Front matter (continued 4)

"There is very little to tell you," Grey said. "I came here by appointment to see Mr. Charlock. He wanted me to be present because his wife was coming back, and he deemed it best to have a third party at the interview. We heard a cry of distress from the bottom of the garden and immediately proceeded in that direction. To make a long story short, we found Mrs. Charlock's dead body lying in the fountain by the sundial, precisely in the same way as her late maid's was discovered. Beyond that I can tell you nothing. What more would you know?"

It appeared as if Rent could have known a great deal more, but he restrained his feelings and walked silently down the drive by Grey's side. The two parted at a turning in the road, and Rent made his way across the foreshore to his offices. There was no light, so far as he could see, and this seemed to fill him with relief.

"I suppose Swift is away to-night," he muttered. "Well, perhaps it is for the best. And yet I told him particularly that I wanted him at eleven. That accursed drink again, I suppose! I shall have to get rid of him."

Rent struck a match and fumbled with his key in the lock. He left the front door open on the off-chance of Swift coming back. Then he proceeded to the inner office and switched on the electric lights. From a safe let in the wall he proceeded to take out some electrical appliances, and with these in his hand he turned rapidly towards the door. Then he stepped back with an oath and a cry of vexation as he saw someone standing there. The intruder's face wore a wide grin, but his dark eyes were set in stern determination. Ephraim Bark was not pleasant to look at.

"What the devil are you doing here?" Rent demanded.

By way of reply Bark closed the door and took a seat. Then he produced a cigarette, which he lighted coolly.

"What is the good of talking that rot to me?" he said. "I have been looking for you for the past week, and you have been keeping out of the way because you were afraid to meet me. Oh, it is all very well to smile, but if you weren't afraid, why didn't you toe the scratch like a man?"

"I have been away on business," Rent said, lamely enough.

"Business be hanged! Now, look here, I am not going to waste words with you. After that little affair in Paris you promised me two hundred pounds, not a penny of which I have had yet. Why should I be walking about on my uppers while you are rolling in money? A rich man like yourself——"

"I am not a rich man," Rent protested. "As a matter of fact, I have an allowance which is quite insufficient for me, and, apart from that, I am dependent for every penny upon my mother, who can leave it all away from me if she pleases. Yes, and she would do it, too, if she knew the sort of life I have been leading."

"I know all about that," Bark grinned. "I make every allowance. But you must have something to spare. I tell you, I am penniless, desperate almost, and I am going to have a hundred pounds or its equivalent before I leave you to-night."

Rent burst out into furious epithets.

"I tell you, I haven't got it," he protested. "I have never been so hard up as I am now. There are particular reasons why I cannot appeal to my mother just now. In the course of a fortnight or so I may be able to accommodate you."

Bark laughed insultingly. He made use of expressions which brought the blood flaming to Rent's cheeks, but he dared not retaliate openly. He was in this man's power, as he reflected bitterly. A murderous instinct rose within him. He reached out and grasped a heavy ruler, and ere he knew what he was doing he was holding the weapon threateningly over Bark's head. There was no mistaking the gleam in his eyes. There was no time for further argument, as Bark saw. He closed at once with Rent. He crooked his foot dexterously behind the latter's heel and Rent fell heavily to the ground. He staggered as he fell, so that his head came in violent contact with the corner of the iron fender of the fireplace. He lay still and motionless, with Bark bending over him.

"Lord, I've done it now," the latter said ruefully. "I believe I've killed the beggar. Well, if I have——"

Bark paused suddenly and lifted up his head like a hare. He seemed to hear footsteps coming closer. If he had dealt Rent a fatal blow, he had no mind to be caught red-handed. And no one had seen him come. He darted from the room like a flash and raced across the sands as if the Powers of Darkness were after him.

CHAPTER XXX

"THOU ART THE MAN"

It was some time before Rent came to himself and sat up, wondering what had happened. His brain was dizzy and confused. His head was aching violently. In some vague way he was haunted with an idea that he had come down to the office on some important errand which had life or death behind it. But, cudgel his brain as he might, he could not recollect what it was. There was no mark of violence on his forehead. He could not remember how he got there. He would have found it difficult, indeed, to put a name to the man who had brought this catastrophe about. He sank down into his chair, a profuse perspiration breaking out on his brow. He had utterly forgotten the past up to a few minutes ago. Yet all the time he was haunted with an insistent feeling that he had something to do, that he had something to obliterate, or suffer consequences disastrous to himself.

"I suppose it will pass off presently," he muttered. "Let me see, wasn't there somebody with me? Was Bark here, or did I dream it? Yes, he certainly was here. But what happened? Why did I come to myself lying in the fireplace? And what was it I had to do? Perhaps Swift can tell me."

But, though Rent sat there with his head in his hands for half an hour, his treacherous memory did not come back to him. He looked up eagerly as he heard a step in the passage and Swift came in. With a certain feeling of thankfulness he recognised Swift. But all that had taken place during the past week was a blank complete and absolute. Swift gazed into the face of his employer with uneasy surprise. He had not been drinking to-night. His faculties were clear.

"What on earth is the matter?" he asked. "You look so white and wild. What have you been doing?"

"Oh, I don't know," Rent groaned. "I came for a special purpose a little time ago, but what brought me I haven't the remotest idea. I suppose I had a fainting fit or something of that kind, for when I came to myself I was lying in the fender, and now I can recollect nothing that has taken place during the last few days. I have heard of brain lapses of that kind, but I have never believed in them before."

"Did you come alone?" Swift asked.

"That I can't tell you. And I don't know how long I have been here, either. Oh, my head is dreadful!"

Swift shrugged his shoulders indifferently. He had his own idea as to what had taken place, but saw that it would be a waste of time to cross-examine Rent further. He glanced about him. The man smiled cynically as he saw the end of a cheap cigarette in a saucer on the table. It was not the sort of cigarette that Rent would smoke. Possibly that kind of tobacco might appeal to a man like Bark. Swift did not require to be told any more. He had reconstructed the whole scene in his mind's eye.

"I am very sorry," he said. "Unfortunately, I can do nothing to help you. If you take my advice, you will go back to your hotel without delay and send for a doctor. It is uncommonly awkward for a man who leads your sort of life to forget all that happens for the best part of a week. An accident like that might lead to unpleasant consequences. Now let me take you back."

Rent raised no objection. He was too thoroughly frightened and broken down to heed his assistant's sarcasm. And all the time he was filled with a haunting dread that he was leaving some work unfinished, some task which, if neglected, might involve him in a veritable catastrophe. He submitted quietly to follow Swift. No words passed as they walked through the deserted town. Near the harbour they met Malcolm Grey on his way to the yacht, but neither seemed to observe him, though he recognised them plainly enough.

"I wonder what these two fellows are up to?" Grey mused. "I would give something to see into the back of Rent's mind at the present moment. But, still, I know how to act now."

When he reached the yacht he found Tanza awaiting him, the little man's eyes sparkling, as usual. He appeared to be on excellent terms with himself.

"So you have been busy?" he exclaimed. "Well, I have not been idle, either. But tell me all about this extraordinary accident to Mrs. Charlock. You needn't be surprised to find that I know, because, for the last hour or so, I have been at the police station. Is this another case of suicide?"

"Pure accident, I should say," Grey replied. "But one can never tell. You are going your way and I am going mine, but it is odd if we can't arrive at the truth between us."

"And how did Charlock take it?" Tanza asked.

"Well, he didn't take it at all," Grey replied, "if I may put it in that way. For all the emotion and feeling he displayed we might have fished a dog out of the reservoir instead of his wife. But his feelings are so keen and intense that he keeps an extra tight hold upon them. I am to see him in the morning. I want an excuse for going over his house, and, if I am not mistaken, I shall make a sensational discovery or two in the course of to-day or to-morrow. I'll have one of your cigarettes, after which I'll go to bed."

There was no change in Charlock when Grey reached the house on the following morning. He found the artist in the same quiet, self-contained mood. There was nothing to show that his feelings had been played upon, except for certain hollow rings under his eyes.

"I am glad you have come," he said. "It is dreadful being here alone. I have got a few things in the house and furnished a sitting-room for the time being. They tell me the inquest is at ten o'clock. I shall be glad when it is over, for the police are worrying me with all sorts of questions more or less impertinent. I have the greatest difficulty in keeping my hands off some of them. Ah, here is another. It is the inspector this time. He rather wants to see you. Meanwhile, I'll get out of the way till he is finished."

Charlock slipped quietly out of the room as the inspector came in. He was a pompous little man with a heavy manner, who appeared to think that he had the care of the universe on his shoulders. Nevertheless, when he began to speak his questions were very much to the point.

