At the present moment, George Walker had plenty of time on his hands, and being naturally industrious, he did not enjoy the enforced idleness. Hitherto he had spent the bulk of his leisure hours in looking for a situation and in thinking of Lesbia. Now he made up his mind to act in order to bring about some sort of settlement of his very disorderly affairs. Lesbia could no longer remain with her father, as his character was so extremely bad. Hale had left the cottage, but would be certain to return again, therefore George wished to see if he could not marry Lesbia--say within a month--so as to rescue her from the troubles by which she was environed.
To do this he required assistance and believed that he would receive it from Lord Charvington, who appeared to be particularly well-disposed towards the girl. The idea of emigrating to the Colonies--if Mrs. Walker could be persuaded to lend her approval to the suggestion--was by no means a bad one, as then the whole unhappy past could be set aside for ever. In another country with better prospects, and unaffected by the sordid life compulsorily spent with sordid people, George foresaw that he would be able to make a calm, bright and happy future for himself and his wife. He therefore crossed the river and walked to Maidenhead with the idea of explaining his scheme to Charvington, and asking him to advance the necessary funds.
But before starting a new life George wished to round off the old. He saw very plainly that for some reason the amethyst cross had been the cause of the late troubles. Since its loss everything had gone wrong: and it was necessary that it should be found if things were to be put right. Jabez, the lawyer, insisted that it should be produced before he would part with the fifty thousand pounds trust money. If, then, the ornament could be found and given into Jabez's hands, Mrs. Walker would benefit. Certainly, there was a chance that her late sister had left a child, but in the absence of proof this difficulty might be overcome. At all events, the production of the cross appeared to be necessary to force Jabez into dealing with the trust money and its accumulations.
Then again, George wished to do something for Canning. The man was a wastrel and a ne'er-do-weel and had no one to take an interest in him: but he had done Lesbia a service at considerable risk, and it was only fair that he should be rewarded. Undoubtedly he belonged to the gang of clever thieves, but he had repented sufficiently of his wickedness to help the lovers, whom the gang--or at least three members of it--had desired to destroy. This service should be recompensed, especially as Canning could not remain in England without being exposed to the vengeance of his former associates. George determined to lay the case before Lord Charvington, and ask him to help. Failing any aid being forthcoming in this quarter, George intended to take Canning to Australia or Canada with him, and there start the man on a new career. Canning was not an old man and there was ample time for him to redeem the shortcomings of his youth. He was not inherently wicked as were his brother and Hale, but merely weak.
On arriving at The Court, George was at once shown into the library wherein Lord Charvington was waiting for him. The old man arose courteously and came forward with outstretched hand. He appeared to be pleased that George had kept his appointment so punctually, and expressed himself with great cordiality. "I am very glad to see you, Mr. Walker," he said, when the two were again seated. "I knew your father."
"My mother also, I believe, sir," said George.
Charvington's face changed. "I have not seen Mrs. Walker for many a long day," he remarked in a low voice, "perhaps we may meet again, but----" he paused to ask an abrupt and extraordinary question. "Does your mother ever speak ill of me?" he demanded, his eyes eagerly searching the young man's face.
"No," answered George, much astonished. "She has scarcely mentioned your name. Why should she speak ill of you?"
"I thought that Hale might have--but that is neither here nor there. It is enough for you to know, Mr. Walker, that I knew your mother and her sister over thirty years ago. We all three knew Hale also, and he caused trouble. He would cause trouble still if he could, but I think this last escapade of his will keep him quiet."
"Did you know my aunt Miss Katherine Morse?" asked George, astonished.
"Yes," Charvington rested his head on his hand and drew figures on the blotting-paper, "but why do you speak of her by her maiden name? She was married, you know."
"I don't know her married name. My mother never mentions it. Perhaps," George hesitated, "perhaps she doesn't know it."
"Yes, she does," answered Charvington, still drawing, "so does Hale. Your aunt died in his house at Wimbledon remember. I understood from Jabez that Hale had admitted as much."
"I believe he did. You know Mr. Jabez?"
"Yes." Charvington heaved heavy sigh. "But I have not seen him for years. We correspond occasionally--that is all," he paused, then dropping the pencil with which he was drawing, wheeled his chair and looked at his guest briskly. "But we have no time to talk of these old stories. Let us come to the point. Have you heard about Lesbia's stay here?"
