"Well, as we've settled that little matter," I observed, getting up from the sofa, "I think I shall go home." Then I paused. "Good-night," I added. "I must thank you for a most delightful evening."
Lord Sangatte's expression was not lacking in eloquence, but as he condescended to make no reply, I did not prolong the conversation. Leaving the room, I strolled across the hall to where I had left my coat and hat, and putting them on with the assistance of the powdered footman, I went down the steps and out into the Square.
The stimulating events of the evening were jostling each other so joyously in my mind that for the moment I had quite forgotten my ever-present danger. I walked briskly along, reflecting over the knowledge that I had acquired, and trying to straighten things out into their proper relation with each other.
I now had a pretty good idea of how I stood both with Lammersfield and Sangatte, while my acquaintance with Mercia seemed to be progressing on the most desirable lines. Whether in her heart she still believed me guilty of all the bloodthirsty crimes she had originally laid to my charge I could not quite make up my mind. If she did, it was all the more encouraging that she should have warned me against Maurice.
It suddenly struck me that I had never told her about the mysterious wire, which, without doubt, had been the means of saving my life. That the warning had been a genuine one was now fairly obvious. Could she have sent it herself? and if so, how did it fit in with her almost passionate disclaimer of any knowledge of the Milford affair?
I racked my brains vainly over the problem for several minutes, and then my thoughts flitted to Sir Henry Tregattock. Brief as my interview had been with him, it had left me with my first gleam of information as to Northcote's past. San Luca! So that was where the key to the mystery lay! And a devilish likely place, too, I reflected, unless rumour had been more than usually misleading.
I began to regret that in my wanderings in South America I had never penetrated into the festive region in question. All I knew about it was that, after having been for two years in the grip of that infamous filibuster, Ignace Prado, its worthy citizens had finally succeeded in blowing him and his palace sky-high, and in selecting another President more to their taste. Very likely Northcote had been mixed up with this ruffian, and if so, there was some excuse for M. Guarez and the other gentlemen who were so anxious to murder me.
The thought of being murdered suddenly brought me back to my immediate surroundings. I had left the house in such a whirl of various emotions that it had never occurred to me I was doing an exceedingly foolish thing in walking home alone at this hour of night.
Supposing I had been watched and followed! Instinctively I turned round and looked sharply back down the long curve of lighted pavement. I was just in that short but rather desolate stretch behind St. George's Hospital—an ideal spot for anyone who wanted to stick a knife into a passing stranger without arousing public interest.
My inspection, however, proved reassuring. There was no sign of any impassioned Dago creeping stealthily in my tracks; indeed, the whole thoroughfare looked about as deserted and peaceful as a London street possibly could.
Stepping out into the roadway, and keeping a watchful eye each side of me, I quickly covered the remaining hundred yards that separated me from Hyde Park Corner. Here, as usual, despite the lateness of the hour, there was a certain amount of life and movement. A stolid-looking policeman was moving slowly down the Park railing, four or five belated taxis were standing in the opposite gutter, while a cheerfully illuminated coffee-stall seemed to be doing a brisk business amongst the drivers and their touts.
With a comforting feeling of security I crossed the road, and set off up Park Lane. The full distance was only about one hundred yards, and I had covered perhaps three-quarters of this, and was just getting out my latch-key when, without the slightest warning, the thing happened.
From the dark shadow of a doorway a noiseless figure suddenly leaped out on me with the fierce swiftness of a panther. I saw the gleam of a knife, and at the same instant I lashed out with my fist—I think the quickest and most savage blow I have struck in my life.
We must have got home together. I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder, like the touch of a redhot iron, and my assailant staggered back five yards and fetched up against the wall with a bang that echoed across the street. As he did so, there was a clatter of footsteps, and down the pavement came the figure of a man, sprinting towards us with silent but business-like rapidity.
The gentleman who had disturbed me did not wait for further developments. He must have been a tough soul, for, despite his collision with the wall, he set off like a hare, twisting away round the corner to the left, and disappearing from sight before the newcomer could reach us.
Directly the latter came under the full glare of the nearest electric lamp, I saw it was Billy. I gave a whoop of joy, which pulled him up short in his tempestuous career.
"Burton!" he cried. "Gad! I might have known it." Then he burst out laughing. "Where's the other chap?" he demanded. "Have you eaten him?"
"No, Billy," I said. "He's gone—vamoosed. He didn't like the look of you." Then a sharp pain flickered through my shoulder. "I believe he's punctured me, though," I added ruefully.
In a moment Billy was by my side. "Bad?" he demanded sharply. "Can you wait while I fetch him back?"
I laughed and shook my head. "I don't want him, Billy," I said; "thanks all the same. Give us an arm and let's get back to the house. It's all right—I'm not booked this journey."
"Not by a long way," cried Billy stoutly. "It would take a pickaxe to kill you. Come along, and we'll have a squint at it."
I could feel the blood running rather freely down my arm, so, without wasting any more time, I accepted the support he offered, and we toddled up the pavement as far as my gate. I was still holding the latch-key in my hand, but there was no need of it, for the front door was wide open.
"Hullo, Billy," I said; "have you been entertaining in my absence?"
"I'll tell you all about it in a minute," he replied. "Damages first, though. You may have got it worse than you think."
"It feels messy," I admitted. "Shut the door and let's go up to the study."
What Billy doesn't know about knife-wounds may be justly regarded as superfluous information. He quickly but carefully relieved me of my dress-clothes, and then, slitting up the rest with a pair of scissors, brought the injured portion of my anatomy to light. It consisted of an ugly-looking cut just on the outside of my arm, from which the blood was slowly welling in kind of languid spurts. A brief examination, however, removed the frown from his brow.
"It's nothing," he said; "only a small vein. I'll dodge that up in no time."
"Don't speak in such a disappointed way, Billy," I retorted. "I'm quite satisfied."
He grinned, and, taking out his handkerchief, tied it tightly round my arm. Then, going into the bedroom, he emerged a moment later with a basin of warm water, a clean towel, and a bottle of listerine.
"You seem to know your way about," I observed.
"I ought to," he answered. "I've been waiting here for you the last three hours. Now look out for squalls—I may hurt you a bit."
Ten minutes later, bandaged up in the best professional style, I was lying languidly on the sofa, while Billy mixed a couple of brandies-and-sodas to relieve our respective fatigue.
"You're in the chair," I said, accepting the drink which he handed across. "Get your yarn off first and then I'll talk."
Billy shrugged his shoulders. "My bit won't take long," he said. "I only got your note at nine o'clock to-night. Those Maxwell people sent for me to come up to Liverpool, and when I got there, they kept me hanging about for twenty-four hours, and then refused to give me the job."
"I hope you remonstrated," I said gently.