"I don't want to bother you, Mr. Grey," the inspector said, "but I think you can give me certain information. I have been talking the matter over with Mr. Charlock and he has shown me his wife's letter. It appears that the lady came here last night at her own suggestion. It was Mr. Charlock's idea that you should be present at the interview. Of course, we don't want to go into the details of a domestic quarrel, but it must be admitted that the relationship between husband and wife was exceedingly strained. I suppose you know that?"

"You are stating it fairly," Grey said cautiously.

"Exactly. Mr. Charlock was inclined to be harsh, and the lady, I understand, was terribly extravagant. There had been a serious quarrel before Mrs. Charlock made overtures for reconciliation. It doesn't matter why Mr. Charlock decided to call you in, seeing that you were here. Now, have you any reason to believe that Mrs. Charlock was in the house alone with her husband before you came? Did you see any evidence of it?"

The question startled Grey.

"Indeed, I didn't!" he said. "I understood from Mr. Charlock that he had not seen his wife. He put it plainly to me that I had been asked to go round an hour before Mrs. Charlock was expected, so that in the first place he could explain to me why I had been sent for. I feel sure I am right."

By way of reply the inspector produced a light dustcoat, which he held out for Grey's inspection.

"I think I shall prove that you are wrong," he said. "I traced Mrs. Charlock's movements all yesterday, and I am prepared to show that the lady was wearing this dustcoat at the very time that she left her hotel last night. She was seen by several people to whom she is personally known. You will perceive for yourself that this cloak is quite dry, and that it is not in the least stained, as it would be had it been immersed in water. Now, last night, after I came here at your suggestion, I went all over the house, and in the drawing-room, by the side of one of the French windows, I found this cloak. The window was unfastened, so that anybody could get in who liked, and I came to the conclusion that Mrs. Charlock was either in the house when you came or she had been here before. As a matter of fact, the cloak proves it."

"I am afraid it does," Grey was fain to admit.

"Thank you," the inspector said. "But I have not done yet. I have been examining the lawn for footmarks, and I find traces of a pair of boots, or rather of tennis-shoes, which go right round the side of the lawn to the back of the sundial. These shoes were worn by Mr. Charlock and yield distinctly the same impressions as were given by the shoes which marched side by side with yours when you were on your way to the fountain last night. Now, can you explain this?"

"It is very awkward for Charlock," Grey murmured.

CHAPTER XXXI

AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND

Inspector Battley nodded his head gravely.

"I suppose I ought not to tell you these things," he said. "But I understand you are a friend of Mr. Charlock's; in fact, so far as I know, you are the only friend he has. Of course, this may not be more than a mere coincidence, but you might mention the matter to him, and no doubt an explanation will be forthcoming. I could not take any action at present."

"Of course you couldn't," Grey exclaimed, "especially in view of the evidence which I have already given you myself."

"That is exactly the point," Battley said eagerly. "According to what you say, you heard a cry of distress and hastened off at once in the direction of the sundial. There you found the unfortunate lady lying dead in the fountain. I suppose you are quite sure that it was her voice you heard?"

"Well, that's rather a large order," Grey said. "But, on the other hand, if it wasn't Mrs. Charlock, who could it have been? I am pretty sure that I am right, and that my evidence would convince any jury that Mr. Charlock had nothing to do with his wife's death."

"It is a good point," the inspector said. "Still, the lady was in the house before you came, beyond all doubt. It would be a good thing if we could ascertain what brought her here. I hope you will recognise that I am doing my best to help Mr. Charlock."

"Oh, I quite see that. And as to Mrs. Charlock's presence here before I came, that can be easily explained. There is no secret in the fact that Mr. Charlock and his wife were on exceedingly bad terms, owing to the wife's extravagance. So far as I can gather, she did not seem to have the least idea of the value of money. She spent all she could get in reckless fashion, and she did not hesitate to pledge Charlock's credit to the utmost capacity. Rightly or wrongly, she became possessed of the idea that he was merely a money-making machine, a kind of slave to minister to her wants. Charlock is a peculiar, self-contained man, like most people with deep-seated feelings, and this reserve has given him the reputation of being an unfeeling brute who did not deserve such a wife as Mrs. Charlock. At any rate, that is the view that most of their friends take, and at one time, I confess, it was my opinion, too. Of course, it was foolish of Charlock to turn his wife out of the house——"

"Did he do that?" the inspector asked.

"Well, that is what it came to. He had made up his mind to sacrifice everything with a view to getting out of debt. He had taken a small cottage, where he intended his wife to do the domestic work, and where he meant to remain as long as a penny was owing. Perhaps it was natural that Mrs. Charlock should refuse to fall in with this suggestion. Charlock took the bull by the horns by stripping the house entirely, and when Mrs. Charlock came back one evening she found the place as bare as you see it now. Two courses were open to her—either to go to her own friends or follow her husband. There was one more alternative, and that was to live for the time being on the sale of her jewellery, of which she possessed a considerable quantity. But the jewellery had been stolen, or, at least, so Charlock tells me. He seemed to be under the impression that the French maid, Hortense, had had some hand in the robbery. My impression is that Mrs. Charlock came an hour or so before the time appointed for the interview in order thoroughly to search the house for the missing gems. I think you will find that Charlock hasn't the slightest idea that she has been here at all."

"Oh, it is possible," Battley remarked. "Perhaps you will be good enough to mention this matter to Mr. Charlock. I don't want to allude to it for the present. I have been candid with you, and perhaps you will do your best to get an explanation of this peculiar point."

Before Grey could reply, Charlock returned. He asked impatiently how much longer Grey would be. He seemed to be put out about something.

"I am coming now," Grey said. "By the way, I have had an interesting conversation with Inspector Battley. He wants to know why Mrs. Charlock was here for some time before I came in response to your letter."

"Who says she was here?" Charlock demanded.

"Inspector Battley is in a position to prove it," Grey said significantly. "Lying on a chair yonder is the wrap she was wearing when she left her hotel last night, and the wrap was found on a chair by the French window, perfectly dry, so that it must have been discarded before she found her way into the water. You were also wearing a pair of tennis-shoes last night, the prints of which Inspector Battley says he traced to the back of the sundial. Of course, the inspector doesn't suggest——"

Charlock burst into a hoarse laugh.

"Oh, no, he doesn't suggest anything," he cried. "He hints all sorts of mysterious things, which is a great deal worse. He will be saying next that I had a hand in removing the woman who was such a hindrance and encumbrance to me. Not that it in the least matters, because if he doesn't say so, somebody else will. There are scores of people who regarded my wife as an injured saint and myself as a monster of cruelty. I didn't see my wife last night. If she was here, as you say, I know nothing whatever about it. She had her own reasons for coming, no doubt, and her visit was made in absolute secrecy. Possibly she was looking for her lost jewels, of which she had a quantity. I ought to know, because I paid for them, like the fool that I was. I understand that the jewels were stolen, and I don't mind admitting I was very pleased they were. They were bought at a time when I had no means of paying for them; they were the final cause of all my trouble. But that doesn't matter. You may depend upon it, my wife came back to have another look for the missing stones, and, for certain reasons of her own, she didn't want me to know it. And now, if you have anything else to say, perhaps you will say it to me honestly and straightforwardly."

There was something truculent in Charlock's expression. A gleam of defiance lighted his eyes. The inspector reddened slightly.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "I am bringing no accusation against you. I merely remarked that your wife was here last night, and that you had said nothing about the fact. I admit now that you did not know of it. You may regard this as a mere detail, but in our profession trifles often turn out to be of the greatest importance. I asked Mr. Grey to mention this matter to you in an entirely friendly spirit. I did not expect that he would have done so just yet."

"There was nothing to be gained by delay," Grey said.

Battley curtly agreed, and took himself off without delay. In his queer, sardonic way, Charlock seemed to be amused about something, for he chuckled to himself as he walked up and down the room.

"What foolish things clever men can do sometimes," he said. "Now, you see perfectly well what that fellow has got in his mind. Nothing will persuade him that I hadn't a hand in my wife's death. He is convinced that I had an interview with her before you came into the house. It is lucky for me that you can give evidence to the contrary."

"Are you not a little foolish yourself?" Grey ventured. "You might have taken what the inspector said in a more friendly spirit, and you admit that there are plenty of people who regard you as a most undesirable man to marry any woman. Of course, I know I am going rather far——"

"My dear fellow, nothing of the kind. I know you are only too ready to help me, and in my own way I am grateful. Besides, I am certain that I am right. Let us assume for a moment that Hortense stole those jewels. The night my wife left here on her foolish mission with Arnold Rent she intended to take her diamonds with her. With all her saint-like purity and innocence, she did not forget their value. But the diamonds were gone. It did not matter so very much, however, seeing that my wife was to find an asylum with Mrs. Rent and remain under that lady's roof till I should generously make a fool of myself and give her the chance of getting rid of me altogether. But when Mrs. Rent figures as a woman of firmness and determination the whole situation is changed. Then it becomes necessary to secure those gems. That is why my wife came here. And you needn't be afraid about what people say of me. What does it matter what they say? What does anything matter? My life has been blackened and ruined because I was fool enough to mistake a cold-blooded, self-seeking creature for a good and true woman. If they like to say that I had a hand in her death, they can if they please. They ought to be grateful to me for giving them something to talk about!"

