Front matter (continued 4)

"Is there any hope?" Beatrice asked.

"I cannot say," Wilfrid replied. "It may be days before we are sure of that, and whatever happens, remember that you are safe. These people who come and go in this mysterious fashion have no feeling against you. It is only your uncle who is the object of their vengeance."

"But, surely, the police ought to know," Beatrice protested.

"I am not sure of that," Wilfrid said. "If your uncle were well and we suggested calling the police, I am certain that he would oppose the idea strongly."

A little colour crept into Beatrice's face.

"You speak so strangely," she said. "You hint at such dark things. Do you know that all the years I have lived with my uncle I have never found him anything but the best of men? It is only latterly that this cloud has come between us. There was none of it until you came into my life again."

The words were quietly spoken, yet they stung Wilfrid to the core.

"That is easily remedied," he said bitterly. "I can take myself out of your life as I brought myself into it. I could school myself to forget you in time. But do not forget that I have saved your uncle's life twice, though, in so doing, I have rendered a very doubtful service to humanity."

"What do you mean?" Beatrice asked hotly.

Wilfrid advanced a step or two closer and took the girl's hands in his. His face was grave and set.

"Then I will tell you," he said. "Samuel Flower might have been even more to you than you say he has, but that does not prevent him from being a great scoundrel. You may bridle and colour, but I ask you to hear me to the finish. You may say, quite sincerely, you have never heard anything of this before. But if you could go amongst business men who knew nothing of your relationship to Samuel Flower, and ask them what they thought of him and his methods, you would learn some startling things. Do you know that for over two years I was a servant of your uncle's on board one of his ships? Have you ever heard him mention a boat called the Guelder Rose?"

"I have heard of it," Beatrice murmured. "There was a mutiny on board and a great loss of life. It was a shameful thing altogether, and if my uncle had cared to bring the mutineers to justice most of them would have suffered long terms of imprisonment, but he refrained from doing so——"

"Because he was afraid," Wilfrid said sternly. "He dared not face the ordeal of a court of justice. I was the doctor on board that ill-fated boat and could tell you all about it. If I could only put my hand upon one other survivor, poor and friendless as I am, I would fight your uncle to the last gasp. I hesitated to come to Maldon Grange the day I was sent for, because I was afraid I might be recognized and have to pay the penalty of my interference in that mutiny. And I was recognized—I realized that almost as soon as I entered the house."

"My uncle said nothing to me," Beatrice protested.

"Oh, no, he would not," Wilfrid said bitterly. "That is not the way in which he works, but he has lost no time in trying to ruin me. He lost no time in getting into communication with the people from whom I borrowed money to buy my practice. He bought the security I gave, and if the money is not forthcoming to-morrow, I shall be a ruined man without a house over my head. I daresay you wonder why I tell you this, but sooner or later you are bound to know, and if it happens that somebody else——"

What more Wilfrid might have said was cut short by a sudden moan from the bedroom. Without another word Wilfrid turned and Beatrice crept silently down the stairs.

It was only for a moment or two, however, and the patient lapsed into the absent stage again. The minutes were creeping along; the nurse would be here soon and Wilfrid would be glad to turn his back upon that house of mystery. His mind was full of his own troubles; he found his thoughts wandering to the desk in the dressing-room where he had seen Cotter arranging those papers. Then it suddenly struck him that the security he was in search of was actually within his grasp. As far as he could see, Cotter had not even turned the key in the desk. Overwhelming curiosity drew Wilfrid from his seat and impelled his lingering footsteps towards the dressing-room.

Here was the desk with the key still in it. There was the heap of papers in the top drawer. A long, pale blue slip with a red stamp in the corner caught his eye. There was no occasion for him to ask what it was. He could see his own bold handwriting across it. Here was the precious document that meant so much to him, so little for the man in the next room. He had only to tear it in two and throw the fragments in the fire and he would be free from all anxiety for ever. It was only for a moment, but that moment was long enough, for the dressing-room door stood open and the shadow of Beatrice blocked the light.

"The nurse is here," she said coldly. Her eyes were fixed upon the paper which Wilfrid held in his hand. "I thought I would bring her this way. And now, Dr. Mercer, don't you think that we shall be able to dispense with your services?"

CHAPTER XXXI

A QUESTION OF HONOUR

The thing was done beyond recall. Wilfrid had only to look into the face of his companion to see that everything seemed plain to her as an open book. He had been rummaging amongst her uncle's papers for the compromising document. He had it in his hand at that moment.

What would he have done with it had Beatrice not appeared? Would he have yielded to temptation or not? For the life of him Wilfrid could not say. He tried to think that he would have put the matter behind him. But he had not done so; he had not even attempted to do so. For a second or two he had even tried to justify himself in a course of action which would have been distinctly dishonourable. If he had gone down on his knees and made a full confession to Beatrice he could have told her no more than she already knew.

He glanced into her face, eager to see if there was any sympathy in her eyes. But Beatrice's face was stern and set. There was a compression of her lips that he had not noticed before. He could not know how deeply wounded and disappointed she was. She could not add anything to the humiliation which he was then suffering.

"You wish me to go?" he stammered.

"Would it not be better?" she said scornfully. "Is it not a pity you ever came at all?"

"Perhaps it was," Wilfrid said, stung to retort. "But if fortune had never brought us together again Samuel Flower would have been in his grave by now. Had we not met once more I should have been spared an enemy whose sole desire it is to ruin me. Then, at the appointed time, I might have sought you out and, in the language of the fairy stories——"

Wilfrid paused, conscious that he was going a little too far. He saw the vivid colour creep into Beatrice's cheeks, but there was no relaxation of her lips.

"Go on," she said. "You might as well finish."

"And live happily ever afterwards," Wilfrid said defiantly. "You think I have done a wrong thing to-day, and possibly I have. May you be ever spared such a temptation as has been placed in my way during the last half-hour! You cannot understand these things. Brought up as you have been how could you make allowance for people in dire trouble? Oh, never mind the nurse; she can wait a few minutes. Since I have gone so far I must finish. Whether you like it or not, you shall hear all that I have to say. It is only due to me that you should."

Beatrice hesitated. Wilfrid's voice thrilled with passion, his words rang with sincerity. It was almost impossible to believe that a man distinguished for bravery should stoop to common theft. The hesitancy passed and Beatrice turned away.

"What is the good of it?" she cried. "What do I gain by hearing you? And, surely, this is a wrong time and place for a confession——"

"A confession!" Wilfrid echoed scornfully. "I was going to make no confession. But bring in the nurse, so that I may explain what she has to do; after that I will detain you very little longer. Perhaps you are right."

There was no sign of heat or passion on Wilfrid's face as he shook hands with the nurse. She looked white and fragile for so difficult a task, but that was no business of his. Perhaps the nurse guessed what was passing through his mind, for she smiled at him unsteadily.

"I shall be all right," she said. "Dr. Shelton is a very good friend of mine. He knows that I have been ill for some time, and I am sure he would not send me a troublesome case. I know exactly what to do, thank you."

Wilfrid had only to take his departure. He had received his dismissal. He was not likely to see Beatrice again, therefore he could devote all his energies to the great fight before him. Nevertheless, he lingered in the hall on the off-chance of a last word with Beatrice, nor was he disappointed. The dining-room door opened in hesitating fashion and she stood before him. The hard, proud look had left her face now; her lips inclined to quiver.

"I cannot part with you like this," she murmured. "I have been thinking of what you said just now, and perhaps I am disposed to judge other people harshly."

"Did you ever know any prosperous man or woman who didn't?" Wilfred said with a bitter smile. "Oh, it maddens me to hear people prating their honesty when they have everything to make the path of existence smooth. Does it never strike these smug Pharisees that they would be born fools to be anything but honest? Why, there are thousands of criminals who die honourable and respected, either because they have never been found out or because they have never been under the necessity of knowing temptation. Take your case. What has your life been—one constant round of pleasure, a succession of years during which you have had everything you wanted and have been denied nothing? Do you suppose that you are any better than I am? Suppose you had somebody wholly dependent upon you for the mere necessaries of life, would you pry too minutely into things? But I am forgetting myself."

"Is it as bad as that?" Beatrice whispered.

"I can see no difference," Wilfrid said wearily. "If it were myself alone it would not matter. My household might be wrecked and everything taken away from me with impunity, because I have health and strength and would smile at the scandals of a place like Oldborough. But for the last four or five years I have promised my mother that I would settle down on shore and be near her in her old age. But why worry you with all this? Why should I picture her delight and pleasure in the new home she has to look after, which she regards merely as the beginning of my prosperity? And now I must go home to-night and tell her the bitter truth. I shall have to let her know that I have been deceiving her from the first, and that my so-called home is really the property of strangers. A few moments ago I had it in my power to secure that home. I had only to take a certain piece of paper and drop it in the fire and there would have been an end of the matter."

