Front matter (continued 3)

"I ought not to have come in with you," she murmured. "I see that it was a mistake. I ought to have waited outside till you had seen your mother and prepared her for my coming. It would have been so much more——"

The speaker's voice trailed off into a murmur. She was going to say "dramatic," but she stopped just in time. At the same moment there were sounds of voices outside, and the outline of dim figures could be seen advancing across the misty lawn. Instinctively Kate Charlock drew closer to Rent's side.

"My dearest, there is nothing to be frightened of," he said soothingly. "That was my mother's voice you heard. See, she is coming this way. I can't make out who the others are, but one of them looks to me like our solicitor, Mr. Westlake. If so, it is rather fortunate. Westlake always takes such a common-sense view of matters. He is sure to be on our side."

There was nothing more to be said, nothing to do but wait for the coming of Mrs. Rent. And she seemed in no hurry to detach herself from her companions. Why did she not come? Arnold wondered. Usually she was so eager to see him. In the selfishness of the moment it had not occurred to Rent that the ordeal his mother was about to go through would be more distressful than his own. And the cruel shock of finding that he was here in defiance of her telegram was not calculated to make the mother's heart any the less sore and angry. Mrs. Rent stood outside, her hands tightly clasped, looking first from one to the other for support.

"Oh, this is downright cruel," Ethel burst out. "He ought never to have come like this. If he came at all, it should have been alone. My dear aunt, sit down and collect yourself. I know you will be brave and steadfast when it comes to the point, or perhaps you would like Mr. Westlake——"

"No, I must go through with it myself," Mrs. Rent said. "This is a burden that no one can share with me."

"I am afraid the fault is mine," Charlock said. "I ought to have gone away when I found out whose house I had come into. I should not have hesitated. It is a cruel stroke of fortune, and no one regrets it more than myself."

"It is no fault of yours," Mrs. Rent murmured. "Will you mind talking to Miss Hargrave while Mr. Westlake and I go into the house? I should like him to be near me, though I do not wish him to be present at the interview."

Ethel and Charlock stood alone together, silent and anxious. They watched the others as they went slowly towards the house, then Charlock touched his companion's arm.

"We had better not stay here," he suggested. "We can see and hear too much. Do you know, I feel as if, in a measure, I have thrust this black humiliation and disgrace upon you. I feel hot and cold all over that I should even be discussing the thing with one so young and innocent as yourself."

"And why?" Ethel said. "I am not a child. I have heard of these things before, though I never dreamt that I should live to see the like of this at Alton Lee."

"It is like a romance," Charlock laughed bitterly. "What puppets we are in the hands of Fate! And I thought once that I was a strong man capable of defying the world and shaping my own destiny. I daresay you will say that it is my own fault, and perhaps you will be right. I don't know why I should be talking to you like this. But the peacefulness of the night and the look of sympathy in your eyes invite my confidence. But I will swear to you that if I could have foreseen that this honourable old family would be disgraced in this fashion, I would never have let my home go. I would have worked all the harder to gratify my wife's extravagance. I would have made it worth her while to stay. Perhaps I was too candid, too brutal. Do you suppose she would have left me as she did if she had come back the other night and found the homestead intact? Oh, dear, no. With all her air of purity and sweetness, my wife always had a shrewd sense of business and self-interest."

"Yet you loved her once," Ethel murmured.

"My dear young lady, I love her now. She has only to say one word and the whole past is forgotten. It may seem strange to you, brought up as you have been, that a man should love a woman for whom he has the deepest contempt. But there are many such cases in the world. Call it madness, call it fascination—anything you like. It is possible for a man to love a woman devotedly and yet not to speak to her, though she is under the same roof as himself. That has been my case during the last four years. I have despised myself for my weakness—I, who in other matters can be so strong. I am a self-contained man, and five years ago I thought I had found paradise. Then it began slowly to dawn upon me that I had made a mistake. There was sweetness and melancholy and fascination in my wife's smiling face, but no atom of sympathy behind it. She had no feeling for me. She had no kind of pride in my work. Even when she began to hang the millstone of debt about my neck she had no concern, though on more than one occasion I was on the verge of a breakdown. But I don't ask you to take all these things for granted. I don't even ask you to believe me. You will know my wife later, and it is probable that she will convince you that I am a brute and a boor and not fit to mix with decent people."

Ethel made no reply. There was something in this man's grim tones that moved her strongly. Someone was coming from the house. She could hear footsteps on the gravel. Then the light from the drawing-room windows fell upon the face of a woman who was slowly crossing the lawn. Her features were serene and beautiful. Her eyes glistened with heavy tears. It was only for a moment that Ethel saw the vision before it vanished in the shadows. The girl felt Charlock's hand tighten on her arm.

"My wife," he said hoarsely. "She has come out to leave her lover and his mother alone. Did you see her face?"

"Indeed I did," Ethel murmured. "The beauty of it! And such an air and expression of sweetness and resignation I never saw before. It seems impossible to believe——"

"I see you pause," Charlock said grimly. "I know exactly what you are going to say. It does seem impossible. Before God, it seems to me sometimes that it is impossible and that I am only dreaming. It would go hard with me if we both stood before a jury of our countrymen and she told her tale after I had finished mine. But I won't say more. I will leave you to judge for yourself. You have seen us both, and you must rely upon your own instincts. I won't ask you to give any verdict, because I feel sure it will be against me."

"I am very, very sorry," Ethel murmured.

"Of course you are. But the point is, whom are you sorry for? There is no halfway in the business."

Ethel hesitated for a moment. She hardly seemed to know what to say. A bitter smile crossed Charlock's lips.

"Let me put it plainly to you," he said. "And yet I don't know why I should worry you with this business. I have never spoken to a living soul like this before. At any rate, I am going to be candid now. Let us assume that my wife has a genuine grievance against me. Say that I am too great a bully and savage for any decent woman to live with. I am prepared to admit that I did turn her out of doors in a brutal fashion. It is possible she can justify her conduct in her own eyes and that she is here with the purest and most disinterested of motives. Mind, in her way, she is a good woman—that is, she is highly virtuous. She would never forget herself. She would never step over the border, not even for the sake of Arnold Rent and all the fortune he is to inherit. No doubt she has persuaded herself that she has been right in coming here, that she has a moral claim upon Mrs. Rent's protection. She would argue it all out in her own mind. She would wait for me to commit some blazing indiscretion, and then invoke the aid of the law to release her from such a creature as myself. She would think that the proper thing to do. And after that she would be in a position to marry Arnold Rent and settle here as a county lady. Whether she would keep it up or not is another matter. And now, after I have told you this, let me repeat my question. You said you were sorry just now. Is your sympathy for her or for me?"

Ethel hesitated for a moment, and Charlock watched her with an anxiety which surprised himself.

"I think," she said in a voice little above a whisper, "that I am the more sorry for—you."

CHAPTER XXI

THE HONOUR OF THE FAMILY

Meanwhile, an entirely different scene was being enacted in the drawing-room. All her life Mrs. Rent had lived most placidly. She had never been confronted with a crisis like this. Indeed, the mere suggestion that such a cataclysm could have happened in the family would have moved her to gentle scorn. And now, on the spur of the moment, and almost solely upon her own initiative, she had to decide between her duty and her beloved son. It had cost her an effort to speak as she had done to Kate Charlock, and when she saw the half-wounded expression on the woman's face her heart smote her, and she became, for the time being, almost infirm of purpose.

Still, the situation had to be faced. She had a stern and rigid duty both to her conscience and to the family whose name she bore. There was a curious vein of Puritanism in her blood which came to her aid now. And it was very difficult, indeed, to stand looking at these two, to see her son advance with outstretched hands, and yet to hold back. He would have taken her in his arms and kissed her, but something warned him that the occasion was not opportune.

Under her long lashes, Kate Charlock watched him demurely. Why was he hesitating? It was necessary the fortress should be taken by storm. And Arnold Rent stood there shyly, his face downcast like that of a child detected in some fault.

"Mother," he murmured, "have you nothing to say to me? Have you no kind of welcome to offer to-night?"

The words were pleading and almost passionate, but seemingly they did not move Mrs. Rent at all.

"I am at a loss to understand why you are here," she said.

"Why I am here?" Arnold echoed. "Where else could I go? When you have heard all the circumstances of the case——"

"I have heard them already. Mr. Westlake came down on purpose to tell me. Come and stand here where I can see you—where the light shines full upon your face."

Arnold Rent came obediently a step or two forward.

"Strange," the mother murmured. "You have not altered. To all outward appearances you are still the man of honour and integrity you used to be. And yet you can commit this crime and come here to boast of it without the shadow of remorse, even without a word of apology. It seems incredible."