It was in vain that Grey protested, for Charlock turned a deaf ear to him. Then the artist walked out of the room across the grass towards the sundial.

CHAPTER XXXII

SWIFT COMES OUT

As was only natural in the circumstances, the tragic death of Mrs. John Charlock created a profound sensation. The accident to the French maid had set most people talking, but the unfortunate end of the mistress in the same mysterious fashion bade fair to become a general topic of conversation. The whole thing was so simple, and yet so strange and out of the common. A score of theories were set on foot, but not one of them worked out in a satisfactory manner. The police were plainly at fault, and though Inspector Battley was reinforced by a colleague or two from Scotland Yard, the end of the week found the authorities no nearer the solution of the trouble than they had been at the beginning of the inquiry.

As for Grey and Tanza, they went their own way, which was by no means the way taken by the police. Ephraim Bark was still in the neighbourhood, and his movements were watched by Tanza and Grey with a patient care which would have astonished that worthy had he only known of it. Grey had his own theory, which he was developing slowly. It was an integral part of his theory that Bark could have said a great deal more had he chosen to do so. And there was yet another person whom Grey was keeping a close eye upon. He had by no means forgotten the torn photograph he had found in the French maid's room. He did not ignore the information as to Arnold Rent's strange friendship with the dead Frenchwoman. And there was another item of which, as yet, Grey had said nothing to anyone. He was coming to his conclusions now—conclusions so strange and startling that he hardly dared trust himself to believe them. A week passed slowly, during which nothing particular had happened, and Arnold Rent appeared to get no better. So far as Grey could gather, his brother scientist had had a nasty fall, which, for the time being, had affected his intellect. There was a good deal of mystery about the affair, and Grey was at some pains to make the acquaintance of the doctor who was attending Rent. The thing was accomplished at length through Tanza, who made some pretext for inviting the doctor to dine aboard his yacht. Very cautiously and patiently Grey led up to the subject which was next his heart. The thing was so naturally done, and Tanza played into his hands so cleverly, that the doctor fell into the trap at once.

"Oh, so you know Mr. Rent," he said, as he lay back in a deck-chair smoking a cigar. "An exceedingly clever fellow, who, unless I am much mistaken, will make his mark in the world yet. A strange illness that of his, by the way."

"I was going to ask you about that," Grey murmured. "I hear he is suffering from the effects of a severe fall. I hope the accident won't leave any permanent injury."

"I don't think so," the doctor said. "I had a specialist down to-day and he takes a very sanguine view of the case. All that is wanted is rest. For the moment my patient has a partial lapse of memory—a sort of hiatus of a week. In other words, he can recollect everything perfectly well, except that the past seven days are a complete blank to him. And during the last day or so before his fall he had been engaged in some experiment, the results of which ought to be placed on record at once. This seems to worry him terribly. It has affected him to such an extent that he is making himself seriously ill over it. Imagine a man who has some great commercial deal on and has to buy or sell at a given moment suddenly forgetting the very thing he has to do. That appears to be Rent's case. Anybody might suppose that he had committed murder and had forgotten to hide the clue, by the way he goes on."

A sudden exclamation broke from Grey, which he checked immediately. The doctor looked up inquiringly.

"A twinge of pain," he muttered. "Nothing much to trouble about. A most interesting case, doctor. And you think that in time Rent will be quite himself again?"

"Oh, I am certain of it. If I could only prevent him from worrying, I should have had him right by this time. Of course, what I am saying to you is in strict confidence."

Grey and Tanza gave the desired assurance, and the conversation became more general. When the doctor left he was accompanied by Grey, who said he had business on shore. He left the man of medicine at the corner of a street leading up from the quay and proceeded along the shore to Arnold Rent's workshop. He stood for a long time making a mental calculation, after which he walked several times round the building, examining the ground carefully as if in search of something. Apparently, nothing had rewarded his efforts, for he shook his head impatiently and crossed over to the office, in the window of which a light was burning. Someone inside was singing a snatch from a comic opera in a loud, blustering voice. An unsteady, flickering shadow crossed the blind once or twice, and Grey's features broke into a grim smile.

"Friend Swift has broken out again," he murmured. "What a pity so clever a man should be the victim of a curse like this! Still, his misfortune is my opportunity, and if there is anything he can tell me, now is the time to learn it."

Without further hesitation, Grey pushed his way into the office, which was flooded with half a dozen powerful electric lights. The large slate-topped table had been cleared of all kinds of electric appliances. There were the remains of a supper at one end, flanked by two or three empty bottles. The reserved and saturnine Swift seemed to have changed altogether. His dark features wore a look of reckless gaiety; his sombre eyes were shining. He did not appear to be in the least surprised to see Grey; in fact, he might have been expecting him. His unsteady gait and thick speech, however, told their tale.

"Hallo!" he exclaimed. "So you have come to pay me a visit? You have come here to learn the secrets of the prison-house? Ah, my dear fellow, you are very clever, but your tuppenny discoveries are nothing compared to what we are on the track of here. For we've got it, my boy, we've got it. You remember the dream you used to indulge in at school?"

"Intermittent electricity," Grey exclaimed. "A wireless current. You don't mean to say you have got to the bottom of that!"

Swift seemed to be sober for the moment. A sullen, obstinate look came over his face, but he did not appear to be half so agitated as was his visitor. Only for an instant did it occur to the dull brain that secrets were being betrayed, and in the same instant Grey saw that he had gone too far. He changed the subject with a quickness that fogged Swift.

"What did I say to you?" the latter asked, as he passed his hand across his face. "I hope I didn't make a fool of myself?"

"Not at all," Grey hastened to say. "Besides, I haven't come here to-night in the guise of a spy."

"Quite right," Swift said, with a sudden change to amiability. "Of course, you didn't. You are too much of a gentleman for that. Now, Arnold Rent isn't a gentleman, for all his pretence. He treats me like a dog. He uses my brains and then passes off my discoveries as his own. He knows that no one else will employ me, that nobody else would look twice at a man who is often drunk a week at a time. But I can't help it, Grey. Upon my word, I can't. I inherit it from my father. I fight against it and fight against it till the sweat runs off my forehead and my limbs refuse to carry me. Then, all at once, everything grows misty and I can't recollect anything more till I am gloriously drunk. That's why Rent puts up with me. But he is a blackguard, all the same, and he will come to a bad end. Don't you trust him, Grey. Don't you trust him, or it will be all the worse for you. Now come and sit down and make a night of it with me."

Grey declined the tempting offer.

"I can't stay many minutes," he said. "I merely looked in to see how Rent was getting on."

"He is bad, downright bad," Swift said, with a chuckle. "And he has got something on his mind. There is something he has to do, some piece of infernal rascality to conceal, and his brain fails him, and he can't for the life of him think what it is. And all the time the trail is open for anybody to pick up, and he might find himself in trouble at any moment. That is what's wrong with Arnold Rent, and I can't say I'm sorry. Do I know what he has been doing? No, I don't, and I don't care. You think that his accident is the result of a fall. Nothing of the kind, my boy! He and that blackguard, Ephraim Bark, had a quarrel the other night and Bark knocked him into the fender. How do I know that? Well, you see, I came in directly afterwards and Rent tried to persuade me that nobody had been here. Unluckily for him there was a cheap cigarette on the table, and I guessed at once Bark had been smoking. But why don't you sit down and make yourself comfortable? You are different from me. You always know when to leave off—when you have had enough."

Half-defiantly, Swift helped himself to another strong glass of whisky, and a moment or two later was lying back in an armchair, more or less asleep. It was a good chance for Grey to get away and he seized it promptly.

"That's a lucky call," he muttered. "Now I see what it was that puzzled me. Rent has learnt the secret of the intermittent current and he has been using it. It will be my turn next."

CHAPTER XXXIII

A WORD IN SEASON

Mrs. Rent might have possessed all the strength and determination for which she gave herself credit, but she lost no time in responding to the call of duty directly she heard that her son had met with an accident. She had waited till nearly daybreak for Rent's return on that eventful night when he had gone out in search of Kate Charlock. She had waited, too, with an anxiety which she strove in vain to conceal. But there came no sign of Rent until a letter reached her in a day or two saying that he had reconsidered the whole position and had come to the conclusion that she was right and he was altogether wrong. The letter was couched in terms of due filial affection, and was none the less convincing for being a tissue of lies from beginning to end.