"That was when I came in," Beatrice whispered.

She was interested in spite of herself. She began to see there might be something in Wilfrid's point of view, and it was really dreadful that a rich man like Samuel Flower should stoop to crush another who was powerless to help himself. Indignation was warming Beatrice's blood. To her it almost seemed that Wilfrid would have been justified in his action. She turned towards him eagerly.

"But, surely, something can be done," she said. "I blame myself for not having seen your mother. If you will remember I promised to call upon her, but, really, there has been very little opportunity. Perhaps when we get back to Oldborough——"

"You forget that there will be no Oldborough for me after to-day," Wilfrid said quietly. "I am going to see this thing through to the bitter end, and your uncle and his tool, Cotter, can do what they please. Well, what is it?"

Wilfrid turned impatiently as a maid-servant came into the dining-room. The girl seemed to be distressed.

"Please, sir, it's the nurse," she said. "She doesn't seem at all well. She asked me to see if you had gone. Perhaps you wouldn't mind going upstairs again."

Though unwillingly, Wilfrid went back to the bedroom where Flower was lying. A regular conspiracy of circumstances had combined to keep him in that dreadful house. He found the nurse standing at the foot of the bed gazing at her patient with a white face and tearful eyes. Flower was sitting up now glaring about him and muttering strange things.

"Oh, I am so glad you have come," the nurse said. "I am afraid I shall not be able to manage this case. I am not as strong as I thought I was. I don't know what to make of the patient. He has been violent more than once since you went downstairs. I dare not be left alone."

Wilfrid's ill-nature vanished as he glanced at the pathetic face of the speaker. He forgot his own pressing affairs. He only knew that a fellow-creature in trouble was appealing to him for sympathy and help.

"Very well," he said, "I will do what I can. Go downstairs to the dining-room and tell Miss Galloway I sent you. Ask her to give you a glass of wine, and then go and telephone at once to Dr. Shelton, letting him know what has happened. Don't worry. I will see that no harm comes to the patient till some one more suitable takes your place."

The nurse stole thankfully away, and once again Wilfrid was alone with his deadliest enemy.

CHAPTER XXXII

NO PLACE LIKE HOME

Samuel Flower had taken a turn for the worse and, as Wilfrid's practised eye could tell, this was no case for the average woman nurse. Flower was sitting up with his hands round his knees glaring at Wilfrid, though there was no recognition in his eyes.

"Send for Cotter," he muttered. "Why isn't Cotter here? Don't tell me that that rascal has betrayed me like the rest of them! Not that I trust him, not that I trust any of them for that matter. But he ought to have been here an hour ago. Who are you?"

The question was asked with an abruptness that almost startled Wilfrid. For a moment the cloud hanging over Flower's brain had cleared away and he knew where he was and in whose presence he was lying.

"I am Mercer," Wilfrid said soothingly. "Don't you know me?"

"Oh, I know you," Flower whispered. "I recognize you. Keep those fellows away, will you? Don't let them come here again. I tell you it is terrible. I lie fast asleep and then dream, and dream, and dream, and yet my brain is clear and I know everything that is going on around you. But that is nothing to what has to come, Mercer. It is pleasure compared with the awful sensation when they wind that dreadful thing about the head and you lie helpless, watching those knots coming closer and closer till the brain sets fire——"

The words trailed off incoherently and Flower closed his eyes for a moment. The brief interval of sense vanished and he began again to fume and threaten.

"Keep them away from me!" he cried. "Keep them away from me! What did you say your name was? It wasn't Cotter. Oh, I remember, it was Mercer—Mercer, the dog that I am going to crush when the time comes as if he were an empty eggshell. He saved my life once, but what of that? The fellow is in the way and he must go. But that isn't what I want you for. I want you to send for that doctor. Telephone for him at once. Find him at any cost. I can't stay here. I dare not stay here. Whatever happens I must get back to Maldon Grange. Now go and find him."

The last words came in a harsh tone of command, then Flower's sudden access of strength failed him and he collapsed upon the bed an inert mass, scarcely moving and hardly breathing. Wilfrid hurried downstairs into the dining-room. The nurse was seated by the fire sipping at a glass of port-wine and Beatrice was trying to soothe her.

"It is all right," Beatrice explained. "I have managed to get Dr. Shelton on the telephone and he may be here at any moment. I suppose he will tell us what to do."

In a minute or two Shelton's car drove up to the door and the doctor alighted. He listened gravely to all that Wilfrid had to say and found time to address a few words to the distressed nurse.

"You are not to blame," he said. "I did not expect complications like this. I shall have to trespass still farther upon Dr. Mercer's time. It will take me an hour to find a competent male nurse."

Beatrice glanced imploringly at Wilfrid. In as many words she was asking him to stay and see her through her trouble. He shrugged his shoulders more or less carelessly. What did it matter? It was only a question of a few hours till his house of cards fell about his ears. It would only mean postponing his explanation to his mother till the following day.

"I am in your hands," he said. "As Miss Galloway knows, there is nothing I would not do for her. So long as I get back to Oldborough some time to-night I shall be satisfied."

Flower still lay unconscious as Wilfrid and his companion reached the bedroom. Wilfrid gave Shelton a graphic account of what had taken place during the last half-hour.

"Upon my word, I am half disposed to let the patient have his own way," he said. "It is very likely he will do much better at Maldon Grange. Mr. Flower has something distressing on his mind, and I fancy he has been the victim of some outrage that has more or less unhinged his reason. In point of fact, we ought to call in the police. But it may be wiser to get our man back to Maldon Grange first."

"You are disposed to try it?" Wilfrid asked.

"Assuredly," Shelton replied. "It is not very difficult. If we wait till evening we can hire a covered motor and take Mr. Flower to his country house as quietly and comfortably as if he were going out to dinner. It is repeatedly done, as you know, in cases of infectious disease. And if you don't mind, I should like you to go down to Maldon Grange with him. I cannot manage it myself as I have two operations this afternoon. I know that it is abusing your kindness——"

"Not at all," Wilfrid said. "I will see the thing through. I presume you will come down to Maldon Grange to-morrow?"

Shelton promised and went his way. He had forgotten almost all about the case before he reached his motor, and Wilfrid watched him whirling down the street not without envy. What was almost a matter of life or death to him was merely an ordinary incident to the distinguished surgeon.

The afternoon began to drag. Luncheon was a thing of the past and still there was no male nurse. Not that he was needed, for Flower still lay comatose, opening his eyes from time to time to take such medicine as Shelton had prescribed. Wilfrid slipped out presently and despatched a couple of telegrams by means of the telephone. One was to Swan Russell, the other to his friend Vardon at Oldborough. He would know the worst of his position in an hour or two. When the replies came, they were by no means reassuring. Russell was detained and could hold out no hope of seeing Wilfrid till to-morrow, whilst Vardon's reply was more unsatisfactory. He had failed to get the money from his client in Castlebridge and was awaiting Wilfrid's further instructions. With a bitter laugh Wilfrid screwed up the telegrams and threw them into the fire.

The end of another act of the drama, so far as it concerned himself, could not be delayed more than four-and-twenty hours. And yet, close to Wilfrid's hands, lay the document which would make him a free man if he only had the courage to destroy it. But that temptation was past and gone. He would do nothing dishonourable. Wilfrid beheld the desk in which the bill lay without the slightest desire to lay hands upon the paper. In a restless fashion he wandered about the bedroom till dusk began to fall, waiting patiently to be relieved. It was nearly dinner-time before the male nurse put in an appearance and Wilfrid was free to leave the house if he liked. As he came down the stairs he met Beatrice.

"You are not going yet?" she said. "You must dine with me? Besides, I understand you promised Dr. Shelton you would come down to Maldon Grange with us. Everything has been arranged and the car will be here about nine o'clock. It seems strange my uncle should fancy he will be better in a great, lonely house like Maldon Grange. But Dr. Shelton thinks it right to humour him. I would rather stay here."

The girl shuddered as she spoke and her face turned pale.

"You don't want to go home?" Wilfrid asked.

"I am afraid to go," Beatrice confessed. "During the past day or two my nerves have broken down. The mere thought of returning to that mansion sets me trembling, but I must go because duty to my uncle bids me."

Wilfrid made no reply. He was watching how Beatrice made a pretence of eating her dinner. A sudden idea occurred to him.

"Something could be managed," he said. "The nurse will be with your uncle and I will stay at Maldon Grange to-night if you like. We shall be there a little after ten, and as soon as your uncle is made comfortable I can take you into Oldborough and you can stay with my mother. You will be company for her, and it will also be better for you to be away from Maldon Grange. Now don't make any objection. You must see the advantages of the plan."