"Yes," said George very distinctly, "Lady Charvington told both my mother and myself about the matter."
Lord Charvington's face grew a dull brick red. "When did you see my wife?"
"Yesterday: she called on my mother at Medmenham."
"What did she say?" asked the elder man, abruptly and anxiously.
George gave details in a blunt cool way, exaggerating nothing and suppressing nothing. The effect on Lord Charvington was very marked. He jumped up from his chair and paced the room, holding his head in both his hands.
"Good heavens: oh! good heavens," he muttered, "these women, these women. How dare Helen speak so? What does she guess? What does she know?"
"About what?" asked George with keen curiosity, and his question recalled Lord Charvington to the fact, which he seemed to have forgotten in his agitation, that he was not alone.
"Never mind," he said sharply, and returned to his seat more composed. "Do you mean to say that Lady Charvington stated that she had found the cross in this library?"
"Yes, sir. And I thought that you might know----"
"I know nothing," interrupted Charvington violently, and nervously shifting various articles on his writing-table. "I know that there is such a cross. I remember that Mr. Samuel Morse gave it to his daughter, and remarked on its oddity. But how did it get into this library?"
"Did you not bring it here?"
"No, sir, no." Charvington again rose and began to walk off his uncontrollable agitation. "I have not seen that cross for years. The last time I set eyes on it Miss Morse--I may as well call her Miss Morse, since your mother has not revealed her married name--wore it round her neck. My wife says that she found it here. I tell you, Mr. Walker, that I do not know how it came into this room. I never saw it."
"How strange!" said George, believing this speech, but wondering nevertheless.
"But how comes it," asked Charvington wheeling, "thatyouknow about the amethyst cross, Mr. Walker?"
"I received it from Lesbia as a love-gift," explained George, and went on to relate the circumstances of the assault and robbery. Charvington walked up and down nodding, and muttering at intervals. When George ended he came to a halt before the young man.
"Lesbia told me much of what you tell me," he said quietly, "but of course I was ignorant that my wife had taken the cross from this room. She did not tell me that. I cannot understand."
"And I," said George in his turn, "cannot understand why Lady Charvington is so bitter against Lesbia."
"Ah! Woman! Woman!" said Charvington, with a gesture of despair, "who can understand the nature of Woman! Let us leave that question for the time being, Mr. Walker. What we have to do is to get at the root of this matter. If the cross was in my wife's jewel-case, as she asserts, undoubtedly the burglary was committed to gain possession of it. Hale was the thief, as you know. He has sent me back the case intact. I received it this morning, as only on condition of its being restored, would I consent to hush the matter up. And I hushed it up for his daughter's sake, Mr. Walker. But," Charvington wrinkled his brow and threw back his white mass of hair, "the amethyst cross is not amongst the jewels."
"Hale probably kept it back. He wants it, you know, as he has some idea of getting this money by producing it."
"Yes! Yes! I heard something about that," muttered Charvington, "but of course that is impossible, unless--unless----" he paused, opening and shutting his hands feverishly. "Damn him," he burst out with a stamp of his foot, "I would like to throttle him as he nearly throttled you."
George looked up in surprise. "Throttled me?"
"Yes," said Charvington impatiently "can't you see? It must have been Hale who assaulted you on the towing-path to get back that cross, and he, as an expert thief, took the ornament from your cottage."
"On the face of it, that appears probable," said George slowly, "all the same I don't think it was the case."
"Why not? He wanted the amethyst cross."
"Quite so. But if he had obtained it from my cottage so long ago, he would have taken it to Mr. Jabez to procure the money if possible. The mere fact, too, that he was willing I should marry Lesbia, if I found the missing ornament, shows that Hale did not commit the assault and robbery."
"Then who could have done so?"
George shrugged his shoulders. "I can't say. Probably the person who placed it in this room."
"If it ever was in this room," muttered Charvington, darkly.
"Your wife declares----"
"Oh yes--oh yes. I know what she declares. Well, these things are not to be threshed out in five minutes. Mr. Walker," he stopped short before George, "do you wish to marry Lesbia?"
