"
If you are my friend, I set you this task. Aid me to an end, If you are my friend, Your comradeship lend. This secret unmask. If you are my friend I set you this task.
"
Maxwell, Globetrotters, to Clendon, Vicarage, Deswarth.--Come to me at once. Important.
Toby was a lover and therefore unwilling to leave the vicinity of his beloved; but he was also a friend, and being of a kind, staunch nature, speedily made up his mind to obey at once the telegram. His father who sincerely regretted the misfortune which had befallen the unfortunate Kaituna and her lover, warmly approved of his son's going away; so, Toby's mind being at rest concerning the parental opinion, he rode over to the Valpys, in order to see what Tommy thought about the matter.
As he expected, she said he was to lose no time in going to Maxwell, and also gave him several affectionate messages for Kaituna.
You don't know how sorry I am for her, Toby, she said, with a sigh. "Fancy losing your father and then all your money."
Still Archie is left, observed Toby, wisely.
Yes; I'm glad of that. She will always have him to protect her, and that kind woman, Mrs. Belswin. Now then, Toby, don't you say there are no good people in this world when Mrs. Belswin has acted as she has done.
I never said there were no good people in the world, retorted her lover in an injured tone. "I only said that good people are few and far between."
Of course, went on Tommy, without noticing this defence, "Kaituna could always have found a home with ma and I. I wish she had come here instead of going to London; but Mrs. Belswin seems very fond of her, and then Mr. Maxwell will marry her soon, so she will be happy some day."
I wonder why Mrs. Belswin is so very fond of Kaituna, speculated Toby, idly. "Paid companions as a rule don't go beyond their wages in the matter of affection, but Mrs. Belswin goes the entire bakery."
Toby, don't be vulgar, replied Miss Valpy, reprovingly; "Mrs. Belswin is a very superior woman."
I hate superior women.
Oh, thank you!
You're not a superior woman, said Clendon, laughingly.
What am I, then?
The dearest girl in the world.
I am! I am! You'll find that out when your wife's milliner's bill comes in. Now, don't, Toby! There are more important things than kissing.
Not just now, replied Clendon, and kissed her twice. "Good-bye, dearest I shall expect a letter every day."
Will you really? How long will you be absent?
I don't know! It depends on what Archie wants to see me about.
Well, I'll write. Good-bye, and take my love to Kaituna.
Certainly; only I hope it won't get damaged during the transit.
So they parted, and Tommy returned to discuss Kaituna's future with her mother, while Toby packed his portmanteau, and, after taking leave of his father, caught the afternoon train to town.
Archie Maxwell, when engaged in foreign parts, underwent all incidental hardships without a murmur, and accepted all disagreeables with a philosophy beautiful to behold; but Archie Maxwell when in London indemnified himself for all such hardships by giving himself as many pleasures as his income permitted him. Being a young gentleman of good family, he had a very reputable circle of acquaintances, he had very pleasant rooms in the West End, and belonged to the Globetrotters, which is, as every one knows, a very exclusive club. Being clever in his profession, Archie made a very decent income, and having no reason that he knew of to save money, spent every penny he made with a kind of "it-will-be-all-right-in-the-end," philosophy; but now that he was engaged to Kaituna, he made various excellent resolutions about economy, and resolved to put by as much as possible for the future home of Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell.
He was a very methodical young man, was Mr. Maxwell, and speedily made up his mind what course to pursue, which course involved the co-operation of Clendon--hence the telegram which brought the latter up to town.
As Toby had let his chambers during his visit to Deswarth, Archie offered to put him up for the night, which offer Clendon accepted with avidity, as he too was on the economic tack. Oh, it was truly a beautiful spectacle to behold these young men, formerly so careless of money matters, now as careful of the shillings as they had been careless of the pounds. On this night, however, as Archie was going to arrange his future plans, he proposed to Toby that they should, for a few hours only, revert to the dear old extravagant days and enjoy themselves. To this Toby, who hankered after the flesh pots of Egypt, agreed; so they arranged to have the best dinner which the Globetrotters was capable of providing; and afterwards Archie was to unburden his mind to his friend.
The Globetrotters is a very pleasant club, in an excellent situation, and as the members are all travelled men of a sociable turn of mind, the society to be found there is not to be despised from an informative point of view. Had Marco Polo, or Christopher Columbus, lived in the nineteenth century, they would certainly have been members of the Globetrotters; and as for Ulysses--but then Ulysses was fond of feminine society, so perhaps he would not have cared for the exclusively masculine element of the club. At all events, when Archie (who being a traveller, was a member) arrived with Toby--who being a stay-at-home, was not--they found a great many pleasant people there, including a bearded traveller, who had been lion-shooting in Africa; another who had made arrangements to find out the North Pole, if he was able; and several other nineteenth century productions, who all knew and liked Maxwell. Archie, however, was too taken up with his plans to waste much time in hearing adventures about big game shooting, and artful savages; so he went off with Toby to a very retired table, where they had an excellent dinner under the supervision of a friendly waiter, who was as great a traveller as any in the club, having been a steward on a P. & O. liner.
After dinner, during which they had discussed various topics, all bearing on the Pethram murder, and their future married happiness, Archie and his friend sought a secluded corner in the smoking-room, ordered coffee and cigarettes, and, when they were thoroughly comfortable, began to talk business.
Toby, said Archie, reflectively, "we've known each other a good many years."
Seeing we were at school together I may say we have, replied Clendon, smiling. "Come, now, Archie, you want me to do something, and don't like asking."
That's true, because I'm going to ask you to make a sacrifice.
Not to give up Tommy?
No! no! I don't want to break your heart, old fellow; but I--I----
Well, what is the sacrifice?
I want you to leave England for a few months and go to Melbourne.
What for? asked Toby, aghast at this strange request.
I'll tell you! I have been to Dombrain, who is the late Sir Rupert's lawyer, about the will; and I find he has left Kaituna all his personal property.
Well, that's jolly.
The personal property consists of shares in a silver mine, which at present are worth nothing.
Oh! that's not jolly. But what about Thornstream? Isn't Kaituna the heiress?
No! Thornstream is entailed on the male side, and all the property goes with the title. Had Kaituna been a man, she would have inherited; but as she is a woman she doesn't get a penny.
I see.
The present baronet, pursued Archie, smoothly, "is a beastly skinflint, and won't give Kaituna a penny; so had it not been for the kindness of a stranger--I allude to Mrs. Belswin--I don't know what the poor girl would have done."
I do, said Toby, emphatically; "she would have gone to the Valpys, who asked her to come; or to the vicarage, where the dear old pater would have looked after her. Bless you, Maxwell, she would have been all right."
I know both your father and the Valpys are good kind people, replied Maxwell with emotion; "and of course, if the worst came to the worst, she could have married me at once, and we would have got on somehow. Still all these possibilities do not make Mrs. Belswin's kindness any the less."
She's a good sort, said Clendon, feelingly. "Why, if Kaituna had been her own daughter she couldn't do more for her than she is doing. But get on with your story."
Well, Kaituna, as I have shown you, gets nothing from Thornstream or the present baronet; so all she inherits is her father's private property. Now, in New Zealand he had a good deal of land, but when he came in for the title he converted it all into cash, and with that cash he bought two thousand shares in The Pole Star Silver Mining Company, in Melbourne.
Wasn't that rather rash?
I don't know. It certainly appears so. Now Dombrain assures me that the shares are not worth the paper they are written on; but I've got my doubts on the subject; so I want you to go out to Melbourne and find out all you can about the mine.
But what can I do? I know nothing about mining.
Oh, you can find out from the brokers if the mine has any prospect of turning out well. Dombrain is arranging all the will business, so as soon as Kaituna is legally in possession of the shares I will send out the scrip to you, and also a power of attorney. Perhaps the mine will turn up trumps; if it does, you can sell, if not--well, there's no harm done.
There was silence for a few moments, during which Toby was thinking deeply, and his good-looking face wore a more thoughtful expression than usual.
Of course, Archie, he said at length, "I am anxious to oblige you in all things; but you must admit that this is a little serious."
Oh, yes. I told you it was a sacrifice, replied Archie, readily. "I would go myself, only I have a strong reason for remaining in England."
May I ask that reason?
Yes. I want to find out who killed Sir Rupert.
You'll never do that, said Toby, shaking his head. "Why, my dear lad, the police could find absolutely no clue."
The police be--blessed, retorted Archie, with contempt. "I am going on my own ideas in this matter; and I'm going to get Mrs. Belswin to help me."
But she knows nothing.
That's very likely; but she saw Sir Rupert on the night of his murder, and if she can recollect her conversation, who knows but what some chance word in it might lead to the detection of the murderer. Besides, Mrs. Belswin is a very clever woman, and in a case of this difficulty, women see clearer than men.
Why are you so anxious to find out this murder?
Because I want to set Kaituna's mind at rest. The poor girl is worrying herself about the affair; and if I can find out and punish the assassin of her father, it will give her great relief.
There was again a short silence, and then Archie went on speaking:
You see now, my dear lad, why I wish you to help me in this. I cannot do both things myself at the same time; for if I go to Melbourne, the murderer of Sir Rupert may escape; and if I stay and hunt for him, the mine may turn out a success, and no one will be there to look after Kaituna's interests.
Does Kaituna know all your ideas, asked Toby, thoughtfully.
Yes; and approves of them. So does Mrs. Belswin. You see, as she has been such a good friend to Kaituna, I had to tell her everything.
Of course; quite right, responded Toby, heartily. "Well, old fellow, I'll tell you what. Some time ago The Weekly Scorpion spoke to me about taking a trip out to Australia, and writing up the colonies; so if I accept that, I'll combine pleasure and business."
That would be capital, said Archie, with a sigh of relief; "for to tell you the truth, Toby, I was rather anxious about the money for you to go with. Kaituna has none. I can't ask Mrs. Belswin; so I would have had to find it myself."
Archibald Maxwell, said Clendon, wrathfully, "do you mean to say that you thought I would have been such a mean wretch as to let you find all the expenses of my voyage?"
Well, I couldn't ask you to give your time and money also.
Oh, couldn't you? Don't be an ass, old chap. Had I gone without the Scorpion chips, I would have halved the ex's; but this newspaper business cuts the Gordion knot. All I have got to do is to accept their offer, and I shall get all my expenses paid, and a jolly good price for my articles into the bargain, which cash can go to hurry up my marriage.
Well; will you go?
As far as I can see at present, yes, replied Toby, quickly; "but I must speak to Tommy and the pater."
They may object, said Maxwell, dolefully.
Oh, no, they won't, retorted Clendon, gaily. "Bless you, a trip to Australia is nothing nowadays. I could do it on my head. And I will too, considering it's at the Antipodes."
Archie rose to his feet with a sigh of relief.
I'm so glad there is a chance of your doing what I ask you, he said gratefully.
It all depends upon the home authorities, replied Clendon, judiciously; "but I think you can set your mind at rest, old fellow. I'll go home to-morrow, and wire you result of inquiries. I think you can pretty well rely on everything being fixed up beautifully."
You're a good fellow, Toby.
I am! I am! My friends don't know half my virtues. But about this detective business of yours, Archie, I'm afraid you won't find out anything.
I'll try, at all events. 'Nothing is done without trying.'
Oh, if you're going in for copy-book maxims, I've nothing more to say.
Fortune's a jade. When we don't require her,
She ever beside us is staying.
Fortune's a jade. For when we desire her,
She never responds to our praying.
Mrs. Belswin was not a rich woman. When she left her husband she took no money, naturally supposing that Silas P. Oates, who played the part of co-respondent in the divorce case, would take care of her. Their romance, however, came to an end, for the lady's temper being uncertain, and the gentleman's income being equally so, things went anything but smoothly, so they parted. Where her quondam lover went Mrs. Belswin neither knew nor cared, but for her part she earned enough to keep her comfortable by becoming an opera singer. She was a handsome woman, with a fine voice and great dramatic powers, so as time went on she took a first class position on the boards, and therefore earned a great deal of money. Unfortunately, being open-handed and careless in money matters, she spent her income as she earned it, and when she arrived in England in search of her daughter, found herself very badly off. Of course, owing to the peculiar position she held at Thornstream, she had received no salary, as Sir Rupert was the only one who could pay her, and when he saw her, naturally the money question gave way to much more important matters.
After Pethram's death, Mrs. Belswin had taken possession of Kaituna with the intention of marrying her to Maxwell, but now found herself in London with a daughter to provide for and very little money in the bank.
Ferrari, certainly, would have been delighted to have shared his salary with her, but Mrs. Belswin had always kept the Italian at his distance, and was determined not to give him any hold over her by being in his debt. Since leaving Oates, she had lived a decent life, earning her own money and asking favours from no one, so that although she had led a somewhat Bohemian existence, yet, for the sake of her child, she had kept herself pure. Reckless, vehement, careless as she was of all outward appearances, no one could cast a stone at her in a moral sense, and Ferrari, knowing this well, respected her for it. He had often pressed her to take money from him, to be repaid by her marrying him, but Mrs. Belswin, not being prepared to discharge her debts in this way, had always refused. Even now, when her daughter looked to her for support, and but a few pounds stood between her and absolute want, she never thought of asking Ferrari for money, and had he, suspecting her needs, offered it, she would certainly have declined to take advantage of his generosity.
Therefore to appeal to Ferrari was out of the question. But what about Maxwell?
No, Mrs. Belswin had her daughter's happiness too much at heart to jeopardise the girl's future by an appeal to the purse of her future husband. Besides, Maxwell was not rich, for she had heard him lament to Toby Clendon over his lack of money, which made him an unacceptable son-in-law to Sir Rupert.
Clearly, therefore, she could not ask Archie.