Beatrice contested the point no farther. She was too unstrung to argue, but she smiled gratefully.

"Very well," she said. "It shall be as you say, and I hope you will forget what I said to-day."

CHAPTER XXXIII

BY WHOSE HAND?

The appointed hour came and with it the huge, smooth-running motor which Shelton had sent to convey the patient to Maldon Grange. In the skilled hands of the nurse everything went off without a hitch, and in a few moments Samuel Flower lay in the car as comfortably as in his own bed. There was room for others besides Wilfrid and Beatrice, and Cotter, who had begged a seat, was accommodated. Any seat would do for him, he said in his simple way. All he asked was two or three minutes' grace to collect certain papers which Samuel Flower would need when he was able to attend to business again. Wilfrid smiled grimly as he listened. He knew one of these papers. He knew that the little man screwed up in one of the back seats would have no mercy upon him.

It was a silent journey through the night, and the whole party were relieved when Maldon Grange was reached and Samuel Flower was safely laid in bed. During the whole run he had never moved once. He accepted the change of scene without the slightest knowledge that it had taken place.

"I think that is all," Wilfrid said at length. "You won't want me for anything else?"

"Well, no, sir," the nurse said. "I have had full instructions from Dr. Shelton, so that I know what to do."

It was good to be out of the house in the stillness of the night, and Beatrice breathed a sigh of relief as she walked by Wilfrid's side towards Oldborough. It was a fine night, very tranquil and restful to the nerves. The little town was reached at length and Wilfrid turned in at the gate leading up to his own house. He had sent a telegram from London so that his mother was prepared for him.

Everything looked bright and cheerful, Beatrice thought, in such strange contrast to the gilded misery through which she had been passing lately. She could understand now why Wilfrid was proud of his home and what a wrench it would be to give it up. She understood the matter still better when a delightful, grey-haired lady came into the drawing-room and kissed her affectionately on the lips.

"I am so pleased to see you," Mrs. Mercer said. "What a terrible time you must have been having to be sure! But you will be safe in my house, and I will do my best to make you comfortable. Now sit down and be at home."

Beatrice's eyes were full of tears, and something seemed to rise up in her throat and choke her. She had many acquaintances, but she could never remember such a hearty welcome as this. Her eyes wandered round the tiny drawing-room. She noticed the various treasures and marked the good taste with which everything was displayed.

"I am afraid it isn't much of a place to you," Mrs. Mercer said. "But, at any rate, it will be perfectly quiet. You don't know what a change it is to me after living in lodgings all the years Wilfrid was at sea."

Mercer was out of the room so that his mother could speak freely to Beatrice.

"Of course, it was a wrench to him," she went on. "He always loved an adventurous life, and it was for my sake that he settled down, and I am sure he will do well in time. It has been a struggle till now, but things are gradually mending and I am becoming quite fond of my new home. It would be dreadful to go back to those lodgings again. I don't think I could."

Beatrice murmured something sympathetic. She was beginning to fall under the charm of this kindly old lady, who seemed to have but one idea and that to sacrifice herself to other people. A tinge of colour mantled Beatrice's cheeks as she thought how different this was to the life she had been leading. The pathetic side of it, too, appealed to her nature. It seemed a terrible thing that within a few hours this dear old woman should be deprived of everything that was the pride and joy of her declining years. And the thing was going to be done in cold blood. Surely, there must be some way to prevent it.

Wilfrid's return put an end for the moment to Beatrice's troubled thoughts. He was going back to Maldon Grange, at once, he said, but would return in the afternoon and take Beatrice to see her uncle. He kissed his mother affectionately and a moment later he was gone.

Quiet and peaceful as it was, yet Beatrice wished herself miles away. Indirectly her own hand seemed about to dash the cup of happiness from the lips of two worthy people. She was no longer blaming Wilfrid for the terrible temptation which had assailed him earlier in the day; she was thinking she herself would have fallen into it without the slightest hesitation. She was tired, too, a fact which did not escape Mrs. Mercer's attention.

"How thoughtless of me to keep you up!" she said. "Come with me and I'll show you to your room. You must be quite worn out."

It was pleasant and soothing. No shadow of tragedy hung over the house, and Beatrice slept as she had not slept for nights. She came down to breakfast strengthened and refreshed, and yet anxious to be away from the house when the blow fell. She felt like a traitor in the camp. She racked her mind again and again for some way to save the situation. She was glad and yet sorry when the early afternoon came and Wilfrid put in an appearance.

"Your uncle is no better and no worse," he explained. "He passed a fairly good night, but he has been very restless all morning. Now and again he recognizes people, but it is only for a moment. If you are quite ready we will go back to Maldon Grange and you can stay there till bed-time. If you like to come back here——"

Wilfrid paused and bit his lip. He had forgotten what the next two hours were likely to produce for him. The time was past for paying the money, and Cotter, acting as Flower's agent, could step in at any moment and claim everything. There was a brief respite, Wilfrid knew, because Cotter had gone into Castlebridge, no doubt to complete certain legal formalities, and would not be back much before six.

"I am going to leave you at Maldon Grange," Wilfrid explained when once they had set out on their journey. "I must be at home when Cotter returns from Castlebridge. I have had many unpleasant things to face in my life, but nothing that I shrink from so much as telling my poor dear mother the truth. I dread to have to tell her."

"But is it necessary?" Beatrice asked eagerly. "The amount is not a large one. Put your pride in your pocket and let me help you. I have jewels and ornaments which I could easily turn into money. There are lots of things at Maldon Grange I could give to you directly we get there, and you could be in Castlebridge and back on your bicycle before Mr. Cotter returns. Please do not hesitate to accept this offer."

Beatrice paused and laid her hand on her companion's shoulder. She was intensely in earnest. Her eyes were fixed upon his. They were passing through the wood which led to Maldon Grange, so that they were alone and undisturbed. Very gently Wilfrid removed the girl's hand from his shoulder and shook his head.

"I have very few possessions left," he said, "but my self-respect is one of them. Don't you see, Beatrice, how impossible it is that I can allow you to do this thing? I cannot find sufficient words to thank you, but I must refuse. I should never forgive myself if I yielded to a temptation which is far worse than the temptation which was placed in my way yesterday. Besides, it is just possible that I am alarming myself unduly, and I may yet find time and opportunity——"

Wilfrid paused and threw up his head. From the back of the wood some one was shouting in terror; then there rose a wild cry for help, and there was a crackling of broken twigs as some one bolted in the distance. It was all over in a moment and the silence fell again, but Wilfrid seemed dimly to make out the figure of Cotter as he dashed through the thickets towards the open fields.

Without another word he hurried to the spot where there were unmistakable signs of a struggle. A hat lay on the grass and by the side of it a revolver charged in all six chambers. Here, too, were pieces of torn blue paper tossed in a pile upon the dead leaves. Wilfrid picked up the fragments and pieced a few of them together. He turned to Beatrice eagerly.

"Amazing!" he exclaimed. "This is the acceptance itself—the very document that was to prove my undoing."

CHAPTER XXXIV

A HUMAN DERELICT

About the time that Wilfrid was being hurried off in the motor towards Maldon Grange and wondering bitterly if he had a single friend in the world, Russell was coming to himself with a hazy feeling that all was not well with him. He was lying on a couch in his sitting-room, fully dressed. The gas had not been lighted, though it was dark; indeed, as far as he could make out by the street cries, it was late in the evening.

His body was aching from head to foot and his head throbbed with feverish pain. Gradually he began to piece one or two events together. Slowly he began to have a faint idea of where he was and what had happened. He managed to stagger to his feet and ring the bell. His landlady came in, curious. She seemed to be relieved and annoyed at the same time.

"What on earth is the matter?" Russell groaned. "And how did I manage to get here? What time of day or night is it?"

"It is not quite half-past nine, sir," the landlady replied. "You came home this morning about seven o'clock. I didn't see you myself, but that is what they tell me. However, I suppose young men will be young men."

There was no mistaking the significance of the last few words, and, despite his racking head, Russell smiled.

"So you think it is like that, do you?" he said. "Let me assure you that you are mistaken. I had an adventure last night which very nearly landed me into serious trouble. But we need not go into that now. If you can get me something to eat I shall be glad, and please let me have a large syphon of soda."

Russell dragged himself into his bedroom where he felt all the better for a bath. Then he swallowed a strong dose of sal volatile, which had the effect of clearing his head and making him feel almost a man again. He managed to eat a fairly good meal presently and partake of a strong whisky and soda, after which he lit his pipe and sat down to review the events of the previous evening. It was all clear to him now.