Billy smiled. "Old Maxwell knows my opinion of him—if that's any comfort. Anyhow, I got back to London feeling a bit sick and wishing I'd fixed up with you, and there was your blessed note sitting in the glass. I jumped into a cab and came round here at once. The girl who let me in said you were at some party or something, and that I was to wait and sleep here. Well, I waited till a quarter to twelve, and then I rang for her and asked her whether you were making a night of it. She said she didn't know, and she looked so infernally sleepy that I told her she'd better go to bed, and that I'd sit up for you. She hummed and hawed a bit, and said she had something important to tell you. 'Well, whatever it is,' I said 'it will keep till the morning'; and finally she went off and left me here with the brandy. I stuck it till about one o'clock—then I got rather fed up and went down to the front door for a breath of air. I'd only been there about two minutes when I suddenly saw a kind of dog-fight going on, and, knowing your warlike nature, I guessed it was probably you. So I jogged along to see what was up, and—and here we are."
"And here we are, Billy," I echoed, "and here's your very good health."
We drank to each other in silence, and then Billy put down his glass.
"And now," he said, "perhaps you'll be kind enough to explain. Last time I saw you, you were broke to the wide, and just setting off to the States. Now I find you living in Park Lane like a giddy millionaire, and calling yourself Stuart Northcote. What's it mean, you old ruffian?"
I finished my brandy-and-soda and settled myself comfortably back amongst the cushions. "I will tell you what it means," I said; "but you're not to interrupt me till I've done."
Then slowly, carefully, and, I think, without leaving out any important detail, I described to him everything which had taken place since we parted in Leicester Square. Billy sat and listened in silence, his head resting on his hand and his eyes fixed on mine. It was not until I had finished that he ventured on his one embracive criticism.
"Well, I'm hanged," he remarked.
He rose from his chair, and with his hands in his pockets paced two or three times up and down the room. Finally he broke into a long, low, delighted chuckle.
"Lord!" he said; "it's colossal!"
"I thought you would be pleased," I replied contentedly.
"Pleased!" He stopped his perambulation. "It's the most gorgeous thing I've ever struck in my life. You were always a nailer at finding trouble, but this beats the band."
"And you'll come and see me through, Billy?"
He brought his fist down with a bang on the table.
"I'm with you, my son," he said, "to your last half-penny."
There was a short pause, while Billy, overcome with the magnificence of his emotions, again attacked the brandy.
"Now let me see if I've got it right," he began, resuming his progress up and down the room. "You think that Maurice what's-his-name—this cousin of yours—is in with the gang that are trying to put you through it?"
"Well, it was by his advice I engaged Francis," I pointed out.
"And I'm to come down with you to-morrow and put up at the nearest pub—eh?"
"That's right," I said. "You see, I'm not much afraid of anything happening to me in the house. However much of a scoundrel Maurice may be, he's not the sort to run his neck into a noose if he can help it. My own idea is that some of these gentle Dagoes who have been making things so lively up here will probably follow me down and try to arrange a convenient accident. Maurice was talking a lot about the excellence of the shooting."
"I see," said Billy thoughtfully. "And that's where I shall come in."
"Precisely. Between us we ought to be able to scent any trouble that's hanging around. I've got my mark pretty plainly on one of the beauties already."
"I wish we knew who you were," remarked Billy, after pondering over the situation for a moment. "It would simplify matters so—wouldn't it? It must be something to do with San Luca. Let's get out a map and have a squint at the hole."
"Yes, Billy," I said, "and hunt up a place called Culebra. I'm the 'Satyr of Culebra,' according to Mercia, and I should like to know exactly where my happy home is."
Billy searched through the bookshelves, and lugged out a big atlas and Gazetteer. "Here we are!" he said, turning up the index. "Culebra 1035, 85-38. Great Scott! It's in Costa Rica."
"That doesn't help us much," I observed.
"The funny thing is," said Billy, "that I'm sure I've heard the phrase somewhere—'the Satyr of Culebra.'"
"Perhaps they breed them there," I suggested. "It sounds a likely place."
"And here's San Luca," he went on, turning back to a map of South America. "Let's see what they say about it. 'An inland republic, bordered by Brazil and the Argentine. Population, 300,000, including Indians—composed of a few negroes, and whites of Spanish and mixed descent.'"
"That's M. Guarez all right," I commented.
"'President,'" he read out, "'General Silveira de Selis, succeeded the late Ignace Prado, who had defeated and murdered the first President, Manuel Solano.'"
"What!" I almost shouted. "By Gad! that settles it! Mercia Solano must be his daughter, and there's no doubt that my bright double must have been one of Ignace's blackguards. No wonder the poor girl wanted to shove a bullet into me!"
Billy laughed. "It does look rather like it. All the same, she must be a pretty venomous damsel, I should think."
"She's a darling, Billy," I said firmly. "And I won't hear a word against her. I like a girl with plenty of spirit."
"You've got one," retorted Billy grimly. "You'll make a pretty pair between you." Then he got up and looked at his watch. "You ought to turn in now, Jack," he added, "if we're going to start at half-past ten. That jab of yours will be all right in the morning, but you've lost a bit of blood, and you'll want some sleep—tough as you are."
"You're right, Doctor," I said reluctantly, for, strenuous as my evening had been, I didn't feel in the least like bed. "We'll continue these interesting speculations to-morrow on our way down."
"By the way," said Billy, "what about my traps?"
"Oh, that's all right," I answered, getting up carefully from the sofa. "We'll stop the car somewhere and buy you a bag and a toothbrush. Money doesn't count these days."
"Good," said Billy. "I want a new outfit badly."
I showed him his room first, and then, coming into mine he helped me to finish undressing without disturbing the bandage. Beyond locking both doors, I took no further precautions. I felt that even M. Guarez and his friends must have an occasional evening off, and that after my little dust-up outside I might reckon on a few peaceful hours.
My hope proved to be well founded. I slept right through the remainder of the night without interruption, and was only awakened next morning by the tapping of the pretty housemaid at my door.
As before, I jumped out of bed and let her in. I remembered, of course, what Billy had said on the previous evening about her having something important to tell me, but my first glimpse of her expression would have made this fact quite plain to me.
"Well," I said, bracing myself up, "what is it now?"
She put down the tea beside my bed. "If you please, sir," she said, "do you know what's happened to Mr. Milford?"
I stared at her in amazement. "Bless my soul!" I ejaculated, "you don't mean to say that he's in trouble again?"
"He went away last night, sir, soon after you left the house, and he's never come back."
I digested this startling information in silence.
"Went away!" I repeated at last. "How did he go away? He was much too seedy to walk, surely?"
She shook her head. "I don't know about that, sir. A boy brought a note for him, and he went away at once in a cab—a taxi-cab, sir."
I began to laugh. I really couldn't help it. "Well," I said, "Mr. Milford about takes the biscuit."