Of course there was Dombrain. No doubt, if she asked him he would give her money; but suppose he refused to assist her? Ah, well, then she could force him.
At this point of her meditations Mrs. Belswin stopped.
Could she force him? It was questionable. She did not like the way he looked at her over the dead body of her husband. Certainly she knew his secret and could damage his position in London, which he prized so highly, but then, a worm will turn, and if appearances were against her as they certainly were, about the death of Sir Rupert, he could make things very disagreeable for her. Formerly she would not have minded, but would have dared him in her old reckless fashion, trusting to her indomitable will to carry her through safely, but now she had Kaituna to think of as well as herself, so she determined to leave Mr. Dombrain alone.
Ferrari, Maxwell, Dombrain. She could ask none of the three to assist her, and yet something must be done. The terrible blow of her father's death had left Kaituna prostrate with grief, and she looked to Mrs. Belswin for every thing. Yes, the daughter, ignorant of the mother's personality, depended upon the mother as she would have done had she known the truth; and Mrs. Belswin, although concealing her real relationship; acted towards her newly-recovered daughter with the utmost tenderness.
Still, what about money?
There was the stage. She could resume her profession, but that would entail time to obtain an engagement and constant absence from Kaituna, who was not fitted in her present upset state of mind to be left alone. So after going over all kinds of possibilities in her mind, Mrs. Belswin found herself at her wits' end which way to turn for assistance.
Coincidences happen in real life as well as in novels, and it was a curious thing that Mrs. Belswin should find in a society journal the name of Silas P. Oates mentioned as staying at the Langham Hotel.
Silas P. Oates, millionaire. Most extraordinary! He had arrived just in time, for she could apply to him for money. He was her old lover; he was the man who had ruined her life; he had deserted her shamefully; but now he was rich, and had a right to help her. Yes, she would call on him at once and ask him for assistance. For the sake of the dead-and-gone days he would not refuse. So with a smile of satisfaction Mrs. Belswin looked at the paper again.
Mr. Silas P. Oates is accompanied by his wife and daughter.
Oh! he was married then--married and respectable--while she was still tossing on the stormy waters of the Bohemian ocean. Ah, these men, these men! they always have the best of it. They love, and ruin, and forsake a woman, and then settle down into respectable members of society; while the woman, who has lost all for their sake, is condemned for the rest of her life to be the sport of one sex and the scorn of the other.
Still, now that he was married she would certainly be able to obtain what she wished, for he would not dare to refuse lest she should speak to his wife and destroy his happiness.
It never struck Mrs. Belswin that to act in this way would be dishonourable. She had been a free-lance for so long, and had been so accustomed in fighting her way through the world to use all kinds of weapons, that the means she intended to employ to extort money from Oates seemed quite legitimate. Many a woman would have died rather than have applied for help to the man who had basely deserted her; but Mrs. Belswin, her moral sense blunted by constantly battling with the stormy world, not only intended to get money from her old lover, but intended to apply that money to secure the happiness of her innocent daughter. Here is a text for the preacher on human nature. Does the end in this instance justify the means? Strange things are done in this world of ours, but surely nothing more fantastical or shameful entered a woman's mind than to use her former disgrace as a means to secure her daughter's ease and peace of mind. And yet Mrs. Belswin could not see it--did not see it--and made up her mind to call on Silas P. Oates the next day, and not leave him until she had his cheque for a considerable amount in her purse.
To-day, however, Archie was coming in order to tell them about Toby Clendon's proposed mission to Australia, and Kaituna was seated at the window watching for his coming, while Mrs. Belswin pondered over the problem of Silas P. Oates.
It was a dull little sitting-room, in a dull little house, in a dull little neighbourhood, but then the aforesaid neighbourhood was eminently respectable, and that satisfied Mrs. Belswin. In her dread lest her daughter should be tainted by Bohemianism, Mrs. Belswin had gone to the opposite extreme, and, with the assistance of Archie, taken lodgings in a severely respectable quarter, where church bells rang every other hour of the day, and nothing less genteel than a four-wheeler was ever seen in the dingy street.
Their abode was situated in Grail Street, which was so deserted that it put the reflective in mind of London during the plague, especially as a hearse was no uncommon sight owing to the undertakers (Wilps & Co., High Class Pauper Furnishers) being at the corner. All the houses were sad-looking, in keeping with the corner establishment, and Kaituna's face was sad also as she looked out on to the lonely road on which fell the fine rain.
Dressed in black, with her hands lying listlessly in her lap, and her face thin and worn with trouble, Kaituna looked a very different girl in the dingy London lodging from what she had been at Thornstream. Mrs. Belswin thought so as she glanced at her after answering the money question, and went across to her with a look of anxiety on her face.
Kaituna, my dearest, do not look so sad, she said, tenderly bending over the girl. "You make me feel so terribly anxious."
Kaituna pushed her thick hair wearily off her forehead, and sighed deeply.
I cannot help looking sad, she replied, listlessly; "I feel sad. A few months ago and I was so happy; now everything is taken away from me."
Not everything, dear. You have still me.
You! echoed Kaituna, with a wan smile, taking the elder woman's hand. "Ah, Mrs. Belswin, what should I have done without you, my good angel!"
Don't call me a good angel, dear, said Mrs. Belswin, hurriedly. "I am not good. God help me! had I been good things would have been different."
I don't know what you refer to, replied Kaituna, simply, stroking the hand she held. "All I know is that you have been good to me. Without you I should have died. You are my only friend."
You forget Archie, said Mrs. Belswin, with an attempt at lightness.
No; I don't forget him, good, kind fellow; but, Mrs. Belswin, I cannot hold him to his promise. I am poor now. It will be unfair for me to drag him down. I must go away. I cannot stay to be a burden on you--a burden on him. You must let me go.
Where? asked Mrs. Belswin, quietly.
I don't know. I will get the position of governess somewhere. Mrs. Valpy will recommend me. She knows what I can do.
Then you wish to leave me? said Mrs. Belswin, reproachfully.
No, I do not; but how can I ask you to keep me like this? You--a stranger!
A stranger! said Mrs. Belswin, with a strange smile. "My dear, you must not look upon me as a stranger. I told you my story once--about my little child. Now you stand to me in that child's place. I love you like a daughter! If you left me I should go mad. Leave me! No, Kaituna, you must not--you shall not leave me. Promise that you will always stay beside me!"
The vehemence of the woman frightened Kaituna, unnerved as she was by what she had gone through, and she shrank back in alarm.
Dear Mrs. Belswin----
Oh! cried the woman, walking up and down the room with tears streaming down her face, "for you to go away--to leave me, after all that I have suffered. You do not know what you say. You call me a stranger. I am a stranger. Yes! I am Mrs. Belswin, who was your hired servant. But I love you, Kaituna, like a daughter. You will not leave me--oh, my child, you will not leave me?"
She flung herself on her knees beside the girl, and looked up into her eyes with a fierce intensity of gaze that moved the girl strangely.
No, I will not leave you, since you wish me not to, she said gently; "but indeed, Mrs. Belswin, I don't deserve such love."
Mrs. Belswin covered the hand she held with kisses, and sobbed hysterically; then the strange creature suddenly dried her eyes, and rose to her feet with a smile on her lips. It was the savage nature all over. One moment all fury, the next calm and smiling. She never controlled herself in any way, but let her natural moods and fancies have full play; so the result was bizarre, and rather terrifying to a more civilised nature. By this time, however, Kaituna, perhaps from a secret chord of sympathy inherited from her savage progenitors, was beginning to understand Mrs. Belswin's whirlwinds of passion and sudden transitions from storm to calm; therefore, when the present outburst was over, the two women chatted together quite easily, as if nothing unusual had occurred.
But of one thing I am certain, said Kaituna, after a pause; "that it is not right for me to marry Archie at present. I am poor, so is he, and I cannot consent to drag him down with me."
My dear, you are too fine in your ideas, said Mrs. Belswin, with a superior smile. "Archie Maxwell loves you, and if you refused to marry him it would break his heart. Besides, perhaps the Pole Star shares will be worth a lot of money."
I'm afraid not. It's no use building up hopes on those. Ah, my poor father. He thought to make me an heiress, but he has only made me a pauper. My poor, poor father. Was he not a noble man, Mrs. Belswin?
Yes, dear; yes! But you forget I only had a short interview with him.
I remember, on the night he died--the night that he was murdered. Oh, if I could only discover who killed him. But I can do nothing. I am only a woman, and have no money to employ any one, so he must lie in his grave unavenged. Oh, who will help me?
The answer came in an unexpected manner from the servant opening the door and announcing--
Mr. Maxwell!
Curious! murmured Mrs. Belswin: "that is the second coincidence to-day."
"When things to outward view are smooth,
'Tis wisest to disturb them not.
Restrain the prying eye of youth
When things to outward view are smooth;
For should ye seek to learn the truth
Much evil may by chance be wrought.
When things to outward view are smooth,
'Tis wisest to disturb them not."
When he entered the room Archie looked very pleased, and a trifle excited, which happy demeanour was noticed at once by Mrs. Belswin.
Good news? she asked, as he greeted her, and walked over to Kaituna with the eager step of an expectant lover.
Very good news, he replied gaily, "the best of news. Toby is going out to Australia to look after your fortune, Kaituna."
My fortune, echoed Kaituna, faintly, raising her eyes to his bright face. "I'm afraid my fortune is a myth."
Not at all! Not at all! replied Maxwell, kissing her pale cheek. "Your fortune at present is not in the clouds, but in the earth; and when The Pole Star Company find that rich lode they are now looking for, you will be a female Crœsus."
I hope so, for your sake.
I hope so, for both your sakes, said Mrs. Belswin, bluntly; "and then there will be no more talk of breaking off the engagement."
What, our engagement? cried Maxwell, in an astonished tone, looking from the one to the other. "Why, what do you mean?"
Ask Donna Quixota there, my dear Mr. Maxwell. She has been talking the high-flown nonsense which the virtuous heroine uses on the stage when she appeals to the gallery. She knows you love her for herself alone, and that I cannot live without her; yet she talks about leaving us both on some absurd scruple of honour.
My dear Kaituna, you are surely not in earnest, said Archie, smoothing the girl's dark hair. "Mrs. Belswin is jesting, I suppose?"
No! she is repeating my words in a slightly different way.
But, Kaituna?
Now you are going to begin a discussion, said Mrs. Belswin, good-humouredly, "so I will leave you for a time. But first, Mr. Maxwell, tell me about your friend. You say he is going out to Melbourne?"
Yes! I got a letter from him to-day. Miss Valpy and his father are both agreeable, and he starts by one of the Orient line in a fortnight.
But the money? said Mrs. Belswin, in some dismay, thinking of her straightened means. "What about the money?"
Oh, that is all right, answered Maxwell in a satisfied tone. "Providence has tempered the financial wind to the Clendon lamb. He is going to write a series of articles on Australian cities for The Weekly Scorpion, so the benevolent editor of that paper pays his expenses."
Oh! said Mrs. Belswin, with a sigh of relief, turning towards the door, "I'm so glad. It's a good omen for the silver mine. I hope he'll come back as prosperous as he leaves. Now I'm going away for a few minutes, so I'll leave you, Mr. Maxwell, to convince Kaituna that things will turn out better than she expects."
When Mrs. Belswin vanished, Archie took Kaituna by the chin, and turned her face towards his own.
You wicked young woman, he said, laughing; "how can you speak, even in jest, about leaving me?"
Kaituna rose to her feet, and walked backwards and forwards several times in deep thought. Then she paused before Archie, and looked steadily at him with her clear, honest eyes.
Archie, she said, at length, "believe me, I did not speak without reason. While my father was alive there was a chance of our marrying, for I would have persuaded him to consent some time, and Mrs. Belswin would have helped me. But he is dead, and I have not a penny in the world. How then can I marry you, who have nothing but your profession to depend upon, and that profession one which means constant travelling? If you married me you would have to leave me, for we should not be rich enough to travel together. You would find me a drag upon you. Enough for one is not enough for two. I love you! You know I love you! And it is for that very reason that I want to break off our engagement, and not be a burden to you in the future."
Maxwell laughed, as she ended this long speech, and seizing her hands drew her towards him.
What a capital lawyer you would make, he said, with an indulgent smile; "but let us look on the other side of the question. Say that these shares turn out to be worth a lot of money, will you expect me to give you up?"
No, no! Oh, no!
Ah! you see then that the case is the same with me. You love me for myself. I love you for yourself. It is no question of money between us. With you as my wife, I would work hard. I shall only be too proud to work for you. We shall not be rich; but we should be happy. No, my dearest, I should indeed be unworthy of your love did I look at the future from your point of view. I love you! You are mine; and rich or poor, we will always be together.
But----
But me no buts, said Maxwell, in a peremptory tone, putting his arm round her neck. "You know what I say is right. You love me, do you not?"
Yes.
And you will never leave me?
Kaituna kissed him, with tears in her eyes.
No; I will never leave you.
Archie pressed her to his heart with a cry of joy, and at this moment Mrs. Belswin entered.
Well, young people?
I have explained away all objections, said Maxwell, as Kaituna withdrew her arms from his neck, "and we are going to marry on nothing a year."
Meanwhile, said Mrs. Belswin, satirically.
Meanwhile, echoed Maxwell, rising, "I am going to speak to you for a few minutes, and then take Kaituna for a walk in the Park. You'll take compassion on a lonely bachelor, will you not, dearest?"
Yes. I'll go and put on my things at once, said Kaituna, whose face now looked much brighter than before.
Archie.
Yes.
I am afraid you'll be a dreadful tyrant when I marry you.