"What a fool I was!" he murmured. "And yet I don't see how I could have helped it. I thought I could have managed a couple of opium pipes without getting into such a state. And the worst of it is that the night was wasted. By the way, I wonder if the night really was wasted. Perhaps I shall recollect something that will put me on the right track. And, by Jove, I've forgotten all about Mercer. Has he been here to-day, or has he been busy with his own affairs? It is maddening to cut time to waste like this. The best thing I can do is to see Uzali."

Russell's naturally strong constitution had asserted itself by now. He even felt ready to undertake another adventure. And time was pressing, too, for he had more or less wasted the last few weeks in London, on his way home from Borneo, and his supply of money was getting very low. He was thinking of putting on his hat and coat when the landlady came to the door of the sitting-room with the information that somebody desired to see him.

"Send him up," Russell said casually.

"I suppose it is all right, sir," the landlady said dubiously. "I suppose you are capable of taking care of yourself. The person downstairs is not quite the sort of man one cares about having on the front door-step. Still, sir——"

Russell waved his hand impatiently and the landlady disappeared.

She came back presently followed by a tall figure in the last stages of dilapidation. The man had seen better days, for his black frock suit had been well cut and his boots were not without a reminiscence of Bond Street. Now he was shiny and seedy to the last degree; a mass of dirty, greasy hair hung over his shoulders, and the top hat which he held gingerly between his thumb and forefinger had lost most of its colour and shape. It was plain what had brought the man to this pass, for the facts were written in his bleary eyes and shaky fingers. He glanced uneasily at Russell as if somewhat doubtful as to his reception. The latter rose and motioned his visitor to a chair. Then he closed the door carefully.

"I hope I have come at the proper time," the stranger said.

"Oh, that's all right, Goatley," Russell replied. "Let me see, it must be quite two years since we met. You came to me when I was living at the other side of London and asked me to buy certain information from you. As the information was by no means complete I refused the deal. I am prepared to open it again now if you can tell me anything definite."

The stranger cowered over the fire warming his long blue hands; his lean frame shivered from time to time as if he and warmth had long been strangers. He lifted his bleared eyes to Russell and his glance fell again.

"I think I can help you," he said, "in fact, I am certain of it. I should have come to you before, only there was one little matter that I couldn't get to the bottom of anyway. And now I think I have got everything straight. But perhaps you have changed your mind. You used to be keen enough on getting even with Samuel Flower——"

"Ah, now you are beginning to talk," Russell exclaimed. "If you can help me there I am prepared to pay you handsomely. You look as if a few pounds would do you good."

"It isn't altogether that," Goatley murmured. "Though, Heaven knows, a sovereign or two will be my salvation. If you ask me how I have spent the past two years I couldn't tell you. I have been as low down as a man can get, though I don't mind owning that I have had my bits of luck occasionally. At present I am down to my last penny and I shall be turned out of my lodgings this evening if I can't find at least a sovereign. You wouldn't call them lodgings. They're not fit for a dog. But they have been a home to me, and I am getting fairly desperate. And while I have been starving, eager even to snatch a broken crust from the gutter, that scoundrel has been flourishing on the fat of the land. My own flesh and blood, too! I should like to know where Samuel Flower would have been to-day had it not been for me. I gave him his start in life. I pushed him up the ladder. And when he thought he was safe, he turned and ruined me as if I had been a deadly enemy. Do you suppose he would ever have made his money in Borneo if it hadn't been for me? I tell you when I wake up in the night and think of it I could find it in my heart to kill him. But I have neither nerve nor pluck left. I daresay if he were to pass me in the street and throw me a shilling I should pick it up with gratitude. But if I haven't the courage to strike for myself, I know those who have. And you are one of them, Mr. Russell. Oh, I can show you the way to pull him down, to make him the scorn of his fellow men. I have waited for this opportunity for years, and by great good luck it has come at last. But you will repay me, Mr. Russell. You will not allow me to starve when you come into your own."

All this came from Goatley in a vehement stream of concentrated passion which set him coughing until it was painful to witness his struggles for breath. With a sudden impulse Russell set food upon the table and invited his guest to eat and drink. Goatley did not need a second invitation. He fell upon the cold meat like a wolf. Then, gradually, the greedy look left his eye, he lay back in his chair and took the cigarette which Russell offered him. Something like manhood had returned.

"Whatever you do for me shall be well paid for," Russell said. "Now tell me what you have discovered. I know you have a great deal of information. I know that you were well acquainted with North Borneo before Samuel Flower ever went there. But I seem to know as much about Samuel Flower as you can teach me. Now if you could only tell me where one would come upon the track of Jansen——"

Goatley laughed as he puffed at his cigarette.

"We shall come to that in good time," he said. "But perhaps you had better hear what I have to say as to what happened to me last night. I was making my way back to Drury Lane, where the place which I call my home is situated, and was passing on the far side of Gower Street near the house where Samuel Flower lives in town. It was very late, and just as I reached the spot I saw a man on the doorstep talking to one of Flower's servants. I don't know why I stopped, or why I listened. But I did. My hearing is exceptionally good and I could follow everything that was said; so I lingered and listened, perhaps as much out of curiosity as anything. I gathered that the stranger wanted to see Flower on business, and that my dear friend had not come home yet. There was something peculiar in the accent of the caller which impelled me to wait till he had left the house. I followed him to the top of the street and even farther. Can you guess who he was?"

"I think so," Russell said cheerfully. "You are going to tell me that you have found Jansen at last. Come, this won't be a bad evening's work for you."

CHAPTER XXXV

JANSEN AT HOME

"Is the information worth five pounds?" Goatley asked.

"The information is worth five pounds," Russell said emphatically. "Especially as I take it that you can put your hand upon our man at any moment. Now what happened afterwards?"

"Well, I walked the streets till late in the morning, never losing sight of the Dutchman until he returned to the neighbourhood of Gower Street. The second time he called at Flower's house he was more successful, for he was inside the place for an hour before he came out again, on the best of terms with himself, and went off towards Gray's Inn Road. I tracked him to a house there, where I presume he lives, for he let himself in with a latch-key, and presently I saw a light in one of the windows over the shop. The place is a small bird-fancier's, and from what I could see I should say that Jansen has a couple of rooms and does for himself. I have the name and address. If you think it is likely to be of any use to you——"

"So far so good," Russell exclaimed. "But do you think that Jansen is there now?"

"He was there half an hour ago, because I came straight from Gray's Inn Road," Goatley explained.

Russell rose abruptly and took some money out of his pocket which he handed over to Goatley.

"There are the five pounds to go on with," he said. "And it is for you to say whether they shall be the last I shall ever give you, or whether they shall be multiplied a hundredfold. It is entirely in your hands, and if you can keep off the drink you ought to do very well over this."

"Never fear about that," Goatley laughed. "I would do much for money, but I would do a great deal more for revenge. But for that scoundrelly cousin of mine, I should have been in a good position to-day. Look at me now, and contrast me with what I was when you first knew me. If I stopped the first gentleman I met in the street and told him that I was an old University man he would laugh me to scorn. And yet you know I should be speaking the truth. But I am wasting your time. What do you want me to do? I don't suppose you made me a present of that five pounds."

"I didn't," Russell said curtly. "I want you to go back and keep an eye upon Jansen, and when he leaves his rooms, as he will probably do soon, you must follow him and ascertain where he goes. Then you can come and see me at the Wanderers' Club in Piccadilly where I shall be till midnight. After that I can dispense with your services for the present, but you had better keep in touch with me. But you will do that for your own sake as well as mine. I think that is all."

Goatley departed, feeling all the better for his meal, having also informed Russell of Flower's departure for Maldon Grange. Russell thought he could be trusted. Now he had to look up Uzali.

The latter was dressed. He had recently dined, for the things were still on the table and the occupant of the room was seated before the fire reading an evening paper. There was a shrewd smile on his face as he welcomed Russell.

"You mustn't take any notice of me," he said. "I have had an accident which accounts for the marks on my face, but I am feeling myself again. Have you anything fresh to tell me? I am all curiosity."

"Don't you think you had better be candid with me?" Russell asked. "If we are going to work together in this matter you should explain how you received those marks on your face."

"Quite right," Uzali agreed. "Anyway, if I don't tell you, Wilfrid Mercer will. I am like a colonel commanding a regiment whose men have been fired on by his own troops. But sit down and take a cigarette, and I will tell you all about it."

Russell listened to the story without comment, though the situation was grave enough.

"It doesn't seem to trouble you much," he said by and by. "But doesn't it strike you as ominous that your fellow-countrymen should attack you in this way?"