"But what apology should I make?" Arnold demanded. "What have I done that you should speak to me like this?"

"You ask me what you have done! Are you so blind as not to see the results of your indiscretion?"

Kate Charlock raised her head suddenly.

"May I not be allowed to speak?" she pleaded. "Is it not possible that when you come to hear my story——"

Mrs. Rent raised her hand imperiously.

"Tell her to be silent," she commanded her son. "Oh, I do not know what to do or what to say in such a crisis. Is it not bad enough without bringing your partner in folly under this roof? To think that I should have lived to see a scene like this at Alton Lee! To think that I should be the instrument chosen by Providence for the punishment of my own son! For that is what it comes to, Arnold. I was stunned at first. I was unable to believe the evidence of my senses. But I begin to see my way clearly. The path of duty lies plainly before me."

There was something cold and chilling in the words. They filled Kate Charlock with dismay. All the world seemed to be slipping from under her feet. If the opportunity were lost, the chance would never come again. She darted forward and threw herself in an abandon of grief on her knees before the mistress of the house. The ready tears were streaming from her eyes. Her beautiful features were almost irresistible in their entreaty.

"Oh, won't you listen to me?" she said. "You are a kind, good woman; your face tells me that. And yet, though you would be good and generous towards the world, you decline to listen to one poor woman's story. Can't you understand how one may suffer year by year until the strain becomes too great, and, in a moment of passing madness, sacrifice everything that a woman holds dear? That is my case exactly. Oh, it is all very well for you, whose married life has been the path of happiness, to judge humanity from your own standpoint. But there are others——"

The woman's voice snapped suddenly like the breaking of a harp-string. She covered her face with her hands, her whole frame shaking with convulsive sobs.

Nor was it all acting. For the time, Kate Charlock was convinced that she was the unhappy, abandoned wife of a man who had driven her almost to madness in one moment of divine despair. She thrilled with self-pity. She saw her airy castles crumbling to the ground. Unless this old woman could be moved, there would be no rest for the sole of her foot at Alton Lee. The face that she raised once more to Mrs. Rent's dark eyes was stained with tears and broken with emotion. Fighting for self-control as she was, Helen Rent was moved now as she had seldom been moved before.

"Get up," she said, almost gently. "It is unseemly that you should be kneeling here. If you have a story to tell, I may be disposed to listen to it presently."

Slowly Kate Charlock rose to her feet and felt her way across the room to a chair. She had made an impression. On that point she felt certain. If she could only remain here a week, or even a day, she had no fear of the result. Alton Lee was growing nearer. She began to see herself installed. She could hear the swish of the cards on the green-topped tables. She could imagine the rooms gay with the laughter of friends. But not yet, she told herself, not quite yet.

"I will say no more," she murmured. "Indeed, when I came here I had no intention of speaking at all. I see now how wrong it was to come. But in the moment of my madness and despair——"

Once more the pleading voice ceased. Once more the ready tears rained down the beautiful white face. Surely this was no abandoned creature, Helen Rent thought. Surely John Charlock had much to answer for. No woman could be bad with a face like that. If Mrs. Rent could imagine a saint stepping aside from the path of grace, then was Kate Charlock in similar case. And, in common fairness, most of the blame must fall upon the shoulders of her own son. A wave of madness must have come over him, in which he had forgotten everything excepting the features of a woman and his wild desire to sacrifice the world for her sake. Other men, in most respects both great and good, had fallen in like manner. A score of them rose before Helen Rent's mental vision.

Yet she must be firm. She must keep her head throughout this ordeal. Her white lips moved rapidly in prayer for strength and endurance. Kate Charlock noted the flutter of those white lips, and her subtle instinct told her what was passing through the other woman's mind. As a child she had seen her mother at a crisis of her life praying in like fashion. The scene rose curiously before her mind. She could see it all as clear as if it had happened only yesterday.

"It seems to me that we are wasting time," Mrs. Rent said, presently. "I cannot ask you both to leave the house to-night, because that would be impossible, and there is nowhere else to go. But to-morrow will be different. I have made up my mind what I am going to do in your case."

"What is that, mother?" Arnold asked.

"That I will tell you when we are alone. It only concerns our two selves. If you will come with me——"

"No," Kate Charlock cried. "Let it be here and now. As for myself, I wish to be alone for a time in the open air."

Without waiting for remonstrance on the part of either, she crossed the drawing-room and threw back the windows. She stood there with her face turned up to the purple glory of the summer sky. She saw the golden pageant of the stars; the flower-laden breath of the evening was infinitely cool and refreshing. Here were the wide, trim lawns with their well-ordered flower-beds. Here was the noble sweep of the stone terrace, and beyond it the dim vista of the park, with the trees floating in a mist like ships on a peaceful sea.

And all this was likely to be hers if she had but the skill and patience to play for it. There was no regret in her heart for John Charlock. He had gone his own way. He had left her free to choose her own path. And there was always the chance of renewing the battle again on the morrow.

There were many cards to play, too, and if the worst came to the worst, Kate Charlock would play the great card of self-renunciation. She would offer Arnold back to his mother. She would go out into the world alone, hopeless and penniless, to work out her own salvation. Not in vain had she been studying Helen Rent's features, under the long fringe of her eyelashes.

"I wonder how he will manage it?" she murmured to herself. "I can stand here and listen, and if my presence becomes necessary, well, then, I shall be at hand."

CHAPTER XXII

BREAD AND SALT

Helen Rent thought she should have been conscious of a great feeling of relief when the room was free of the presence of the woman who had brought about her son's delirium. But such a sense was not experienced, nor even suggested.

"Now tell me how this happened," she said.

"Mother, I really cannot tell you," Arnold responded. "The truth is, I do not know. It was all so spontaneous. It seemed so natural and inevitable at the time. Here was one of the most beautiful women in the world, a good and true and pure woman, mind you, neglected by her husband in a manner that was positively shocking. Don't forget that there are some natures to which neglect or hard words are worse than any physical cruelty. Kate Charlock's case is one in point. She was being slowly driven mad by the creature to whom she was tied. She was forced to go into frivolous society, or she would assuredly have lost her reason. It was at the house of one of these Society women that I met her. Even among a gathering like that she was looked up to and respected as none of the rest was. I saw her most cruelly insulted by her own husband in a house where I was spending the evening; in fact, the thing was so brutal that I ventured to expostulate. Perhaps I went too far, but Charlock did not seem to mind. I implored him to treat his wife differently, and it seemed to me that I had made some impression. Then he asked me to call upon him at a certain time in the evening, when he would give me a practical reply. And what did I find when I got there?—the house stripped of everything, and the woman alone, with no better home to go to than a labourer's cottage, where she would not even be allowed the use of a servant. That is how Charlock treated so perfect a woman as his wife. And then, I don't know how, but the whole rest happened on the spur of the moment, and I am here to-night to tell you this strange story. I could not say more."

"It sounds amazing," Mrs. Rent murmured. "Let me put another point to you. Suppose Mr. Charlock had no alternative but to part with his home! Suppose that his wife's extravagance had brought him to the verge of ruin! Suppose that a creditor had removed everything to pay his debt! Do you think, in these circumstances, that the woman was justified in refusing to share the cottage which the man had to offer her? Don't you think it was her bounden duty to make every sacrifice until those debts were paid?"

Arnold Rent waved the question impatiently aside.

"I don't know where you get your information," he said, "though I am prepared to admit, for the sake of argument, that what you say is true. At present other things trouble me. For better or worse, I have cast the die. You will admit that I cannot change my course now."

"I should be the last to suggest it," Mrs. Rent said mournfully. "What are you going to do in the meantime? Your friends will turn their backs upon you. You will have to abandon your career. But I will not dwell upon that. I will confine myself to the moment. What are your plans?"

"My plans are simple enough, mother," Rent replied. "For the present I shall continue my scientific work. Nothing could interfere with that. And from now, until Charlock makes up his mind what to do, I do not intend to see Kate. You will acknowledge I want to prevent all the scandal I can, and in that respect I am looking forward to your assistance. If you will allow Mrs. Charlock to stay here and give her your moral support, I am certain——"

"Oh, the boy is mad," Mrs. Rent exclaimed. "That woman's beauty has intoxicated you. I see now what a mistake I made when I regarded you as unspotted by the world. My friends were right when they said I should have sent you to a public school and university. Do you suppose for a single moment that I could dream of having that woman here? Do you suppose that I could allow her to come in contact with Ethel Hargrave?"

"Need Ethel know?" Rent suggested sullenly.