The pretty housemaid looked at me in a rather startled fashion. "Perhaps he's funny in his head, sir. Cook and me thought that perhaps he didn't rightly know what he was doing. He seemed very queer, sir."
I nodded. "I shouldn't wonder if you've hit it," I said.
As a matter of fact, her theory didn't strike me as being at all a probable one, but for the moment I could think of nothing else to say.
"You might ask Mr. Logan to come in," I added, as she prepared to withdraw. "We'll see about Milford as soon as I get up."
A moment later Billy came in, blinking, in his pyjamas.
"This is a nice game, Billy," I said. "We've lost Milford now." Then I proceeded to tell him what I had just learned.
The comic side seemed to strike him as forcibly as it did me. Anyhow, he sat down on the bed and grinned at me cheerfully.
"There's no monotony about this job," he observed; "that's one thing to be said in its favour. What on earth can have happened to the chap?"
I shook my head. "Goodness knows," I said, "unless he's been decoyed away and spifflicated by the gentle Guarez. I should hardly have thought he'd have been such an ass, though."
"I suppose he isn't one of the gang?" suggested Billy hopefully.
"No," I said. "I feel pretty sure Milford's straight. Why did they try to poison him, otherwise, and why should he have waltzed in and lent me a hand the other night? I'm rather worried about it, Billy."
"Yes," said Billy. "It's awkward. What are you going to do?"
"I don't know," I said, getting out of bed. "I can't put the police on. We must wait and see—that's all."
"And, meanwhile," observed Billy, "let's have a look at that arm of yours."
He took off the bandage, and inspected the fruits of my last night's adventure with an approving eye.
"First chop," he pronounced. "Healed up as clean as a whistle. That's the result of having led a decent and moral life. I think we'll keep the bandage on to-day, however, just to make certain."
"Well, you can put it on again after I've had my bath," I said. "By the way, can you drive a car?"
Billy nodded. "I've done a lot of it. Buenos Ayres reeks with 'em at present."
"You can drive me down to-day, then," I remarked. "I'm not a professor at the best of times, and with this arm on me I'd rather be excused."
"You leave it to me," said Billy confidently.
We each of us had a bath, after which Billy did up my arm, and I returned his kindness by lending him some shaving tackle. The cook's emotion at Milford's disappearance did not prevent her from sending up another excellent breakfast, to which we did ample justice, Billy being vastly impressed at the luxurious scale on which I lived.
It was then ten o'clock. The car was ordered for ten-thirty, so, lighting a pipe, I took advantage of the remaining time to go downstairs and interview what was left of my domestic staff. I was beginning to fear that, in view of their recent experiences, both the cook and the housemaid would be giving me notice, or clearing out while I was away, and this was a tragedy I was determined to prevent if possible.
I found them in the kitchen, and, knowing that a rapid attack is the best weapon of defence, I promptly opened fire.
"This is a dreadful nuisance about Milford," I said. "There's no doubt the poor fellow must have been queer in his head. I shall have inquiries made this morning, and I expect that we shall find him all right, but, meanwhile, I'm wondering what to do for the best. After our last experience, I don't want to get in a new man without the most careful inquiry. Do you two feel equal to looking after the house for me until I come back? It's rather a large order, I know, so I intend to give you double wages, if you consider that arrangement satisfactory."
My sporting offer proved successful. Both women at once expressed their readiness and ability to wrestle with the problem, the cook going so far as to observe, with respectful enthusiasm, that she would do more than that to oblige a gentleman like myself.
They were obviously thirsting to discuss Milford's disappearance, but, under cover of finishing my packing, I escaped upstairs again to the hall. There I found Billy admiring the marble pillars.
"This little hut must have cost a bit," he said critically. "I wonder what Northcote's income is."
"Well, it's four hundred pounds a year less than it was," I said, patting my belt with some satisfaction. "Come along up and help me strap my bags."
We had just finished our preparations when I heard the car roll up to the door, and looking out of the window, I saw the faithful Simpson preparing to dismount.
"He will bring them out, Billy," I said. "Don't you worry."
Going downstairs, I gave instructions to this effect, and while my belongings were being placed in the car routed out a couple of Northcote's best coats—one for Billy and one for myself.
"How's the car going, Simpson?" I asked, as the chauffeur, having secured my luggage, opened the door with a respectful salute.
"Very sweetly, sir," was his comforting reply. "I ran through 'er last night, and I don't think you'll have no trouble. The petrol's in at the back, sir."
"Mr. Logan's steering her," I said. "I've hurt my arm."
Billy, who had climbed into the driving-seat, made a brief inspection of the levers, asked one or two questions, and then, starting on the switch and sliding in his clutch, set her moving gently down the street.
"Thank goodness we're off," I said, with a little sigh of relief. "I'm just about fed up with Park Lane, Billy."
He smiled, and, cutting neatly across the bows of an on-rushing motor-bus, swept us away down Knightsbridge before the indignant driver of the latter could recall a single adequate word.
"This is the wrong way, isn't it?" he inquired. "What's the programme?"
"I must send a wire to Maurice first," I said; "then we must pick up some traps for you. What about Harrod's?"
"Oh, Harrod's will do," said Billy. "I'm not proud."
He twisted the Napier off to the left down Brompton Road, and pulled up outside the big shop. As we entered through the swinging doors I handed him a bundle of notes.
"Get what you want, Billy," I said, "and shove it in the car. I'll send off the wire."
My message to Maurice, composed after some little deliberation, took the following shape:—
"Don't trouble to meet train. Am motoring down. Arrive dinner.—NORTHCOTE."
Having sent this off, I purchased a good map of Essex and Suffolk at a neighbouring counter, and then set off to find Billy.
I discovered him in the shirt department, laying in an impressive stock of under-clothes, which a sombre assistant was packing away into a large new Gladstone bag.
"Found what you wanted?" I inquired.
Billy nodded. "They're doing their best," he said kindly. "Not quite my usual style, but good enough for the country."
The assistant's face was a study, but we had no time to waste in appreciating it, for there were still various trifles needed, such as a sponge and a tooth-brush, to complete the bag. Having secured these, we returned to the car, and deposited the Gladstone with the rest of the luggage.
Climbing in, Billy took the wheel, and I spread out the map on my knee.
"Right away," I said. "Bank first; and then slap down through the East End."
And, with a triumphant toot, we slid off upon our journey.
It was just about half-past four when we entered the outskirts of Woodford. The car had gone well enough; indeed, except for a slight collision with a farm-cart in the neighbourhood of Chelmsford, our journey down had been a monotonous success. We pulled up at the Plough, an old-fashioned two-storey inn in the centre of the town, which boasted a red-and-white notice-board proclaiming its possession of a "Garage."
"This looks all right, Billy," I said "If Maurice's place isn't too far away, you'd better put up here."