"Well, you see, it might have been an accident," Uzali explained. "I haven't met those men face to face yet, at least not in such a way that recognition might be mutual. And they may be priests. If they are, I should have no more command over them than you would. Honestly, the situation is somewhat alarming. I suppose all we can do is to try to catch one of my countrymen red-handed in his next attack on Mr. Flower."

"Well, that won't be in London," Russell answered. "I have just had a man named Goatley with me. I don't suppose you have ever heard of him, but it was he, in the first place, who induced Samuel Flower to undertake a voyage to Borneo. He knows as much about the whole thing as we do, and he tells me that Samuel Flower has gone back to Maldon Grange within the last two hours. There is no doubt that Flower has been made the subject of a second attack, for he was conveyed to Maldon Grange in a motor-ambulance, which points to another step in the tragedy. I thought you would like to know this because it is important."

Uzali rose excitedly to his feet.

"It is important," he cried. "Then those people were more or less successful in their attempt last night. We must get down to Maldon Grange without delay lest a worse thing happen. I suppose it is too late to think about going there to-night?"

Russell said the thing was impossible before morning.

"I couldn't manage it," he went on. "Besides, there are matters which need an explanation. We have not got to the bottom of things yet, and I want you to see Goatley."

Uzali announced himself as ready to do whatever Russell required of him. It was getting on towards twelve o'clock when they left the flat and made their way along Piccadilly to the Wanderers' Club. An inquiry of the porter elicited the fact that nobody had been asking for Mr. Russell, so that they were fain to wait in the smoking-room. About half an hour later a message came to Russell that some one wanted to see him outside on pressing business, whereupon he rose and signed Uzali to follow him. Goatley stood waiting patiently upon the pavement, though his manner was eager and excited. One glance at his face showed Russell that he had not forgotten his promise as to alcohol.

"Have you any news for us?"

"'Hextra speshul,'" Goatley replied. "I had to wait outside his rooms so long that my patience was nearly exhausted. He has gone to a music-hall over the river. I forget the name, but I can take you."

A cab was called and the music-hall was soon reached, a shabby concern leading out of one of the streets off Waterloo Road. Late as it was the place was still fairly well filled with a rabble of men and women enjoying themselves after the fashion of their kind, though most people would have found the entertainment dreary to the last degree. A moment or two later as the smoke cleared, the form of Jansen was to be seen at one of the small tables, where he was talking earnestly to a companion whose face was partially hidden behind a big ulster overcoat the hood of which he had drawn over his head. Russell, however, recognized the features of the man he was in search of.

"I have made no mistake, sir?" Goatley asked.

"You have made no mistake," Russell said in tones of satisfaction. "I should know that rascal anywhere. You have done an exceedingly good night's work and can go back to your rooms with the feeling that you have earned your money. See me in the morning and I will tell you what to do next. And if you could effect a change for the better in your wardrobe——"

Goatley nodded and went his way, so that Russell was free to take stock of the man whom he had been looking for so long. He was not more interested than Uzali, who kept his eyes fixed upon the two intently; indeed, Russell had to speak to him more than once before he could get a reply from his companion.

"Yes, yes," Uzali whispered. "But it is nearly one, and all these people will be going soon. Let us get outside and wait. I have a particular reason for wishing to see who it is that Jansen has in his company."

The request was so significant that Russell rose without further protest. They stood together in the shade waiting till the audience poured out. Jansen and a little man in an ulster were almost the last to appear. Russell saw Uzali's eyes glisten.

"Let us follow them," the latter whispered. "It is as I thought. The man in the coat is one of my countrymen."

CHAPTER XXXVI

LEADING THE WAY

To all outward appearances, the little bird-fancier's shop in Gray's Inn Road was innocent enough, and no doubt the police would have given the tenant of the shop a good character if they had been asked about his antecedents. The proprietor was a born naturalist and was too much devoted to his studies to make his business a success. He was a dried-up little man who lived behind the shop where he did entirely for himself, for he had a morbid horror of everything in the shape of woman. He cared little or nothing for the litter and confusion which marked his sitting-room, and as long as he could pay his rent was satisfied to pass a monotonous existence. It was, therefore, a stroke of luck for Mr. Giles when a somewhat obese foreigner walked into his shop one day and asked if he had a couple of rooms to spare. Giles had the rooms to spare, but there was no furniture in them, and he could not depart from his rule that no woman should ever set foot on the premises. Instead of regarding these statements as drawbacks, the would-be lodger affected to receive them with every demonstration of approval.

"Ah, my friend," he said, "this is just what I want. I am an old traveller. I have seen a great deal of the world and have always been accustomed to do for myself. If I pay ten shillings a week for these rooms and bring my own furniture, will that satisfy you, eh? I will not interfere with you and you will not interfere with me. I will cook my own food and do my own cleaning and everything. What I want is quiet, for I am writing a book on my travels, and must not be interrupted."

There was only one reply to such an offer, and that was to close with it with alacrity. Ten shillings a week would make all the difference between affluence and poverty to the naturalist. It would pay his rent and enable him to buy such books as his soul coveted. Within a week Jansen was established in his new quarters. It was no empty boast that his landlord and he would see little of one another, for weeks passed at a time without their exchanging a word.

Meanwhile, Jansen was conquering a certain shyness with which he had been afflicted during the earlier part of his tenancy. At first he hardly left the house except at night, but now he walked in and out, whistling blithely to himself as if he had no care or trouble in the world.

So far as his sitting-room was concerned, there was no reason to disregard his statement that he was writing a book. One or two tables were littered with papers, but maps and strange-looking plans which could have only been properly understood by an engineer were most in evidence.

One night, Jansen had cooked his frugal supper over a spirit-lamp, and then put his cooking utensils on one side and lighted a big Dutch pipe. From time to time he glanced at the noisy little clock on the mantel-piece as if anxious he should not forget some important appointment. He drew from his pocket a bundle of letters which he spread out on his ample knee. The contents of the letters appeared to give him satisfaction, for he chuckled again and again as he read them.

"Strange what mistakes clever men make sometimes," he muttered. "There is Flower, who thinks he has deceived everybody. Well, he has not hoodwinked me. Ah, it is true that, as the philosopher says, everything comes to him who knows how to wait, and my three years have not been wasted. Within a few weeks there will no longer be either Samuel Flower nor Cotter to stand in the way. And all I shall have to do is to go down to Maldon Grange and help myself, and spend the rest of my life in ease and pleasure."

Jansen glanced at the clock again, which now indicated the half hour after nine. He rose from his seat and walked on tip-toe towards the door. Despite his great weight he made no more noise than a cat. He could hear his landlord bustling about in the back of the shop as he crept down the stairs and opened the front door. He stood there just a moment with the light of the gas behind him, looking up and down the street as if searching for some one. Then, presently, out of the shadows emerged a slight figure wearing a long overcoat and tall silk hat. As the figure passed Jansen the latter held out a detaining hand.

"All right, my friend," he said. "I am waiting for you. Come this way."

The figure made no demur; no remark whatever crossed his lips. He followed Jansen quietly upstairs into the sitting-room, the door of which was then carefully closed. No word was spoken till Jansen produced the materials for the filling and smoking of an opium pipe which he handed to his companion. The latter had discarded his hat and overcoat. He looked out of place in his European costume as he squatted on the floor with the pipe between his lips.

"You know why you are here?" Jansen asked.

"I know very well," the Oriental said stolidly. "I come because you are willing to help me. You will tell me how, and when it is all over you are going to show me that which I can take back to my country whence your countryman stole it. That is why I am here to-night."

"Quite right," Jansen said cheerfully. "But you are moving too fast. We don't do things so rapidly in this country. Do you know that your man has gone again? Do you know that he left London to-night?"

The Eastern looked up and his beady eyes gleamed like stars. Cold-blooded man of the world as he was Jansen shuddered as he noticed the glance.

"What I am telling you is the truth," he went on. "He has gone. They have spirited him away, and no doubt they fancy he is out of harm's reach."

"He is not," the Malay said unconcernedly. "Were he at the end of the world he would not be safe from us. Have we not waited and watched and travelled all these years, and did not the star of luck shine upon us at last? You know whether it is true that that man is safe."

"Oh, we know," Jansen said cheerfully. "But the point is this, my friend; you are in a civilized country where the police have peculiar ideas. If they can lay hands upon you they won't care a rap about your religious scruples. You will find yourself within the walls of an English gaol and the two of you will be hanged to a certainty. What about your revenge then? Your prey will escape you, secure in the knowledge that he has no longer anybody to fear. He will be able to enjoy his ill-gotten gains with a light heart. You are taking this thing too easily. Now suppose I can show you a way——"

Once more the Oriental's eyes glistened.