"With all my heart and soul. We have come together again and last night we renewed our love-vows."
"They should never have been broken," said Charvington impatiently.
"They never were, save by circumstances," said George solemnly, "our hearts were always true," and he related the plotting of Maud and Walter Hale.
"Devils! Devils!" muttered Charvington, with another stamp, "and it's all my fault--all my fault."
"What!" George scarcely knew if he had heard aright.
"All my fault I say." Charvington clutched his head with an expression of pain. "You do not know, you can't guess--you--you--never mind. I'll put an end to all this. You shall marry Lesbia and make her happy. I shall settle Hale once and for all. Come, what is your idea?"
"My idea," said George deliberately, "was, when I entered this room, to ask you to give me enough, as a loan, to marry Lesbia, so that I could take her to Australia or Canada and begin a new life. But now I have changed my mind, as I can guess that in some way you can arrange matters without my having to adopt such an extreme course."
"Yes," said Charvington quietly; "I believe that I can arrange matters and in a very surprising way. They should have been arranged long ago, only for the fact that I had not the courage. It is very hard to do right sometimes. But the time has come. Mr. Walker, in three days certain people must be brought together into this room."
"What people, sir?"
"Walter Hale and Lesbia; yourself and your mother; Mr. Jabez and my wife. When we are all assembled I shall be able to straighten things, crooked as they are at present. I ask you to see that these people--saving my wife, who will be invited by me to be present--are here on the third day from now at three o'clock in the afternoon."
"And then?"
"Then you shall marry Lesbia and be happy ever afterwards. Now go."
George went without another word, wondering very much at the turn which events had taken. He had hoped that Charvington would arrange his destiny and that of Lesbia, but the old nobleman seemed able and ready to arrange the destiny of many other people. George could not entirely understand the meaning of Charvington's behaviour, and after a brief reflection did not attempt to. He decided to write a note telling Hale and Lesbia to be at The Court at the appointed time, and also to go personally to London to see Mr. Jabez and arrange for his presence. Having thus made up his mind what to do, George strode towards home whistling with a load off his mind. In one way or another things would surely be put right.
Then came a surprise. While passing through Nightingale Thicket the young man saw Canning, looking more shadowy than ever, flitting down the road to meet him. But as the man drew nearer George saw that his usually pale face was flushed, that he was dressed spick and span as a gentleman, and that there was a general look of opulence about him. He glided up to Walker swiftly--for he appeared too unsubstantial to do anything save glide--and broke into a voluble explanation.
"Walker," he cried, and in loud tones which contrasted markedly with his usual whispering speech, "I came down this morning especially to see you. They told me you had gone to Charvington's place, so I crossed the river and walked in this direction on the chance of meeting you."
"What's your hurry?" asked George, surprised by this change of clothes and looks and manner.
"I am leaving England, and have come to say good-bye. Let us sit down on the grass by the roadside, no one will come along. After I have explained, I shall push on to Maidenhead and take the train to London. From London I go to Italy. Yes, an old aunt of mine has remembered me in her will at the eleventh hour, and I have inherited two hundred a year, an annuity, the principal of which I cannot touch."
"Luckily for you," said George, taking out his pipe; "you would waste it."
"I daresay, I was always a wrong 'un. However, I go to Italy because there I can live like a fighting-cock on an income which means penury in England. I go also because Tait and Hale and the rest of them are making things too hot for me. But before departing I wanted to see you to confess."
George lighted his pipe and looked sideways in surprise. "Confess what?"
"That I assaulted you," said Canning, nervously.
"You," George glanced in amazement at the frail figure.
"Yes. Of course I took you by surprise, or you could have knocked me into a cocked-hat. You can punch me now, Walker."
"I don't want to punch you as you put it," said George bluntly. "Of course you acted like a skunk in sneaking behind me and knocking me on the head, to say nothing of tying me up; all the same----"
"I tied you up," said Canning, who had lain down and was smoking a cigarette, "because I did not wish you to recover and get back to your cottage at Medmenham until I had secured the cross."
George turned indignantly. "Then you were the thief?" he declared.
"Yes," admitted Canning, coughing. "Kick me. I'll take it lying down."
"No," said George, after a pause; "you have done me a service through Lesbia, by preventing the success of Maud Ellis's plot. The evil you have done is counterbalanced by the good. But how did you get me into Rose Cottage?"