But Mrs. Rent read it all the more lovingly because she wanted to believe that her son meant every word he wrote. He told her how he had talked the matter over with Kate Charlock and how the latter had agreed that his mother had acted entirely for the best. No doubt she had appeared to be harsh and cruel, but she was only cruel to be kind. Mrs. Charlock was going back to her husband and she and Arnold Rent were not likely to meet in the future. Meanwhile, the writer would work as he had never worked before and try to wipe out every suggestion of his folly.

For the next two or three days life had resumed its old peacefulness at Alton Lee. Then came a few curt lines from Swift to the effect that Rent had met with a nasty accident and that it would be as well if his mother came at once. Within twenty-four hours Mrs. Rent was installed by her son's bedside, with Ethel Hargrave in close attendance. It never struck either of them that there was anything sinister about the patient's constant complaint that he had something to do which he could not remember. There were hours and almost days together when he sat in sullen silence, taking no notice of anybody and apparently trying to work out some problem in his clouded mind. At such times Mrs. Rent preferred to be alone with her son, and urged Ethel to go out of doors as much as possible.

It was lonely for the girl, but she had not forgotten the events of the last few days, and found herself thinking a good deal about John Charlock. There was a romantic vein in her nature which rendered her different from most girls, and her solitary life at Alton Lee had given her plenty of time to think and form her own conclusions. From the very first she had taken a fancy to John Charlock. His rugged austerity and reserve did not repel her as it did most people. She saw beneath it a depth and sincerity of feeling with which she was in absolute sympathy. And simultaneously with the appearance of John Charlock her idol in the form of Arnold Rent had fallen to the ground. She had been asking herself many questions lately, and when the first shock was over she knew in her heart of hearts that she did not care for Arnold in the way in which a woman should care for the man she hoped to marry. She had heard both sides of the question, too. She had interviewed John Charlock and his wife, and the more her mind dwelt upon the matter the more convinced she was that the woman had been to blame. Of course, Ethel had heard of the tragic death of Kate Charlock, and now that she was in the neighbourhood she felt herself irresistibly drawn towards the house where Charlock had spent some of his unhappiest days. Ethel thought that it would be safe to stroll through the beautiful grounds, for the house was still empty, and she had not the least idea that Charlock was in the district.

On the third day of her visit she ventured to pass the lodge gate and walk down the drive towards the house. The place looked blank with its staring windows, but there was no sign of neglect in the garden. Here the lawns were cut and trimmed, and there were beds luxuriant with flowers. Here, too, gleaming in the sunshine, was the white marble of the sundial on the fountain, near to which those two terrible tragedies had taken place. It was impossible to connect so fair a spot with mystery and horror. As Ethel was standing almost fascinated, she heard a step on the gravel behind her, and when she turned she saw John Charlock watching her.

"You startled me," she said, a faint wave of colour tingeing her face. "I am ashamed you should find me here."

"And why?" Charlock demanded in his imperious way.

"Well, it seems so unfeeling. It suggests impertinent curiosity. Believe me, I would not have come had I known you were here."

"Well, I am glad you didn't know," Charlock retorted. "You see, I have to stay here for the present. I am doing my best to let the house, but so far without success. It is possible that I may come back again. My wife is dead and I must say nothing about her, but I think that, seeing I have no longer any reason to fear her extravagance, I might manage with economy to remain here until I am free of debt. I suppose you came with Mrs. Rent to look after your invalid. I hope he is progressing favourably."

"Well, no," Ethel said. "He doesn't seem to get any better. To all appearances he is well, but he seems to be suffering in his mind. There is something which he has to do, but he can't remember what it is. Mrs. Rent and I are taking turns nursing him. The doctor says the cloud may lift at any moment and then Arnold will be himself again. What a lovely place you have!"

"I thought so at one time," Charlock said. "I had dreams of being happy here, but, in fact, it is here I have passed the most miserable days of my life. Oh, I am not complaining. I am not blaming the place. But, tell me, did you happen to see my wife after I left Alton Lee?"

Charlock asked the question in his abrupt fashion. His eyes were fixed steadily upon his companion.

"Yes, I saw her," Ethel said. "A beautiful woman."

"No fairer on God's earth. And I suppose she managed to persuade you that she was an injured innocent and I an absolute monster. Still, I am glad you saw her, because it is well to hear both sides of a question. And yet I am conceited enough to think that you cannot imagine so much evil of me, or you would not be talking as you are at this moment."

"I am still of the same opinion," Ethel murmured. "I think your wife had the peculiar temperament which can sincerely make out that wrong is right. Certain men justify dishonourable actions in the same way. I might have been prejudiced. I might have been offended by your wife's coming to Alton Lee at all. But I told you that night in the garden that I was sorry for you and I see no cause to change my opinion."

The words cost Ethel somewhat of an effort, but she uttered them bravely. Then she turned away as if the conversation were ended, and Charlock sought to detain her no longer. There was that in his silence, a suggestion of delicacy of feeling, for which the girl was grateful. She shook hands with him by the lodge gate, and the favourable impression he had created in her mind was not lessened by the absence on his part of any suggestion that they should meet again.

But all thoughts of Charlock faded from the girl's mind when she reached home and saw how pale and worried Mrs. Rent was. The doctor was coming down the stairs and was urging his patient's mother to rest for an hour or so. Ethel cordially supported this suggestion.

"I ought to have been back before," she said contritely. "Oh, surely you can leave Arnold to me for a little while. It isn't the first time that I have had him in my care."

With obvious reluctance Mrs. Rent gave way. There was little or nothing to do, for the patient was sitting in his armchair, with his head in his hands as usual, pondering the problem which occupied his mind to the exclusion of everything else. He made no reply to Ethel's question as to how he felt. The girl picked up a book and gradually became interested in the story. She was roused presently by a loud exclamation on the part of the patient. He was standing upright, his eyes gleaming, a peculiar fixed smile on his face. He crossed the room with rapid strides and proceeded to open a cupboard door with a key which he took from his pocket. Somewhat alarmed, Ethel watched him with dazed astonishment. She saw he held in his hand a mass of india-rubber bandages and something that looked like a pair of gloves. From the expression of his eyes and the way he looked over her head he seemed to be oblivious of her presence. Yet he held the gloves out towards her.

"Come along," he said hoarsely. "Thank Heaven, I recollect it at last. But we have not a moment to lose, for the secret might be discovered at any moment. Why are you standing there staring? Why don't you do what I tell you? You have been drinking again."

Ethel sprang to the wall and rang the bell. At the same moment Rent dropped his burden on the floor and once more lapsed into the old sullen state of mind.

CHAPTER XXXIV

A BLACK SUSPICION

There was no occasion for Ethel Hargrave to be afraid. There had been no suggestion of violence on the part of her patient, but yet, in some unaccountable way, she felt her heart sinking and her nerves throbbing as if the shadow of a great disgrace was hanging over her. She had ceased to care for Arnold Rent; indeed, she was almost grateful to him for showing her that she had made a mistake in her estimate of his character. All these years she had lived so quiet a life, she had seen so few men, that she had come to regard Arnold Rent as typical of what was best in his sex. In this she had been encouraged by Mrs. Rent's pride and delight in the progress of her son. Ethel thought she was fortunate above women, inasmuch as she would some day become the wife of Arnold Rent. The whole thing had been a tacit understanding, and at first when disillusion came the pain had been smart and keen.

But this was due to wounded vanity, though Ethel did not know it. It was her first contact with the meaner side of human nature and it left its mark. Despite the fact that Ethel had lived so long alone, she had read a great deal and knew much of the world and its ways. It did not need anyone to teach her that Arnold Rent had behaved foolishly in the matter of Mrs. Charlock, and since then one or two little things had opened Ethel's eyes.

She was glad the disclosure had come before it was too late. She could only regard Arnold Rent in the light of a friend, and found herself contrasting him with John Charlock, much to his detriment.

And now she could not rid herself of the idea that there was something more than mere hallucination here. The blow which Rent had received would be hardly accountable for his acting in this fashion. Undoubtedly, the man had something desperate on his mind. He had every appearance of it in the uneasy, haunted expression of his face and the gleam of his eyes. Something was fearfully wrong, and Ethel felt her heart sink as she watched the moody, disconsolate figure seated in the chair opposite her. What it was he had to conceal she did not know, nor could she manage, with all the patience at her command, to find out what was amiss.

"Is there nothing I can do for you?" she asked.

Rent shook his head sulkily. The mass of matter which he had removed from the safe lay on the floor, but he took no notice of it. The cloud had fallen again.

"Don't bother," he said. "It has all gone again. There was something I had to do and I can't for the life of me think what it was. I had to go somewhere. There was a little thing——"

He broke off abruptly and smote his forehead passionately with his hand. Ethel watched him curiously.