She laughed, and ran out of the room, whereat Maxwell also laughed out of sympathy; but when the door closed the laugh died away on his lips, and he turned gravely to Mrs. Belswin, who had resumed her seat.
Well, said that lady, with a half smile, glancing at him; "you look as gloomy as a November day. What are you thinking about?"
Sir Rupert's death.
Mrs. Belswin half expected this reply; but, notwithstanding, gave a sudden start at the abruptness of his speech.
You are still determined to find out the cause of his death? she said, slowly.
I don't think there is any question on that point, he replied, with emphasis. "He was shot, and I want to find out who shot him."
What good will that do?
It will set Kaituna's mind at rest.
His listener played with the plain gold ring on her finger--the ring which had been the symbol of her marriage with the murdered man--and frowned.
If I were you, I'd let sleeping dogs lie, she said, at length, without raising her eyes.
No! I will not! See here, Mrs. Belswin, I know quite well that Kaituna is anxious to find out the murderer of her father. If she does not it will embitter her whole life. She cannot bear to think of him lying unavenged in his grave. Herself, she can do nothing, but I, her promised husband, can.
I'm afraid you over-calculate your powers as a detective.
Perhaps I do, he answered, calmly; "but I'm going to try, at all events, and see if I can unravel this mystery. Did I intend to let sleeping dogs lie, as you phrase it, I would have gone out to Australia myself to look after the silver mines, but as Clendon has taken that trouble off my hands I am going to devote myself to finding out the man who murdered Sir Rupert."
He spoke with such determination that she felt convinced he would carry out his intention, and fidgeted about in her seat for a few moments, then, walking to the window, stood looking out into the dull street, while she made her next remark.
I don't think it will do any good. Where the police have failed you cannot hope to succeed.
I hope to do so, with your help.
My help? she echoed, facing round suddenly so that her back was to the light and her face comparatively in the shadow. "What can I tell you?"
Mrs. Belswin, said Maxwell, gravely, "you were one of the last people who saw Sir Rupert alive."
Yes, that is so, she answered without moving a muscle, "but I told all I knew at the inquest."
I suppose you did; but can you think of nothing else?
She looked at him with a piercing glance, as if trying to read his soul, but saw nothing that could make her think that he suspected her in any way of being connected with the murdered man.
I told all I knew at the inquest, she repeated. "I had an interview with Sir Rupert about your marriage with Kaituna. He refused his consent, and I left the study. Kaituna had gone to bed with a bad headache, so I did not wish to make it worse by my ill news. Therefore I retired to rest at once, and knew nothing more until the next morning."
You heard no pistol shot?
None.
Strange! said Maxwell, thoughtfully: "no one seems to have heard a pistol shot, and yet such an unusual thing must have attracted attention."
You forget that Sir Rupert's study was some distance away from the sleeping apartments, and I think at the time he was killed every one was in bed.
But he was not shot in the room, but from the terrace.
Mrs. Belswin started again,
How do you know that?
I don't know it, I only presume so. The body was found lying half in and half out of the window; so my theory is that Sir Rupert came to the open window for a breath of air, and the assassin, concealed in the shadow of the terrace, shot him through the head.
It's a very excellent theory--still, it is only theory.
Yes, I know that, said Maxwell, ruefully. "You don't know if Sir Rupert had any enemies, Mrs. Belswin?"
I! Why I did not even know Sir Rupert himself until I spoke to him that night in his study.
There was no doubt that Mrs. Belswin was a magnificent actress, for she uttered this lie without the least hesitation.
No, of course not, answered Maxwell, after a pause. "I know he was a stranger to you. Still he must have had enemies. I wonder if Kaituna could tell me."
Ask her!
No, I won't. It will only upset her. She is so agitated over the whole affair. I'll go and see the detective who had the case in hand, and I won't tell Kaituna anything until I can say, 'This is the murderer of your father.'
It's a wild-goose chase.
Perhaps. Still something may be discovered.
At this moment Kaituna returned, dressed for walking, and after bidding fare well to Mrs. Belswin, Archie went out with his sweetheart, leaving the chaperon still standing by the window.
Mrs. Belswin twisted her hands together, and looked at the carpet with an angry frown.
Something maybe discovered, she repeated in a thoughtful tone. "I don't think so. The assassin came out of the night, fulfilled his mission, and disappeared again into the night. Not all the machinery of the law could find out the truth, and where the law failed I don't think you'll succeed, Archibald Maxwell."
I.
"
The present becomes the future. Yes! but the present does not again become the past; Time goes forward forever--we cannot return on his footsteps, For the laws of the universe are unalterable, unchangeable and fixed. II. Yet when I see you before me,
"I am inclined to doubt all that has existed since the shaping of
the earth from chaos.
For you appear as you did in those far-distant days,
When love and sin made up the sum of our lives.
III.
"Phantom! Vanish again into the darkness from whence my memory hath called thee! As a God I have re-created thee--as a God I condemn thee to disappear. I live the present, the future--but the past I will not renew. Lest such phantoms as you should turn the past into the present.
"
In a private sitting-room of the Langham Hotel sat Mr. Silas P. Oates, of New York City, millionaire, who had come to England with his wife and daughter to spend his money, secure a titled husband for his only child, and look round generally.
He had made his money in a somewhat unexpected way by sundry dealings in stocks and shares, besides which he had bought a clever invention cheaply of the inventor--a poor man--and by dint of dexterous advertising and persistent pushing had boomed it into a big success. A far-seeing man was Mr. Oates, none too scrupulous, who regarded his fellow-men as so many sheep to be shorn of their rich fleece; but he always kept to the letter if not the spirit of the law, and therefore regarded himself as a keen business man, who had made his enormous fortune honestly. All his little knavish tricks, his taking advantage of his fellow-creatures when they were in difficulties, and his unscrupulous, unblushing lying, he designated under the collective name of business; and however scandalous his dealings might appear to God, they certainly appeared legitimate to his brother business men, who mostly acted the same way.
Therefore Silas was called "a sharp business man." All his twistings and turnings and chicanery and sailing close to the wind went to pile up the dollars; and however he might have ruined less clever men than himself, however he imposed, gulled, and swindled the public, he was generally admitted in the Land of Freedom to be a 'cute man, who was a worthy representative of the great god Mammon. Charity, according to the Bible, covers a multitude of sins, but money occupies a much higher place nowadays in the covering process, and all the doubtful ways by which he had acquired his fortune disappeared in the eyes of the condoning world under the golden cover of the fortune itself.
This worthy product of the nineteenth century was a short, thin, active little man, with a parchment-coloured skin, dark hair, moustache, beard, eyebrows, and eyes, and a quick, delicate restlessness about him, like a bright-eyed bird. He was dressed neatly in a quiet gray suit, wore no jewellery, not even a watch-chain, and was always on the alert to see something to his advantage. Outwardly, he was a quiet, respectable, decent little fellow, who, as the saying goes, would not harm a fly; inwardly, he was an astute blackguard, who called his evil doing "business," who always kept well within the law, and had dethroned the Deity in favour of himself. His past was bad and tricky, so much so that it would hardly bear looking into by a man with a conscience; but even though Mr. Oates had no conscience, he did not indulge much in retrospection: not that he dreaded remorse, but simply looked upon such dreaming as a waste of time.
At present he was perfectly happy. He had made a lot of money, he had a pretty wife for whom he cared nothing, a charming daughter for whom he cared a great deal, and was now going to show the Old World what the New World could do in the way of making a splash. It was a very enviable frame of mind to be in, and one quite beyond the reach of an honest man, who would have been disturbed at the memory of how he had made his money. But Silas only thought how pleasant it was he had made so much money, for the making of which he had to thank no one--not even God, who, in His inexplicable mercy permitted this gilded worm to reap the golden reward of a life of legitimate legalised rascality.
Mr. Oates, therefore, was happy, and thought no one could upset that happiness in any way; but he found out his mistake when the waiter brought in a card inscribed, "Mrs. Belswin."
Well, sir, drawled Silas, looking doubtfully at the card, "this lady wants to look me up?"
Yes, sir.
Mrs. Belswin! soliloquised the American in deep thought. "I can't fix her nohow. Ask the lady to step this way."
Yes, sir.
The alert, active waiter disappeared, and Mr. Oates pondered. He did not know the name; he had only arrived in England the previous day, and was unacquainted with any one. What then did this strange lady want with him? Luckily, Mrs. Hatty K. Oates had gone out shopping with her daughter, else the situation might have been awkward for Silas, whose domestic hearthstone was not quite free from connubial rows caused by jealousy. His wife, however, was away, and would not be home for the next few hours, so Mr. Oates, feeling rather curious as to the business of his fair visitor, was by no means sorry that he had a chance of passing his afternoon in feminine society.
His visitor entered the room heralded by the waiter; then the latter retired, closing the door carefully after him, leaving the pair alone. The lady was dressed in black, and wore a heavy crape veil, which suggested mourning to the astute Silas; and after he had gathered as much as he was able from a keen glance at this draped veiled figure, he politely placed a chair for her.
You wish to see me, madam? he asked, resuming his own seat.
I do, for a few minutes. I am an old friend of yours.
Mrs. Belswin's voice was muffled by the veil, and moreover Silas had not heard it for nearly twenty years, so he did not recognise his visitor in the least, and was considerably puzzled by the concluding part of her speech.
An old friend! he said doubtfully, smoothing his chin. "From the States?"
Yes; down 'Frisco way.
Oh!
Mr. Oates started. He had many acquaintances down 'Frisco way, but they could hardly be called friends, as they very much disapproved of his method of doing business.
I've got an eye for faces, said Silas, in a jaunty manner, "so if you put up that veil I've no doubt I can fix you."
I'm afraid I shall startle you.
I'm not easily startled, madam. My nerves are in good working order.
Are they? Then I'll put them to the test.
Mrs. Belswin suddenly threw back her veil and bent forward so that her face was in the strong light, whereupon Silas gave a whoop like a wild Indian, bounded from his chair and gasped.
I'm afraid you over-estimate the working order of your nerves, Silas, said Mrs. Belswin, scoffingly; and then leaning back in her chair, waited for Mr. Oates to make the next move in the game.
Great Scott! It's Mrs. Pethram. I thought you were dead!
And wished it too, I've no doubt, said Mrs. Belswin, bitterly. "Well, are you not glad to see me?"
No! replied Silas, truthfully; "I'm uncommon sorry."
Ah! you've learned to speak the truth since I saw you last, observed the lady, raising her eyebrows, "otherwise you're not much changed. The same ugly little monkey with whom I ran away from New Zealand. I've often wondered why I did run away with you," pursued Mrs. Belswin with charming candour, "and now I see you again I wonder more than ever."
Silas grinned in an uneasy manner. He would have preferred her to be less cool, to pay more deference to his position, but she seemed as candid as ever, and he almost expected to have something damaging flung at his head, as had been her custom in the old days. It was a very disagreeable position, so Silas rose to the occasion, and immediately set to work to emulate her coolness, and find out how he could circumvent this unwelcome visitor from the past.
I see you're still in the vinegar line, he said easily, resuming his seat. "I guess you did turn me over for a bit. It takes a pretty stiff dose to do that, but this time you've raised Cain proper."
They were delightfully amiable to one another, the more so as a feeling of distrust pervaded the whole conversation; but as Mrs. Belswin wanted to waste no time, in case the wife of her former lover should turn up, she opened fire at once--
I dare say you're surprised to see me.
It's no good beating round the bush. I'm surprised and sorry.
You'll be sorrier before I've done with you.
Hello! What are y' going to show your teeth about?
Nothing, if you'll do what I ask.
See here, Mrs. Pethram, said Silas, leaning forward with his shrewd, sharp, foxy face, "it's no good your tryin' to play low on me. I've cut my eye teeth, I can tell you. You think you've got the whip hand of me. That's as I take it. Well, you can drop that dodge. I ran off with you to 'Frisco 'cause I was a born fool. I did love you, only you were more like a redskin than a civilised woman. We agreed to part company twenty years ago, and I've kept my part of the contract. I've gone right along in the money line, and this time I've come home on the winner. I'm married and straight now, and I don't want no one to put things wrong between my wife and me. As you're an old friend I'll act square by you if it's money, but if it's blackmail your looking you'd better believe it."
Mrs. Belswin was in all things a headstrong, impulsive woman, without any craft or power to disguise her feelings. She had come to Oates with the fullest intention of threatening to tell his wife their former relations if he refused to give her money; but here was her adversary calmly placing the whole of her nefarious scheme before her, and she felt completely nonplussed. Oates, on the other hand, was so accustomed to trickery that Mrs. Belswin was a mere child in his hands, and the course he was now adopting was certainly the only means by which he could hope to checkmate her.
Well, madam! said Silas, seeing his plain speaking had taken Mrs. Belswin aback, "what do you say?"
Mrs. Belswin acted like a fool, lost her temper and stormed.
You despicable little wretch, she said, starting to her feet, with her eyes blazing with anger, "how dare you speak to me like this? Was it not for your sake that I lost my husband, my good name, my position in the world? And yet you dare to taunt me with it. You are now rich, married, and respectable. I, on the other hand, am poor--yes, poor, otherwise my life for these last twenty years has been above reproach. Oh, you may laugh! You judge me by yourself, but I tell you since I left you I have led a decent life. The reason I refuse to tell you. Now hear what I have to say. I would not have come to you unless it was a case of dire necessity, I hate you too much to have ever desired to set eyes on you again, but I was compelled to come, because I want money. Give me a cheque for £500 and I won't trouble you again. Refuse, and I'll tell your wife all."
Will you, indeed? sneered Silas, mockingly. "Don't try the black-mailing game, for you won't bounce a cent out of me. That's so, Mrs. Pethram. My wife knows all about you. I told her all when I was married."