Canning sat up and looked puzzled. "I didn't do that," he said earnestly. "I left you trussed on the towing-path like a fowl, and how the deuce you got into the cottage I know no more than you do. Have you never found out?"
"No," said George promptly, "but I am beginning to find out many things, and it is just possible that I may solve that riddle also. By the way, why did you sneak the amethyst cross?"
"My brother wanted it."
"Sargent?"
"Yes. Hale came to Cookham on the evening when you proposed to Miss Lesbia, and told Alfred that she had given you the cross. Alfred insisted that I should rob you, and primed me with champagne to do what he wanted. I started for the cottage with a sandbag and a rope to stun you and bind you, hoping to take you by surprise. I saw you coming along the towing-path in the twilight and then----"
"Yes," George cut him short, "I know the rest. You crept up behind me and stunned me and bound me, and then sneaked back to rob the cottage. You are a pretty bad lot, I must say."
"I am," said Canning languidly, "but now that I have enough to keep the wolf from the door I'll reform. Besides, you can kick me as I said."
"I don't want to, you poor devil, since you have confessed and have done me a service. Why did you?"
"Because Miss Hale was the only human being who was ever kind to me," said Canning, throwing away his cigarette. "Oh, Walker, you don't know the terrible life I have had. I never was wicked, really I wasn't: only weak, only easily led. I hated myself all the time I was working for Alfred and those accursed wretches he associated with. I hated all mankind because I was treated so badly: but Miss Hale changed my nature by her kindness, and I did what I could to repair my wrong towards her and towards you. Because she loved you I have confessed because I want her to know the truth. Then I pass out of her life and yours for ever. Take this address in London," Canning handed him a pencilled card, "it will find me for the next week. After that I go to Italy. Tell Miss Hale everything I have told you, and then ask her to write and say that she forgives me. I don't want her to think badly of me."
George nodded and slipped the card into his pocket, feeling very sorry for the miserable man. "Only one question I should like to ask," he said, rising from the grass; "why did your brother want this cross?"
"Lady Charvington--as I found out from overhearing a conversation between them--asked him to get it."
George thought of the lie told by the lady as to the cross having been found by her in the library. "And why did she want it?"
"I can't say," replied Canning, moving away; "ask her. Good-bye. And Walker, my dear fellow," he added, "one last word. Maud Ellis and Hale are plotting to get that money which should come to your mother. Good-bye," and he disappeared down the road--withdrawing swiftly like a receding mist. That was the last George saw of Arthur Sargent,aliasCanning,aliasThe Shadow.
But that Canning fairly ran away, George would have stopped him to ask further questions. He had told much which was new and strange and explained a great deal: but his last remark hinted at further difficulties.
Apparently, Hale had not yet given up all idea of procuring the money, although how he hoped to do so in the absence of the child, George could not understand. Of course, Walker felt very certain that Hale had kept back the amethyst cross when sending the jewels to Lord Charvington, but its production by Hale would have no effect on Mr. Jabez. The lawyer wanted the cross to be produced by the child of Katherine Morse--whatever her married name might be and, according to Hale himself, the dying woman had no child. Mrs. Walker, indeed, had stated that her sister had written about a sick child, but this had probably died. If not, surely during all these twenty years the child would have come forward to recover its inheritance.
George was naturally puzzled with this new development, and decided that to learn the truth it would be best to go to the fountain head. That is, if Hale intended to use the cross to procure the money he would have to produce it to Mr. Jabez in his office in Lincoln's Inn Fields. It was thus best to go at once to Mr. Jabez and inform him of what Canning had said about this new plot. What Maud Ellis had to do with the matter it was impossible to say; George could no more understand her connection with the matter than he could understand why Lady Charvington had employed Captain Sargent to get her the cross. What possible interest could she have in the amethyst cross? And why had she told a deliberate lie about its being in the library?
George was quite bewildered with the complicated state of affairs. And Jabez, as he believed, alone could solve the mystery.
George duly gave his mother Lord Charvington's message. She received it in silence, but with a change of colour, which did not escape his notice.
"Mother," he asked abruptly, "what do you know about Lord Charvington?"