We ran the car into the yard, and then climbed out, leaving our luggage in the back, and made our way into the bar. There were two men sitting in the corner, talking to each other, and a middle-aged lady presiding over the drinks.
I took off my hat to her, and ordered a couple of whiskies.
"Do you happen to know," I asked, "where Ashton is—Mr. Maurice Furnivall's place?"
"Ashton!" she repeated. "Now, I've heard the name: it's quite close here somewhere. I expect the Coroner could tell you. Mr. Rowe, the gentleman wants to know where Ashton is."
One of the men in the corner looked up. "You've not far to go," he observed. "Straight on through the town and then down the hill to the left. Maybe a matter of a mile and a half. You'll find the drive gates on your right."
I thanked him and invited him to join us in a drink, an offer which he accepted with cheerful alacrity. For a coroner he seemed a very genial person.
"Can I have a bedroom here for a few days?" inquired Billy casually.
"Oh yes, I think so, sir," replied the lady behind the bar. "I'll just call Mr. Martin."
She went out, returning a minute later with the landlord, a side-whiskered gentleman in shirt-sleeves.
Billy repeated his request, and, informing us that there was plenty of room in the house, our host conducted us out of the bar, and up a winding staircase to the landing above.
"This is a nice, bright room," he said, opening the door to the left. "Looks out on the main street, too—kind of cheerful like."
"That's good," said Billy. "There may be a dog-fight, or a runaway horse, or something—one never knows. I'll take it, anyhow."
"Can we have some tea?" I asked.
The smiling landlord nodded his head. "Certainly, sir; I'll have it sent into the dining-room. This way, sir."
We retraced our steps downstairs, and entered a long room hung around with pictures of deceased race-horses, intersected by portraits of the Royal Family. In a few minutes, a Suffolk damsel of buxom proportions brought in tea, a full-dress affair consisting of jam, watercress, bread-and-butter, and two kinds of cake.
Dealing gently with this tribute to our physique, Billy and I discussed our plan of campaign, and fixed up the best arrangements we could. I agreed to slip out from Ashton next morning before breakfast and meet him in the main road to Woodford. In the meanwhile, he was to pick up all the information possible about Maurice and his belongings, making special but judicious inquiries as to whether a gentleman with a broken nose, or another sportsman with one shoulder higher than the other, had been seen decorating the neighbourhood.
"I'll leave the car with you, Billy," I said, "and take a cab on to Maurice's. Then, in case we want it in a hurry, we can be sure of getting it."
"But won't they want to know what you've done with it?" he objected.
"I shall tell them the truth," I said, "or very nearly. I shall say the engine wanted looking to, and I left it in the garage here."
Billy looked at me admiringly. "Jack," he said, "a good parson was lost in you."
We ordered a cab, in which I placed my belongings, and then, giving Billy a few more bank-notes in case of emergency, and instructing him not to make love to the buxom housemaid, I clambered in and set out on my journey to Maurice's.
Ashton proved to be a good-sized, half-timbered house, standing back in its own grounds some way from the road. As my cab rumbled up the drive, I caught sight of two men sitting on a seat in the garden, and, drawing nearer, I saw that one of them was Maurice. They both rose as soon as we pulled up at the front door, and came across to meet me.
"Hallo," said Maurice. "I thought you were going to motor down?"
I shook hands with him, and also with his companion, a stout, florid man who looked like a retired bookmaker, but who obviously appeared to know me.
"So I did," I answered, "but I left the car in Woodford. The engine was working all wrong, somehow."
"That's the worst of motors," observed the fat man, "always goin' dicky—what?"
"Brought your chauffeur?" inquired Maurice, as a footman came out and gathered up my belongings.
I shook my head. "No," I said, "I didn't think he was necessary this time." Which, you will observe, was strictly true.
It may have been my imagination, but I fancied I saw a slight gleam of satisfaction pass across my "cousin's" face. "Well, come along into the garden," he said, "unless you'd like tea, or anything. Baradell's gone to town for the night, and York and Lady Baradell are out; but Aunt Mary's about somewhere. Do you know where she is, Vane?"
The fat man pulled his moustache. "Waterin' the roses," he observed laconically. "Miss York's with her."
Our discussion was cut short by the sudden appearance of the two ladies in question, who emerged from behind a shrubbery and advanced across the lawn to meet us. "Aunt Mary" was a middle-aged, quiet-looking woman with grey hair—her companion a tall, handsome girl of about twenty-eight, in a smart tailor-made costume.
I had an awkward moment, wondering if I was supposed to know them both, but the way in which they greeted me removed all doubt on this point.
"I'm so glad you were able to come down," said Aunt Mary, without any obvious enthusiasm, however. "It's not often you can tear yourself away from London."
"It's not often I get such charming invitations," I replied, shaking hands with her.
She looked at me in a rather surprised way, and it suddenly struck me that I was being a little too pleasant for the real Northcote. Whether "Aunt Mary" was any relation or not I had no idea, but she probably knew my double fairly well, and in that case was doubtless familiar with his character. As writers say, it behoved me to be careful!
Miss York showed more inclination to be friendly. "I hear you've brought your motor, Mr. Northcote," she said. "I hope it's big enough to take us all."
I laughed. "I've brought it as far as Woodford," I said, "and then it struck. However, it will be all right again in a couple of days, I think."
"Beastly fraud, isn't he, Miss York?" observed Sir George Vane, with quite unconscious humour.
"Well, it doesn't matter," put in Maurice languidly. "You couldn't use it if it was here. We're going to shoot to-morrow, the next day is the Cuthberts' garden-party, and the day after that, this cricket-match business that Bertie's got up."
"Oh, cricket!" said Miss York contemptuously. "Bertie's mad about cricket. Do you play, Mr. Northcote?"
"Not often," I replied gravely, and I heard Maurice laugh to himself.
There was a sound of footsteps in the drive, and we all looked up.
"Here are Bertie and Lady Baradell," said Miss York. "I wonder where they've been?"
I suddenly recollected the significant grin with which Maurice had mentioned the Baradells' name, when he had called on me in Park Lane, and with some natural interest I scanned the approaching figures. "Bertie," who, I gathered, was Miss York's brother, was a typical army man of about thirty, but his companion—well, Lady Baradell certainly could not be dismissed with any such cursory notice.
Tall and graceful, she moved towards us with that sort of almost insolent satisfaction which some beautiful women habitually suggest. Beautiful she certainly was, but compared to Mercia (I instinctively compared everyone with Mercia now) it was the beauty of fire against sunshine. Fire indeed seemed a very fitting simile for Lady Baradell. It glimmered in her wonderful bronze hair, and smouldered dangerously in the deep brown eyes with their curious golden-tinted irises. Her dress, a daring affair of almost flame-coloured material, completed the illusion.
"And so the great man has taken pity on us," she said in her slow musical voice. "Was London so terribly hot as all that, Mr. Northcote?"