"Surely there is some way I can help you," she said.

"No, there isn't. You know nothing about it. Besides, in any case, it is not a woman's work. Swift will be all right. But, then, you can't trust Swift, because you never know when he is going to give way to one of his drunken bouts. The most useful man I know is Malcolm Grey. He can manage it."

Rent was speaking rationally enough. It was only the uneasy gleam in his eyes which proved to Ethel that he was still wandering. But she caught at the suggestion.

"Would you like to see Mr. Grey?" she asked. "I understand that he is here; he has called to ask about you once or twice. He is staying with a friend who has a yacht in the harbour."

"That's the idea," Rent said eagerly. "Send for Grey at once. Well, why don't you go and do it? Why do you sit looking at me in that extraordinary way?"

Rent's voice was harsh and hard and his face wore an angry look. Ethel rose from her seat, but before she could leave the room Rent sprang up and detained her.

"You are not to go," he whispered. "Do you hear me? You are to stay where you are. What do you mean by making such a suggestion to me? Do you want to get rid of me? Why, if Grey so much as guessed, I should never know a moment's peace again."

It was hard to tell what to do in the circumstances, and Ethel could only regard her companion with astonishment. He dropped back in his seat and the same sullen silence fell over him. There was nothing to do but to humour the patient, and, to her great relief, a little later Ethel saw that he was asleep. She slipped from the room into that of Mrs. Rent, which adjoined, but that lady lay on her bed without sign or motion. No doubt she was asleep also. It was with a sensation of relief that Ethel heard the doctor coming up the stairs presently. As his quick glance took in the state of affairs, he crept quietly from the room and beckoned to Ethel to follow him.

"I am glad to see that," he said. "Whatever you do, don't disturb him. The more sleep he has the better."

"Mrs. Rent is sleeping, too," Ethel said.

"That is right," the doctor murmured. "I am sure she wants it. If we could only induce a sleep like this on the part of the patient oftener he would get better much the sooner. It is impossible for him to recover so long as he keeps on worrying his brain as he does. And now, at the risk of being impertinent, I am going to ask a personal question. I understand you have known Mr. Rent for a long time. Is that so?"

"I have known him all my life," Ethel said.

"Then you'll be able to tell me what I want to know. Of course, I recognise that he is an exceedingly clever man and that he has a very active and intelligent mind. I am told that he sits up half the night working out problems and fascinating experiments. These men make the most difficult patients when there is brain trouble. Tell me, do you think Mr. Rent has anything weighing heavily on his mind?"

Ethel hesitated. She was startled to find the doctor's train of thought very like her own. He put the question with a gravity which impressed her. But he was the doctor in charge of the case and had every right to the information of which he was in search.

"I am afraid so," she said. "It has been dawning upon me for the last day or two that there is something very wrong. Arnold Rent seems to be full of the idea that he has left some task unfinished. He is dreadfully afraid lest somebody should find out certain information which his illness prevented him from concealing. It may be that he has hit upon a new invention—something startling in the way of a discovery. On the other hand, it may be that he has done something to be ashamed of and does not want it known. I was going to ask his assistant, Mr. Swift, about the matter, but Mr. Rent never trusts him with anything of importance, because the latter has a weakness for drink. I feel pretty sure that the secret has something to do with a scientific discovery, because, a few minutes since, your patient was anxious to send for Mr. Malcolm Grey, a brother scientist. Then he suddenly changed his mind and told me to do nothing of the kind. I can't make it out at all."

The doctor looked grave.

"It is a most puzzling case," he said. "The best thing to do is to fall in with every wish the patient expresses. Never mind if he changes his opinion the next moment; humour him to the top of his bent, and don't disturb him in any case. The same remark applies to Mrs. Rent. Let the poor lady have all the rest she can get. I will look in again later."

The time passed slowly. It was growing late, and there was no sign of Mrs. Rent. Ethel sat in the sick-room waiting the advent of the doctor, who did not come, though it was now past eleven o'clock. Probably he had been detained somewhere. But, since Rent was slumbering in his chair, it did not matter. He moved uneasily in his sleep once or twice, and Ethel caught the name of Grey on his lips. Unconscious as he was, his mind was working away at the problem which puzzled him so sorely. Then Ethel closed her own eyes and for a little while was oblivious to all that was going on. When she came to herself she heard a clock striking the half-hour after eleven, so that she knew she had been asleep some five-and-twenty minutes. She wondered if her patient was awake, but was surprised to see that he was no longer seated in the chair. Possibly he had gone back to bed.

But the bed was empty. The door was closed and locked on the inside. Ethel rubbed her eyes in astonishment. She was not yet conscious of the full extent of the catastrophe. Then she roused herself with an effort. She began putting the pieces together in her mind. The door was locked on the inside, and yet Arnold Rent had vanished. Where had he gone to, and how had he contrived to obliterate himself? The window was open, and, as Ethel looked out, she saw it was a short drop to the garden. Beyond question, Arnold Rent had disappeared in that way. It was the kind of furtive exit a man with a diseased brain and perturbed mind would make. His clouded intellect had pointed to secrecy. He had deemed it prudent not to show himself in the house. But where had he gone? And why?

For the moment Ethel stood thinking the puzzle out. Then she unlocked the door and walked quietly into Mrs. Rent's room. The latter still lay on her bed fast asleep.

CHAPTER XXXV

THE SEARCH

It was a cruel dilemma for the girl, but her courage and intelligence returned and she began to see how to act. Nothing was to be gained by rousing Mrs. Rent. Possibly before she woke Arnold would be found. But where to look for him, and which way to turn, Ethel did not know. Perhaps the best thing would be to go at once to Rent's workshop on the shore. No doubt what was troubling him was in some way connected with his researches, and it was an obvious inference that he had gone in that direction. Ethel slipped into a wrap and, without waiting to put on a hat, walked into the darkness.

She knew which way to go, because the workshop had already been pointed out to her. She did not mind the dark and lonely journey. She flew swiftly over the broken ground and gave a gasp of relief when she saw a light in one of the offices. Her search seemed to be finished almost before it had begun. Taking her courage in both hands, she opened the door of the office and walked in.

But she did not, as she had expected, see Rent. The office was not deserted, for Swift was present. There were strange appliances on the table, weird-looking apparatus and receptacles which conveyed nothing to the girl, and over one of these Swift was bending with a critical eye. In spite of her trouble Ethel saw that his face was deadly pale. She saw how horribly his features were twitching, and how the pupils of his eyes were dilated. She had never in her life before been face to face with a man verging on delirium tremens. But she instinctively recoiled, feeling that something was very wrong. It flashed across her mind how Arnold Rent had said that Swift was given to prolonged bouts of drinking. She wondered if the repulsive aspect of his face had anything to do with the dreadful weakness. The girl was frightened. She knew there was something akin to danger here. But it was not the time to hang back, not the time to show the terror which set her trembling from head to foot. She had to find Rent. She had to forget her own risk.

"I beg your pardon," she said firmly, "but I am looking for Mr. Rent. Has he been here?"

A queer sort of laugh came from Swift's lips. He pushed his curious-looking appliances aside and came a pace or two nearer to the questioner. She stood her ground.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" he said hoarsely, "or is this a vision that I see before me? Speak again, bright spirit, and let me know that I am not dreaming. I swear if these delusions only came in this form I would never willingly be sober again. But you can never tell. Sometimes it is a swarm of bees, sometimes an army of pink rats, or an array of black and grinning devils. But in the shape of loveliness like this——"

The speaker paused and his features twitched horribly. Ethel remembered having read of such cases. The man was on the brink of collapse, though he had sense enough to know what was going on. His madness might take a dangerous form. At any rate, it would be perilous to show fear.

"My name is Hargrave," Ethel said. "I live with Mrs. Rent. Mr. Rent has disappeared and I came to see whether he was here. I am sorry to intrude——"

"Don't mention it," Swift said. "It is not often that I have a pleasure so charming as this. And so you have come to look for my master. Fortunate Arnold Rent, who can command the services of so fair a friend. I suppose that you and he——"

"Certainly not," Ethel said. The colour flamed painfully into her cheeks. "Nothing of the kind. I am merely a friend of Mr. Rent's. I am helping to nurse him and am concerned at his disappearance."

"I beg your pardon," Swift said, with some show of humility. "And I congratulate you. Don't have anything to do with Arnold Rent. Keep him at arm's length, for, between ourselves, he is a precious scoundrel, as a good many people have found out to their cost."

"Has he been here?" Ethel demanded.

"Oh, no, he hasn't. And, what is more, I don't think he is in the least likely to come. I am sorry to disappoint you. It cuts me to the heart to see that anxious expression on a fair face. If you want Arnold Rent, why don't you try John Charlock's place? I know it is late and the grounds are lonely, but I am giving you good advice."