"He was not Lord Charvington when I knew him," confessed Mrs. Walker, after a pause, "but Philip Hale. Hale, you know, is the family name and Lesbia's father bears it as a cousin. Charvington had not come into the title some twenty and more years ago. I knew him very well and liked him," she sighed, "but he was always weak."
George looked incredulous. "Weak," he echoed, "he seems to me to be a very strong man and one who knows his own mind."
"He has no doubt learned by experience," replied Mrs. Walker, "and heaven only knows how badly he needed to learn. So he is going to speak at last. He should have done so long ago."
"About what, mother?"
Mrs. Walker pursed up her mouth. "Never mind, George, I prefer that Lord Charvington should tell his own story. If he does, Walter Hale will find himself in trouble, and I shall be glad of that. I have waited long to see him punished: soon I shall be satisfied."
"Why do you hate Hale so, mother?"
"I have every cause to hate him," cried Mrs. Walker vindictively, and her eyes glittered. "Years ago I loved Walter Hale."
"You--loved--that--man?" said her son slowly.
"What is there strange in that?" snapped his mother, trying to keep her restless hands still. "He was handsome and clever and rich. I loved him and I thought that he loved me. I gave him my heart and found out only too late that he was playing with me. He was always cruel and wicked and hard, selfish to the core and thinking only of himself. We were engaged," added Mrs. Walker, drooping her head, and in a lower tone, "and he confessed then that he had very little money. He believed that I was an heiress, and so I was to the extent of fifty thousand pounds. My father did not like him and declared that if I married Walter he would cut me off with a shilling. I did not care, for I loved the man for himself: but he loved me for my money, and when he learned my father's decision he threw me over, and went after some other woman who was rich."
"Lesbia's mother?"
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Walker, pretending indifference; "but he vanished out of my life, and I heard that he was courting this heiress, in the hope of making a good marriage for his pocket. I was left alone, and I married your father Aylmer Walker, not because I loved him, but because he was kind and sympathetic. Aylmer was a spendthrift and wasted all my money; all the same he was kind-hearted and not a scoundrel like Walter Hale. Then you were born and shortly afterwards misfortunes came. I was only married four years when your father broke his neck leaving me penniless. Then Kate eloped with"--Mrs. Walker paused--"she eloped, that is all I can say. I saw Walter Hale again and learned, and learned--oh!" he rose and wrung out her hands, "what a villain the man is. But he shall be punished now. I swear if Charvington will not punish him, I shall punish him myself."
"But mother----"
"Not a word," cried Mrs. Walker passionately, "I can't bear to discuss the matter. When we meet at Charvington's place, the long-hidden truth will come to light. Until then----" she stopped, closed her mouth, shook her head, and left the room hastily.
George wondered what could be the hidden truth she referred to, but could come to no conclusion. He wrote a letter to Lesbia saying that she was to come to Lord Charvington's place, and stating that he would call to take her over. Then he smoked a pipe and retired to bed, intending the next day to go to London and see Mr. Jabez in Lincoln's Inn Fields. Mrs. Walker did not put in an appearance again on that evening. Of course George, as a lover, lay awake and thought of Lesbia. He was sorely inclined to postpone his visit to Mr. Jabez, and go over to Marlow on the morrow, but it was necessary to execute business before indulging in pleasure, since, when everything was settled, he would have Lesbia beside him always as his dear wife. He therefore restrained his longing for a sight of her face, and gradually dropped off to sleep.
Next morning Mrs. Walker had her breakfast in bed and did not see her son. George left a message that he would return in the evening, and went to Henley in his boat to catch the mid-day train. He soon arrived in London, and without wasting time went to see Mr. Jabez.
The old lawyer had a large and expensive office in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and from the number of clerks was apparently much sought after as a solicitor. He received Walker as soon as the young man sent in his card, as it seemed that George had luckily arrived during the slack season. "A week ago," said Mr. Jabez, in his precise way, "I should have had to keep you waiting for some hours."
The room in which Jabez received his client--as George was--was a large apartment with a painted ceiling and three long windows looking out on to the gardens of the square. Probably in Georgian days it had held brilliant company, but now, since the tide of fashion had rolled farther to the west, it was given over to the dry-as-dust details of the law. Jabez looked as hatchet-faced as ever, and still wore his large blue spectacles to aid his weak eyes. He welcomed George politely in his dry way, and waited to hear what the young man had to say.