"She knows already. I had to tell her. No, you shall stay one night here, but to-morrow you must go elsewhere. I have thought this matter out, and I have made up my mind what to do. Your path is plain. You must make this woman see her folly and return to her husband. But did it never occur to you to ask yourself one question before you took this fatal step? Do you suppose that this woman would have thrown in her lot with you if she had not known that you are Arnold Rent of Alton Lee and the heir to a large property? If I call her and tell her that everything is at my disposal, do you think she would not want time for consideration?"

"You malign her," Arnold cried. "I am certain she never gave the matter a thought. For my sake——"

"Ah, for your sake," Helen Rent said. "That is just the point I want to arrive at. For your sake I am going to try that woman in the balance. We shall see whether she is found wanting or not. From this week your allowance ceases. You will receive no more money from me. You will be thrown upon your own resources. You will have to earn your own living, and you will be the better man for it. The same remark applies to Mrs. Charlock, though not to such an extent, because, until the law settles the differences between her and her husband, she will be entitled to an income. Mr. Westlake told me this—I think he called it maintenance. It will not be much, but, at the same time, it will be enough to keep her in a modest way with due and becoming economy. I don't say that my decision is final, because if I find, say, at the expiration of five years that there is likely to be no more of these self-indiscretions and platonic follies, I may change my mind. But I am not going to see Alton Lee made an asylum for social experiments. Had my prayers been answered and you had asked Ethel to be your wife, I might think differently. But this matter is quite another story. I hope I have made my meaning plain. I hope I have made you understand that you will have to face the world now and work for your own living. You little realise how much it hurts a mother to speak in this fashion. Perhaps you will know some day. Meanwhile, I have nothing to add to what I have said. Do you follow me?"

"Oh, I hear right enough," Arnold said bitterly. "I hope before long that you will realise the cruel injustice of what you are doing. And you may be sure that nothing will make any difference to Kate Charlock. She will be only too proud and pleased to have the opportunity of showing the stuff she is made of. I suppose I have to thank Mr. Westlake for all this."

"Indeed, you are absolutely and entirely wrong," Mrs. Rent exclaimed. "The idea is wholly mine. Of my own feelings I have said nothing. I have not alluded to the terrible grief and disappointment that this thing has been to me. To think that a son of mine could so far forget himself—but it is useless to go into that. I am tired and worn out, and this interview has tried me more than I thought. And there is another element in the drama of which as yet you know nothing. It may surprise you to hear that Mr. John Charlock himself is under this roof."

"He came to see you?" Arnold cried.

"Yes, but under the impression that your folly had ceased. You can imagine how distressing it was when the discovery was made. And now, how am I to get out of this dilemma? You will agree that one of you must go. It only remains for you to make up your mind which it is to be."

"I am prepared to do anything you ask," Arnold said. "But what about Mrs. Charlock? What can we do with her?"

Mrs. Rent could only look at her son with troubled eyes.

"It is very strange how perverse women are," Arnold went on. "One would almost think you are wilfully misunderstanding me. Do you realise how much the woman sacrifices, and how little the man gives in return? It has always been a fancy of yours to regard me as a saint. Let me tell you now that I am nothing of the sort. When I first saw Mrs. Charlock, when I first understood how unhappy she was in her domestic life, when I found what that woman really was, it was a revelation to me, and from that moment I laid aside all my selfish aims and ambitions, and I was prepared to make any sacrifice to save her from trouble and affliction. She is good and pure as Ethel Hargrave, and I want you to befriend her for her own sake, if not for mine. To all intents and purposes, Charlock has deserted her. He has been guilty of legal cruelty by turning her out of the house and compelling her either to leave him or to degrade herself by menial work. His next folly will give her the chance of appealing to the law to release her altogether. And then I shall be in a position to make her my wife."

"Mistress of Alton Lee?" Mrs. Rent stammered.

A gleam came into Rent's eyes. There was something almost threatening in his attitude.

"Ay, I mean that," he murmured. "Nothing less. And the sooner you understand it the better."

CHAPTER XXIII

BEHIND THE VEIL

In the purple stillness of the night, Kate Charlock could hear all that was taking place in the drawing-room. It did not occur to Arnold or his mother that there was any chance of the cause of all the trouble playing the eavesdropper. Indeed, the whole situation was so strange, so full of dramatic surprises, that it was impossible to think of anything but the word and the moment.

Kate Charlock had come back to herself with a start as her husband's name was flung at her, so to speak, from the drawing-room. Thitherto she had been listening in a vague sort of way, her mind too full of plans for the future to take much heed. Even now she had not given everything up for lost. She followed with satisfaction Mrs. Rent's declaration of what might happen if only the object of Arnold's infatuation proved to be anything like the woman he declared her to be. It would not be difficult to break down this wall of opposition when she was Arnold's wife. On the whole, it was worth while to take the risk. The struggle might be a long one. On the other hand, Kate Charlock remembered that perpetual dropping wears away the stone. It would be no fault of hers if she were not mistress of Alton Lee at the end of a year. Doubtless she would eat the hard bread of adversity in the interval. But the milk and honey to come would make up for all that. Surely a place like Alton Lee was cheaply bought at the price of a year's poverty.

Then the edifice suddenly crumbled and broke as John Charlock's name was mentioned. There was no mistaking the significance of Mrs. Rent's words. At that very moment Charlock was under the same roof as his wife. But why had he come? What scheme lay at the back of his mind? It seemed impossible he had come to fetch her away. For a moment it flashed across the woman's mind that Charlock had journeyed to Devonshire hot-foot for revenge. He was just the kind of man to shoot Arnold Rent and then take his own life. He would probably leave a long statement behind him detailing his troubles from his own point of view—the sort of statement that the press glories in and publishes in prominent type. If that happened, then, indeed, would she be a marked woman for the remainder of her days. The rest of her years would be spent like those of the heroine of the Scarlet Letter.

But it was not for long that these distracting thoughts gripped Kate Charlock. Then she smiled at her own folly. Charlock was a guest. He had partaken of Mrs. Rent's hospitality. No, there must be something deeper and more subtle in his movements than this. And there were other things to think about. It was impossible that she and Arnold Rent and her husband could all sleep at Alton Lee that night. One or two of them would have to go. The air would have to be cleared.

Here was a situation that the turning of a hair might transform into farce or hideous tragedy. The elements of both were strongly in evidence. Something would have to be done, and that swiftly. But if John Charlock was in the house, where was he? Most of the windows of the living-rooms were open. The lamps were lighted, so that it was possible to pass along the terrace in the darkness and examine the various apartments without being seen. Here were the billiard-room, and the dining-room, the library and the morning-room, but all were empty. It was rather disappointing, because Kate Charlock was missing that fascinating conversation in the drawing-room, without any compensating advantage in return. She stepped back swiftly behind a clump of azaleas as two figures came up the steps leading from the rose garden and paused close to her. One was the tall, slender figure of a girl, whom Kate Charlock knew instinctively must be Ethel Hargrave. The other she saw, with a sudden thrill, was her own husband. It was not too dark for her to make out his features. She saw John Charlock hold out his hand, which the girl took reluctantly.

"It seems a pity," the latter murmured, "but, as you say, there is nothing else to be done."

"Of course there isn't," Charlock said in his grim, level tones. "Believe me, had I known what was going to happen, I should never have come near Alton Lee. But who could picture anything so repulsive as this?"

"It is very, very dreadful," the girl murmured. "But what are you going to do? I see you have made up your mind not to stay here a moment longer, but it is impossible for you to sleep out of doors, even on a night like this."

"Sleep!" John Charlock said bitterly. "I feel that I shall never want to sleep again. When I am thinking out a new picture I often walk for hours at a time. I cannot rest. But now that I am thinking out a new life, it is infinitely more serious. Believe me, it would be torture to shut me up in four walls to-night. When I leave here I shall walk as far as Exeter. I shall probably reach there to-morrow evening, by which time my plans will be made. But I am sorry that circumstances have prevented me from painting your portrait. I never saw a face that appealed to me so much before."

Kate Charlock drew a deep breath of relief. Now she understood for the first time what had brought her husband at this perilous moment to Devonshire. He had come to execute a commission, ignorant of the fact that matters with Arnold Rent had gone so far. The thing was a cruel coincidence, but John Charlock was doing his best to clear the situation.

"You will say good-bye to your aunt for me," he said. "I thought at first that I would see her and give her my decision. But, on the whole, it would be much kinder simply to disappear. I will write and let you know where to send my things. And now I will say good-bye. And when, in the future, you come to take the woman's part, as you inevitably will, try to look upon me as not altogether a monster. Try to think the best of me."