That's a lie, said Mrs. Belswin, fiercely. "I don't believe it."
I reckon it's true, though.
I won't take your word for it, so I'll ask your wife.
She'll be here at three-forty. You can wait.
It was all bravado on the part of Oates, as he was in deadly fear lest his wife should come in and learn all. True this discreditable connection had taken place before his marriage: but Mrs. Oates would not take that fact into consideration, and would make things very unpleasant for him. With all his cleverness and craft, Silas was a coward at heart; so as Mrs. Belswin sat there, evidently determined to await the arrival of his wife, he skirmished round, in order to find out some weak spot in her armour by which he could beat her. Had he betrayed fear, Mrs. Belswin would have at once perceived that she had the advantage; but he did nothing but sit smiling before her, and all she could do in her mad rage was to tell all to Mrs. Oates, thereby cutting her own throat, and benefiting nothing by revelation.
Say, queried Mr. Oates, airily, "why don't you look up Pethram?"
"
He is dead.' Is that so?"" said Oates, somewhat startled. ""Died in New Zealand, I guess?""
"
No, he didn't. He died in England.
What did you kill him for?
It was simply an idle, malicious question, as Silas never for a moment dreamed that the husband and wife had met, or that there had been anything strange about the husband's death. Foolish Mrs. Belswin, never thinking, flashed out at once, on the impulse of the moment, quite forgetting that she was putting a sword into her enemy's hand.
I didn't kill him. How dare you say so? No one knows who murdered him.
Silas jumped up from his seat with an exclamation of surprise, as his apparently idle question had evidently drawn forth something important.
Oh, he was murdered, then?
Didn't you know, said Mrs. Belswin, haughtily, "when you spoke to me like that?"
I know nothing, returned Silas, coolly. "I only spoke because I know if you had met Pethram in one of your fiendish tempers you would have put a knife in him."
Mrs. Belswin saw that she had raised a suspicion in the mind of Silas, so was now careful as to what she said.
You're talking at random. Pethram is dead, and some one shot him; I don't know who. You can see all about it in the papers.
Silas made no answer, as he was thinking. Owing to Mrs. Belswin's unsuspicious nature he had learned a very important fact, which might possibly lead to his circumventing her demands for money. So he made up his mind at once how to act, and acted.
See here, he said, good-humouredly, pulling out his cheque-book; "I'll do what I can for you. Tell my wife or not, if you like; but now, if five hundred dollars are of any use, I'll give you that lot straight off."
Five hundred dollars, said Mrs. Belswin, coolly--"one hundred pounds. Well, that will do in the meantime; but I'm to have the rest next week, or I'll make things hot for you, Silas."
The American had his own opinion on the subject, but, with his habitual craft, said nothing. Filling up the cheque, he gave it to Mrs. Belswin, who took it without a word of thanks, and put it in her purse.
I've made it payable to Mrs. Belswin, said Oates. "That's your last name, I guess?"
It has been my name ever since I left you in 'Frisco, retorted Mrs. Belswin, fiercely. "You need not insinuate that I have been leading a bad life. I've no doubt my past would bear more looking into than yours."
You've the same old style, I see, said Silas, insolently, "all gunpowder and dynamite. Well, I guess that now you've got what you came for you'll get."
As you elegantly phrase it, I'll get, rejoined the lady, letting down her veil. "But let me hear from you next week about the rest of the money, or I'll come and interview your wife."
Oh, I'll write you straight, answered Silas, with a peculiar smile, as he accompanied her to the door. "Good-bye, Mrs. Pethram--beg pardon, Mrs. Belswin."
Neither correct, sir, said his visitor, jeeringly. "My Lady Pethram."
Silas closed the door after her, with a smile which faded from his face when he found himself alone.
Lady Pethram! he echoed thoughtfully "I reckon then that Pethram got his handle. Well, now I'd better look after that murder case, and then I'll fix that she-devil right along the line."
Having thus made up his mind, he sent for a file of the Daily Telegraph of the previous month, and went steadily to work to read up the Thornstream case, which he had no difficulty in finding. He also discovered the address of a private inquiry office, and at once wrote a letter instructing them to send him a detective. This business being concluded, he lighted a cigar, rubbed his dry, lean hands together and chuckled.
Two can always play at a game, my lady, he muttered; "but this time I guess you'll stand out."
"'Tis very hard to play the game of life;
For tho' you keep your eye upon the board,
And move your puppets in well-thought-out ways,
Just when the winning seems within your grasp,
Some pawn is touched by stealthy-fingered Chance,
And straight the would-be victor looses all."
In his dingy office sat Mr. Dombrain before his desk, in deep thought; and judging from the frown on his coarse face, his thoughts were not of the pleasantest. He bit his hard nails, he pulled at his stubbly red moustache, drummed on the table with his large hairy hands, and in fact displayed all the symptoms of a man very much disturbed in his mind. The cause of this disturbance was Mrs. Belswin, and, seeing that he was alone, Mr. Dombrain for the moment threw off his professional suavity and cursed the lady heartily. Had she been present, she would have laughed at his outburst of wrath; but as she had just left the room, he was free to make as rude remarks as he pleased, and he certainly took full advantage of his solitude. The wrath of Mrs. Belswin and the subsequent flattening out of Mr. Dombrain arose out of the following circumstance.
The lawyer, seeing that Kaituna had been left penniless, except for certain shares, which he truly assured her were not worth the paper they were written on, had, in a spirit of philanthropy, offered to buy those shares off her at his own price--which was a very small one--so that Miss Pethram would have something to live on. He wrote a letter--a generous and noble letter, from his point of view--in which he offered to take these undesirable shares in the Pole Star Mining Company off her hands at a great sacrifice to himself, and Mrs. Belswin had answered the letter on behalf of Kaituna in person. As she was a lady who never minced matters, however unpleasant, and moreover never exercised any self-control, Mr. Dombrain had rather a bad time of it for a quarter of an hour. He had seen that phrase in a French novel, but had never thoroughly understood its significance until Mrs. Belswin illustrated it to him in her own graphic manner. She said--oh, he hardly remembered what she said, except that she used the word "swindler" pretty often, and made several pointed allusions to the disgrace of an ex-convict exercising an honourable profession in London.
Mr. Dombrain could have said something rather disagreeable to her, which would certainly have shut her up, but this modern Xantippe gave him no opportunity of saying a word. She came, she saw, she raged, stormed, crushed, conquered, and finally departed in a whirlwind of passion, telling him that Clendon was going to look after the shares in Melbourne, and that if he dared to try any tricks on her she would--she would---- Mr. Dombrain shivered when he thought of what she said she would do.
Now, however, that she was out of the room, and he had collected his thoughts, scattered by her terrific onslaught, he began to think, and after several minutes of thinking and frowning, he grinned. Not a pleasant grin by any manner of means--a nasty Mephistophelean grin that boded ill to his adversary. She had been unpleasant to him; well, he could now be unpleasant to her, and in a way she wouldn't like. He constructed a little scheme in his head which he thought would answer his purpose, and was about to make a few notes relative to the same, when a card was brought in to him.
Silas P. Oates.
Mr. Dombrain shivered, and had the clerk not been present he would have sworn. As it was, however, he merely told the clerk to show the gentleman in, and then trembled at the thought of this second phantom of the past which had succeeded to Mrs. Belswin. She knew about his little mistake in New Zealand, so also did Mr. Oates; and Mr. Dombrain groaned in dismay as he thought of the double chance of exposure now threatening him. Did the American come as a friend, as an enemy, or in ignorance? Dombrain hoped the first, dreaded the second, but felt pretty confident that the third was the American's state of mind, as he certainly would never connect Dombrain the solicitor with Damberton the convict. However, it would be decided in another minute, so Mr. Dombrain smoothed his hair, imposed a nervous grin on his mouth, and waited the advent of this second bogie with inward fear but outward calm.
The millionaire entered, quite unaware of the second shock which awaited him; for his purpose in seeking out Mr. Dombrain was wholly unconnected with the idea that he would find an old friend. The fact is, Mr. Oates had read the Thornstream case, had noticed that Mrs. Belswin was mixed up with it, and had sought out Mr. Dombrain--whose name was also in the papers--with the idea of finding out the precise position held by Mrs. Belswin in the house of her former husband. Sir Rupert's solicitor could tell him this if it was drawn from him artfully. Mr. Dombrain was Sir Rupert's solicitor, so to Mr. Dombrain came the wary Silas, wholly ignorant of what awaited him.
Silas did not notice Dombrain particularly at first, but sat down in the chair beside the table and cast about for some good idea wherewith to begin an extremely awkward conversation. Dombrain saw that he was not recognised, so kept his face in the shadow as much as possible, and spoke in a low, gruff voice, as if his throat was stuffed with cotton wool.
I have called, sir, observed Mr. Oates, after a preliminary cough, "to speak to you about the late Sir Rupert Pethram."
Yes?
You, sir, I understand, were his lawyer. Is that so?
That is so, replied Dombrain, unconsciously dropping into the Americanisms of the speaker.
A friend of mine, sir, pursued Mr. Oates, after another pause, "was connected, I believe, with the deceased. I allude, sir, to Mrs. Belswin."
Mrs. Belswin!
The name so startled Dombrain, that he forgot his intention of keeping his identity concealed from his visitor, and speaking in his natural voice started forward so that his face was clearly seen by Silas. Now Mr. Oates, in addition, to his many other gifts for getting the better of his fellow creatures, possessed a remarkably retentive memory in the matter of faces, and in spite of the alteration Mr. Dombrain had made in his appearance, recognised him at once. This time his nerves did not belie the reputation he gave them, and after a slight start he leaned back in his chair with a slight, dry smile.
I opinionate, remarked Silas, reflectively, "that I've been on your tracks before."
No!
It was, continued Silas, without taking any notice of the denial, "it was in New Zealand, sir. Dunedin was the city. A healthy gaol, sir, according to the guide books."
I don't know what you're talking about, said Dombrain, doggedly, resuming his seat. "I never saw you before, and I'm a stranger to you."
Dombrain is a stranger, I confess, said Silas, fixing his clear eyes on the sullen face of the man before him, "but I can size up the party called Damberton without much trouble. I reckon I can tell you a story about him, Mr. Dombrain, if you want particulars."
No, no! said Dombrain hoarsely, wiping his forehead; "it's no use beating about the bush. I am Damberton, but now I'm quite respectable. You surely are not going to----"
I'm goin' to do nothin', sir. You ain't upsettin' my apple-cart. No, sir. That's a fact, anyhow.
Then what do you want me to do for you? asked Dombrain, with a sigh of relief.
Well, now, replied Silas, thoughtfully, "that's just what I've got to find out. Mrs. Belswin--hey! Do you know who Mrs. Belswin is?"
Yes, the she-devil! Pethram's wife. She was here half an hour ago.
Is that so? I say, you ain't playin' in the same yard, I guess. Not much, when you call her names.
I hate her! said Dombrain, fiercely; "she is the curse of my life."
I reckon she's been raisin' Cain here, observed Silas, shrewdly. "Well, that ain't any of my business, but she's been tryin' the same game on with me. Now I'm a quiet man, sir, and I don't want no catamount spittin' round my front door, so I want you to put the set on that lady."
What can I do?
I've been readin' your noospapers, sir. They can't scream like the American eagle. Not much! But I read all about that shootin' case, and I see you were waltzin' round! hey! Mrs. Pethram wasn't far off neither, I guess.
No; she was companion to Miss Pethram.
Well, you do surprise me, sir. I s'pose her daughter didn't rise to the fact that Mrs. Belswin was her mamma.
No; she knew nothing. Mrs. Belswin obtained the situation while Sir Rupert Pethram was absent. When he returned she had an interview with him, and----
And he passed in his cheques, concluded Silas, musingly. "Queer thing that, anyhow."
You don't think, began Dombrain hastily, when Silas interrupted him promptly.
I don't think at all, he said, rising and putting on his hat. "I don't want to think. Compoundin' a felony isn't in my line nohow."
But surely, sir----
Oates, who had turned away, faced round suddenly, with a sharp look in his foxy face which made Dombrain feel somewhat ill at ease.
See here, Mister, he said slowly. "Mrs. Belswin's been round at my hotel tryin' to get dollars. I gave her five hundred, and now this bank's shut. She gets no more, I guess, this fall, because you'll tell her she's not to come gavortin' round my claim no more."
But I can't stop her.
No? said Silas, interrogatively, "I guess you can. See here, Mr. Damberton, I know what you are--none better, and that's straight. You know what Mrs. Belswin is, and if she plays low on you, sir, just ask her where she got the little gun to fix up things with her husband."
But she didn't kill him.
Silas laughed disbelievingly.
I don't know nothin' of that game, sir. It's a cut beyond me, and that's a fact. All I say is, that if Mrs. Belswin comes on the war-path to my ranch, I'll tell some things about Mr. Damberton that Mr. Dombrain won't smile at. You take me, sir, I fancy.
Yes! said Dombrain, slowly, while the great drops of sweat gathered on his forehead, "I understand."
Bully for you, replied Mr. Oates, in a friendly tone, going to the door. "Good-mornin', sir. I'm pleased to see you again. It's like the old days, and that's a fact."
Mr. Oates sauntered out with his hands in his pockets and Dombrain flung himself in his chair, and, burying his face in his hands, sobbed like a child.
My God, he sobbed passionately, "am I to lose all after these years?"
"
Those who went forth in brave array Return again at the close of day, With tattered banners that flaunted gay, And swords now broken that once could slay; Their march is sad and slow. Oh, sorrow for those who could not die,
"Who, lion-hearted, were forced to fly,
And now for ever in chains must lie;
For hark, there rises the terrible cry--
'Woe to the vanquished, woe.'"