"I seem to have a very undeserved reputation," I protested. "No one enjoys the beautiful things of life more than I do."
Lady Baradell raised her eyebrows and looked round with a smile.
"Saul among the prophets!" she said. "Maurice, what has happened to him?"
I waited for Maurice's answer with a malicious amusement.
"I don't know," he drawled. "I asked him myself, the other day, and he said that one must be agreeable occasionally, if only for the sake of variety."
There was a general laugh, cut short by the distant sound of a gong.
"Time to dress," observed Aunt Mary. "Dear me! how quickly the evenings go!"
We all moved back towards the house, Maurice thrusting his arm through mine and remarking in an affable fashion that he would take me up and show me my room.
This he did, bringing me to a large, cheerful apartment looking out over the garden.
"You'll be all right here, I think," he said. "No one to disturb you, except the Baradells—they're across the passage. Sure you've got everything you want?"
"Yes, thanks," I said.
"Dinner eight o'clock," he added, and, going out, closed the door.
I dressed myself in leisurely fashion, taking, as I did so, a kind of mental stock of my experiences since my arrival. So far, things appeared to be progressing quite satisfactorily. It was true I had been a trifle too genial for the part of Northcote, but of my identity no one in the house, even including Maurice, appeared to have the faintest suspicion.
About my fellow-guests I had not yet quite made up my mind. Vane and York seemed harmless enough in their respective ways, and I could hardly believe that they were concerned in the plot against me—if such a thing existed. Lady Baradell was a more complicated issue. Light and chaffing as her remarks had been, some subtle instinct warned me that our relations were on a more intimate footing that would have appeared from her greeting. Whether she knew anything about Northcote's history or not I was, of course, unaware, but I felt sure that some kind of understanding existed between them.
As I tied my tie in the glass, I examined myself critically by the light of two candles. The likeness was certainly astounding. If I had not known that I was in reality Jack Burton of Buenos Ayres and God knows where else, I would have sworn that the face which looked back at me was that of the man from whom I had parted in the Milan restaurant three strenuous days before.
When I got down to the dining-room, I found the whole party assembled, with the exception of Lady Baradell. She swept in a moment later, looking superb in a low black evening dress, and wearing a magnificent collar of emeralds, which were just the right stones to go with her wonderful copper-coloured hair.
I was detailed to take in "Aunt Mary," not, I think, wholly to the latter's satisfaction. Lady Baradell, with Sir George Vane as a partner, sat on the other side of me.
I forget what we talked about during dinner—most of it the usual stock of trivialities, I fancy, enlivened by some very ancient anecdotes from Sir George, who seemed to possess a magnificent wardrobe of "humour's cast-off clothes." I remember getting so bored with the third of his long-winded efforts that I was seized with a mischievous determination to tell, in an amended form, the interesting tale of my experiences with "Francis." It struck me that if Maurice had been responsible for planting that gentleman in the house, a naïve narration of the consequences might convince him that my suspicions with regard to his kindly self were still unaroused. He must know by now how the attempt had ended, and silence in the matter on my part might well seem suspicious.
"By the way, Maurice," I said across the table, "I've never told you about that butler of mine that Seagrave sent me."
If the fellow was really guilty, his nerve was magnificent.
"No, you haven't," he said coldly. "How did he turn out?"
I smiled. "A little abruptly," I answered, "and in the middle of the night." Then, seeing that I had secured the attention of the table, I proceeded to sketch my adventure much as I had painted it for the benefit of Mr. Seagrave. I left out, however, all references to Sir Henry Tregattock.
There was a chorus of surprised comment as I concluded. Lady Baradell looked at me with a curious light in her eyes.
"What a ruffian!" she exclaimed. "I hope you hurt him."
"I fancy his nose must be still a little sore," I observed contentedly.
"But it's dreadful to think of a man like that being at large," said Miss York, with a little shudder. "Didn't you go to the police?"
I shook my head. "I really couldn't be bothered. I told Seagrave, and left it in his hands."
Maurice leant back in his chair and laughed. "I'm frightfully sorry for putting you on to such a rotter," he remarked frankly. "I always thought Seagrave's were absolutely trustworthy. It's lucky you can look after yourself so well."
"Oh, it wasn't your fault, Maurice," I said generously.
"I should describe it rather as Francis's misfortune," put in Lady Baradell.
"Well, we'll leave you to discuss it over your port," said Aunt Mary, rising from her chair. "You'll find us in the billiard-room, Maurice, when you've done."
As soon as we were alone, Maurice pulled his chair up alongside of mine. "Are you game for some shooting to-morrow, Stuart?" he asked. "I thought if it was fine we might go out after dusk. Reece says they're coming in now in good quantities."
"Yes," I said quietly. "I'm quite ready for any amount of shooting."
"That's good," said Maurice heartily. "With four guns, we ought to get some fine sport."
I was inclined to agree with him, but any observation that I might have made to this effect was cut short by Sir George Vane, who promptly took the opening afforded by the mention of ducks to plunge into another ancient and, this time, rather obscene tale. We listened courteously until the ordeal was over, and then Maurice suggested a move into the billiard-room. Here we found Miss York practising strokes with some skill, while Aunt Mary and Lady Baradell looked on.
"I've got to go out a minute and interview the keeper," said Maurice. "Suppose you four have a game of snooker till I come back. I shan't be very long, and Vane will score for you."
The suggestion filled me with a momentary uneasiness. As it happens, I am rather above the average as a snooker-player, three years' constant practice in Buenos Ayres with some of the most accomplished sharpers in the world having left a decidedly beneficial effect on my game. On the other hand, I had no idea how Northcote played, or whether he played at all.
Captain York relieved my embarrassment.
"If I remember rightly, Northcote," he said, "you're a bit of a dab at this business. I think I'd better play with my sister."
"That's very polite to me," protested Lady Baradell, laughing.
"Don't you worry, Lady Baradell," put in Maurice; "you'll beat them easily. Stuart never loses at anything."
Guessing that in the back of Maurice's mind this last remark referred to my dealings with Francis, I smiled inwardly to myself.
"I'll try and do my best," I said, "but that's rather a large compliment to live up to."
Maurice went out, and, placing the balls, we settled down to the game. Thanks to a really ingenious display of strategy on my part, it provided us with a thrilling contest. I played just well enough to keep our side ahead, without arousing any suspicions that I was not doing my best. York and his sister were both good, steady second-raters, while my partner's contributions consisted of occasional and very dazzling flukes.
It was after one of these that York observed, laughing, "If I didn't know Sir Charles, I should say that you were very unlucky in love."
As he spoke, I was just chalking Lady Baradell's cue and for the fraction of a second her hand touched mine.
"I don't think I am," she said, with a curious smile.