"I shall always do that," Ethel murmured. "You have not said much, but I know you are a man who has been deeply wronged. I am certain that I shall never take any other view."

"Oh, yes, you will," Charlock said grimly. "You have no idea what a subtle force you will have to contend with. Beauty and tears are more efficient weapons than strength and courage. You heard what Mrs. Rent said to-night. She would be strong and resolute. She was going to put the woman who had humbled her pride and broken her heart through an ordeal of fire. She meant what she said, honestly meant every word of it. But within a year from now Arnold Rent and his wife will be master and mistress of Alton Lee as sure as I am speaking to you at this moment. The thing is inevitable. And then I will ask you to think of me and my prophecy. As for me, I will know how to act."

Charlock lifted Ethel's fingers to his lips and turned away abruptly. The girl called to him softly as he strode down the terrace, but he gave no heed. Ethel stood there, quiet and thoughtful, until the last echo of Charlock's footsteps died away. Then she turned towards the house. She would have entered one of the open windows leading to the morning-room had not Kate Charlock stepped out from her hiding-place and laid a detaining hand upon the girl's arm. She started back violently and a wave of colour rushed over her cheeks as she saw the woman. There was an involuntary shrinking, a dislike and loathing in her eyes that brought a corresponding glow into the face of Kate Charlock. The lamplight streaming through the open windows picked out the features of each so that there was no disguise.

With all her hatred and repugnance for the author of this mischief, Ethel could not deny the sweetness and beauty and purity of the woman's face. It was the face of an angel, pleading, timid and humble; the tears in her eyes heightened their loveliness and stole like diamonds down her cheeks. Her whole attitude was one of supplication, of appeal to womanliness and pity, and yet so natural and spontaneous that there was not the slightest suggestion of acting.

"You know who I am?" the woman whispered.

"I can guess," Ethel said, still studiously cold. "You are Mrs. Charlock. Is there anything that I can do for you?"

"Ah, there are many things that you can do for me," Kate Charlock whispered. "Oh, my child, I know how you feel. My feelings would be just the same if our positions were reversed. It is always the rich man who is hardest upon the want of honesty in his poorer brother. It is always the woman who has never known trouble or temptation who most reviles her sister who has fallen in the gutter. You think I am wrong. Well, perhaps I am, but I wish I could tell you of my life. I wish I could make you understand how the torment of a whole existence can be crammed into the space of a single month. If I had only had one friend like yourself——"

The voice broke and trembled. The long, slim hands were pressed to the streaming eyes. The ice round Ethel's heart melted suddenly. Impulsively she came forward and held out her hands.

CHAPTER XXIV

MISTRESS OF HERSELF

Without looking up, Kate felt the girl coming. The capitulation had been even more swift than she had expected. She knew now that she had made a powerful friend in Mrs. Rent's household. In those brief moments the recollection of John Charlock's trouble and the words that he had spoken were wiped clean from Ethel Hargrave's memory. This was not in the least like the picture she had conjured up of Mrs. Charlock. Beauty and grace she had expected, but either the hard, cold beauty of the calculating woman, or the sensuous loveliness of the Circe. And here was a very woman, broken and bent by trouble, who had fallen into dire folly because she could stand the strain no longer. And, after all, it was only natural that any woman should give her heart to Arnold Rent.

"I hope I did not appear to be hard," Ethel murmured. "But, you see, this is really a dreadful business. Nothing of the kind has ever come to Alton Lee before. We never dreamt that Arnold would do anything that was not right and proper. Perhaps we are a little old-fashioned and inclined to take an exaggerated view of the situation. I daresay, in time, when we come to know you better——"

"Please don't say any more," Kate Charlock replied. "It is enough for me that I have your sympathy. You are acquainted with my husband; indeed, I saw you together just now. Perhaps a little knowledge of him would be the best excuse I could have. It was unfortunate he should have come here at this time, but I will do him the justice to say that he could not have known——"

"Oh, he didn't," Ethel cried. "And he has gone. He could not remain at Alton Lee——"

"No, no, I understand. And therefore he has gone. We may leave him out of our reckoning for the present. But that does not make things any the easier for me. I begin to see that it was wrong for me to come here at all. I started on the spur of the moment, not realising till just a short time ago that my presence under this roof is little less than an outrage. Indeed, Mrs. Rent as good as told me so. I could fall at your feet and die of shame when I think how indelicate this must seem to you. And as I stood here just now I could not help overhearing certain words which passed between Arnold and his mother. Her dictates of hospitality are too fine for her to turn us out to-night. But one of us will have to go, and that one must be me."

Ethel murmured something sympathetic. She saw the speaker's point and liked her all the better for it.

"Of course, it must be Arnold," she said. "Indeed, there is no other alternative. There is no accommodation for you in the village. You are a stranger here. Won't you come into the drawing-room with me? and I will do my best to set matters straight."

Kate Charlock shuddered and shrank back as if the mere idea were abhorrent to her. Tears were still in her eyes.

"I think not," she said. "I have been too sorely tried to-night to be able to stand any more, and Mrs. Rent doubts me. Do you know what she is going to do? From to-morrow Arnold practically ceases to be her son. She turns him out into the world to shift for himself. We are to face the future as best we can. Perhaps at the expiration of four or five years, when I have proved my single-mindedness and sincerity, we may be taken back to the fold again. Just as if there were need for doubt, as if the love of a man like Arnold were not enough for any woman."

The words were spoken with sincerity and passion, but they cut into Ethel's heart like a knife.

"I must be loyal to my dear aunt," she said. "It seems to me that she has done quite right, though I am sure it will be a bitter wrench, for she is acting against every impulse of her kindly nature. And if you can show her that she is wrong, why, then, it will be a great triumph for you. It will go far to bring the happiness back to Alton Lee again. And now, if you will come with me into the drawing-room——"

"No, no," Kate cried. "Let me know how you have settled it, and then perhaps you will be so kind as to find me somewhere to sleep, for I am weary and worn out. Let me go into the library and wait till you come back."

There was no more to be said. Kate Charlock flung herself back in an armchair and closed her eyes. When she opened them again she was alone. Her tears had vanished. The fatigue she had spoken of seemed to fall from her like a garment. She crossed rapidly over to the writing-table, and in her clear, bold hand began a letter. It was a fairly long letter, but it was finished at length and addressed to Mrs. Rent. Kate proceeded to put it in a conspicuous place and very quietly passed into the hall and took down her hat and long travelling wrap. A few moments later she was walking rapidly down the avenue in the direction of the road. Her face was clear and bright. There was something like a smile in her starry eyes; her heart was free from fear.

Meanwhile, the conference in the drawing-room was finished. Arnold was standing pale and stern by the side of his mother as Ethel entered. He hardly appeared to notice her at all, beyond a sullen nod which brought the blood flaming to the girl's face. Very quietly she made her explanation.

"Oh, we have settled that," Arnold laughed bitterly. "It is I who am going away. I can walk as far as the station and stay in the waiting-room for the early express. Then, to-morrow, Mrs. Charlock must do as she pleases. I am certain that she will lose no time in ridding you of her detestable presence."

"I do not like to hear you speak like that," Mrs. Rent said. "Ethel, will you go and ask the lady if she will come this way for a moment? I should like her to feel——"

There was an uncomfortable pause for a few moments till Ethel came back with a letter in her hand.

"I cannot understand it at all," she said. "Mrs. Charlock has disappeared. Her wraps have vanished from the hall, too. She seems to have left this letter behind, which is addressed to you, aunt. After the way she spoke to me just now I am not surprised to find that she has not felt equal to the ordeal of staying here even for a single night."

"It was a fatal mistake," Arnold said hoarsely. "I see it all now. Only it is too late to rectify matters."

Mrs. Rent reached for the letter and slowly broke the seal. She read aloud so that the others could hear:

"All I can say is, forgive me. It was wrong to come, and I can stay no longer. Though I am without friends, I am not without resources, for I have a little to assist me. And yet I am glad to have seen you all, even if it has been only to convince you that I am not the hard, brazen, calculating creature you took me to be. I am going away till I am free. I shall not look upon any of you again till I am ready to send for Arnold. I want no money or favour now, nor in the future. I want to show that I have given my heart to one who will be able to support me without help from anyone. To be in receipt of your favours would ruin the whole romance of the situation. Perhaps later, when I have proved myself, it may be possible—but I can write no more."

The paper slipped from Mrs. Rent's fingers and lay upon the carpet. The eyes that she turned upon her son were troubled and haggard. He turned away with a passionate gesture.