"You are bound to show us a way," he said. "You are pledged to it. Are you not one of us? Have you not taken the sacred vows? And if you should dare to play us false——"

"Come, come, don't talk like that," Jansen said in an injured tone. "Do be reasonable. Didn't I ask you here to-night on purpose to show you a way. But it will be useless unless I can see both of you together. If you are not going to trust me, you had better go your own way and there will be an end of it."

Jansen shrugged his shoulders as if he washed his hands of the whole transaction. Out of the corners of his narrow eyes the man squatting on the floor watched him intently. By and by he laid down his pipe with a sigh and produced from his pocket a flimsy bit of paper on which he proceeded to scribble something with a charcoal pencil. Even then he hesitated before he handed it over to Jansen. The latter assumed an attitude of indifference which he was very far from feeling.

"There," the Malay said, "that is where you will find him at twelve of the clock to-night. I have trusted everything into your hands, and if you fail us—but you will not fail us. You must see him and bring him here so that we may talk this matter over."

Jansen thrust the paper carelessly into his pocket as if it were of no importance. He began to talk of other matters likely to interest the Oriental. He spoke of the latter's country and people whilst the little man nodded drowsily over the opium pipes which his host was preparing for him. Finally his head fell back upon the carpet and he lay in the deep sleep which the drug produces.

"Good," Jansen muttered. "It is better luck than I anticipated. I did not expect to get two birds with one stone. And now to sweep the other into the net."

CHAPTER XXXVII

A RESPITE

Wilfrid stood gazing at the handful of scattered fragments intently, fearful lest he might have made a mistake. The first feeling in his mind was one of passionate triumph. He had forgotten that he still owed this money to Samuel Flower. He had forgotten everything else in the knowledge that, for the time being at any rate, he was free. Doubtless Flower would ultimately be able to prove the debt, but days or weeks must elapse before that came about, and meanwhile, Wilfrid would be justified in asking for proofs of any assertion Cotter might make. This was what Vardon would advise, anything to gain time, and in the eyes of a lawyer the advice would only be business-like. Before Flower could prove that the destroyed document had existed, Wilfrid would be able to place his affairs in order.

All the same, he was not without his doubts. Was it not his duty to restore these fragments of paper to their owner? There was no excuse for not doing so, seeing that Wilfrid knew what they represented. And, besides, he had had the money. It was not as if, having signed the document, he had afterwards been defrauded of his due.

"What does it mean?" Beatrice asked.

"I can explain in a very few words," Wilfrid said. "I borrowed a sum of money to enable me to set up housekeeping here on the understanding that I should pay it back within a certain period. The legal time was three months, but I was distinctly promised that if I could not repay the money then these people would wait a little longer. Mind you, I had nothing but their word for it, and I knew that, if they changed their minds, I must find the money at the end of three months or lose everything. I don't doubt that I could have had this respite if your uncle had not interfered. But as soon as he found out who I was he set to work to ruin me, or rather, he set Cotter to work, which is much the same thing. I dare say Flower guessed how I found the means to furnish a house in Oldborough and the rest was easy. At all events, by buying that acceptance of mine, he became my creditor himself, and in the ordinary course I should have found myself without a home to-night. We may take it for granted that Cotter was going to Castlebridge to-night to put the law in operation when something interrupted him."

"But it must have been some friend of yours," Beatrice exclaimed. "It must have been somebody who knew what Cotter was going to do. Of course, I don't understand much about these things, but you would seem to be free for the moment. Do you think anything will be gained in the long run by violence of this kind?"

"I am indebted to no friend for this," Wilfrid said emphatically. "Besides, there are letters and documents lying on the grass which refer to other matters besides mine. It was only by the merest accident that I recognized this scrap of my own handwriting. Whoever waylaid Cotter was looking for something else of which we know nothing. Don't you see that things must take their course, Beatrice, and that I must wait and see what is going to happen? There is something almost Providential in this business. However, I will do the right thing. I will gather up these fragments and give them back to Cotter if you think I should."

"Oh, I don't know what to say," Beatrice replied. "It is so hard for me to put myself in your place. Don't you think you had better consult some solicitor?"

Wilfrid pondered the matter. Perhaps Beatrice was right.

"I think I'll take your advice," he said. "I'll walk with you as far as Maldon Grange and then come back for you after I have seen Vardon. In the circumstances, there is nothing else to be done. All I want you to do is to believe that I am acting for the best."

"I am certain of it," Beatrice said warmly. "No, there is no reason why you should come with me any farther. I suppose you will return before dark. You will not be afraid of trouble at home for the next few days. Oh, what a tangled coil it all is!"

Wilfrid strode to Oldborough in search of Vardon whom he was lucky enough to find still in his office. The latter shook hands and motioned Wilfrid to a seat.

"I have been expecting to see you all day," Vardon said. "I am sorry I was not successful in this business of yours, but, as I told you before, my client is cautious and refused to take the risk. Is there anything else I can do short of lending you the money?"

"Well, you can answer me a question or two," Wilfrid replied. "As I understand it, Flower had no legal claim upon me till after twelve o'clock to-day. Now, can you tell me what he is in a position to do at the present moment?"

Vardon shook his head gravely.

"Pretty well anything he likes," he said. "You see, you had failed in payment, so you are entirely in his hands. All he would have to do would be to send Cotter into Castlebridge to make a declaration that you were a defaulter, and the sheriff would then take possession. You are, however, probably safe till Saturday morning."

"But wait a bit," Wilfrid said eagerly. "We can put Flower out of the question for the moment, seeing that he is too ill to attend to business himself. Before Cotter made the declaration you speak of wouldn't he have to produce the original bill?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Because the original bill is in my hands," Wilfrid said grimly. "It is a most extraordinary story and I hardly expect you to believe it, though fortunately, I have a witness who will be ready to prove what I say. Look at this."

Wilfrid took the torn scraps of blue paper from his pocket and began to arrange them on Vardon's desk. The latter watched the proceedings as one follows some new and intricate puzzle. Naturally enough, the thing was roughly arranged, but by and by it took shape, and Vardon could read without trouble.

"What on earth does this mean?" he demanded. "I suppose this is the original bill you gave to Darton?"

"Make your mind easy on that score," Wilfrid said. "That is the original bill and no other. And as to the rest, I found it just as you see it now in the wood this side of Maldon Grange. I also found a revolver and a cap, to say nothing of other documents in the same tattered condition, which I left there as they were no business of mine. It was only by a lucky chance that I recognized my own handwriting, and there and then I explained to my companion, Miss Galloway, exactly what had taken place. Now let us have a clear understanding, Vardon. If I throw these scraps into the fire, I shall be able to snap my fingers at Samuel Flower and all his works?"

"Not the slightest doubt about that," Vardon said emphatically. "All the same, mind you, it isn't exactly the right thing to do. Still, it will give you time, and you must be the best judge how far that will help you. You see, if the thing got into court and it came out that you suppressed this document, a lot of awkward questions might be asked. But there is a way in which you can gain time and put yourself right in the eyes of outsiders."

"I should like to know what it is," Wilfrid murmured.

"My dear fellow, the thing is simple. You are justified in ignoring everybody in the transaction except Flower himself. Fortunately for you, he is in no position to deal with business matters and, were I in your place, I should simply seal those scraps up in an envelope and make Flower a present of them when he is fit to attend to business. By that time you will probably have met your obligation and you can use your own discretion as to whether you tell Flower your opinion of him or not. One thing is certain. So long as the torn bill remains in your keeping you need not have the slightest anxiety about your home. Flower is powerless to act and his subordinates are in a still more helpless condition."

"You won't take these scraps?" Wilfrid asked.

"Not I, indeed," Vardon protested. "As a matter of fact, I am sorry you told me anything about it. There are certain matters no client ought ever to tell his solicitor, and this is one of them. Go home and lock these pieces up securely and do nothing till Flower is ready for business. That is the best advice I can give you."

Wilfrid could only do as Vardon suggested and wait the turn of events. The trouble seemed to lift from Wilfrid's shoulders as he walked along.

CHAPTER XXXVIII

A SINKING SHIP

Wilfrid was free for the present. The words kept rising to his mind as he made his way back to Maldon Grange. He could turn his attention now to the mystery which surrounded that strange household. He wondered what had become of Uzali and Russell and why he had not heard from either of them. He did not suppose that they had been idle in London. He would not have been surprised had either turned up. His chief concern was with Beatrice. It was good to know that she was likely to have a cheerful home over her head for a few days longer. It was like an intervention of Providence that he had happened upon those scraps of paper in the wood. And what was going to be the next act in the drama? Events had been proceeding fast lately. The situation was full of darkness and terror, but the real tragedy was as vague and intangible as ever. Two attempts had been made on the life of Samuel Flower without the slightest clue to the miscreants, and in his heart of hearts Wilfrid did not believe that further attack would be abandoned.