It might have been a coincidence, but somehow or other the incident left me feeling a little uncomfortable. My peace of mind was not restored by observing that on several occasions afterwards, when the others were not looking, Lady Baradell favoured me with a smile which nothing but the most mule-headed modesty could describe as lacking in kindness. It seemed as though I had stumbled all unwittingly into another and exceedingly embarrassing complication.
However, I played on philosophically until the game ended, at which point in the proceedings Maurice returned. We then abandoned snooker for a five-handed game of pool, during which Sir George Vane and Aunt Mary solaced themselves with picquet.
At half-past ten some drinks arrived on a tray, and after we had dealt with them, Aunt Mary hazarded the opinion that bed seemed to her a sound proposition.
"And so say all of us," chimed in Miss York, politely suppressing an incipient yawn. "I can hardly keep my eyes open. We'll leave you men to ruin yourselves over bridge, or whatever horrible vices you indulge in after we've gone."
"My vice," retorted her brother, "will take the short form of one modest little cigarette. Lady Baradell walked me off my legs this afternoon."
There was a general laugh, during which Maurice stepped forward to the table to light the candles, which had been brought in with the drinks.
"Good-night," said Lady Baradell, shaking hands with York and Sir George. "I believe I am the only one who isn't tired, after all." She came across to me. "Good-night, Mr. Northcote;" then, so softly that they only reached my ears, she added the two words, "au revoir."
It was a situation which most men would have received with enthusiasm, but personally I derived no joy at all from it. However, I returned the little private pressure of her hand, and said, "Good-night, Lady Baradell," in my most amiable manner. Under the circumstances, I could scarcely do anything else!
I don't think I played a very prominent part in the half-hour's conversation that followed. The other men, if I remember rightly, were discussing the prospects of various horses in the October handicaps. Apart from the fact that I know nothing, and care less, about English racing, my thoughts were busy on a sporting topic of an altogether more delicate nature. It may perhaps seem a little strange that I should have allowed such an affair to embarrass me (Billy would have shrieked with mirth at the very idea), but, since I had met Mercia, my previous views on certain matters had undergone a change, and, as far as I could see, the result promised to be awkward!
Maurice, who had glanced at me rather curiously once or twice, eventually asked me whether I was feeling sleepy. "I'm about ready for bed," I admitted. "I was up till some unholy hour last night at Sangatte's."
"I'm with you," joined in York. "We'll let Vane and Furnivall settle the Cambridgeshire between them."
We took our candles, and, bidding the others good-night, left the billiard-room. I parted from York at the top of the staircase, and, passing Lady Baradell's room, turned into my own, and shut the door behind me.
It was a warm moonlight night, and I opened my window wide and leaned out for some time before beginning to undress. I still felt worried and a little apprehensive. The proverbial statement about "a woman scorned" appeared to me a very mild way of expressing what Lady Baradell's emotions would probably be under a similar provocation. I had hoped some instinct would tell Mercia what I was risking on her account.
At last, however, the beauty of the garden, bathed as it was in great spaces of silver and shadow, gradually began to soothe my mind into a state of sleepy tranquillity. Finally, with a little yawn, I dismissed Lady Baradell and all the other complications that surrounded me to their proper place, and, drawing down the blind, undressed and got into bed.
I think it must have been the light that kept me awake, for I generally go to sleep at once. As it was, I lay for some time in a kind of drowsy semi-consciousness that was just stealing into slumber, when a faint sound suddenly brought me up alert and open-eyed. In a moment I had jumped out of bed.
The door of my room opened quietly, and in the pale gleam of the moonshine I saw Lady Baradell. She was wearing a long blue silk dressing-gown, her feet were bare, and her bronze hair floated down over her shoulders. I must admit she looked wonderfully attractive.
Closing the door noiselessly, she glided towards me, a laughing gleam of triumph in her eyes.
"Ah, Stuart, Stuart!" she whispered, holding out her hands.
I don't think I have ever felt quite such a fool in my life.
I suppose it was inevitable that even my best efforts at being pleasant should have failed to convince Lady Baradell that my feelings towards her had not changed. People do not as a rule choose quite such unconventional hours for calling except with the expectation of a considerably more enthusiastic welcome than I was prepared to offer.
I saw suspicion and anger gathering slowly in her face, and finally she stepped back and clenched her hands.
"Why are you trying to deceive me?" she broke out passionately. "There is someone else. Tell me the truth, Stuart, at once."
The truth being exactly what I didn't want to tell her, I remained in a state of embarrassed silence.
"Oh, there's no need for you to speak," she added bitterly; "I know you too well." Then rage, murderous, ungovernable rage, flamed suddenly into her eyes. "You fool! Do you think I am the sort of woman to be picked up and thrown aside at a man's whim? Did you imagine for one single moment that you could deceive me?"
"No," I admitted sadly, "I didn't."
She laughed—an unpleasant, mirthless laugh, and, throwing back her hair, stared me full in the face like some splendid tigress.
"I love you, Stuart," she said steadily; "I love you as I don't think many women have loved men; but I will see you dead before I let any other woman have you."
Then, without another word, she turned and left the room.
I stood for a moment where I was, looking at the door. I felt rather like a man who had unwittingly touched off a dynamite cartridge. Whatever might be the precise value of Lady Baradell's last threat, I knew that I had managed to make an enemy more dangerous than any Northcote had already bequeathed me. With a heartfelt deliberation I cursed my double and all his works.
Somewhat relieved by this outbreak, I again retired to bed. As a sleeping draught, however, I found that Lady Baradell was a distinct failure. For a couple of hours at least I must have tossed about restlessly, turning over in my mind every aspect of this new development which threatened to complicate still further my already harassed path. Indeed, it was only sheer physical fatigue that at last closed my eyes in a welcome unconsciousness.
Sleep, however brief, always has the excellent effect of restoring me to my natural cheerfulness. I woke up next morning as buoyant as though no midnight reception had interfered with my customary eight hours. The morning sun was blazing into my room through the open window, and a discreet-looking man-servant was laying out my bath.
"Would you like it hot or cold, sir?" he inquired.
"Cold, this weather, I think," said I. "What time is breakfast?"
"Nine o'clock, sir. It's just gone a quarter to eight now."
"Good," I observed approvingly. This gave me plenty of time to make my toilet like a gentleman and get out and see Billy in the roadway, before joining the rest of the party over their eggs and bacon.
It was exactly half-past, by the clock on the mantelpiece, as I left my room. I went downstairs quietly and quickly, for I had no wish to run into Maurice or anyone else, and made my way across the garden and out through a small side gate into the main road. The birds were singing gaily in the hedges, and out of a blue sky the sun shone down with the most comforting warmth. As the Yankees say, I "felt good"—distinctly good.
Billy was sitting on a bank just round the first corner, smoking his pipe. He waved me a cheerful greeting.