"Ah, yes," he murmured hoarsely, "she was right to go. All the same, mother, you have done a cruel thing."

After all, Mrs. Rent was a woman. She had lived long enough as My Lady Bountiful in that quiet country village to have become imbued with the idea that hospitality and generosity were two of the leading virtues which led directly to the reward of heaven. She had never before listened unmoved to a tale of distress. She had never refused food or shelter to the most undeserving object. And now she had more or less deliberately turned a human being out of her own house to face the night, unaided and alone. And, to make things worse, she had acted with studied cruelty to a woman who, whatever her faults might be, was defenceless.

"I could not have expected this," she murmured. "To confess freely, I had not looked for such pride and independence of spirit. You are right, Arnold."

"Of course I am," Rent said grimly. "But perhaps you will tell me what is to be done."

"You must try to find her," Mrs. Rent went on. "Bring her back here and do your best to induce her to see that I have a point of view as well as herself. There will be plenty of time in the morning to decide as to the future; indeed, it is always well to sleep upon troubles like these."

Arnold Rent waited no more. He strode from the room and out into the darkness of the night, leaving his mother to commune with her own anxious thoughts. She was distracted and torn this way and that. A thousand doubts assailed her.

"What could I have done else?" she murmured. "What other way was there out of this bitter trouble?"

CHAPTER XXV

A PLAUSIBLE SCOUNDREL

We left Ephraim Bark on the landing-stage at Cowes expressing his joy at his good fortune in meeting Tanza once more. But, despite his appearance of engaging candour, the little man seemed to have some difficulty in swallowing a large lump which had risen at the back of his throat. His muddy features had turned pale. He glanced about him as if looking for some avenue of escape, presenting at the same time a ludicrous resemblance to a jackdaw recently encaged. On the other hand, Tanza appeared to be enjoying the interview. His features beamed with good-nature. There was a kindly smile upon his face. But, as a great many criminals had discovered to their cost, this was just one of the moments when the Italian was most dangerous.

"You fill me with pleasure," he said. "It is always a happy thing to find an old acquaintance so ready to resume friendship. But come along, we are wasting time. We shall be much more comfortable and sociable on board the yacht."

Bark protested that there was nothing he would like better. Nevertheless, his bluster was forced, his air dejected, and, for the time being, he had lost all his swagger. Even when he found himself seated in a luxurious cabin chair, with a famous brand of cigar in his mouth and a well-filled glass by his side, he presented the same apologetic appearance. There was very little resemblance to the man who had accosted Malcolm Grey so shortly before. Tanza beamed on his guest.

"Now we are going to be really happy and comfortable," he said. "Let us talk about old times. Have you been in Paris lately? And, if so, how are the old people? The last time I was in Paris a most extraordinary thing happened. It chanced that one night, as I was walking along——"

"Oh, drop it," Bark broke out suddenly. "Never was a gentleman like you. You play and play with a chap, and just when he thinks everything is nice and snug you drop down upon him and he doesn't know where he is. Reminds me of a boy with a cockchafer on a pin, it does. I've never done you any harm, and I am ready to answer any questions you like. But don't sit there smiling in that friendly way just as if you've got nothing on your mind. I can stand punishment, but I like to know where it is coming from. Just say what you want to say and get it over."

"That's candid, at any rate," Tanza smiled. "Very well. If you are ready to take it lying down, we'll come to the point at once. There are certain matters going on here that interest me greatly, and on those matters I am sure you can throw some light. I shouldn't have identified you with the business, only my friend Mr. Grey told me that he met you at Mr. Rent's office. Just now Mr. Rent and his doings fascinate me. How long have you known him?"

"I'll tell you everything," Bark said. "On and off, I've known him for the last five years. And, between ourselves, he isn't a bit better than he ought to be. A regular mixture of a man, I call him. One day he is going to give up the world and go into a monastery, and the next day you find him enjoying himself in some fast set as if he had been accustomed to it all his life. I never knew a man who was more guided by the feelings of the moment. But this last game of his beats all. Fancy a man who has ten or fifteen thousand a year before him running the risk of losing the lot simply for a woman who cares no more for him than the cigar I've got in my hand."

"You are speaking of Mrs. Charlock," Tanza said quietly.

"That's right enough. Not that it is any business of mine, but there are ways and means of doing things which even I don't approve of. Rent is a clever fellow, but no man can manage to make love to two women at the same time without getting into trouble."

Tanza's eyes gleamed.

"Ah, now you are speaking about that French maid?" he exclaimed. "I mean the poor woman who was called Hortense."

Bark glanced at the speaker with unfeigned admiration. It was not for him to know that Tanza's quick mind had grasped the point like a flash of lightning, but, for aught he could tell, Tanza might have been working on the problem for some time.

"Quite right," he said. "Between ourselves, Rent is a bit of a blackguard. He has never put his foot into it because there never has been any occasion. He has always had more money than he needed, or you may be sure that he would have gone to the dogs long ago. But he is not a bad fellow as men go. He would stick at nothing as far as his interests were concerned. A clever chap, too, and one who, with any luck, will make his mark in the world of science. But he is cruel and vindictive. He is making a fool of himself over Mrs. Charlock now. He has got a rare handful to deal with there. Still, it is a brazen thing to be making love to the mistress and the maid at the same time. That's what he was up to."

"Oh, ho," Tanza said gently. "We are getting along. I suppose this is where you come in. What do you know about this lady's maid?"

"She was my sister," was the unexpected reply. "You see, we are as much French as English. Hortense spoke the language like a native. She was a Parisienne to her finger-tips. That is why she called herself Hortense and passed herself off as a Frenchwoman. French maids are much more sought after than English ones and get much more money."

"No doubt. Now, how long had your unfortunate sister been in Mrs. Charlock's employ before she met with her accident?"

"I suppose about two years," Bark explained. "But why?"

"Oh, we shall come to that presently. Perhaps you can tell me who put it into your sister's head to steal her mistress's jewels? That is the point I want cleared up."

Bark looked at the speaker with open-mouthed admiration.

"No use trying to keep anything from you," he said. "But, as a matter of fact, I don't know. I am telling you the truth. Indeed, I would have nothing to gain by lying to such a clever gentleman as yourself. But my sister is dead, and anything I say can't do her any harm. She wanted to return to Paris. She was finding things very slow with Mrs. Charlock, and I suppose the idea of taking her mistress's jewels was her own. They were a pretty fine lot, I understand, but the trouble was to get them away without arousing suspicion. My sister wrote to me about it and told me what she was going to do. I don't mind admitting that I gave her the best advice I could, because I am sure you won't use this evidence against me. I came over to see my sister and Mr. Rent at the same time. I had had a bit of bad luck lately, and I knew that Rent would help me out. I had only got to mention a little thing that occurred in Paris some years ago and he was good for a hundred pounds at least."

"Blackmail," Tanza suggested.

"Oh, blackmail be hanged!" Bark said vigorously. "I was never properly paid for my share in the job, and Rent knows it perfectly well. He has been keeping out of my way lately. But it's only putting off the evil day. It is a small world, and I wasn't surprised to find that my sister knew Rent as well as I do. I wasn't long in finding out that he was making love to her for some purpose of his own. And perhaps it is a good thing for him that Hortense is out of the way. She was a fine hater when she chose."

"We are getting wide of the point," Tanza suggested. "What I want to know is where your sister put those jewels."

Bark protested by all his gods that he hadn't the faintest idea. Tanza did not press the point, though, from his view, Bark was lying strenuously. But there was nothing to be gained for the moment, and Tanza changed the conversation. It was perhaps an hour later that Bark left the yacht, on the whole not displeased with his visit. He was palpably afraid of Tanza. He had expected to find himself closely cross-examined as to certain dark passages in his life, and he was only too thankful to get off so easily. He thought he had parted with no information of the slightest value to himself; indeed, he flattered himself that so far as the missing jewels were concerned he had led Tanza astray.

He might have been less easy in his mind if he could have lingered behind and listened to what took place as soon as he had left the yacht. Grey turned to his companion.

"You are a most extraordinary man," he said. "You don't seem to have learnt anything from that scamp, and yet you appear to be absolutely satisfied. Tell me what you are driving at."

"No, no," Tanza said good-humouredly. "Let us keep to our bargain. We are both working from different points, though we both have the same object in view. A little time ago it was your opinion that Hortense, Mrs. Charlock's maid, had died from an accident. On the other hand, I was convinced that she was the victim of foul play. If you have not changed your mind——"

"I have," Grey said curtly. "But go on."