"Lord Charvington wants you to come down to The Court the day after to-morrow at three o'clock," said George abruptly.
"Why?" demanded Jabez quietly, and more puzzled than he chose to admit.
"I can only answer you by telling you all that has taken place," answered the young man, and forthwith related what he knew.
Nursing his chin in the hollow of his hand, Jabez crossed his lean legs and listened quietly enough, nodding at intervals. "I thought it would come to this," he observed, when the young man ended.
"Come to what?"
"An explanation."
"Of what?"
"Of many things which will astonish you," said Jabez drily. "Of course I was acquainted with Lord Charvington when he was merely the Honourable Philip Hale. Then----" Jabez suspended further confidences. "It is best to allow Lord Charvington to speak for himself."
"Do you know what he intends to say?"
"Partly. And yet," mused the solicitor, looking at his neat shoes, "there may be something interesting which I do not know. However, the main point is that I shall arrange to be there at the stated time. The gathering promises to be interesting. The cross," Jabez stopped, "h'm! yes, the cross. I see now how Hale got it."
"He stole it from Lady Charvington, who procured it from Sargent, who employed Canning to thieve it from me," explained George.
"So you said before, and I am not so stupid as to require a double explanation," said Jabez crustily, "but I am wondering how Hale hopes to get the money by means of this cross. Certainly he declares that he has found the child, and----"
"What!" cried George, starting to his feet in amazement.
Jabez looked up and raised a hand. "Don't speak so loud, your voice goes through my head," he said in his testy manner. "Yes," he searched amongst some papers, "here is a letter from Walter Hale saying that he will call to-morrow at noon with the child of Katherine Morse----"
"Doesn't he mention my aunt's married name?"
"No," answered Jabez, sucking in his cheeks, "and that is what makes me suspicious of the affair. However, what you have told me to-day about Lady Charvington's share in the business, and her husband's attitude gives me an idea. Send a wire to Lord Charvington asking him to meet you here to-morrow. Then you can both see Mr. Hale and this child."
"I should like to, but what use----"
"There! There. I have no time to waste. Go and do what you are told," said Jabez, rising with an angry gesture. "I may be wrong and I may be right. But putting two and two together----" he stopped and walked to the window, musingly, "yes, I believe it may be so."
"What may be so?" questioned George, picking up his hat.
Jabez wheeled crossly. "Oh, you are there still. Go away and send that wire. At noon to-morrow, bring Lord Charvington here. Good-day," he rang the bell, "get out, young Walker, you are taking up my time."
Wondering at the behaviour of the lawyer, George departed and forthwith sent a prepaid wire to Charvington, asking him to come to the Lincoln's Inn Fields office. He had half a mind to go down and explain personally, but as he could not explain very much he relied on the wire, hoping that Charvington's curiosity would be sufficiently aroused to make him obey the summons. Late in the afternoon an answer came intimating that Charvington would be at Jabez's office at the appointed time. George was greatly pleased, as he foresaw that Hale's little plot would in some way be frustrated, Charvington apparently knew of much to Hale's disadvantage; hence the wily old lawyer had induced him to be present. Having come to this conclusion Walker wired to his mother saying that he would remain in London, and employed his evening in going to a music hall. He positively had to do so, for if he had remained alone in his hotel brooding over riddles which he could by no means solve, he felt that his brain would not bear the strain. Still, in a vague way, he felt that all things were being shaped to a happy end and that light was coming out of the darkness which had enshrouded things for so long.
At a quarter to twelve in the morning George met Charvington in the semi-courtyard in front of the mansion, wherein Jabez had his office. The elder man jumped out of the hansom, in which he had driven from the railway station, and walked towards the young one with an elastic step, after he had paid his fare.
"What's all this, Walker?" he demanded abruptly. "Why did you wire for me to come up on this day, and at this hour, and to this place?"
"Come upstairs to Mr. Jabez and he'll explain," said George, leading the way up the steps, "we cannot linger here. Hale may see us."
"Hale," Charvington followed hurriedly and caught the young man's arm, "and why is Hale coming here?"