"They've not scragged you in the night, then," he said with satisfaction.
"On the contrary, Billy," I said, "I have met with nothing but affection and kindness." I seated myself beside him and sniffed critically. "I don't think much of your 'baccy," I added.
"It's the Plough's best," retorted Billy. "You're getting swelled head." Then he slapped me on the shoulder. "Jack," he said, "I've found my job in life—I can give Sherlock Holmes two stone and put him out in the first round."
Billy was not given to boasting, so I looked at him with interest.
"Proceed, William," I said encouragingly.
He stuffed the 'baccy down with his thumb and chuckled to himself. "Last night," he began, "I did a bit of scouting. I thought it would be just as well to sniff around and see how the land lay, so, as soon as I'd had some grub, I tootled along here as far as the lodge. I hung about outside for a bit, taking my bearings, and then, as there wasn't anybody about, I dropped in over the hedge and tracked up through the shrubbery till I got to the house. I'd been there about ten minutes, squatting down under a bush, when who should come up the drive but your old dot-and-carry-one friend!"
"Who?" I inquired.
"Why, the chap who doctored your butler's drink. At least, it was exactly like your description of him. A big, ugly, lopsided beggar he was, with one shoulder about an inch higher than the other."
"Go on, Billy," I said. "This is getting exciting."
"Well, he crawled up in a hang-dog sort of way, and sat down on the balustrade just in front of where I was hiding. I thought he was expecting somebody, and sure enough, he hadn't been there many minutes when out came a fellow in evening-dress—your cousin, I should reckon, by the cut of his jib."
"Maurice did take a little air after dinner," I observed. "He said he wanted to see the keeper."
"Did he?" drawled Billy. "Well, he saw him all right. They stood there jawing for the best part of twenty minutes, and all about you, my son."
"Was it interesting?" I asked.
"What I heard was, but I only got on to about every tenth word. They were doing the whispering act most of the time. Seemed to me they were fixing up something for to-day—something about you and the sea wall, as far as I could get it."
I nodded. "There's going to be an accident at our shooting party this afternoon, unless I'm much mistaken," I said.
"Looks like it," answered Billy grimly. "They seemed cursedly pleased with themselves, anyhow. The only other thing I heard was about your girl with the pistol—what's her name—Mercia."
"Mercia!" I echoed. "What were they saying about her?"
Billy grinned in a very aggravating manner. "I like to see you getting interested, Jack," he said. Then, removing his pipe, he knocked out the ashes against the bank.
"Billy," I said, "you're playing with death. Get on."
"I only heard her name," he chuckled. "The lop-sided gentleman trotted it out and repeated it about four times. I think he was annoyed with her over something, from the way he was speaking. Your cousin seemed to be rubbing it in."
A sudden uneasiness about Mercia's safety flashed through my mind. I had excellent proof that we were dealing with a pretty reckless gang, and if it was known that she had warned me against coming to Ashton she might well be in as grave danger as myself.
Billy evidently read my thoughts. "I think she's all right at present," he said, "for the simple reason that the whole gang seem to be hot on your track. I've not told you the best part yet, Jack. I've actually had the luck to run 'em to earth."
He sat back and looked at me proudly.
"By Jove, Billy!" I cried. "You're a wonder! How did you do it?"
"Well, after the little confab was over, and your cousin had cleared off into the house, I gave old Dot-and-carry-one time to get back into the road, and then I followed him. I had to give him a couple of hundred yards or so, or he might have tumbled to it. He went straight back to Woodford, and, as luck would have it, I was just in time to see him turn into a pub.—not the Plough; another one this side of it. I followed him in, and found him shifting raw brandy. He's a Dago right enough—there's no question about it."
"Did you speak to him?" I asked.
Billy shook his head. "I thought it best to lie low. The landlord, who was a talkative sort of ass, seemed to know him, so I waited a bit, and, after our pal had cleared off, I asked who he was. 'Oh,' said the landlord, 'that's an Eyetalian gentleman, Moosyer Berretti. He's just taken the Hollies, Colonel Paton's house, for some months. Moved in yesterday, I believe. Nice, pleasant-spoken gent he is, too."
"There's room for all opinions," I said, with a laugh. "Milford didn't fancy him at all."
"The landlord thought no end of him," said Billy. "In fact, he got quite confidential. His brother, it seems, was gardener at the Hollies, so of course he knew all about it. There's Dot-and-carry-one, and a lady he calls his wife, and another chap who arrived to-day. I asked whether he had a broken nose, and he said no; so it can't be Francis."
"I expect it's the gentleman I owe this stiff shoulder to," I said. "Nice little family party, anyway. Where is the Hollies?"
Billy jerked his head up the road. "Quite close," he said, "just outside Woodford. A small white house on the left. I mean to inspect it to-night." Then he paused. "Jack," he said, "I'm not quite happy about this shooting business."
"Neither am I," I answered truthfully.
"Why do you go? Can't you make some excuse?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "What's the use? It only means they'll try some other way. At least I know what to expect this afternoon."
"Yes, there's that," said Billy. "Look here, I've got an idea. Suppose I get hold of a boat and cruise around outside the sea wall while you're shooting. I might be of use some way or another—one never knows."
"Right you are, Billy," I said. "There's nothing like having command of the sea." Then I looked at my watch. "I ought to be trotting back," I added; "it's just on nine. I'll let you know about meeting you to-morrow, if we don't run across each other this afternoon. We're due down on the marsh about half-past five, I think."
"Well, be careful, old son," said Billy, gripping my hand. "By the way, have you heard anything about Milford?"
I shook my head. "I left my address with the cook, and told her to write if he turned up; but there was nothing from her this morning. It beats me altogether. I could understand their trying to shift him in order to plant 'Francis' on me; but after that little business failed, what on earth could their game be?"
"Lord knows," said Billy. "But they've got him, evidently. Perhaps he was more in with Northcote than we think. Anyhow, it's no use worrying. Keep your eyes skinned this afternoon, and give me a hail if there's any trouble."
He went off up the road, and, after waiting for a minute until he had rounded the corner, I set off back to the house.
As I came across the garden, I saw Maurice and York standing outside, on the terrace.
"Hullo!" cried the latter, "you've beaten us all. I thought I was down first."
"It was too fine to lie in bed," I explained. "I've been inspecting the country."
If Maurice had any suspicions, he kept them to himself. "I should never have accused you of laziness," he answered. "Come along in and let's have some breakfast. The gong's just gone."
We entered the dining-room, where Aunt Mary was occupying herself with making the tea, and had scarcely settled into our places when we were joined by Miss York and Lady Baradell, who came in together.
If I had not genuinely admired the latter before, I should certainly have done so now. Far from there being any trace of embarrassment in her manner, she appeared to be the most cheerful and unconcerned person in the entire party.