When Mrs. Belswin received a letter from Mr. Dombrain asking her to call, she was considerably astonished, as she had thought her last interview with him would have pretty well resigned him to the loss of her society. But evidently he was now throwing down the gage of battle, so Mrs. Belswin, like an old war-horse at the sound of a trumpet, felt a certain exultation at the thought of the coming fight, and lost no time in assenting to the request of the solicitor.
What he wanted to see her about she could not imagine, unless it was to make another offer for the Pole Star shares, and as she had already set his mind at rest on that point, it seemed ridiculous to think that he would waste his time in trying to encompass the impossible. She was now quite at ease in her own mind regarding money matters, as the hundred pounds she had obtained from Silas, together with what she already had in the bank, would enable her and Kaituna to live in comfort for the next three or four months in an economical way. Of course, she quite expected to be in possession of the other four hundred the next week, which would place them in affluence until the report of Toby came home about the Pole Star shares, and judging from the offer made by Dombrain, Mrs. Belswin, with feminine acuteness, guessed that the shares were more valuable than they now appeared to be, so that their sale in a few months would realise a decent sum for Kaituna. If this turned out to be the case, Mrs. Belswin intended to persuade Kaituna to marry Archie at once, and the future of her child being thus secured, she cared little for herself. She could certainly marry herself, as both Ferrari and Belk were devoted to her, but she despised the first for his cowardice in the matter of removing her husband, and the latter, in spite of his good looks, was of too lowly a station for her to think seriously of in any way.
Since her departure from Thornstream, Belk had written to her several times--ardent, passionate letters, which showed plainly how deeply in love he was with her; and Mrs. Belswin could not but feel a thrill of pride at the thought of her own attractions, even at the mature age of forty-five. At present, however, she had more important things to think of than marriage, and drove along to Dombrain's office in a puzzled state of mind, trying to think of the reason why he wanted to see her, so that she could be prepared to hold her own.
That Silas had stolen a march on her she never for a moment dreamed; and had she guessed the real object of the interview sought by Mr. Dombrain, she would doubtless have felt somewhat ill at ease. As it was, however, she knew nothing; and thus, ignorance being bliss, she walked boldly into the dingy office, and took her accustomed seat with her usual defiant air.
Dombrain himself was rather nervous, although he now assumed a bullying manner towards the woman he was afraid of. She had held a power over him which had hitherto precluded him from talking to her as he would have wished; but now he had discovered something about her life which gave him the advantage, and he determined to use his power to insult, sneer, and crush her; in fact, treat her in the same way as she had hitherto treated him.
In spite of her violent temper, her foolish impulses, Mrs. Belswin was not without a certain amount of feminine cunning; and, as she was quite in the dark concerning the object of the interview, and, moreover, did not like the ill-concealed look of triumph on the part of the solicitor, she held her tongue, waiting for him to begin the attack, so that a chance word might afford her an opportunity of fathoming his motives.
Well, Mrs. Belswin, said Dombrain, with a nasty grin on his coarse-looking face, "and how are you to-day, after your conduct in our last interview?"
Mrs. Belswin looked him up and down in a sneeringly insolent manner, which made him writhe.
I think I ought to ask that question, she said, disdainfully, "considering that I left you crushed, like the little reptile you are."
Oh, no. None of those compliments, if you please. Last time you had it all your own way; this time I have it all mine.
Two can play at every game.
Yes; but one generally holds trumps. This time I hold trumps. Do you play cards, Mrs. Belswin? If so, you know that the game is to the player with the strongest hand.
I congratulate you on your knowledge of gambling. And may I ask what you are talking about?
All in good time, Mrs. Belswin--all in good time. First and foremost, I wish to know about your visit to Silas Oates. Ah! you start at that. You are not quite so confident as you were at our last interview.
I think you are mistaken, replied Mrs. Belswin, coldly. "There can be nothing to interest you in my interview with Mr. Oates. If you fancy your knowledge that I called on him makes me afraid, you were never further from the truth in your life. I am not to be terrified by an ex-convict."
It was the old threat that had formerly reduced Mr. Dombrain to silence; but now it appeared to have lost its power, for the ex-convict leaned back in his chair and laughed insolently.
People who live in glass houses should not throw stones.
What do you mean?
Exactly what I say.
You seem to have been at your private whiskey-bottle, said Mrs. Belswin, rising impatiently; "but as I am not in the mood to listen to your drunken ravings I will go."
Oh, no, you won't. Of course you can if you like; but you had better hear what I have to say.
I will give you five minutes, replied Mrs. Belswin, resuming her seat, "no more."
That will be enough. Now, just listen to me. Mr. Oates has called, and informed me of your attempt to blackmail him. You have got one hundred pounds, and he says he will not give you any more.
That is a question that has nothing to do with you, sir.
Oh, yes, it has, retorted Dombrain, coolly. "He asked me to stop you from calling on him again, and I intend to do so."
Mrs. Belswin laughed long and loudly.
Do you, indeed? And may I ask how you intend to stop me?
Mr. Dombrain leaned across the desk, glanced round to make sure they were alone, then whispered slowly--
By asking you how you killed your husband.
She sprang to her feet with a pale face, her eyes flashing fiercely.
It's a lie! You know I had nothing to do with it.
I'm afraid a jury wouldn't take that view if they heard my evidence.
Your evidence! the evidence of a felon.
That's a pretty name, but instead of abusing me, you'd better look after yourself.
Mrs. Belswin sat down again and spoke deliberately.
I don't know what your object is in talking like this, but I will take it as a favour if you will let me know precisely how you connect me with my late husband's death. You say I killed him. You hint you can prove it. That's a lie, because if that was the case I should be in prison now. No! No! Mr. Damberton, you are not the man to spare a woman.
Certainly not you, who have made my life a hell for the last few months.
We can exchange these compliments afterwards. First your story.
Dombrain, who was growing weary of all this fencing, lost no time in responding to this request, and began at once.
As you know, I was staying at Thornstream on the night you arrived. Ostensibly, I had come down to see Sir Rupert on business, but my real motive was to see how you intended to meet him. You did not appear at dinner, and I thought you would put off the interview until the next day. I was tired with my day's work, and was about to retire to rest when I saw you descending the stairs, upon which I hid myself, lest you should see me.
Coward! ejaculated Mrs. Belswin, disdainfully.
No, I was no coward, but had I been foolish enough to have spoken to you, in one of your paroxysms of anger, you might have revealed my true position to Sir Rupert, out of spite.
Mrs. Belswin thought how she had really done this, and how ignorant the man before her was of his narrow escape from exposure--an exposure only prevented by the death of Pethram.
Therefore, resumed Dombrain, coldly, "I hid myself, but I watched the door of the study. You entered there, and the door was closed. A long time passed--the servants put out the lights, shut up the house, and retired to rest. Miss Pethram, I have learned since, retired early on account of a headache, and as the whole Thornstream household kept country hours, by the time the clock struck ten--the hall clock I am speaking of--all the house was asleep except you, Sir Rupert, and myself. The half-hour sounded, still you had not left the study--the three-quarters struck, but the door was still closed. I waited, and waited, and wondered. Eleven sounded from the clock in the hall, and at a few minutes past the door opened, and you appeared, pale and ghastly, like a guilty spectre. Closing the door softly after you, with a furtive look round, lest some one should be watching, you fled upstairs, brushed past me, and went into your bedroom. This was all I wanted to see. I knew you had met your husband, that he had not turned you out of the house, so never dreaming that you had committed a crime to screen your real self, I went to bed. Next morning----"
He flung open his arms with a dramatic gesture, quite in keeping with the stagey way in which he had told the story, and became silent, with his small eyes viciously fastened on the unfortunate woman before him.
She was sitting like an image of stone, pale and still, with tightly compressed lips, and a lurid fire burning in her fierce eyes. Only the nervous working of her hands lying in her lap betrayed her deep agitation, and when he had finished, she looked at him with a smile of disdain.
And you saw all this wonderful thing like a cat in the dark, she said, scoffingly.
No! You know perfectly well that the hall lamp was still lighted, for Sir Rupert himself had told the servants not to wait up, as he would work late, and he would put it out himself. I saw perfectly well all I have described and you know it.
So you think I killed my husband?
I'm sure of it. According to the evidence at the inquest, the time of his death was between ten and eleven. I can prove that you left the room at eleven o'clock, so you must have left your dead husband behind you.
If you saw all this, why did you not tell it at the inquest?
Because I wished to spare you.
No! No! Don't lie to me like that. I am your bitter enemy! Why did you spare me?
I will tell you. Whether you killed Sir Rupert or not was nothing to me, personally. My reputation as a lawyer is a great deal to me. Had I denounced you, the result would have been----
That I should have told all about you, and you would have been struck off the rolls. Ah! I thought you had some motive for sparing me. Well, what do you intend to do now?
Tell all, unless you promise to leave Oates alone.
If you do your position will still be lost.
I know it, I know it! cried Dombrain in despair; "but what can I do? If I do not stop your going to Oates, he knows me, and he will tell all. If I do stop you, then you in revenge will tell all."
I see, you are between two fires, said Mrs. Belswin, calmly. "Well, set your mind at rest; I will trouble Silas Oates no more."
You will not?
No. All I wanted out of him was money, but as to that you will take his place and be my banker.
I?
Yes, you! Pshaw, man, you needn't look so scared! You know well enough that the money will be returned to you when those shares are sold.
But they are worth nothing.
So I thought until you wanted to buy them, said Mrs. Belswin, with a sneer.
You forget I hold your life in my hand! cried Dombrain, threateningly.
Well, and I hold your position in mine, retorted Mrs. Belswin. "My life is a great deal to me, your position is everything to you. I am willing to leave Silas Oates alone if you give me money when I require it; if not, you can denounce me when you like."
And then you will be hanged! said Dombrain, spitefully.
Bah! I can prove your story to be a lie.
How so?
I'll tell you now. Good heavens! did you think that if I was guilty I'd think my life safe in your keeping? My neck against your position? Bah! the thing is ridiculous. I can clear myself and ruin you at the same time, but I want no scandal, nor my daughter to know who I am, as she inevitably must had I to publicly defend myself of your charge of murder. So you see that on my side I have as much a desire as you to keep matters quiet. Now then, I'll leave Silas Oates alone, I will not go near him; but if I want money you must supply it.
I will do so--to any reasonable amount, replied Dombrain, hastily. "But you say you are innocent?"
And I am.
After what I've seen I don't believe it. If you did not kill him, who else had a motive?
How do I know? I was not in all the secrets of Sir Rupert's life. But I can tell to you, so afraid of losing your pettifogging position, what I dare not tell any one else. I saw Sir Rupert's dead body on that night, but I did not kill him.
Then you know who did?
No, I do not.
Let me hear your story, said Dombrain, with a disbelieving smile.
When I entered the study, began Mrs. Belswin, without further preamble, "I saw my husband. He recognised me at once. We had a stirring interview, and he turned me out of the house. I left by the French window, where he was found lying dead; and in order to get shelter for the night, I went to 'The Chequers' in Deswarth. I'm not telling you all the story, mind you, but only what suits myself. In the dock I should tell everything. Well, to resume. I waited at 'The Chequers' for some time, and then determined to return to Thornstream to say good-bye to my daughter, as I knew Sir Rupert would prevent me seeing her the next day. I arrived on the terrace just when the hour of eleven sounded. There was still a light in Sir Rupert's study, and stealing along in the dark, I saw his dead body lying half in and half out of the window. A full sense of the danger of my position flashed on me, and I saw that if I was arrested I was lost. I dare not try to enter the house by any door as they were all locked, and if a servant admitted me I should have to account for my being out at that hour of the night, which would lead to my being accused of the murder. The only way to regain my own room in safety was across the dead body of my husband, so I entered by the French window, left by the study door, and regained my bedroom without any one having seen me--except you. I did not kill him! I swear I did not!"
I'm afraid that story would not go down in a court of law.
I told you I had kept some of the story to myself. To use your favourite illustration, I still hold my trump card.
There was silence for a few moments, during which Mrs. Belswin, considerably agitated, used her smelling-bottle freely. Then Dombrain spoke.
Well, there's nothing more to be said.
I think not, said Mrs. Belswin, rising. "You know my conditions!"
And you know mine, I think, retorted Dombrain with a malignant grin.
She cast upon him a glance of supreme contempt, and went to the door.
I'll see you again when I want money, she said, and vanished.
Humph! said Mr. Dombrain, thoughtfully; "if I can find out the part of the story you won't tell, I may be able to stop your seeing me altogether."
"Out of the night, and into the light,
Comes the doer of evil deeds.
Out of the light, and into the night,
With a sin on his soul he speeds.
But the hemp is sown, and the tree is grown,
That will hang him high as a murderer known,
Himself hath planted the seeds."
To be an amateur detective requires a certain amount of capital. There are people "who know" to be discovered, and a search after them cannot be successfully conducted without money; and when the people "who know" are brought under the eye of the inquirer, they frequently decline to speak unless well paid for their information. Money, therefore, is essential to the success of solving a mystery, and when Archie Maxwell sat down calmly to consider the aspect of affairs, he found himself at once face to face with the question of funds.
He was young, he had talents, he had a profession; so with all these endowments looked forward to making a fortune, which is the ambition of every well-constituted youth in this age of gold. Unfortunately, like the magical draught of Mephistopheles, time is required to make money, and as every moment was of importance in finding out the mystery of Sir Rupert's death, Archie could not waste four or five years in getting together sufficient to prosecute his inquiries. It was true that he was engaged to go out to Buenos Ayres at the end of the year, but the firm who employed him were hard to deal with, and refused to let him draw in advance of his salary. Toby was not well off, so he could not apply to him for aid, besides which that young man was already on his way to the Antipodes; so Mr. Maxwell found himself with comparatively little money in the bank and a difficult case to solve without funds.