"Perhaps I have changed my mind, too," Tanza continued. "I begin to see the possibilities of suicide. It was only to-day that Fortune placed in my hand a clue to this conclusion. But perhaps I had better show you what I mean. Wait here a moment till I go and fetch it.... Now what do you think of that? Isn't it strange that I should gain possession of it?"

CHAPTER XXVI

THE JEWEL CASKET

As Tanza spoke he laid on the table a small, brass-bound, mahogany box, the patent lock of which had been forced; indeed, the whole thing appeared to have been so badly used that even the neatly made hinges were out of place. Inside were drawers and trays lined with crimson velvet, all wet and saturated as if they had been soaked in water for some time.

"You see what it is, then?" Tanza observed. "This is a jewel box. On the lid you will notice a little glass frame behind which is a sheet of paper inscribed with a list of the articles which at one time formed the contents of the box. When this casket was brought to me it was empty as you see it now; indeed, one of my men found it at low tide not very far away from the landing-stage, half imbedded in the sand. It is easy to guess whom it belongs to, seeing that the owner's monogram is on the outside, together with an address. Beyond question this once belonged to Mrs. Charlock. Mind you, I haven't heard that Mrs. Charlock was robbed of her jewels. I am simply deducing the thing from the condition this casket is in at present. In the first place, you see the casket has been forced open. Now, nobody but a thief would do that. In the second place, the casket was thrown into the sea, which is also what a thief would do. Now, who would be the most likely person to commit a crime of this sort? Who would be in a position to do so? But you know that my deductions are correct, because that rascal Bark told us who the thief was. Where the stones are is another matter. That will be something for us to find out when the mystery of the woman's death is cleared up. Meanwhile, we had better stick to the original mystery and do one thing at a time. I am bound to confess that I have slightly changed my mind, and should not be surprised to find that this lady's maid committed suicide. It is possible that Mrs. Charlock discovered her loss and traced it home to the thief. On the spur of the moment the latter goes off and drowns herself in the fountain by the sundial."

"And there," Grey said emphatically, "you are wrong. I shall be able to prove that to you before long. I, on my part, have not been altogether idle. Still, we will keep to our bargain, as you say, and each go his own way. Clever as you are, and much as I respect your opinion, I am prepared to back myself to get to the bottom of this mystery before you do. Within a week I promise not only to solve the mystery of Hortense's death, but also to produce the missing jewels."

"Ah, that's all right," Tanza exclaimed. "You are a pupil after my own heart. Do you mean to say you suspect the place where the jewels are hidden?"

"I don't suspect anything," Grey said quietly. "I know. I could put my hands upon the jewels within four-and-twenty hours."

Tanza nodded approvingly. It was characteristic of the man that he displayed no curiosity and asked no further questions. Nor had it occurred to him that Grey was speaking in a boastful spirit. He made no effort to move when Grey rose from his chair, saying he had important business on shore which might detain him to a late hour.

"All right," he said. "I presume you are on the same business still. You will be able to tell me what has happened in the morning. Well, good-night and good luck to you."

It was very late when at length Grey skirted the town and proceeded along the shore to the small block of buildings where Rent was carrying on his experiments. The buildings were in darkness. But that did not seem to trouble Grey, who threw himself down upon a bed of sea pinks and proceeded to light a cigarette. He had barely finished two before a tiny speck of light appeared in one of the windows, followed by a brilliant illumination behind the blinds as if some one was turning on the gas. As a fact, it was electric light, as Grey very well knew. He moved forward almost immediately until he stood under the shadow of the buildings. The main door was slightly open, and Grey hesitated whether he should enter or not. There was no one about, so far as he could see, though he could hear voices in the room where the light had been turned on. There was nothing to gain by timidity, so he pushed his way into the building and felt cautiously along the corridor. The door of the room where the light was stood ajar, and the intruder could see Swift standing on one side of the table and Bark opposite.

"And now you have got me here," Swift was saying, "what do you want? Why all this mystery? Why couldn't you have come to my lodgings like any other man? Instead, you drag me here as if I were a thief or something to be ashamed of."

"What else are you?" Bark said brutally. "And what else is that employer of yours, for that matter, either? Look here, my friend, I know too much about both of you to stand any nonsense. I don't want to put the cat among the pigeons, but unless I have this money by midday to-morrow somebody is going to get into trouble. That is all I have to say."

"But I haven't got it," Swift said passionately. "I haven't got a tenth part of it. Mr. Rent will be here to-morrow and you had better see him for yourself. I am sick of all this business. I begin to wish I had never come here at all. And now the sooner you clear out the better."

"I'm going when I like," Bark said sullenly. "And, mind you, I won't be played with any more. I can say too much and I can prove too much to be treated as if I were some tramp trying to beg a copper or two. If you take my advice you will leave Arnold Rent to his own resources. No man ever yet trusted him without repenting it afterwards. Poor as I am, I wouldn't be under a favour to that man unless I was obliged to, and it is possible that I may not have to come here to-morrow, after all. I have a scheme on, and if it turns out trumps you can tell your employer that he isn't likely to see me for a bit. What are you up to here? What's the little game?"

"We came here on a purely scientific errand," Swift said coldly. "And, in any case, our experiments will not be of the least interest to you. And now, as I am busy——"

"Oh, I'm off," Bark laughed. "I don't want to pry into your secrets; I've plenty of my own to worry about. Good-night."

Bark turned away and swaggered down the passage, so close that Grey could have touched him as he passed. He emerged into the road and went off towards the town with the air of a man who has much to do before he seeks his bed. Grey followed him at a respectful distance until he came to the lodge gate leading to the house recently occupied by John Charlock. Bark pushed through the gate and made his way along the grass towards the lawn at the back of the house. Here he stopped and produced a box of matches from his pocket. There was little or no wind, so that the match flamed out clearly, so clearly that the watcher could see Bark's evil face carefully examining a piece of paper which he had in his hand. So still was it that Grey could hear Bark's muttered comments.

"Hang me if I can make it out. What an awful fist she wrote, to be sure. Now, is it on this side or the other? And what does she mean by a hundred and fifty to the right? And where the dickens is the right supposed to begin? I wish I had a tape measure. Not that it would be much use on a dark night like this. Still, it won't do to work with a lantern."

The match went out and Bark's musings came to an end. Grey had been gazing so steadfastly at the match that when it was extinguished suddenly he could not see anything for the moment. Then, when his eyes became accustomed again to the gloom, he found that Bark had vanished, leaving not the slightest trace behind.

The incident was annoying as it was unexpected. There were trees all about the lawn standing back in dense shadow, so that it was almost impossible to make out in which direction Bark had gone. Grey could do nothing but go back to the road and wait till Bark came back again. There was, of course, a chance that his time might be wasted. But he had gone so far now that he did not care to abandon his search. He went slowly and cautiously back to the road and stood by the lodge gate for the best part of an hour. He was thinking of giving up the adventure when Bark came down the avenue muttering to himself and groaning as if he were in considerable pain. He did not appear to think it extraordinary that Grey should be there. On the contrary, he grinned knowingly and inquired affectionately after Tanza's welfare.

"You are wasting your time to-night, anyway," he said. "So am I, for the matter of that. There is something wrong with this place. Never mind why I am here. I stumbled over a fountain arrangement in the garden and fell with one hand in the water. It was only for a second, and now look at my fingers. Painful! Well, rather. But what the devil is it? Strike a match and look for yourself."

Bark held up a shaking hand in the light of the match. His fingers were shrivelled and blue, as if they had been badly scalded. There were blisters here and there, and Bark writhed with the pain he made no effort to conceal.

"What do you make of it?" he groaned. "Tell me what you make of it."

CHAPTER XXVII

KATE COMES BACK

Grey was startled, but Bark was in too great pain to notice that. It was some time before the former trusted himself to speak. When he did so, his tones were clear and distinct.

"I shouldn't like to say," he remarked. "Probably you are suffering from some irritant poisoning which the water has excited. This is rather out of my line, and you had better go into the town at once and see the doctor. You really ought not to delay. My studies of medicine did not go far enough to enable me to deal with a case like this. But I should like to know how you get on. And I hope you will come aboard the yacht to-morrow afternoon."

"I might just as well," Bark growled. "It is evident you don't intend to lose sight of me. I suppose that is why you followed me to-night."

Grey deemed it prudent to make no reply. Without further words, Bark turned sullenly away and walked down the road. Grey went back to the yacht as soon as possible. He felt that he had not wasted his time, though, on the whole, the events of the evening had not turned out quite so successfully as he had hoped. For the best part of the next day he waited on the yacht in expectation of seeing Bark, but the latter did not put in an appearance. Another day of almost enforced idleness followed, and it was not until after dinner on the next evening that Grey received a letter from John Charlock asking him to call at the house and favour him with a few minutes' conversation. He handed the letter to Tanza, who had been out all day and had only come back in time for dinner. The little Italian chuckled as he read.