"Dear me! How terribly energetic everyone is!" she said, looking quizzically round the room. "Even Mr. Northcote down! I thought he always breakfasted in bed."
York laughed. "Down!" he echoed. "Why, he's been out catching butterflies."
"The early bird," I said, "is improving in his taste."
"Well, what are we all going to do this morning?" inquired Aunt Mary briskly. "I suppose you won't be shooting till this afternoon, will you, Maurice?"
The latter shook his head. "We might pick up a few rabbits if anyone wants to," he answered; "but it's no good trying for duck till later. What do you think, Stuart?"
"The duck will do for me all right," I said. I didn't see any reason for running myself into unnecessary danger.
"Let's have some tennis this morning," said Miss York. "We haven't tried the lawn yet. You play, don't you, Mr. Northcote?"
Having never touched a tennis racquet in my life, I was reluctantly driven to lie.
"I think I'll look on and applaud," I said. "The car back-fired the other day, and my wrist's still reminding me of it."
There was a general murmur of sympathy, which Maurice capped by inquiring, I thought a little anxiously, whether I was sure I felt up to shooting.
"Oh yes," I said; "I can still hold a gun straight."
After some discussion, it was agreed that Miss York and Maurice should take on her brother and Vane. Vane, it appeared, was the duffer of the party, while York, having played for the army, was evidently a cut above the others.
The tennis lawn lay at the side of the house, and after breakfast was over, and we had had a look at the morning papers, we took out some chairs and placed them in the shadiest spots we could find which commanded a view of the court. I was just settling myself down when I saw Aunt Mary coming towards me.
So far I had had very little conversation with my hostess, her manner at our first meeting, though courteous enough superficially, having plainly showed me that I was by no means a welcome guest from her point of view. Since then, however, she had perceptibly thawed, and on the present occasion she came up to me with a smile on her kindly, rather worried, face.
"I want to have a little talk with you, Stuart," she said as I pulled round a chair for her.
"By all means," I answered, wondering what she might be leading up to. "We've hardly had the chance of a chat since I came."
She looked at me thoughtfully. "You seem to me to have changed a great deal lately."
This was in the nature of a frontal attack, but I met it calmly. "Yes," I said, "I have changed."
"And for the better," she added. "Stuart, when you first came back from South America, I disliked you intensely."
I bowed. "You were quite justified in doing so," I said.
"I don't know what your life out there had been," she went on, "so it's not fair that I should judge you, but all my instincts seemed to tell me that you were bad—bad through and through. I dreaded your influence over Maurice."
She paused. The idea of anyone demoralising Maurice, if my judgment of that young man was anything like correct, struck me as bordering on the humorous. However, Aunt Mary's penetration into Northcote's character was sufficiently startling to prevent my smiling.
"It will be Maurice's own fault," I said bluntly, "if he comes to any harm through me."
She laid her hand on my arm. "I believe you, Stuart," she said. "Since you have been down here this time, I seem, somehow, to have reversed all my previous opinions of you. It's curious, because, as a rule, my first impressions never alter."
"I am glad to provide the exception," I said. "And I'm glad, too, that Maurice has someone who takes an interest in him."
"Ah!" she said; "it's about Maurice that I want to speak to you." Then she hesitated a moment. "I am afraid Maurice is getting into bad hands," she went on. "There is something on his mind—something that has changed him terribly the last few months. It may be his money affairs—I know he has been betting very heavily on horses—but I can't help thinking that there's some other trouble as well."
I thought that I had a pretty shrewd notion what the other trouble was.
"There is no one I can speak to about it except you, Stuart," she added unhappily. "You at least are our nearest relative, and you have seen a great deal of life. You know the temptations that a young man like Maurice may get into. I want you, if you will, to try and help him. With all his faults, he is dear Alice's boy. If it is only a matter of money, we might be able to put things right between us, perhaps; only I don't like to question him myself. He would take it so much better from you."
I felt intensely sorry for the poor lady. Maurice was evidently very dear to her; and although I believed firmly that the young blackguard was scheming to murder me, I had no wish to bring any more lines of sorrow into her care-worn face.
"I give you my word," I said simply, "that I'll do anything I can to keep Maurice out of trouble."
She gave me a faint but very genuine smile of gratitude. "Thank you, Stuart," she said. "I am sorry I misjudged you so." Then she got up from her chair, just as the tennis party came, laughing and talking, out of the billiard-room door which led into the garden. "I must go and look after my house," she added: "I haven't even ordered the dinner yet. By the way, if you're duck-shooting, I suppose you will all be late. I must ask Maurice."
The latter, looking very cool and supercilious, in white flannels, was just advancing across the lawn. Aunt Mary went up to him, and after a moment's conversation continued her way to the house.
Miss York waved her racquet at me. "We shall expect lots of applause, Mr. Northcote," she said gaily. "You needn't bother to clap if your wrist's bad, but you must cheer like anything."
"The tennis-court shall echo with it," I returned encouragingly.
Miss York laughed. "That's right," she said. "Here's Lady Baradell coming to help you."
Even if I had wished to retreat, it would have been too late. Graceful and beautifully dressed as ever, Lady Baradell was coming across the garden towards the spot where I was sitting.
"You have made yourself comfortable, I see," she said, smiling.
"Oh, trust Northcote for that," put in Vane, with a chuckle, as he hung up a wonderfully coloured blazer in the tree behind.
"You've got the best of it, anyway," added Maurice languidly. "I think we are all mad to play tennis in this sun."
"Well, let's hope there will be some method in your madness," replied Lady Baradell. "As spectators, we shall be very critical."
She sank down into the chair which Aunt Mary had lately vacated, fanning herself slowly with a big palm-leaf which she was carrying in her hand.
"Stuart," she said, when the others had taken their places in the court, "I wonder what you think of me?"
"At the present moment," I said, "I think that you are the most beautiful woman in Suffolk."
She laughed, looking up at me sideways out of her curious golden eyes. "I think I was a little hysterical last night," she said softly. "But you were rather cruel, Stuart, you know. There are several ways of breaking bad news. Who is she?"
I hesitated a moment. "I wonder if you would believe me," I said, "if I told you the truth."
"Game—love!" There came a triumphant cry from Miss York, as Vane with misdirected energy sent a ball soaring into the kitchen garden.
"Game—love," repeated Lady Baradell, staring out over the lawn with half-shut eyes. "Ah, yes, Stuart, I shall believe you."
I leaned forward and looked at her steadily. "In a month's time," I said, "you will forgive me everything for the sake of last night."
There was a short silence. Then she answered in a low voice: "There can be no question of forgiveness between you and me."
Even as she spoke, I saw the door of the billiard-room open, and Aunt Mary, accompanied by a tall, grave-looking man in dark clothes, came out on to the lawn.
Lady Baradell laughed gently. "My husband," she said, "has all the virtues—even punctuality."