Luckily Archie was of a very sanguine nature, and hopeful in a Micawberish sense of "something turning up;" so making up his mind to at all events make a start in the affair, he collected all the newspaper reports of the inquest, and made himself thoroughly acquainted with the ins and outs of the baronet's death.
It appeared, from the evidence of the butler, that on the night of the murder Sir Rupert had informed him that he would be sitting up late in his study, looking over some papers, and that the household could go to bed at their usual time. Sir Rupert appeared cheerful, but somewhat preoccupied, and went into his study shortly after dinner. The butler, according to his instructions, locked up all the house, leaving the hall lamp burning for Sir Rupert to put out, and then, with the rest of the servants, retired to rest. He heard no pistol-shot, no sounds of any one being in the house, and knew nothing about the terrible event which had taken place until the next morning.
The housemaid stated that she had entered the study, according to her usual custom, to put it to rights, and had there found the body of her master lying half in and half out of the French window, which was open. Her shriek of terror brought her fellow-servants to the spot, and the police were sent for but she knew nothing more.
Miss Pethram deposed that her father had said good-night to her shortly after dinner, and had retired to his study to attend to some business. She remained in the drawing-room for some time with Mr. Dombrain, her father's solicitor, who was then staying in the house, and retired to bed about nine o'clock, as she had a bad headache. She had heard no pistol-shot during the night There was nothing in her father's demeanour that led her to think he contemplated suicide.
Mr. Dombrain, the dead man's solicitor, said that he had come down to Thornstream in order to witness the signing of Sir Rupert's will. The signing took place in the afternoon, and at night the baronet went to his study to look over some papers. He (witness) offered to accompany him, but Sir Rupert refused, as he said it was not necessary. Miss Pethram retired to bed about nine o'clock, and as he was left alone, he also retired half an hour afterwards. Sir Rupert never gave him the least idea that he contemplated suicide--in fact, on the night of the murder he seemed very cheerful. Witness was a very heavy sleeper, but he certainly had heard no pistol-shot during the night, and it was only next morning that he learned about the crime.
Mrs. Belswin, chaperon to Miss Pethram, gave her evidence, which was rather important, as she was the last person who saw Sir Rupert alive. She had been engaged when Sir Rupert was in New Zealand, and on his arrival had gone up to London on business. She only returned on the day when the crime was committed, and went to see Sir Rupert in his study between eight and nine o'clock. She only had a short interview with him, as they had nothing particular to talk about, and had gone up to her room shortly after nine o'clock. Knowing that Miss Pethram had retired with a bad headache, she did not disturb her, but went straight to bed. Some of the servants might have noticed her going upstairs to her room; she did not know. Sir Rupert was a complete stranger to her. He seemed well and cheerful; certainly the idea of suicide never crossed her mind for a moment. She heard no sounds of a struggle nor any pistol-shot, and knew nothing of the committal of the crime until next morning.
The doctor's evidence was to the effect that the deceased had been shot somewhere between ten and eleven o'clock at night. The bullet, penetrating the right eye, had entered the brain, causing death almost instantaneously. From the slanting upward direction of the bullet from the eye towards the back part of the head he would think the pistol or gun had been fired from a low position. According to his idea, the murderer had been crouching behind some shrubs on the terrace. Sir Rupert came to the window, and, as the study was lighted, his form would be clearly defined against the brilliant background. This was the opportunity chosen by the assassin, who had fired from the crouching position he occupied, so that the bullet had travelled upwards and penetrated into the brain through the right eye.
During the evidence of this witness the bullet was produced to the Court, and afterwards the Coroner summed up. Going on the evidence produced, the jury brought in a verdict of murder against some person or persons unknown. In addition to this bold report of the case, there was a short leader, which theorised a great deal, but ultimately came to the conclusion that nothing could be done to unravel the mystery, and (as usual) complimented the police on their vigilance, a compliment wholly undeserved, as, from all appearances, the case had been conducted in a singularly slip-slop fashion, utterly unworthy of English justice.
Being an engineer, Maxwell was consequently a mathematician, therefore, having been trained in that exact science, he had a singularly logical mind. Two and two, according to his way of looking at things, made four, but in this instance he was doubtful as to whether they did so. Everything in connection with the case was wrapped in mystery, and there seemed to be no one on whom suspicion could rest. All the people present in the house on the night in question had given satisfactory accounts of their movements, except, perhaps, Mrs. Belswin, and the only possible suspicion against her was that she had been last in the company of the dead man.
This was all very well, but the committal of a crime pre-supposes a motive, and as Mrs. Belswin, according to her own account, was a complete stranger to Sir Rupert, it would certainly be very foolish to even hint such a thing against her. She had seen the baronet, spoken to him for a few minutes, and then retired to bed. Nothing could be simpler, and whosoever had a hand in the murder it was certainly not Mrs. Belswin, so Archie dismissed this fancy as a foolish one.
The curious part about the whole affair was that no one had heard any report, and, as Sir Rupert had been shot the sound of the weapon employed would certainly have been heard. Yet all present in the house averred that they heard nothing; which was, to say the least, very peculiar.
Judging from the evidence of the doctor, Sir Rupert was shot from the terrace, which argued that the assassin must have been a stranger to the house. With this idea in his head, Maxwell wondered whether any suspicious stranger had been about the neighbourhood at that time, and made up his mind to inquire. Sir Rupert, from all accounts, was not a loveable character, and, in fact, his conduct towards Maxwell had been anything but courteous, so that he was just the kind of man to have enemies. This being the case, what was more probable than that some man or woman whom he had wronged had followed him to Thornstream and revenged themselves by killing him. It was rather a wild idea, still it seemed the only feasible one, so Maxwell made up his mind to go down to Deswarth, ask the hospitality of the vicarage for a few days, and make inquiries regarding what strangers had been to the village on that fatal day.
This was the conclusion he came to, but then the assertion of every one that they had heard no shot was puzzling, and the more Maxwell thought the more puzzled he became.
Suddenly an idea struck him and he jumped to his feet.
I have it, he cried, "it was an air-gun."
"
Nothing appears, All is concealed; Chance interferes, All is revealed.
"
It was a great idea, and one which had never entered the brains of the detectives employed in the case, so Maxwell looked upon it as an earnest of success. He told no one about it, not even Mrs. Belswin, nor Kaituna; but informing them that he was called out of town for a few days on business, made his preparations for going to Deswarth, and finding out all particulars regarding the case which had not come to light at the inquest.
Then Chance interfered.
On the morning of his departure he was having breakfast at his rooms, intending to catch the eleven train to Deswarth, when his departure was postponed indefinitely by the appearance of a visitor.
And the visitor was Mrs. Belk.
She sent up her name to Archie, who told the servant to admit her, wondering on what errand she had come--never for a moment thinking that she could have anything to do with the Deswarth tragedy.
Mrs. Belk entered, neatly dressed in her widow's garb, with her mean evil face looking smug and placid under the white frill of her widow's cap. On seeing Archie she curtsied in an old-fashioned way, and, with the natural deference of the lower orders, waited for him to speak first.
You wish to see me, he said, looking at her in some surprise, for such an odd figure had never before entered his chambers.
Mrs. Belk, with another curtsey, signified that she did wish to see him, and had come to London for that purpose. This reply having been made, she shut her mouth with a snap, and waited, still giving no hint of her errand.
Will you not be seated, Mrs.--Mrs.----
Belk, sir, said the woman, seeing that Archie was at a loss, "perhaps, sir, you may know my son, Samson Belk."
Oh, yes! the good-looking bailiff, replied Maxwell, carelessly. "Is he your son?"
He is, sir, answered Mrs. Belk, her heart swelling with pride at hearing the eulogy on her son's good looks. "He was bailiff to Sir Rupert, but now he is bailiff to the new baronet, Sir Thomas Pethram."
Indeed. I'm very glad his prospects are so good, said Archie politely, wondering what all this domestic history had to do with him.
His prospects ain't good, sir; and that's why I've come up to see you.
But, my good woman, what can I do? cried the young man in amazement.
Mrs. Belk wriggled in her chair, sniffed significantly, and went on talking apparently in a manner most irrelevant to the subject in hand.
Sir Thomas, she said, with snappy deliberation, "is a hard man. Sir Rupert was hard, there's no denying, and my boy--who is proud--didn't get on with being crushed. If Sir Rupert hadn't died he would have left his service; but as he did die, and Sir Thomas asked him to stay on--he knowing all the ins and outs of the place--he did so, thinking Sir Thomas would be a better master."
And he was disappointed?
Mrs. Belk nodded her head emphatically.
You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, she said, sententiously; "and that's what Sir Thomas is. A hard gentleman, sir, who thinks my boy is a slave; so we are going to leave his service."
But, Mrs. Belk, observed Archie, rather puzzled, "what on earth has all this got to do with me?"
I'm coming to that, sir, replied the woman, imperturbably; "me and my boy wondered what we'd do when we left Sir Thomas; for situations, Mr. Maxwell, are hard to get--especially for poor folks like us."
Maxwell nodded an assent, and waited until she came to the reason of her visit.
In the papers, pursued Mrs. Belk, with a faint smile of triumph on her pale face, "me and my boy saw that strong men was being exhibited in London, and all the gentry was mad on 'em."
Yes, I believe that is the case. This strong man craze is in all the music-halls.
My son, sir, is called Samson, and he is as strong as a horse.
Yes, I know that, said Archie, with the cordial admiration of physical strength which one Englishman feels for another. "He is tremendously strong. I've seen him do some wonderful things. Well, and your son proposes to come up to London and exhibit his strength."
Yes, sir, said Mrs. Belk, with a look of triumph; "he does, sir. It's my idea."
I've no doubt it's a good one. While the craze lasts he may make money; but after----
I'll take care of the money, sir, answered Mrs. Belk, grimly. "He'll make hay while the sun shines, and I'll take care when the sun doesn't shine that we'll have something to live on."
Do you want me to help you in this, then?
In a sort of way, sir; but not for nothing.
Maxwell smiled.
Really, I don't know what you can do for me.
You wait, sir, and I'll tell. To git a start in London requires money, and me and my son want fifty pounds to give us a start.
Indeed. I'm afraid I can't advance the money.
So you say now, sir; but when you know what fifty pounds 'ull buy, perhaps you will.
Archie's curiosity was now fully aroused, owing to the significance of her words. There was evidently something important behind all this apparently idle preamble, and he waited with some anxiety as to what she was going to tell him.
You are engaged to Miss Pethram, sir, I'm told, said Mrs. Belk, abruptly.
Yes, I am. What then? replied Maxwell rather haughtily, not liking his private affairs being mentioned by a complete stranger.
Mrs. Belk bent forward in a mysterious manner, touched him on the knee, then flung herself back in her chair with a searching look.
Has she found out who killed her father?
Good God!
Maxwell jumped to his feet with an ejaculation, and, one hand grasping the back of his chair, stood looking at the mean figure before him in silent amazement.
What do you mean? he demanded in a stifled voice.
The woman carried an obtrusive black leather bag, of no small size, with a metal clasp, and this she shook slowly at him as she replied to his question.
In here, she said, in her monotonous voice--a voice that neither rose nor fell, but kept on droning constantly in the same dreary monotone--"in here I have something which may lead to the discovery of the criminal."
Maxwell gasped. Was chance going to reveal the secret which he had been so afraid was a secret for ever? He had been about to go down to Deswarth on an apparently hopeless quest, without anything to guide him to a conclusion; and lo! at the very time when he was starting, this woman appeared from the clouds with the asseveration that she knew something which would be a sure guide to the revealing of the mystery.
In that bag? he said, mechanically, looking at it in a fascinated fashion. "In that bag?"
With a cry of relief he advanced and stretched out his hands eagerly.
Give it to me! What is it? Give it to me? The woman put the bag behind her back with a frown.
No, she answered, in the same passionless voice. "Nothing for nothing. I have told you what I wanted. Give me fifty pounds, and you shall have it."
But what is it?
A clue to the man who committed the murder.
Give it to me at once!
Certainly--when I get fifty pounds. Maxwell reflected. He was not a rich man, and fifty pounds was a great consideration to him. Still, in his search he would probably spend that amount, and by giving it to this woman he would perhaps learn the name of the criminal at once, so it would be better to save time by acceding to her demand, and thus arrest the assassin before he had time to leave the country. Therefore he made up his mind to give it to her, and secure the evidence she said was in the bag; but first he tried to find out exactly what that evidence was worth.
Do you know who committed the murder?
No, I do not. I found something which I think belongs to him, and may lead to his detection. You shall have it for fifty pounds.
Why do you come to me?
You are engaged to Miss Pethram, and it is to your interest to find out who killed her father. Besides, you will pay me money. If I went to Sir Thomas or to Sir Rupert's solicitor, they would probably refuse to give me a penny, and I want the money for my son.
If I give you a cheque for fifty pounds you will give me this--this--whatever it is you have in your bag?
I will; but I don't like cheques. I'd rather have the money in gold.
You mistrust me?
I don't like cheques, reiterated Mrs. Belk, doggedly.
Maxwell reflected a few moments, then made up his mind what to do, and rang the bell. When the servant who attended to all the chambers in the building entered, he handed him a cheque for fifty pounds, made payable to bearer, and drawn on the Piccadilly Bank, a branch of which was not far distant.
Take a hansom and cash this at once--gold. Will you be long?
About ten minutes, sir.
The servant departed, and Maxwell turned to Mrs. Belk, who observed ail these doings with a satisfied smile.