"He has found--so he says--my cousin."
"Your--cousin?"
"My aunt's child--the heir to the property which Mr. Jabez has held for so long."
Charvington stopped on the landing. "So Hale is going to anticipate me," he muttered, and without waiting to be announced he opened the door of Jabez's private room and strode in. The lawyer looked up irritably.
"I'm engaged. You, Lord Charvington? Well, I might have guessed as much from your abrupt entry. You haven't changed much in your impulsive ways."
Lord Charvington threw down his hat and stick and gloves and flung himself into a chair. "I have changed very much in looks," he retorted; "however there is no time for these personalities. Walker," he indicated the young man who had followed him closely, "tells me that Hale intends to produce the heiress to his aunt's property."
Jabez looked inquisitively at Charvington through his blue spectacles. "I believe so," he said quietly and cautiously, with a glance at his watch. "Hale will bring the girl here in a few minutes."
"It's a girl then," sneered Charvington.
"You mentioned the word 'heiress' yourself," remarked Jabez, with emphasis.
"A mere guess. And what of the cross?"
"Hale says that the girl will produce it."
"Humph! I don't believe that the girl will produce stolen property. You know that the cross was stolen from my house?"
"So I believe," said Jabez politely.
"Yes, Walker here told me, though how it got into my library----"
"I can tell you that now, Lord Charvington," interposed George, "as I heard the truth from Canning the other day. Sargent employed Canning to steal the cross in order to pass it over to your wife."
Charvington bounded from his chair. "What did she want with it?"
"I can't say--I don't----"
"Hush," said Jabez, who, at the sound of wheels in the courtyard, had gone to one of the tall windows; "here come Hale and his heiress. Go into the next room with Walker, Lord Charvington. When I require you I shall summon you."
"But why do you bring me here at all?" demanded Charvington brusquely.
Jabez looked straight at him and his long fingers played a tune on the table. "I have an idea," he said gravely; "you may be able to tell me if that idea is correct."
"What is the idea?"
"I cannot tell it to you, until I see this heiress."
"Very good." Charvington sat down again. "Introduce her and Hale."
"No! No!" said Jabez anxiously, "that would never do. Wait until I hear Hale's story and then----"
"Hale will only tell you a pack of lies," interrupted Charvington violently. "And besides he stole the cross and----"
Jabez put his hand against the breast of the angry speaker and pushed him gently towards a side door. "Go in there and wait," he said insistently. "You also, Walker."
"No," cried Charvington, "I shan't."
"If you don't," said the solicitor very quietly, "I shall wash my hands of this matter. Already Hale and his heiress are waiting in the ante-chamber, and if your voice is recognised, they will not come in."
"Why not?"
"Because I believe that this is another of Hale's wicked schemes. Let me hear the whole invention he has made up, and then I can call upon you to substantiate the story."
"But I can't wait. I want to know who this girl is."
"Can't you guess?" demanded Jabez, leading him deftly to the door of the inner room where he wished him to wait.
"I can do more than guess, I know."
"Humph," muttered Jabez, "I thought so."
"You thought what?"
"Never mind. If you know rightly, you will be able to help me."
Charvington stamped. "I believe it's all lies. I want to see this girl."
"Well," said Jabez resignedly. "I shall do a thing I have never done before since you will not be quiet otherwise. In the panel of this door there is a small knot-hole. Look in and see if----"
Charvington rushed into the room, dragging Walker after him, and closed the door. Shortly afterwards they heard the entrance of two people. The old man applied an eye to the knot-hole. Then he laughed silently and made George apply his eye. "Look at the heiress," he said sneeringly.
Walker looked eagerly and saw--Maud Ellis.
It was indeed Maud Ellis who entered on the arm of Mr. Hale. She was carefully dressed and, as usual, had made the best of her looks, such as they were. But she appeared to be anxious--to be strung up to fighting-pitch--after the manner of a woman who anticipated that she was not going to get her own way without a battle. On her entrance, she measured the lean lawyer with the eye of an antagonist, and then sat down in the chair which he politely pushed forward. As to Walter Hale, he looked much the same as he always did, cool, polished, and composed. Of course, he was perfectly arrayed in Bond Street taste, and his manners were as irreproachable as was his costume. If Miss Ellis was nervous, Hale assuredly was not. To Jabez, he suggested a bowie-knife--an odd comparison, but one which came unexpectedly into the lawyer's unimaginative brain.