Was it wise, he wondered, for Flower to return to Maldon Grange? Surely, the ship-owner would have been safer in London than in that vast and solitary mansion. Those mysterious men were likely to come back at any moment, and perhaps the third time would recoup them for all their trouble.

Wilfrid was still turning these things over in his mind as he crossed the fields towards the Grange. The spot was lonely, for few people went that way, and Wilfrid gave a side glance of curiosity as he passed a stranger who was carrying a small Gladstone bag in his hand. The stranger was short and enormously stout, and his eyes twinkled behind large silver-rimmed spectacles. He was evidently a foreigner, an impression which was confirmed when the stranger took off his hat with a flourish.

"You will pardon me," he said, "but I am afraid that I have lost my way. Can you direct me to Maldon Grange?"

"I am going that way," Wilfrid explained. "As a matter of fact, that is my destination. If you have any business there——"

"Not at all," the stranger hastened to say. "Maldon Grange is only the landmark which they gave me in the village. I am going to a farmhouse a little way beyond to look at a picture for a client of mine. That is my occupation—an expert in oil-paintings. Perhaps you know the name of the farm. It is called 'Giletto'——"

"There is such a place," Wilfrid said. "I know where you want to go. From the field in front of Maldon Grange one can see the house. You had better come with me."

But the self-possessed stranger evinced all at once a desire for his own society. He had been loquacious at first, but now he touched the brim of his hat and hung behind as if he held himself unworthy of his temporary companion. There was something about his looks which by no means prejudiced Wilfrid in his favour, and he was full enough of suspicions now. The events of the past two or three days had taught him to regard even the passing shadow as possibly sinister.

"Oh, but you must not lose your way again," he said. "Come with me and I will see that you take the right path. I suppose you are a stranger."

"I have never been here before," the fat man said with unnecessary energy. "This part of the country is unknown to me. So that is Maldon Grange? I recognize the dormer window which——"

The stranger paused and muttered something in confusion. Then he immediately proceeded to descant on the beauty of the landscape. There was nothing about the man to suggest criminal intent, but Wilfrid disliked him more and more. Beyond all doubt he was no stranger in this quarter. As Wilfrid turned down one field-path to another, the man turned with him without hesitation and by the time they had emerged into the fields in front of Maldon Grange, Mercer was satisfied that the stranger knew his way about better than he did himself.

"I am going to stop here," he said. "If you will follow that laurel track you will come to a gate leading to the road, and a few hundred yards farther down is the farm you speak of."

The stranger was profuse in his thanks. Once more he raised his hat with a flourish and went rapidly down the laurel path. After a moment's hesitation Wilfrid turned on his heel and followed. He knew the path twisted and wound along the edge of the plantation. He had only to make a detour and then, by looking through the bushes, he could see what the stranger was after. Cautiously making his way along, by and by he peeped through the bushes and saw the stranger nearly opposite him with a broad smile on his face and a look of amusement in his eyes. Face to face with the intruder was Cotter. The latter's features had acquired a dull green hue and his jaw dropped. He was a picture of abject terror.

"Ah, so you had not expected me," the stranger said. "You thought you were done with me. That was a mistake. When Dr. Jansen makes up his mind to a thing he is not easily discouraged. I have been waiting years for the right time and it has come at last. But you need not be afraid. Come, what have you to fear? Believe me, yonder ship is sinking. Oh, it is a magnificent vessel, and the owner is a fortunate man, but she will founder all the same. It may go down this very night. Come, friend Cotter, am I not speaking the truth?"

The last few words came with a muttered ferocity which contrasted grimly with Jansen's previously jocular humour. Cotter made no reply. He stood rubbing his hands together as if the palms were wet and he could find no way to dry them.

"It may be now," Jansen went on. "It may have happened for all you know to the contrary since you left the house. A clever man like you makes few blunders. The only mistake you have ever made was to think you could escape the vengeance and had seen the last of me. And what have I come for, friend Cotter? I have come to see the end and you know it as well as I do."

"What are you talking about?" Cotter stammered.

"Oh, you know—perfectly well," Jansen sneered. "Take my advice. Leave the sinking ship and throw in your lot with me. But make no error; keep nothing from me, for I know everything. Strange that with your knowledge of the world you should cling to Samuel Flower when his life is not worth an hour's purchase. Think it over, my good Cotter. I am not coming to Maldon Grange but I will not be far away. I find the country good for my health and have rooms at that farmhouse down the road. It may be that I shall do nothing for a fortnight. It may be that I shall strike at once. It is for you to say whether you will be on the winning side or not. But I waste my time with you. Why should I worry over a creature like you? You are not worth it."

Jansen turned away with a contemptuous gesture and picked up his portmanteau. Without another word he trudged sturdily along the path until he was lost to sight. Cotter watched him till the stout figure disappeared. Then he took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.

"Good Lord!" he muttered. "Fancy seeing him again! And I thought—goodness knows what I thought. This is no place for me. I'll get away while I can."

Wilfrid stole back to the path and walked towards the house. He had plenty of food for thought and the more he gave his mind to the strange affair the more bewildered he became. One thing was clear. He could not see this plot through to a finish single-handed. He must get into touch with Uzali and Russell. He must induce them to come down and investigate matters on the spot. For the present, however, he would keep his discovery to himself. He would not alarm Beatrice.

The house was perfectly peaceful. There was silence in the sick-room. The nurse was of opinion that his patient was progressing favourably. Dr. Shelton had called in Wilfrid's absence and had left, not displeased with the case. Wilfrid could but wait and hope for the best. It was a consolation to know that Beatrice was there and that no one could come between them and their friendship. Beatrice listened gravely to the result of Wilfrid's interview with Vardon.

"Do you think you have acted for the best?" she said. "I am sorry I misjudged you, Wilfrid. I might have known you would do the right thing in any case."

CHAPTER XXXIX

THE VAULTS BENEATH

Wilfrid had walked into Oldborough with Beatrice and returned to Maldon Grange. The night promised to be long and dull; but there was always the feeling of restlessness and uncertainty as to what might happen before morning. Wilfrid sat in the dining-room smoking cigarettes and trying to interest himself in a book until the hour for bed came. About eleven o'clock the nurse came into the dining-room with an expression of annoyance on his face.

"Is anything wrong, Mason?" Wilfrid asked.

"Well, yes, sir," Mason said in an aggrieved tone. "I ordered certain things from Castlebridge and the people have forgotten to send them. Mr. Cotter said he was going to town about seven o'clock this evening and would bring the things back with him. Now he wires that he is summoned to London on important business, and that if I want the goods I shall have to send for them. It is most annoying. There is a certain food Dr. Shelton said the patient must have. I don't know what to do."

"There is no one we can send," Wilfrid said. "You must bike into Castlebridge, late as it is. I will look after your patient."

"I know you can do that," Mason replied. "And, really, there doesn't seem to be any other way."

Wilfrid hesitated and then made some excuse to leave the room. Recalling the conversation he had overheard between Cotter and the man who called himself Jansen, a sudden idea crossed his mind. He went straight to Cotter's room and opened the door without ceremony. It was very much as he had expected. The wardrobe was open and most of the drawers had been pulled out and lay upon the floor. Not so much as a pocket-handkerchief remained in any of them. There was no sign of a portmanteau or dressing-basket, either. Wilfrid smiled cynically as he looked round the dismantled room. The first of the rats had left the sinking ship. Beyond question, Cotter had stolen away, and Maldon Grange would see him no more. The telegram he had sent from Castlebridge was probably the last communication that Maldon would ever receive again from Samuel Flower's confidant and factotum.

No doubt he had feathered his nest. Possibly he had laid his hands upon everything available. He had fled from the terror to come before it was too late. He had been wise in his choice of time.

"I think you had better go!" Wilfrid said when he had returned to the dining-room. "Everybody has gone to bed and your patient will be safe in my hands. You ought not to be more than an hour away. The road is a good one and you can't go wrong."

A few minutes later and Mason was speeding off to Castlebridge on his bicycle. Wilfrid laid his book aside and pitched his cigarette into the grate. He must sit in the sick-room and watch till Mason returned. Flower lay quiet and still as death. He hardly seemed to breathe. There was a good fire in the room and the atmosphere inclined Wilfrid to drowsiness, and presently he shut his eyes.

He was aroused a little later by the sounds of muttering from the bed. Flower's eyes were closed and seemed to be dreaming about something in which the name of Cotter was mixed up.