You see I am treating you fairly, he said quietly; "and when the messenger returns I will place those fifty pounds in your hands."
Very well, sir. In return I will give you what is in here,
I do not like this distrust! cried Maxwell, angrily.
I am a country woman, sir; I know nothing of London ways.
She was evidently obdurate, and there was silence for a few minutes. Then Archie made another attempt to extract information from her.
Where did you find this--whatever it is?
I will tell you, sir, when you have it in your hands.
Do you know to whom it belongs?
No, sir.
It seems to me that I am paying a heavy price for what is of comparatively little value.
I may be able to tell you something in addition to giving this to you.
Likely to be of service in connection with it?
Yes, I think so.
Humph! Is this clue which you have of value?
To you, yes.
Of pecuniary value, I mean?
Yes, it is valuable.
Then why did you not sell it instead of giving it to me for fifty pounds?
Sir, said Mrs. Belk, coldly, "I am an honest woman. The thing is not mine to sell. Money obtained dishonestly brings no good luck, and as this money is for my son, I do not wish it to be cursed."
The fifty pounds I now give you may be the price of a man's blood. You are strangely scrupulous. You will not steal, but you will hang a man.
If he is guilty he deserves to die. Credit rather than blame is mine for handing him over to justice.
Maxwell looked curiously at her.
You speak above your station in life.
Very probably, replied Mrs. Belk, indifferently. "I have had some education."
This strange dialogue was interrupted by the entrance of the servant, who handed Maxwell fifty pounds in gold and then took his departure. The young man placed the money on the table and motioned to Mrs. Belk.
Count it, please, and see if it is correct.
Mrs. Belk eagerly advanced towards the table, and dividing the money into tens, counted it rapidly. Having done so, she took a small canvas bag out of her pocket and put the gold into it.
That is all right, sir, she said, with a sigh of relief, opening the black bag. "You have behaved like a gentleman; I have the money I want, and you have in exchange--this."
This was a small diamond pin in the shape of a star, with eight points, and Maxwell took it in his hand with a sensation that he had seen it before.
Ah! he said, thoughtfully, turning it over in his hands, "this is the thing I have bought for my fifty pounds."
Yes, sir.
It is worth about twenty, I should say, said Maxwell, resuming his seat. "But doubtless the story attached to it will render it more valuable."
There is no story, sir, replied Mrs. Belk, who had placed the gold in her obtrusive black bag. "Simply this: I found that on the terrace of the Hall on the morning after the murder. It was lying close to the window."
Indeed! And you think----
I think that it was dropped by the man who murdered Sir Rupert.
How do you know it was a man?
That is a gentleman's scarf-pin, sir.
Hah! cried Maxwell, with a sudden start, "I know now where I saw it."
You saw it, sir? asked Mrs. Belk, eagerly.
Yes, on the scarf of the man I----never mind, I may be mistaken. Did you tell your son you had found this?
No, sir. I wished to surprise him with the money. I have told no one except you.
I'm glad of that. Well, I think I have an idea; but surely he cannot be guilty of the murder.
Who, sir?
Maxwell, who had risen to his feet, looked at her keenly.
Have you any idea of whom I am talking?
None in the least, sir.
The young man walked to the other end of the room, then retraced his steps slowly.
Mrs. Belk, he said, after a pause, "do you know if there were any strangers in Deswarth on the night of the murder?"
Only one, sir. A furriner at The Chequers, and he went away next morning.
Do you think he knew Sir Rupert?
I do not know, sir. All I know is that I found that scarf-pin near where the murder was committed. If it belongs to the furriner, he killed Sir Rupert.
What was he doing at Deswarth?
I do not know, sir.
Humph! Well, say nothing about this to any one, Mrs. Belk. I will see you again when I come down to Deswarth.
You are coming down to Deswarth, sir?
Yes, to find out who killed Sir Rupert.
I think you'll find him in London, sir, said the woman, with a grim smile, as she stood with her hand on the door. "Good-morning, sir."
Good-morning.
Maxwell stood a long time looking at the pin.
Yes, he said aloud, "it certainly belongs to that man."
He had seen it in the scarf of Ferrari in the morning he met Mrs. Belswin at the Deswarth station.
"
Woman, this stranger Knows not thy shame; Yet there is danger Hears he thy name. Hide it, conceal it,
"Heed not the cost;
Breathe it, reveal it,
And thou art lost."
The diamond scarf-pin had been found on the terrace of Thornstream by Mrs. Belk, so the man to whom it belonged must have been there on the night of the murder, and the owner thereof, according to Maxwell's firm conviction--on the testimony of his own eyes--was none other than the stranger who had been in the company of Mrs. Belswin at the Deswarth station. The first thing, therefore, to be done was to find out who this stranger was, and demand from him an explanation of his presence at Thornstream on that fatal night.
Maxwell, however, did not know this man whom he suspected of being a murderer; he did not even know his name; but he could discover all about him in two ways, one of which was doubtful, the other certain.
The doubtful way:
To go down to Deswarth and inquire from the landlord of The Chequers the name, position, and business in the village of the man who had stayed at the inn. This was doubtful in this way: that supposing the stranger had come to Deswarth to commit this crime, he would naturally give a false name to the landlord, so as to obviate the danger of discovery, so Maxwell, with this idea in his head, plainly saw that going down to Deswarth in order to interview the landlord would, in all reasonable probability, be a waste of time.
The certain way:
To ask Mrs. Belswin the name of her companion, and the reason of his coming to the village. Archie felt his old doubts about Mrs. Belswin revive as he thought of the doubtful juxtaposition of this suspicious character with the companion. Why had she gone to London at the time of Sir Rupert's arrival? Why had she returned with a stranger, who had been on the terrace on the night of the murder? And why had Sir Rupert been murdered on the night of her return? Only one person could answer all these inquiries, and that person was Mrs. Belswin. There was certainly something very mysterious about her conduct; but doubtless she would be able to give a satisfactory explanation; otherwise---- A cold sweat broke out on Maxwell's brow as he thought of the alternative.
Suspense is always more terrible than the event itself, and Archie, full of suspicion against Mrs. Belswin and the unknown foreigner, tortured his mind to a frightful extent over the possibility of this woman being concerned in the murder. If, however, she was innocent, she would be able to exculpate herself from any complicity in the affair; but if she was guilty it was terrible to think that she was the daily and nightly companion of Kaituna. She had possibly killed the father! If so she might also kill the daughter. Was she some one whom Sir Rupert had wronged, and who thus avenged herself by the hand of another. The idea was terrible, and Maxwell, filled with the agony of uncertainty, determined to go at once to Mrs. Belswin and demand an explanation.
He made a point of calling that afternoon, and was lucky enough to find Mrs. Belswin alone, as Kaituna had gone out on a shopping excursion with Mrs. Valpy, who had come up to town the previous day. Mrs. Belswin informed the young man of this, and invited him to wait until Kaituna returned at the hour of five o'clock.
Meanwhile, she said, ringing the bell, "sit down, and we will have some tea."
Maxwell mechanically took a seat and glanced at the clock, the hands of which pointed to four. This would give him a full hour to speak to Mrs. Belswin before the arrival of Kaituna, and in that time he expected to learn all he desired to know.
The lady seemed preoccupied, and as Maxwell was racking his brains to invent some leading question, neither of them spoke for a few minutes. The servant brought in the tea, and while Mrs. Belswin busied herself with the cups, she for the first time noticed the unusual silence of the young man.
Well, Mr. Maxwell, she said, handing him his tea, with a smile, "speech, I understand, was given to us to conceal our thoughts. You, I perceive, conceal them without speaking."
I have come to see you on a matter of business, said Archie, abruptly putting down his cup on a small table near at hand.
The paleness of his face, the abruptness of his speech, the agitation of his manner, at once put Mrs. Belswin on her guard, and a thrill of fear shot through her heart--fear lest he should have discovered anything about her past life which would be fatal to her living with Kaituna. Her iron stoicism, however, prevailed, and she awaited with outward calm, but inward perturbation, his next words.
Mrs. Belswin, he said, slowly bending towards her, "do you know this diamond pin?"
Oh! muttered Mrs. Belswin under her breath, recognising it at once, "more misfortune."
What do you say?
Before I answer your question, Mr. Maxwell, she observed, fixing her keen eyes on his face, "I wish to know why you put it."
Certainly, that is only fair. Do you remember the day I met you at the Deswarth railway station?
Yes!
There was a stranger with you?
A stranger?
Pray do not evade the question, said Maxwell, in an annoyed tone; "I mean the dark gentleman whom you sent off to see about your portmanteau, and who accompanied you from town."
How do you know he accompanied me from town?
I saw you both leave a first-class carriage together.
That proves nothing. Travelling in the same carriage does not prove that he accompanied me from town.
But he looked after your luggage at your request!
Yes! he did so, certainly, but what does that prove?
Simply this, that you know the gentleman.
Mrs. Belswin would have liked to deny this, as she saw from the production of the diamond pin, and the mention of Ferrari, that Maxwell knew something; but she was so afraid, lest, failing her, he should ask Kaituna, and so possibly discover more than she wished, that she answered him frankly.
Yes, I do know the gentleman.
Ah! and you know his name?
Yes! His name is--but why do you want to know?
Because he wore this diamond pin on the day I saw him with you, and this diamond pin----
Yes! yes! cried Mrs. Belswin, breathlessly, clasping her hands.
#NAME?
The woman sprang to her feet, with a cry.
Ferrari! impossible.
Is his name Ferrari?
Yes! No! that is, Mr. Maxwell, she cried, seizing the young man by the lappet of his coat "What do you mean? what do you suspect?"
I mean that this diamond pin belongs to Ferrari, whom you have just named. I suspect that he murdered Sir Rupert Pethram.
Mrs. Belswin uttered a cry of terror.
No! no! It cannot be.
Then let him prove his innocence.
Prove his innocence?
Yes! said Maxwell, with an air of determination. "I have made up my mind to bring the murderer of Sir Rupert Pethram to justice. Appearances are dead against this man, and I intend to put the matter in the hands of the police."
You will never find him.
Maxwell bounded from his seat, and crossing rapidly to Mrs. Belswin, seized her wrist.
Tell me, he said, imperiously, "have you any reason for wishing this man to escape?"
I! she murmured, evasively; "I wish him to escape?"
Yes! To all appearances he is your friend. He comes down with you to Deswarth. A jewel belonging to him is found at the window of a room. In that room a man is found dead. What does it all mean?
Wait! cried the woman, wrenching herself from his grasp. "Wait; I must think."
Maxwell obeyed, and returned to his seat with a cloud on his brow, for the complicity of Mrs. Belswin in the affair now began to assume gigantic proportions.
On her part, Mrs. Belswin saw at a glance the dangers by which she was environed, and her active brain was already at work seeking some plan by which she could extricate herself. She already saw that Maxwell suspected her, and if he did so she trembled lest he should communicate his suspicions to her daughter. With her hands pressed to her burning face, she rapidly glanced at the aspect of affairs in order to know how to act towards this young man, whose attitude towards her was undeniably hostile.
If she refused to tell him anything he would put the matter into the hands of the police, and they would immediately arrest Ferrari. In doing so they would have no difficulty, as he, being a singer, was easily to be found, and appearances were sufficiently strong against him to authorise the granting of a warrant for his arrest. If Ferrari were arrested he would certainly, urged by a fear of the law, reveal all about her in his examination, and Kaituna would then learn that Mrs. Belswin, the companion, was her mother. If she did so, Mrs. Belswin trembled for the result of such a discovery, so at once she made up her mind to promise Maxwell an interview with Ferrari, and meanwhile warn the Italian of his peril. By this means she hoped that, if guilty, Ferrari would at once fly from England; or, if innocent, he would be able to exculpate himself without incriminating her, so that in either case she would still preserve the secret of her true relationship to Kaituna.
Mr. Maxwell, she said at length, suppressing her agitation, "I will tell you all I know, and then you can judge for yourself."
Thank you, Mrs. Belswin, replied Maxwell, in a tone of relief. "I think that will be the best way, as I am anxious to avoid the interference of the police."
And why, sir, demanded Mrs. Belswin, with a piercing glance.
The young man made no reply, but looked confused, upon which the woman laughed bitterly.
Ah, I see, she said with scorn; "you think that I, a stranger to the late Sir Rupert, am implicated in his death."
I have not said so, madam, murmured the young man, hastily.
I swear before God, cried Mrs. Belswin, rising from her seat and raising her right hand--"I swear before God that I know nothing of the death of this man."
But Ferrari----
I believe Ferrari to be innocent. Appearances are against him, it is true, but that does not render him guilty. Listen, Mr. Maxwell. Stephano Ferrari is a friend of mine, for I met him in America. Before I came to England I was an opera-singer, and he was singing with me in the same company. We are engaged to be married.
You?
Yes. I wanted to rest my voice, and as I had but little money I became companion to Miss Pethram. You know whether I have been a good friend to her or not.
You have been a good friend, certainly.
My duties kept me near Miss Pethram, so I saw Ferrari but rarely, and as he is devoted to me, naturally he missed my society. At the time I left Deswarth, I came to London to see about my marriage, and on my return--which was on a Sunday--Ferrari came down with me, as he was not singing that night. Is there anything strange in this?
No; it seems quite natural, replied Maxwell, after a pause. "I would act the same way towards Kaituna."
Signor Ferrari, resumed Mrs. Belswin, coldly, "stayed that night at The Chequers, and returned, I believe, next morning to town. I did not see him, as, owing to the terrible death of Sir Rupert, I had to stay with Kaituna. I do not know how he spent the night. I do not know at what hour he returned in the morning."
But this scarf-pin?