Swift accompanied this remark with a leer so malicious that Ethel recoiled in disgust. In spite of the man's muddled brain and besotted intellect, he had certain information of which Ethel was ignorant. It would not do to show that he filled her with disgust.

"I am greatly obliged to you," she said. "I will go there at once. There is no time to be lost."

"No, don't go," Swift pleaded. "Give me your company a little longer. I am all right if I am not alone. But directly I am by myself those grinning faces peep at me out of every corner—there, can't you see them? Don't you notice their ugly heads sticking out of the row of bottles along that top shelf? Horrible! Horrible! Don't go."

The few last words rose to a wailing cry, which filled Ethel with pity, frightened as she was. She could stand it no longer, but turned and made her way to the door. She flew along the passage into the open air, glancing over her shoulder to see if Swift were following. It was good to be alone, to feel the fresh breeze blowing on her face, and to know that she had escaped that danger. For Swift had made no attempt to follow. She could see his lank shadow crossing and recrossing the blind. She could hear him singing hideously to himself.

"Poor wretch," she murmured. "Surely, he is more to be pitied than blamed. And now what am I to do next? I suppose I had better follow his advice. Fancy being involved in an adventure like this! I should have smiled at the mere suggestion a month or two ago. Still, my duty is plain."

It was, indeed, a strange position for a young and unprotected girl. She found herself presently walking up the avenue to John Charlock's house, with no definite plan in her mind. What she expected to see and what she expected to gain it would have been impossible to explain. But Rent might be wandering in the grounds. It occurred to Ethel in a fantastic way that his trouble might be connected with the sundial. Everything seemed to centre round that mysterious monument, and it was possible that Arnold Rent's state of mind might be due to the tragic death of Mrs. Charlock. The notion might be illogical and absurd, but Ethel could not get it out of her mind. She passed round the garden twice without any sign of the object of her search. Then, half ashamed of herself and her own simplicity, she turned to leave.

As she passed the house she saw, to her surprise, that a light was burning in one of the windows upstairs. Perhaps Rent was there. Possibly in his madness he had elected to call upon John Charlock. Ethel knew that the latter was camping in the empty house for the present.

Acting on the spur of the moment, she crossed the drive and rang the bell. Even now she was half inclined to go back, but she forced herself to remain until a light appeared in the door and Charlock in person answered the summons. He held a candle, the light of which fell on Ethel's pale, anxious face. He staggered.

"Miss Hargrave!" he said. "What does this mean?"

"What must you think of me?" Ethel asked unsteadily. "What excuse can I have for knocking you up at this hour? I can only plead that I am in trouble."

"You need not say more than that," Charlock murmured. "Now, tell me how I can help you."

"It is Arnold Rent," Ethel stammered. "He has disappeared from the house. I was looking after him while his mother was asleep, and I dozed in my chair. When I came to myself he had vanished. I did not know what to do or how to act. It seemed to me that my best course was to try to find him before he was missed. From something he said in his delirium I fancy he was anxious to see Mr. Grey. Then it struck me that perhaps he had gone off to his workshop. I went there and saw a man called Swift. I don't know, but I think he had been drinking, for his manner was strange and wild. He frightened me terribly. And I was glad to get away. I should not have come here, only he made a strange remark to the effect that I could not do better than look for my patient here. There was such an expression of cunning on Mr. Swift's face that I felt bound to come. For the last quarter of an hour I have been wandering about the grounds. Then I saw your light and some irresistible impulse forced me to ring the bell. I know it is much to ask, but I am sure you will help me."

"Help you!" Charlock exclaimed. "Of course I will. I will do anything in my power. Wait a moment till I go in the house and get an overcoat."

CHAPTER XXXVI

AN UNSEEN DANGER

Somewhat later, Ethel and her companion were walking rapidly along the road towards the town. During part of the time Charlock had been quiet, almost taciturn. But now he began to speak more freely.

"I have been thinking the matter over," he explained, "and I think there is a good deal in what that poor creature, Swift, said. It may come with a bad grace from me, but I have a shrewd suspicion that Arnold Rent is no better than he should be. I have heard rumours of certain statements made by Swift when under the influence of drink, and they have not impressed me favourably. It is possible that Swift is right and that Arnold Rent set out to-night to try to find Mr. Grey. Frequently people, otherwise demented, display a wonderful tenacity of purpose and clearness of mind when they have a definite object in view. I know a man hopelessly insane who is one of the best military tacticians in Europe. Keep him to his hobby and he might lead an army to victory. But trust him in any other capacity and you will make a fatal blunder. Now, I propose, late as it is, to go off to Dr. Tanza's yacht and see whether Arnold Rent has been there."

Ethel expressed her gratitude and waited in the shelter on the quay for Charlock's return. He came presently, accompanied by Grey, and the information that the yacht had seen nothing of the missing man.

"I am exceedingly sorry for you, Miss Hargrave," Grey murmured. "It is plucky of you to have come——"

"Won't you say foolish?" Ethel murmured. "You don't know how ashamed I feel of myself. It is very thoughtless of me to give you all this trouble for nothing."

"I beg you won't mention it," Grey said eagerly. "I admire the way you have behaved beyond measure. I am sure you are fearless, and it is only consideration for other people that brings you out alone at this time of night. As you have proved your mettle so clearly, I am not afraid to speak plainly. You will have to be prepared for an unpleasant shock before long, and if you have formed a high estimate of Mr. Rent's character——"

"That illusion has been dispelled lately," Ethel said quietly. "Mr. Rent is nothing to me except that his mother has been more than kind, and if you have anything unpleasant to say, I implore you not to hesitate on my account. Let me know what it is."

"Ah, that I cannot do," Grey went on. "It is a matter of suspicion for the moment. And now let us see whether we can find your patient. Mr. Charlock has told me everything which you confided to him, and I am of opinion that Swift is not far wrong."

"Then we are going back to my house?" Charlock asked.

"That will be best," Grey replied. "Possibly we are on a wild goose chase, but we ought not to neglect a single chance."

The trio turned in silence and made their way to Charlock's residence. Charlock invited Ethel to come inside and wait while he and Grey searched the grounds.

"I would rather come with you," Ethel said. "I have not quite as much bravery as you give me credit for. I don't think I could stay alone in this deserted house."

"Oh, nonsense," Charlock said, with a return of his old peremptory manner. "Really, you must do as you are told. We shall not be very far away. And after what you have gone through to-night this will be a mere trifle."

Ethel was about to demur, when she met Charlock's steady glance. There was something in the look that checked the words on her lips and summoned her fleeting courage. From the first Charlock had fascinated her in this way. She seemed to know that she would be compelled to do almost anything he asked her. And she knew, also, that there was nothing he would require her to do that would not bear the light of day. She seemed to be comforted and uplifted, and a smile came to her lips.

"You are arbitrary," she said, "not to say rude. But I will be obedient. Only don't keep me waiting longer than you can help. I am ashamed to think that I have given you so much trouble."

Charlock turned upon his heel without reply. He seemed to take it for granted that Ethel should do exactly as he asked her. Possibly it gratified his vanity to notice how implicitly she placed herself in his hands. Charlock produced a couple of candlesticks from a cupboard and proceeded to light them and place them on the mantelshelf. There was a solitary chair in the room, upon which he asked Ethel to be seated.

"There," he said. "Try not to worry. We sha'n't be long."

Ethel smiled bravely in reply. As a matter of fact, her courage was oozing out rapidly again. She was not in the least anxious to be left alone in that echoing house. Half-ashamed of herself, she crept to the front door to see if the two men had gone, and flung it open. Anything was better than that gloomy prison, where she could hear her own heart beating, and the scratching of a mouse behind the panel sounded loud and menacing. There were queer noises, too, here and there, as if the girl were surrounded with unseen people who were wandering about the bare floors. A sudden draught of air caused a door upstairs to slam with a noise which set the whole fabric quivering. It was almost more than the girl could stand. She felt that if she remained much longer she must cry aloud. She tried to reproach herself with her own timidity. She tried to imagine that it was merely fancy which caused her to believe that someone was creeping up the stairs with stealthy steps.

But the feeling would not be fought down. The stealthy steps were far too real. It was impossible to sit there longer; she must satisfy herself that her nerves were playing her false. In an access of anger she snatched a candle from the mantelpiece and rushed into the hall.

It was no fancy. Somebody was actually creeping up the stairs. She saw the dim outline of a man. She forgot herself and her prudence in the terror of the moment. A scream escaped her lips. The man turned and regarded her with eyes that shone green and threatening out of the gloom. Then the steps were retraced and Ethel was conscious that a heavy hand was laid upon her shoulder.

"Stop that noise," the stranger said hoarsely. "Do you want to betray me? What brings you here, Ethel?"