"Now what is the meaning of this?" he said. "In the course of my investigations I have made a few inquiries, and was under the impression that Charlock had gone into Devonshire. I thought Arnold Rent was in Devonshire, too, but was surprised to see him this evening going off towards that laboratory of his. To make the matter even more complicated, I had a telephone message to call at the Queen's Hotel and see Shiplake. Imagine my astonishment when the first person I saw was Mrs. Charlock. Now there is a nice problem for you. What do you make of it?"

"I think I understand," Grey replied. "I believe Rent has been playing the chivalrous fool over Mrs. Charlock. I don't believe he was thinking about himself at all. He was going to take her down to stay with his mother till some arrangement could be made. Now I happen to know a good deal about Mrs. Rent. She is a splendid woman in many respects and a rigid Puritan at heart. You may depend upon it that she told Rent pretty plainly not to look to her for anything until he had got out of the scrape he had walked into with his eyes open. Rent, not being a fool, had to explain to the lady, and she, not being a fool, saw the difficulty at once. I shouldn't mind betting that Mrs. John Charlock has resolved to return to her husband. At any rate, that is the only logical explanation I can offer."

"It sounds plausible," Tanza said. "But you will know better when you have seen Charlock. He may want you to be present when he meets his wife. If he has a friend, you are probably that remarkable person."

"He is a queer man," Grey said, as he turned the letter over in his hand, "but not to blame. However, I'll let you know what happens."

Half an hour later Grey was walking up the drive to the deserted house. Lights were burning in one of the windows, and behind the curtainless casement Grey could see two candles standing on a table. There was a litter of papers on the table and a chair on each side. As Grey rang the bell the clang of the metal sounded hollow in the empty house. Charlock came to the door.

"I am glad you have come," he said. "I take it very kindly of you. I daresay you wonder why I am here and why I wrote to you. Perhaps this letter from my wife will explain matters. Yes, I want you to read it. There is no reason why you shouldn't."

With some reluctance, Grey took the letter and read it. It was from Mrs. Charlock, in her own neat handwriting, written as carefully and regularly as if it had been a serious business communication. There was no sign that it had been written in a hurry, or that it had been inspired in a moment of anxiety and emotion. There was no heading to it and nothing at the foot but the writer's signature. As to the body of the letter, it might have been read by anybody. It pointed out that there had been a difference between husband and wife, and that perhaps there had been faults on both sides. The writer regretted that in a rash moment she had been so foolish as to take a step which might have compromised her in the eyes of the world. But she pleaded in extenuation that her husband's harsh conduct had driven her to retaliate. On thinking the matter over, she had decided it to be her duty to return home and place herself in her husband's hands, only stipulating that residence in the cottage should be restricted to a definite period. The writer concluded by asking an interview and stating that she had returned to the neighbourhood for that purpose. Grey laid the letter down with a murmur to the effect that it seemed to him to be right and proper.

"You think so?" Charlock said, with a hoarse laugh. "You are more confiding than I am. Do you know what has happened? That woman bewitched Rent. For the time she made him forget his own selfish schemes. She wanted to pose as an injured woman, though that was not a new rôle. She wanted to get rid of me. She wanted to force me to some crowning folly, so that the law might release her, and then she would have every claim to marry Arnold Rent. Doubtless it struck her as a fine thing to become a county lady of unlimited income. But, then, you see, she reckoned without another woman in the person of Rent's mother. Mrs. Rent displayed a firmness which upset her calculations altogether. And Mrs. Rent played exactly the right card. She told these two platonic fools that her son had nothing to expect from her. Perhaps in five years' time she might hold out her hand to help them. But they were to understand that meanwhile Arnold Rent was no better off than any other penniless man of good education. I know all about it, because I was on the spot. The irony of circumstances took me to the house. And when those people fully realised what was to happen, their common sense came back to them. Mind you, I am going on supposition now. But I don't think events will prove me to be far wrong. Otherwise, why is my wife here again? Why has she asked me for an interview? And why has she agreed to listen to my terms? It suited my mood to grant that interview at this hour of night. It was my whim to ask you to be present. You will see for yourself that what I have said is literally correct. And now, will you be good enough to open the front door for me? She may be here at any moment."

Grey went off obedient to Charlock's request. He stood outside for a moment in the stillness of the evening until Charlock joined him. They were quiet for a little while. Then Charlock began to speak in the bitterness of his heart. But Grey did not appear to be listening. He raised his hand as if to impose silence.

"Hush," he said. "Didn't I hear a cry?"

Charlock shook his head. He had heard nothing. A moment later the cry was repeated, so far as Grey could judge, from the bottom of the garden. It was not a loud cry. It sounded as if from someone in dire pain. Grey moved hastily forward.

"It is nothing," Charlock said, "nothing but mere fancy. One's nerves get out of order sometimes."

But Grey was not to be moved. He knew that his imagination had not played him false. He could hear a stifled moan again. Almost like an inspiration he traced the sound to its source and raced across the lawn.

"Bring one of the candles," he cried, "and follow me to the sundial. I am certain that is where the cry came from."

Charlock muttered something in reply, but presently Grey saw the light twinkling across the lawn. He waited till Charlock came to his side, then with a trembling hand snatched the candle from Charlock's fingers. He bent down over the clear water of the fountain and saw something black and limp, something that seemed in parts to glow and glisten in the flickering light of the candle. Then, a moment later, the mysterious something lay motionless on the grass, and Grey was wiping his fingers as if they stung him. But he was not thinking of the physical pain.

"There," he said hoarsely, "I told you so. Take the candle and hold it down so that we can see the poor creature's face. Good heavens! To think that she should come to this!"

Charlock held the candle low. He appeared to be singularly quiet and self-contained. He made no sound as the light fell upon the dead white face.

"My wife!" he said. "What is she doing here? Grey, what does this mystery mean? What curse lies on this place?"

CHAPTER XXVIII

A STARTLING CONTRAST

Mrs. Bromley-Martin's rooms were well filled as usual, for she was giving one of those bridge parties of which she and her set never seemed to tire. It seemed strange that they had not become weary of their pursuit. But, then, the element of gambling entered largely into their calculations, and of this they never tired. It was a perfect night out-of-doors. The long French windows leading to the lawn were invitingly open. But probably few of the guests appreciated the beauty of the night. The rooms were hot and stuffy and there was a cackle of conversation and high-pitched chatter without which no smart function is complete. There were a dozen tables going, and from time to time those whose hands lay on the table were gathered together round the fireplace discussing choice morsels of scandal. The hostess herself, resplendent in blue and silver, was being listened to with rapt attention, for she had something especially fresh and piquant which she was relating to the motley throng around her. Her shrill voice rang through the room.

"I assure you it is perfectly true," she said. "I saw her myself at the station. She came back this afternoon and went straight to the Queen's Hotel."

"Did you speak to her?"

Mrs. Bromley-Martin laughed.

"My dear, of course I did," she screamed. "Did you ever know me do anything like other people? Did you ever know me care two straws for what folk said? Oh, I know I ought to have walked by with my head in the air and my skirts drawn about me as if I feared contamination from her very touch. But I did nothing of the kind. Behold in me the Good Samaritan!"

A wild cackle of laughter followed this suggestion.

"Oh, you may laugh," Mrs. Bromley-Martin went on good-temperedly. "Besides, I was desperately curious. And there she was, looking more saint-like than ever; indeed, I felt quite a sinner by contrast. Besides, she is no worse than the rest of us. The only difference is that she has been found out."

"But has she been found out?" a tall man asked seriously. "Can you mention one single thing against Mrs. Charlock? Here is a woman married to a boor, who is supposed to ill-treat her because he can't have his own way; he sells the house over her head, and says she can remain if she please. A woman ought to be able to get rid of a man for less than that. Upon my word, I think it was one of the most chivalrous things I ever heard of. Then there is Arnold Rent, whom we all regard as a clever fellow, who, apart from his science, is living entirely for himself. I have heard it said that he has no heart and no feeling. And yet he makes a deliberate sacrifice for the sake of a woman who apparently cares nothing for him. Really, in these prosaic times, for a man to go out of his way to offer a suffering woman the shelter of his mother's roof is touching. This kind of thing an author might make into a book. I suppose nobody has heard anything of Rent?"

