has reached the solution.
+
+
+THE HERAPATH PROPERTY
+
+  An enthralling narrative of a strange testament and of the way
+  certain individuals tried to break it.
+
+
+SCARHAVEN KEEP
+
+  The mysterious adventure of a popular actor in an ancient English
+  castle overlooking the sea.
+
+
+THE RAYNER-SLADE AMALGAMATION
+
+  The story of a murderer who was asked to help run down his own crime,
+  of a beautiful woman who fled across England at the dead of night,
+  of a daring intrigue which involved the fates of an American, a
+  Dutchman, and a Russian Princess.
+
+
+RAVENSDENE COURT
+
+  “The most complicated and in some ways the most finished of Mr.
+  Fletcher’s works in this special line. It will not stop a clock, but
+  will keep readers from looking at one.”           --_New York World_
+
+
+THE LOST MR. LINTHWAITE
+
+  Mr. Linthwaite, charming and gentlemanly, is seen. Mr. Linthwaite is
+  gone. How? Where?
+
+
+EXTERIOR TO THE EVIDENCE
+
+  Another remarkable murder story, set against a wild and desolate
+  moorland, and as deftly worked out as anything Mr. Fletcher has ever
+  written.
+
+
+THE MARKENMORE MYSTERY
+
+  Of course the idea is “Who killed Guy Markenmore and why?”, but the
+  story is far from an ordinary detective tale, and the interest burns
+  steadily through the whole book.
+
+
+THE KING VERSUS WARGRAVE
+
+  “As has been the case with many another novel from his pen, the
+  reader of this volume early gets the impression and retains it to the
+  end that Mr. Fletcher is a novelist of high order and not merely a
+  writer of good detective stories.”                 --_Boston Herald_
+
+
+THE MAZAROFF MYSTERY
+
+  A curious story of sudden death and concealed identity, and one of
+  the most thrilling of all Fletcher books.
+
+
+THE TIME-WORN TOWN
+
+  A dramatic unravelling of the enigmatic life of the Mayor of
+  Hathelborough who chose to remain, night after night, undisturbed
+  with his books and strange papers.
+
+
+THE WOLVES AND THE LAMB
+
+  Three hundred thousand pounds! How much would you do for them? Mr.
+  Fletcher’s latest fascinating mystery is a marvellously skilful
+  tangle of finance, law and greed with a woman’s vanity at its center.
+
+
+  _Each volume $2.00 net at all bookstores_
+
+  ALFRED · A · KNOPF
+  730 FIFTH AVENUE      NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
+
+
+  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
+
+  Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.
+
+  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
+
+  Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79012 ***