It is certainly his; but what of that? He may have come to Thornstream to see me, and lost it on the terrace.
If so, why did he not see you?
I do not know. I know nothing beyond what I have told you; but set your mind at rest. Come here to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock, and I will take you to Signor Ferrari, who will doubtless be able to explain all to your satisfaction.
You will?
Yes; at eleven to-morrow. I am sure he is innocent.
I hope so, said Maxwell, heartily, "if only for your sake."
You are still suspicious, I see, replied Mrs. Belswin, with a faint smile. "Well, it is only natural, and I hope your suspicions will be dispelled by Signor Ferrari's explanation. But now I must ask you to permit me to retire, as all this exciting talk has given me a headache. If, however, you will wait for Kaituna----"
Not to-night, thank you, said Maxwell, hastily taking his hat and stick. "I'm too disturbed to see her. Good-bye; I rely on your promise. To-morrow at eleven."
At eleven I will wait you, answered Mrs. Belswin, truthfully; "so at present good-bye, and don't think worse of me than you can help."
Maxwell said nothing, but, bowing politely, left the room, while Mrs. Belswin, annoyed at his silence, stood frowning angrily.
He still suspects, she muttered, ringing the bell. "Ferrari must put an end to his suspicions--if he can."
The servant entered the room.
A hansom at once!
She put on her cloak and bonnet and returned to the sitting-room to wait for the cab.
I'm in terrible danger, she said pulling on her gloves--"terrible danger. One false step, and all may be known. Ferrari is my only hope. Can he be guilty? Appearances are against him. If he is a murderer let him suffer, as long as he keeps silence."
The cab, ma'am.
Mrs. Belswin went downstairs.
I don't care what happens, she cried, when driving away, "as long as I keep my child."
"You say 'twas I! Indeed, sir, 'tis not so;
My hands are innocent of this man's blood.
Nay, never fear! I pardon what you say;
Your judgment is misled by false report.
Why! if you heed the idle tongues that wag,
There's not an honest man would 'scape the law;
For every act bears two interpretations--
One good, one bad--so that our enemies
Use that which fits in best with their desires,
As evil witness 'gainst our true intents."
There is no doubt that peril sharpens the wits of all, therefore Mrs. Belswin, in her interview with the Italian, proved herself such an able diplomatist, that after some difficulty she obtained what she wanted. According, therefore, to the arrangement she made with Ferrari, he was to tell Maxwell as much as possible of his doings at Deswarth without mentioning the name of Mrs. Belswin.
On first hearing of Maxwell's accusation, Ferrari wanted to fly, as he plainly said it would be difficult for him to defend himself against such a charge, although he swore on the crucifix that he was perfectly innocent. Mrs. Belswin dissuaded him from this course, as she pointed out, that if he acknowledged the truth of the accusation by flight, Maxwell would immediately inform the police, and he would be arrested before he could leave England. On the contrary, however, if he faced the charge boldly, and explained the presence of the diamond scarf-pin on the terrace to the satisfaction of the young man, he would not only by doing so clear his own character, but might possibly lead to the capture of the true criminal.
Ferrari agreed, therefore, to grant the interview desired by Maxwell, and tell the truth without betraying Mrs. Belswin's true position towards the dead man in any way; but during this very curious conversation, both the man and the woman asked each other the same question, "Are you guilty?" Mrs. Belswin solemnly swore that she was innocent, and told Ferrari the same story as she had told Dombrain concerning her doings on that night. This explanation satisfied the Italian, and then in response to Mrs. Belswin's question as to his innocence, he gave an account of how he had passed the night.
After you departed, carissima, he said, volubly, "I went to seek you, but the time was darkness. Cospetto! how black. I knew not the villaggio, so I returned to the osteria in one few minutes."
Were you in the hotel before eleven? demanded Mrs. Belswin, artfully.
Cara mia, you fled at ten hours. I went. I came back at ten and ten. So I could not have killed Il Marito.
Mrs. Belswin believed this story, as had he been out longer the landlord would certainly have talked about it, and Ferrari would have been arrested at once on suspicion. As it was she felt quite satisfied that he was innocent; and having thus come to a complete understanding with him, she departed.
Mrs. Belswin, therefore, declared that she was innocent.
Ferrari also declared his innocence.
If this were the case who was guilty?
Ah! that was to be revealed the next day to Archie Maxwell.
True to his promise the young man called for Mrs. Belswin at eleven o'clock the following morning; and after a short interview with Kaituna, to whom he talked on the most indifferent subjects, he departed with the companion. Mrs. Belswin was fearfully pale, as all her future depended upon the caution observed by Ferrari; and she was afraid lest, carried away by his impulsive southern nature, the Italian should reveal more than was desirable to Maxwell. She was not afraid of being accused of the crime, as Dombrain alone could give evidence as to her being in the room after the murder; and she had a perfect understanding with him; but she was terribly afraid of Maxwell's finding out her true relationship to Kaituna, in which case she would certainly lose the companionship of her child, to retain which she had fought so hard.
Maxwell was also somewhat preoccupied, as in spite of his desire to think the best of Mrs. Belswin, all her conduct, her hesitations, her equivocations, appeared so mysterious that he was forced to believe that she knew more than she chose to tell. Her conduct, however, in conducting him to a personal interview with Ferrari, was one argument in her favour, for it never for a moment struck this simple-minded young man that she had in any way prepared the ground beforehand. Perfectly honest and straightforward in himself, Maxwell foolishly supposed all other human beings to possess the same desirable qualities; and, in the hands of two practised diplomatists, like the Italian and Mrs. Belswin, he could not possibly hold his own. His life had always been a perfectly open one, and although he was not rich, he had never been put to any shifts for money in any way, consequently his wits had grown somewhat rusty from want of exercise. Mrs. Belswin and her friend, however, had led a reckless Bohemian existence, which called for craft, courage, coolness and dexterity, in a very high degree; therefore they were thoroughly competent in dealing with a delicate affair like the present, which required subtle management. Still, a blundering blue-bottle often breaks the web spun by the craftiest spider; so Mrs. Belswin feared lest the straightforward honesty of the young man should rush through all her careful schemes, and by sheer boldness arrive at the truth.
On their arrival at Ferrari's chambers he was already waiting for them, and Mrs. Belswin having introduced him to Archie, the three sat down to talk. It was a fencing match, and the third fencer was Maxwell, who not only had two opponents against him, but those same opponents were gifted with powers of attack and parry of which he was completely ignorant.
You speak English, I see, said Archie to Ferrari, after the first greetings had passed.
Certainly, signor, replied the Italian, showing his white teeth. "I have been long from Italy? Oh, yes. The estates of America."
Where I had the pleasure of meeting Signor Ferrari, observed Mrs. Belswin, ceremoniously.
At this the signor bowed, but made no remark, so Maxwell, seeing that he would not commit himself to speech unless questioned, began at once on the main object of the interview.
Mrs. Belswin, I presume, told you I wished to see you, Signor Ferrari?
The Italian bowed.
About an article of jewellery belonging to you?
Ferrari bowed again.
Which was found on the terrace at Thornstream, the residence of the late Sir Rupert Pethram?
The signor bowed for the third time and Maxwell, hot-blooded in all things, began to lose his temper at this persistent silence.
Well, sir, he said, sharply, "perhaps you will be kind enough to inform me how this scarf-pin came to be on the terrace in question."
One moment, said Ferrari, politely lifting his hand. "Will you kindly tell me who found what you have?"
Maxwell hesitated a moment, but seeing no reason why he should conceal the part Mrs. Belk had taken in the affair, spoke out boldly.
A woman you don't know--Mrs. Belk.
Dio!
Great Heavens!
These ejaculations proceeded, the first from Ferrari, the second from Mrs. Belswin, and in hearing them Maxwell looked suspiciously from the one to the other.
You seem surprised.
So will you be surprised, said Mrs. Belswin, gloomily, "when you hear what the signor has to tell you."
I am at Signor Ferrari's service.
Per Bacco! it is most strange, cried Ferrari, throwing himself back on his sky-blue sofa. "Alfieri himself could have thought nothing so terrible."
The story, sir, the story.
Eh, signor, I excite your wonder, said the Italian, equably. "Is it not so? Dio, I myself am lost in fear. Signor, I will tell all."
Maxwell bit his nether lip with impatience at the leisurely way in which Ferrari was acting, as he saw from the agitation of Mrs. Belswin that the name of the woman who had found the scarf-pin moved her powerfully.
Signor, said Ferrari, gracefully, "I departed with the signora here to the villagio on the day you saw me. Myself I waited at the osteria you know of, I doubt not. The signora departed to the casa of Il----"
Of Sir Rupert, interrupted Mrs. Belswin, quickly.
Grazia, signora. To the casa of Seer Ruperts. I am alone, and I weary of being myself at the osteria. See, then, signor, I take a leetle walk for amusement. I come to the ground of Seer Ruperts, and there I meet a galantuomo, handsome as the Apollo.
Samson Belk?
Yes, the signora tells me that is his name. Well, this large one orders me away from the place. I say 'no,' and he would fight me--the box, signor, you understand. I am not afraid, and I tell him I am not afraid. Then he says, 'I will put you in prison because you are on the estate of Seer Ruperts.' At this I fear. I know not the English laws, so I say, 'Addio, I will go,' but he, signor, answers, 'Not so.' Then what am I to do? I cannot fight that large man; I have not the box. I do not know the English laws, and he may truly place me in prison for being on the grounds of Seer Ruperts. Then, signor, I think, 'Aha, the money!' but not he refuses the money. Again I say, 'Signor, I will give you my pin of diamonds if you let me depart.' He says, 'Alright.' I give him the pin of diamonds. I go away; and that, signor, is all I am informed of.
But, signor, cried Maxwell, jumping to his feet in a state of uncontrollable agitation, "by this story the diamond pin was in the possession of Belk."
Cospetto! I believe so!
And Belk must have lost it on the terrace.
Doubtless, signor.
Great heavens! said Archie, violently, "his own mother found it. If he committed the crime he is betrayed to the law by his own mother."
Through ignorance, interposed Mrs. Belswin, quickly.
Nevertheless it hands her son over to justice. Oh, it's horrible! it's horrible! and the young man covered his face with his hands.
I regret this sorrow, signor, said Ferrari, composedly. "Dio, it is a tragedy like Lucrezia Borgia. But I have told you the truth."
Yes, yes! muttered Maxwell, resuming his seat; "you could not make up such a horrible thing."
As to myself, signor, resumed Ferrari, quietly, "if you think a doubt of me, the man of the osteria will tell you I was in the casa on that night."
You can prove an alibi?
But I do not understand, signor, said the Italian, in a perplexed tone, looking inquiringly at Mrs. Belswin.
Oh yes, he can prove an alibi, said that lady, quickly. "The landlord of The Chequers can give evidence as to his being in the house all night."
I did take a leetle walk.
A walk! ejaculated Maxwell, lifting his head.
But I returned at ten hours, finished Ferrari, triumphantly. "No, signor, I have nothing to do with this death. I can swear it to your police. The man I spoke to had my diamond. It is found on the terrace. Ebbene! He alone can have lost it there."
What motive could Belk have for killing Sir Rupert? muttered Maxwell to himself.
Eh, who knows?
Mrs. Belswin said nothing. Her eyes were cast down, and she was tapping the ground nervously with her foot. The fact is she was in a state of considerable trepidation, as she fancied she knew the motive Belk had in killing Sir Rupert--a motive of which all but herself were ignorant. Belk loved her. He was in intelligence little raised above the brute of the fields; so if he had overheard the interview between herself and Sir Rupert, and seen how ignominiously she was treated, he might have--but no, it was too horrible; and with a cry she covered her face with her hands.
What is the matter, Mrs. Belswin? asked Maxwell, looking at her quickly.
Mrs. Belswin at once told a lie.
It's so horrible to think of a mother being the means of her son's death.
We don't know if he is guilty yet.
Then how can he explain his presence on the terrace on that night?
His presence there does not mean that he committed the crime. He may be able to explain as well as Signor Ferrari.
You doubt me, signor, cried Ferrari, wrathfully, starting to his feet.
I have not said so.
But you think. Dio, I am not blind. Well, if you doubt, bring me to this man, signor. I will make him tell all to you before me.
Will you, then, come down to Deswarth with me on Sunday?
That is to-morrow! eh! yes, signor, I will come.
And I too, Mr. Maxwell.
You, Mrs. Belswin?
Yes; I cannot believe this horrible thing of that poor young man, said Mrs. Belswin, hurriedly. "I will also come. Do you intend to have Belk arrested on Sunday?"
No! cried Maxwell, vehemently. "I want to hear what he has to say first."
I'm afraid your nature is too soft for a detective, Mr. Maxwell, said Mrs. Belswin cruelly.
Do you think so, he answered angrily. "No! But look, Mrs. Belswin, at the horrible position of the case. A mother betrays unconsciously to death the son whom she adores. Oh! it's terrible."
He may be innocent.
Per Bacco, I hope so, cried Ferrari, anxiously. "I myself think it is too much a tragedy."
I will not speak to the police, said Maxwell, taking up his hat. "We three will go to Deswarth together and confront this man. If he is innocent so much the better. If he is guilty----"
Well? asked Mrs. Belswin, seeing him pause.
I will do nothing!
Nothing?
No. If I took advantage of what Mrs. Belk told me to hang her son, I should never have a moment's peace for the rest of my life!
But Kaituna?
She will think the same as I do, said Maxwell, quickly. "And you, Mrs. Belswin--surely you would not counsel otherwise?"
Mrs. Belswin looked heavenward with a look of almost sublime pity on her strongly marked face.
No; I am a mother, and I know how a mother feels for her only child.