"Indeed, they have," a voice interrupted. "It is my turn now to contribute to the harmony of the evening. Our charming hostess has given us the first act of the comedy. Now I can proceed to write up the second. What the third act will be like is a matter for speculation. Anyway, as I was coming here to-night, I saw Rent going along the shore to his offices. He wouldn't allow me to stop him; he would hardly allow me to speak to him. At any rate, he is back again, and the Charlock-Rent romance is at an end. I am sorry to spoil sport in this way, but I am bound to speak the truth. It looks to me as if the story had a commonplace ending, after all. Probably Mrs. Rent threw a cold douche of common sense upon her son's argument, and Mrs. Charlock has made the best of it by coming back to her husband. That is my conclusion."

"I don't believe a word of it," Mrs. Bromley-Martin cried. "I refuse to have my illusions scattered in this way. If I had only known Arnold Rent was here I would have asked him to come round this evening. His appearance would have created a sensation. And sensations in these times——"

The speaker paused, conscious that there was something wrong. Her back was to the door. She did not see that someone had come into the room. That everything was not quite in order she could gather by the expression on the faces of her guests. No one was sneering or smiling. Most of them were looking blank, and one or two decidedly uncomfortable.

"What is the matter?" Mrs. Bromley-Martin asked. "Have I said anything so very outré, or have you all suddenly become——"

"It is a pure matter of conscience," a cold, clear voice said. "You have every right to your own opinion. But on this occasion, gracious lady, you are absolutely wrong, much as it grieves me to tell you so."

A little spurt of colour flamed to Mrs. Bromley-Martin's face. Possibly it was the first time she had blushed for years. She forced her voice to a higher pitch as she recognised Rent.

"Talk of an angel and you hear his wings," she cackled. "How dare you stand there and listen to what I was saying! Why, bless my soul, a set like ours, if we all knew what our neighbours thought of us, would be deadly enemies in a week. Still, my dear boy, I forgive you, because it was so thoughtful of you to come round this evening to make my party a success. But did you hear what I was saying?"

"Every word," Rent said gravely.

"In that case, it would be foolish of me to apologise. We were talking of Mrs. Charlock and yourself. I believe it was under this roof that you met her for the first time. It was here that the tender romance had its initiation. It was here, also, that John Charlock behaved in such a brutish way and played into the hands of his wife. I daresay you recollect the occasion."

"Perfectly well."

"What a sphinx it is!" Mrs. Bromley-Martin remarked, with a shrug of her shoulders. "Why don't you try to help me out? You must know what conclusion we came to. We all give you credit for acting the part of the cavalier without fear and without reproach. But when both parties came back in this prosaic fashion, why, naturally——"

"One moment," Rent said coldly. "Loth as I am to spoil your recreation, I must speak. You are all mistaken. It is true that chance gave me the opportunity of befriending Mrs. Charlock when she was badly in need of advice, but there the thing begins and ends. I might have been wrong in offering Mrs. Charlock a temporary home with my mother; I am not prepared to say that I had given the matter due consideration. However, Mrs. Charlock has thought the matter over and come to the conclusion that she cannot do better than fall in with her husband's wishes. That is why she is here, and you can guess why I have returned, also. It will be just as well in future to drop this subject."

There was something so cool and self-possessed in the speaker's words that no one in the group round the fireplace ventured even to smile. Rent flashed a challenge from one to the other, but no one offered to take it up. There were one or two murmurs of approval, and Mrs. Bromley-Martin thought it wise to change her ground.

"I am sure, I beg your pardon," she said. "I had no idea you would take it in this way. You see, it is so seldom that anybody in our set is serious that one forgets that there are real responsibilities in life. Now let us go back to the tables and devote ourselves to the business of the evening."

Rent bowed gravely. Mrs. Bromley-Martin had gone as far in the way of an apology as she was likely to go. Before he could say anything there was a further commotion at the door, and another man entered, apparently bursting to relate some item of news. Mrs. Bromley-Martin heralded the intrusion at once as a godsend. Here was a speedy and graceful escape from the position she had taken up, and she hastened across the room.

"Well, colonel, what is it? What fresh scandal is afoot? Positively, we are so dull here that anything, even if it is deliberately untrue, will be welcomed."

"Oh, this is true enough," the man replied. "I was coming past Charlock's house just now, and I met that fellow Grey coming out of the gate in a hurry. You know the man I mean—he is staying with that clever Italian, Tanza, on his yacht. At first, I could not make out what was the matter with him. It appeared he was asking me to fetch a policeman, as something terrible had happened in Charlock's grounds. Mrs. Charlock had fallen into a fountain, or something of that kind. At any rate, when Grey and Charlock found her she was lying there quite dead."

A sudden exclamation broke from Rent's lips. He turned a white, set face towards the speaker.

"In the fountain?" he asked hoarsely. "By the sundial, do you mean? Oh, the thing is incredible."

"All the same, it is quite true," the newcomer said. "I saw it for myself before I went off for the police. And the strange part of the whole thing is that mistress and maid perished in the same way. There seems to be a fatality about that sundial."

CHAPTER XXIX

A LAPSE OF MEMORY

Arnold Rent seemed to be striving for words to express his feelings. He pressed his hand to his throat, as if something had risen and choked him. There was a deadly pallor on his face, too, which some of the guests did not fail to notice. They were quiet now, for this dénouement was calculated to suppress the frivolous spirits even of Mrs. Bromley-Martin's guests.

"Tell us some more," the hostess murmured.

"There is very little to say," the man who was telling the story went on. "I met a policeman within a few yards of Charlock's lodge gate and sent him off headlong to bring his inspector and a doctor. Then I went back to the scene of the tragedy to see if I could do anything. I heard voices in the garden and went down towards that now famous sundial. I had heard of the thing before; in fact, I remember reading a paragraph or two in the papers when Charlock bought it. At any rate, there it was, looking pale and ghostly in the gloom, and by the side of it stood Charlock and Grey bending over an object on the grass. As a matter of fact, they had no business to disturb the body at all. Still, the thing was done, and I helped to carry the poor creature into the house. I came away as soon as I decently could, because it was no place for an outsider."

"Dreadful!" Mrs. Bromley-Martin shuddered. "What a fate for a beautiful creature! And what did John Charlock say? How did he seem to take it?"

The man who was telling the story shrugged his shoulders.

"Don't ask me," he murmured. "Charlock is not like other people. You see, he is a genius, and geniuses are allowed to express their feelings in their own way. So far as I could see, the discovery made not the slightest difference to him; excepting that he lives and breathes like most of us, he might have been carved out of stone. There was no expression whatever on his features, not one word escaped his lips. I was glad to get away."

Arnold Rent listened to this recital with the air of a man who dreams. More than once he appeared as if desirous of asking a question. Then he changed his mind. By this time it had already reached those who were deeply immersed in cards. As the various rubbers were finished people began to gather by the fireplace and discuss the tragedy. The first feeling of awe had passed away and everybody was talking at once.

Rent was unnoticed. He seemed to have fallen into the background, and before anyone was aware of the fact, he had slipped out of the drawing-room into the hall, where he donned his coat and hat. Then, without the formality of saying good-night to Mrs. Bromley-Martin, he walked down the spacious drive into the road. He came presently to the lodge gate of Charlock's house, where he paused. Now and again he passed his handkerchief over his forehead to wipe away the beads of moisture which had gathered. The night was warm, but not sufficiently so to account for the water trickling down his face.

"I've got to do it," he groaned. "Lord, what a coward I am!"

The last words came with an accent of bitter self-reproach. It seemed as if Rent were taking hold of himself and impelling his feet unwillingly forward. He came at length to the house, where the lights were still burning in the front room, where he could see John Charlock and Grey standing facing each other across the table. There were other shadows in the background, but of these Rent took no notice. He would have liked to knock at the door and make inquiries, but even his audacity shrank from going so far. It was not the time to face John Charlock. The only thing was to wait until Grey came out.

The young scientist emerged presently and closed the door behind him. He turned very coldly, almost offensively, to Rent when the latter accosted him.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"I have just heard the news," Rent said hoarsely. "I had gone as far as Mrs. Bromley-Martin's when Colonel Suffield came in and told us. He was the man you sent for the police. It seems incredible. It seemed all the more impossible to grasp because it was told before that frivolous lot yonder. I could not wait a moment. Suffield told me you were here. Of course, I could not ask for Charlock in the circumstances."

"That would be playing the blackguard," Grey remarked pointedly.

"You are altogether unjust," Rent murmured. "If you knew the whole story you would not blame me in the least. I only acted on Mrs. Charlock's behalf as any other man would have done. Surely, a good and pure woman is above scandal. But I am not going to discuss that. I want to know what has happened."