At the mention of her name the girl looked up. To her intense surprise she saw Arnold Rent. He was fully dressed. He carried something that looked like a lever in his hand. The strange, uneasy light was still in his eyes, but there was a resolute look upon his face which spoke of directness and determination of purpose.

"What are you doing here?" she faltered.

"Never mind," Rent whispered. "That is no business of yours. If you make a fuss, if you call those men back, you will be sorry for it all the rest of your life. I am not doing any harm. It isn't as if I had come after Mrs. Charlock's jewels."

Ethel started at the suggestion. What connection could there be between Arnold Rent and the missing jewels?

"You are not a thief?" she stammered.

"Not in that way," Rent said in the same hoarse whisper. "But there are other things besides jewels. There is that Frenchwoman and her papers. I did not know at the time. I did not guess that she had been cunning enough. But what am I doing? What am I saying? If you dare betray me I will take you by the throat——"

Rent broke off in a whisper. An expression of malignant fury convulsed his face. Ethel could stand it no longer. With a sudden cry she burst from Rent's detaining clasp and fled into the garden, calling for help. As she crossed the lawn towards the sundial she could hear Rent's footsteps behind her. She was very near to the fountain now, when Rent closed with her and, lifting her high in the air, dragged her to the side of the lawn.

"Not there, not there," he said in the same hissing whisper. "If you value your life, keep away from here. I don't know what the danger is, though I could have told you a day or two ago. If my mind was only clear I could explain. But, as you value your future, don't come here any more."

The words might have meant a great deal, or they might have meant nothing. There was no time to inquire or explain, for out of the gloom emerged the figures of Grey and his companion. No sooner did Rent see them than his manner changed. He withdrew his hand from Ethel's arm and darted off to the house, muttering something about papers and diaries. Ethel would have staggered and fallen had not Charlock caught her.

"Did you see him?" she asked.

"Oh, we saw him right enough," Charlock said with unexpected tenderness. "He has gone into the house. And now let me take you home. This is no place for you."

CHAPTER XXXVII

A DARK SUSPICION

Ethel Hargrave did not appear to hear what Charlock was saying. Her mind had gone back to the moment when Arnold Rent had laid violent hands upon her and spoken so harshly. She thought there was something more than madness here, something in the nature of overpowering fear. Rent had cast away his peculiar vagueness of manner and appeared calm and rational. If he had only been an acquaintance snatching her from some unexpected peril his words could not have rung out more truly and sensibly. Yet, on the face of it, it seemed absurd that there could be any danger in simply walking on the lawn, though lately two tragedies had occurred there. It was small wonder, then, that Ethel trembled from head to foot with a sense of some great impending discovery. Charlock repeated his remark twice before the girl appeared to heed him.

"I am frightened," she whispered. "I don't know what to make of it. Did you see what happened?"

There was a peculiar thrill in her voice and her eyes filled with tears. Charlock looked slightly puzzled, but if anything could be gleaned from the expression of Grey's face, the mystery was no sealed book to him.

"I saw," he said curtly. "Everything will be explained in due time. Meanwhile, Mr. Charlock is right in saying this is no place for you. You must go back to your lodgings."

There was almost a command in Grey's tone, but Ethel did not offer to move.

"But it is impossible," she persisted. "How could I leave Arnold Rent? What would his mother say when she heard what I had done?"

"Nevertheless, you must do exactly what I tell you," Grey went on. "There is a mystery which must be solved, even thought it breaks Mrs. Rent's heart, and you suffer into the bargain. And if you will allow Mr. Charlock to take you quietly home, I will pledge my word that Arnold Rent shall come to no harm. Within an hour I will see that he is back."

Ethel would have ventured some protest, but the stern, hard expression on the speaker's face checked her. She turned almost imploringly to Charlock, as if seeking his protection.

"I don't understand," she murmured. "The whole thing is inexplicable. Still, if you must have your own way, I will bow to the inevitable. Mr. Charlock, would it be too much trouble to ask you to come as far as——"

"Not in the least," Charlock said eagerly; "it would be a pleasure. And I hope you won't think Mr. Grey censorious. He is acting for the best."

"I pledge my word to that," Grey said, with a stern ring in his voice. "Believe me, Miss Hargrave, I am not here on pleasure bent. But the truth must be told, even only for the sake of innocent people. I will do my best not to abuse the trust you have put in me. I promise you that before long Arnold Rent shall be safe back in bed again. Meanwhile, there is one thing I must ask you to do. As you go along the quay you might stop and tell the boatman who is waiting to row me back to the yacht that Dr. Tanza is wanted at once. Don't say more than that, for Tanza will know what I mean. I don't think I need say more."

Silently Charlock offered his arm to Ethel Hargrave, and they vanished into the darkness. No word passed between them till after they had interviewed the sleepy boatman and sent him off on his errand. Then Ethel turned to her companion and faced him resolutely.

"I think you are a good man," she said, in a voice that shook a little. "At any rate, I know you to be generous and truthful. Now, Mr. Charlock, kindly tell me what all this means. What is the object of so much mystery? Why could not Arnold Rent have accompanied us home instead of staying behind in that gloomy old house? It is hardly fair to two defenceless women to make them puppets in a game like this."

"I swear I cannot tell you," Charlock said passionately. "I really don't know. But I am sure Grey knows what he is doing and will never rest till he gets to the bottom of the mystery."

"What is the mystery?" Ethel asked.

"Surely a superfluous question," Charlock said quietly. "Within a few days my wife and her maid have both met with strange deaths. It may be coincidence. On the other hand, it may be crime of a terrible, if ingenious, character. I should not have suspected it myself, but Mr. Grey does."

"It seems impossible," Ethel murmured.

"Oh, it does. I agree with you. But one never can tell. The whole thing is maddening. Is there nothing mysterious, think you, in this strange illness of Arnold Rent's? Mind you, I am trying to speak without prejudice. I am trying to think the best of that man. But there are moments when the most awful suspicions come into my mind, and I have literally to expel them."

Ethel was silent for a while. She could not forget her own haunting suspicions. They came back to her now with vivid force—Arnold Rent's violence, the unsteady terror in his voice as he snatched her from some unseen danger. His conduct and his manner were not consistent with innocence and integrity.

"What do you think?" she asked timidly.

"I don't know what to think," Charlock burst out. "As I said before, I have my suspicions. But I am prejudiced. I decline to believe that Arnold Rent is the upright, honourable man people believe him to be. But it is hardly fair to speak of a man in this way when he is in trouble. I think the best thing we can do is to drop the subject."

For some time the two walked side by side in silence until they reached Mrs. Rent's lodgings. To Ethel's surprise, the door was open and Mrs. Rent was standing in the hall. There was a look of stern displeasure on her face. She spoke to Ethel with a harshness which she had never used before.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. "What has become of my son? And why is Mr. Charlock here?"

"I am very, very sorry," Ethel faltered. "I went to sleep, and when I woke Arnold had gone. Of course, it was exceedingly careless of me to allow myself——"

"Careless? Is that the only word you have for it? It seems strange there is no one whom I can trust. But where have you been? Why do you waste your time like this——"

"I assure you she had not been wasting her time," Charlock said coldly. "You can rest easy in your mind, Mrs. Rent, for your son is found. He will be here by-and-bye. Meanwhile, it will be well not to make any noise at this time of night. There is no occasion to arouse the good people here, unless, indeed, you have already done so."

There was something so curt and incisive in Charlock's voice that Mrs. Rent's manner grew quieter and more subdued.

"I am only just downstairs," she explained. "I went into my son's room just now and, to my surprise, found it empty. But if my boy is all right there is nothing more to be said. Perhaps I said too much to you, Ethel, but I was speaking on the spur of the moment——"

"Oh, please don't apologise," Ethel said. "I feel that I am to blame. When I discovered what had happened I went to Arnold's workshop, and Mr. Swift told me where I might find him. He is coming later with Mr. Grey, and I don't think you will find he is any the worse for his adventure."

A faint smile passed over Mrs. Rent's face.

"Then there is no more to be said," she murmured. "My dear child, how white and tired you look! I insist upon your going to bed at once. Mr. Charlock will perhaps keep me company till Arnold comes back."

Ethel was only too glad to be alone. She shook hands somewhat timidly with John Charlock and made her way upstairs. Then Mrs. Rent turned to Charlock and suggested that it would be better if they talked the matter over in her sitting-room. Once inside, the lady's manner changed. She grew agitated and distressed; her face was white and haggard.

"Now tell me what this means," she said. "I implore you to be candid with me. I am not the first mother who has worshipped a golden idol only to find that it has feet of clay. This is the punishment for my pride in my son. It was my fancy to regard him as something better and more upright than other men, and I begin to see different, now that he has deceived me. People come to see him who fill me with dread. I know that he is deeply in debt and that he has been deliberately deluding me. I suppose he is afraid to tell me, lest I should stop his allowance and perhaps leave the bulk of my money to some worthier object."