"Why doesn't he come back?" he was saying. "What a time he is! He promised me to see the matter through this afternoon. I was a fool to trust him. I am a fool to trust anybody but myself, and some day he will desert me and I shall have to bear it all myself. But he doesn't know everything; nobody knows the secret that lies hidden in Maldon Grange."

The speaker broke off into a feeble chuckle. There was something sinister in this senile mirth, something that caused Wilfrid to turn away in disgust. The voice ceased a moment later and all was still.

Surely Mason was a long time. More than an hour had passed and there was no sign of the nurse's return. Wilfrid closed his eyes just for a moment, or so it seemed to him, and when he looked again he saw the clock was pointing to half-past two.

He jumped to his feet with a start. For nearly two hours he had utterly forgotten his duty to the patient! He turned to the bed to see if Flower required anything, then a startled cry came from his lips. The bed was empty!

Wilfrid gazed at the sheets and pillows with a feeling of stupefaction. At first he thought some one must have stolen into the bedroom and kidnapped his patient. But the idea was abandoned as absurd. Wilfrid knew himself to be a light sleeper, and it would have been impossible for two men or more to enter the bedroom and carry off a heavy man like Flower. Besides, he would have offered some sort of resistance. He must face the matter calmly and find out without delay what had become of the patient. Most of his clothes no longer hung over the chair by the bedside where they had been thrown and even the slippers were gone.

Wilfrid dashed from the room and made a tour throughout the house. He had taken the precaution before the nurse left to see that every door and window was rigidly fastened, but though he ranged from the top to the bottom of the mansion there was not a bolt out of place or a single catch neglected.

Obviously, Flower must be somewhere on the premises. Quickly and quietly Wilfrid went from room to room starting with the top floor and working down to the basement. He came at length to the cellars and there he hesitated. It seemed almost a waste of time to scour those dingy chambers, but Flower was nowhere to be found upstairs, and if the man were roaming about in a state of delirium there was no telling where he might wander. From the kitchen Wilfrid procured a candle and set out on his errand. It was cold and damp down here, for the cellars were all beneath the house. White fungus grew on the walls and clammy moisture oozed from the ceilings. There were certain cell-like structures closely barred and locked, and these, Wilfrid concluded, contained wine. He emerged presently into a wider, drier space, at the end of which were three small, insignificant-looking doors approached by a short flight of steps. Wilfrid paused and held the candle above his head, for he could see a figure crouching on the top of one of the flights of stairs. He fancied he could hear the click of a key in the door.

Somebody was there, beyond all doubt. Wilfrid advanced cautiously until he ascertained that somebody was really there. Whoever it was took no heed of the approaching light. Wilfrid called out to Flower by name. He had found the missing man.

"Come away," he said. "What madness is this! You will catch your death of cold. What are you doing here?"

Flower turned a blank face on the questioner. He was only dressed in his trousers and shirt. His face was begrimed with dirt and cobwebs, and his white linen had assumed a dingy hue.

"Go away," he said sullenly. "What are you doing here? It is no business of yours. Now that Cotter is gone none shall share the secret. But I forgot—not even Cotter knows of this. I had sense enough to keep this to myself. Come and open the door for me. It will be worth your while."

Flower's manner had changed all at once to a fawning civility. His truculent manner had vanished. He was like one in deadly fear who welcomes a friend.

"I can't get the key in the lock," he whined. "Perhaps you can do it. The door hasn't been opened for eleven years, and the key has got rusty. You try it."

"We must oil it first," Wilfrid said. "Come upstairs and get some oil. You can't expect to use a key after all that time. Then we will return and you shall show me your treasures."

Flower obeyed instantly. His limbs staggered under him. It was as much as Wilfrid could do to get him upstairs and into the bed-room again. For a moment Flower clung tenaciously to his keys, but they dropped unheeded on the floor and his eyes closed again, as if his exertions had overpowered him. When he was between the sheets, the strange look of coma came over him again. How quiet the house seemed! Then, as he was feeling the tense stillness of it all, his ear caught the sound of a footstep on the gravel and a moment later there was a tinkle of pebbles on the window.

CHAPTER XL

TOWARDS THE LIGHT

Russell stood by the side of Uzali waiting for developments. They were still in the shade of the portico outside the music-hall, and it was Uzali's part to play the next card. But he remained perfectly motionless, though Russell could see his eyes gleaming and that he was moved by some strong feeling. At the same time, Russell had no fear and no anxiety. He felt the thing was in capable hands and that Uzali would not spoil the situation by undue haste.

"What are you going to do?" he whispered.

"For the moment, nothing," Uzali said grimly. "We are going to pursue what one of your greatest statesmen used to call a policy of masterly inactivity. In other words, we will follow Mr. Jansen and my countryman and ascertain what deep scheme they have on hand. Unless I am mistaken Jansen is as much in my debt as Samuel Flower. But we can go into that later. Just now we have to keep those fellows in view and watch them all night if necessary."

Russell had no objection. He felt that action was blessed and that his dogged patience and perseverance were about to be rewarded. Few words were spoken as he and his companion turned and followed Jansen at a respectful distance until Gray's Inn Road was reached. Here Jansen paused and appeared to take a latch-key from his pocket. A door was quietly opened and shut and then the watchers had the street to themselves. Uzali turned eagerly to Russell.

"You marked the right house?" he asked.

"Oh, I think I know the house," Russell replied. "I have had a very good description of it and here comes Goatley to see that we are on the right track. Well, what is it, Goatley?"

"I ventured to follow you, gentlemen," Goatley said, "in fact, I have been following you all the evening. I was afraid you might make some mistake. Some description of the house where Jansen is lodging will be of assistance to you."

"You know all about it?" Uzali said.

"Well, yes, sir," Goatley proceeded to explain. "It is a shop where a man named Giles deals in birds and animals. He is a queer, solitary old man and does for himself in a small room behind the shop. He has a horror of women, and I don't suppose one has been in the place for years. You can understand how lodgings like that would suit Jansen. He has the two upstairs rooms where he cooks for himself, so that there is no one to spy upon his movements. He might commit half a dozen murders and no one be the wiser."

"Is there any way into the house?" Uzali asked.

"Certainly, sir," Goatley went on. "Behind the shops is a kind of Tom Tiddler's Ground where children come and play. It is easy to get over the fence and into the back yard on to which Giles' room looks. Above this room is a dilapidated glass house where a former tenant tried to grow flowers. By way of this little glass house one could readily get into the premises. I am sure of my ground because I have been over it before. I will show you the way so that there can be no mistake."

Goatley had spoken the truth when he had said that it would be easy to burgle the premises by way of the little glass house. Russell surveyed the whole carefully and nodded his head approvingly.

"The thing can be managed," he said. "And now, what I want you to do, Goatley, is to hang about the front and see if anybody leaves the house. If Jansen himself leaves come round at once and whistle softly."

There were no further instructions for Goatley, so they disappeared to the side street. Russell turned to his companion somewhat eagerly.

"I think I had better understand what you want," he said. "Your idea is to get into the house. What do you expect to see?"

"Well, I expect to see Jansen and one of my fellow-countrymen to begin with," Uzali said grimly. "And if I am not mistaken I shall find the other conspirator there, too. I don't think you appreciate how clever Jansen is. To begin with, he is an exceedingly skilful chemist and can produce the most extraordinary results from apparently innocent experiments. I have never met the man, but I know that he was in my country years ago, and at one time managed to exert a deal of influence over certain people there. It was much the same as in the early days when white settlers first appeared. The natives used to take them for gods and all that kind of thing, and that is what has happened with those two fellow-countrymen of mine who have done their best to put an end to Samuel Flower. I expect to find them under the thumb of Jansen."

"Well, that can be easily ascertained," Russell cried. "The question is, who is going first? As you are the lightest, perhaps you had better get on my shoulders and try to wriggle yourself through that broken framework into the glass house. I can pull myself up afterwards. Are you ready?"

Uzali climbed up Russell like a cat and wormed his way through the broken woodwork until he stood upright in the place where plants had once grown. Russell followed a little more slowly, but just as surely, until he stood by the side of his more agile companion.

"So far, so good," he said. "Now, what next? I don't suppose there are more than two rooms over a small shop like this, so that we must be careful how we move. It won't be safe to light a match."

Uzali agreed and there was nothing for it but to feel their way along the passage until they came to the top of the stairs. It was so dark that a slit of light shining under a closed door stood out like an edge of flame. Voices could be heard on the other side of the door, voices in earnest confabulation, though it was almost impossible to hear what was said. Uzali chuckled.

"What did I tell you?" he whispered. "There are three people there—Jansen and two others. You wouldn't notice it, but knowing the language I can discriminate between those other two voices."