"There is nothing novel in the situation," Charlock said grimly. "You are by no means the first parent who has been deceived in the same way. I have known scores of such instances."

"That does not render the discovery less bitter," Mrs. Rent said sadly. "But I am sure that is not all. There is something worse behind. And if you will tell me what it is——"

"I cannot," Charlock said, "because I do not know. But you will need all your courage and strength before long."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE EMPTY ROOM

Malcolm Grey sat himself down to wait grimly and patiently for Tanza. From his position on the lawn he commanded a view of the front of the house. He had the satisfaction of knowing that Rent was safe and that he could not leave without being seen. In one of the rooms at the top of the house the light flickered from time to time, so that Grey had a fair idea of where Rent was and what he was doing. The better part of half an hour elapsed before Tanza appeared on the scene. Grey hailed him in a whisper, and he crept noiselessly across the grass. For once he appeared to be curious.

"What is on foot now?" he demanded. "Why did you send for me in so mysterious a fashion? Why is there a light at the top of the house? Is the problem solved?"

"To all practical purposes it is," Grey replied. "I know what took place, and why. But precisely how the mischief was brought about I cannot say. Possibly before daylight the thing may be explained. But that depends upon luck. At any rate, I am going to take you into my confidence and tell you what I have discovered."

"I am glad to hear that," Tanza murmured.

Tanza inclined his head to listen, and for the next quarter of an hour followed Grey with the most careful attention. He was more interested than perhaps he had ever been before in his life. The strangely tangled web which Grey was unfolding was the most complicated of all the affairs in which he had ever been engaged.

"Wonderful," he murmured. "Really, a work of art. Perhaps it is rather cold-blooded of me to regard these puzzles in the way of a recreation. But there is a peculiar horror about this affair which has rarely been equalled. So that's the way the thing was done, eh? Well, I suppose I must leave the matter in your hands. What do you propose to do next? But, by the way, you have not yet told me who is in the bedroom overhead."

"You will be surprised when I tell you," Grey murmured. "The intruder is no other than Arnold Rent."

An exclamation of genuine surprise broke from Tanza's lips.

"Is that really a fact?" he demanded. "But what brings him here? What has he come after?"

"Ah, that I can only conjecture. I don't think my theory is far wrong. Although Arnold Rent is the son of a rich woman, he has by no means the command of unlimited money. Mrs. Rent is rather simple in her ideas and inclined to be somewhat of a Puritan. She is quite capable of leaving her money elsewhere if she thinks her son will waste it. Therefore, it has been a necessity on Rent's part that his mother should be deceived as to his mode of life. To put it plainly, he is more or less afraid of her. And when a man lives in a smart set, and has no control over his expenditure, he is bound sooner or later to find himself in difficulties. That is the matter with Rent. He did not know which way to turn for money. He did not dare to go to his mother and ask her to set him on his feet again. Therefore he hits upon another plan. He makes violent love to Bark's sister Hortense with a view to securing her mistress's diamonds. At first I don't believe that Rent cared for Mrs. Charlock at all. What he meant to do was to get hold of her jewels, but when he came to know the woman intimately she fascinated him to such an extent that he lost his head. He was prepared to sacrifice everything for her sake. Witness that mad idea of his taking Mrs. Charlock to stay with his mother. I give the fellow credit for honesty in that respect. I believe his affection for Mrs. Charlock was absolutely pure and good—perhaps the only disinterested impulse he ever had in his life. Meanwhile, he had talked Hortense over and between them they laid hands upon Mrs. Charlock's jewels. You will ask what became of the jewels. They were hidden in a place of safety, so that they might be available when they were wanted."

"That sounds logical," Tanza said. "Is it part of the problem to find the jewels, or do you know where they are?"

"I know where they are," was the unexpected reply. "They are within a stone's throw of us."

The little Italian whistled softly.

"Oh," he said, "I shall have to hand my mantle over to you, I see. But hadn't we better secure the plunder while we have the chance? It would be folly to miss the opportunity."

"Oh, the gems are safe enough," Grey said, with a grim chuckle. "You can almost touch them with your hands. And yet they are as safe as the Crown Jewels in the Tower of London. Indeed, they are safer, seeing that an attempt on the National Regalia would only end in imprisonment, while a determined attack upon Mrs. Charlock's gems would end in sudden death. I won't gratify your curiosity yet. I have told you enough for the present, and the truth, too. The first hand that rests upon that jewel case will be the hand of a corpse in the twinkling of an eye. In a day or two, perhaps, it may be safe to rifle the hiding-place. But not yet, not yet."

Grey spoke with a thrill in his voice that had something of horror in it. Tanza had seen too many mysteries in his time to express anything in the way of incredulity. On the contrary, he nodded his head solemnly.

"Does anybody else know?" he asked.

"Anybody besides Arnold Rent, you mean?" Grey replied. "Well, yes, one other person knows, and that is Ephraim Bark. His information came to him from his sister, who wrote and told him all about the affair when she discovered that she had been made a tool of by Rent and that he did not care two straws for her. We shall know presently how Rent managed to silence that jealous woman's tongue and leave the field clear for himself."

"You mean to say," Tanza began, "that Arnold Rent——"

"My dear fellow, I mean to say nothing. I shall have a repulsive enough task later when I am compelled to speak plainly. Meanwhile, I have told you pretty well all there is to know. We had better go up and see what Arnold Rent is doing. You will not be surprised to hear that he is in Hortense's bedroom, probably looking for papers. Oh, by the way, there is one thing I forgot to mention. It is a photograph I found in the French maid's room. It gave the clue to the greater part of my discovery. Perhaps I had better show it you."

"I should like to see it very much," Tanza murmured.

Grey produced the torn photograph from his pocket and, with the aid of a match, exhibited it to his companion. He would have liked to know who was the other figure in the photograph. But that did not much matter, and it was a point which was not likely to be elucidated. Then the two friends crept quietly into the house. It was not easy to grope their way upstairs in the dark, but they managed it without noise, and presently stood outside the room, watching Rent at work. He seemed to be wrapped up in his task to the exclusion of everything else. He was pacing round and round the room, tapping on the panels and measuring distances with an iron lever in his hand. He was muttering to himself, too, but it was by no means easy to catch what he said. A quarter of an hour passed in the seemingly futile task, and then the searcher appeared to come to some definite conclusion. With a muttered exclamation he drove the point of his lever into one of the panels, and with a crackling, splintering sound the timber gave way. So far as the watchers could see, there was a space behind the panel more or less filled with letters. These Rent stowed away in his pockets. Beyond question, the object of his search was satisfied, for the expression of his face changed and a gleam of gratification sparkled in his eyes. He turned to the door so abruptly that Tanza and his companion had barely time to fall back into the doorway of an empty room before Rent began to descend the stairs. They watched him carrying the candle till he reached the basement of the house.

"What are you going to do now?" Tanza asked.

"Follow him," Grey said curtly. "In point of fact, I promised to take him home. Practically, though behaving like a sane man, the cloud is over his brain still, and I doubt very much if he knows what he is doing. Of course, there is a good deal of method in his madness. Still, we have to deal with a man who is not altogether accountable for his actions."

"And where do I come in?" Tanza asked.

"Oh, you'll go back to the yacht and wait further developments. It won't be very long before I am there again. And when I do come I may bring one if not two visitors with me. It might be necessary to do a little amateur kidnapping, but I am not sure about that yet. And now you had better leave me."

"All right," Tanza said cheerfully. "I am content to leave matters to you. Good luck to you!"

Grey walked after the other figure. He laid his hand upon Rent's arm and accosted him.

CHAPTER XXXIX

IN THE BAR

Morning was beginning to struggle with night when Grey turned his footsteps from Mrs. Rent's lodgings towards the quay. He was more than satisfied with his work, despite the fact that the most unpleasant and most repulsive part of it was yet to come. He was tired and weary by this time, but there was something to be accomplished before he returned to the yacht. One or two facts had to be verified. He turned aside for a bit and walked along the foreshore to Rent's workshop. But it was in absolute darkness, and no doubt Swift had gone to his lodgings. It was Swift whom Grey wanted to see, and, rather than go to the yacht before his task was altogether finished, Grey loitered about the streets till daybreak. He took a short cut through a series of dingy streets and past the fish-market, where one or two public-houses flaunted their garish lights across the pavement. Grey wondered at this infringing of the licensing act, until it dawned upon him that these were free houses specially retained for the benefit of the fish-dealers and hawkers and certain crews of yachts which landed in the early morning. It was a survival of old times. For the most part they seemed to be doing a certain amount of business.