"You know, of course, Mr. Jabez," said Hale when seated, "what I have come to see you about."
The solicitor, who had taken his usual chair before the table, nodded and pointed to Hale's letter which lay on the blotting-paper before him. "To produce the amethyst cross," said he gravely.
"And something more important than the cross. Allow me," Hale stood up to give his words due effect, "to present to you, Miss Katherine Morse----"
"Oh," interrupted Jabez drily, "I understood from you that she died in your Wimbledon house years ago."
"You are thinking of my mother," put in Maud boldly. "She, indeed, is dead; but I am her child and am called after her."
"Even to the name of Morse?"
"Later," said Hale, with dignity, "I can give you the married name of this young lady's mother. Meanwhile, the cross is----"
"Is here," said Maud, and opening a little bag which was swinging on her wrist, she extracted therefrom a red morocco case and handed it to Jabez.
He opened it gravely and beheld the long-lost ornament. "It was my dear mother's," added Miss Ellis with feigned pathos, as though the sight was too much for her tender heart. "My grandfather gave it to her, and----"
"And your mother gave it to you," ended Jabez, seeing with his usual keen gaze that her eyes were dry behind the handkerchief she was holding to them.
"No," she replied, unexpectedly and sadly. "I never set eyes upon it until Mr. Hale saw me a few days ago."
"Permit me to explain," said Hale, as watchful as a cat. "As I told you, Miss Morse----"
"Still no married name," muttered the solicitor ironically.
"That will be told later," remarked Hale, provokingly self-possessed. "I have first to tell my story."
"Go on," Jabez stretched his legs and put his hands in his pockets, "it is sure to be interesting."
"I hope so," rejoined Hale, making a sign to Maud that she should not talk, "and already you know much of it."
"Let me see. Yes, I remember. You told me at Rose Cottage, in the presence of Mrs. Walker, that Miss Morse died at your Wimbledon house in the arms of your wife. She gave the cross to your wife, who afterwards gave it to the nurse, Bridget Burke. She in her turn gave it to your daughter Lesbia, who presented it to young Walker from whom it was stolen. Am I right?"
"Perfectly," said Hale gravely. "So you can see how Miss Morse here, never set eyes on it until I brought it to her."
"And how did you become possessed of it?"
"I shall explain that, when you have heard Miss Morse's story."
Maud put up her veil and wiped her lips. "I am only too anxious to tell it," she declared eagerly, "and----"
Jabez cut her short. "I am sure you are, but before hearing it I should like to remind Mr. Hale that he declared in my presence and in the presence of Mrs. Walker that there was no child."
"Quite so," said Hale promptly. "I am not bound to tell you anything I desire to keep silent."
"I think you will have to do so, if you wish this young lady to get fifty thousand pounds," said Jabez coolly.
"Of course: that is why I am here. But I refer to the interview at my Marlow cottage. Then, I was not bound to speak. I speak now. There was not any child with Miss Morse when she died at my Wimbledon house. But with her last breath she told me where she had left the child--in a poor neighbourhood and with a poor woman."
"Who was very good to me," said Maud, with tenderness very well acted. "Dear Mrs. Tait, shall I ever forget her kindness?"
"Tait. Humph. So that's the name, is it?"
"The name of my foster-mother who brought me up. For years I have been called Maud Ellis, but only when Mr. Hale came to see me bringing the cross did I learn my true name and parentage."
"Why did your foster-mother call you Ellis?" asked Jabez.
"She passed me off to the world as her sister's child," said Maud glibly.
"Why? I cannot see the need."
"Nor I," said Miss Ellis, with a swift glance at Hale. "But who knows the human heart, Mr. Jabez?"
"No one so far as I know. But you were saying----"
"If you will permit me to tell my story I can make everything clear."
"I am quite certain that you can," said the lawyer, politely ironical. "Go on."
"Mrs. Tait kept a lodging-house in Bloomsbury. My mother lived there after leaving her husband--my father, who treated her very badly. I am right," she added turning to Hale, "in saying this?"
"He behaved like a brute," said Hale emphatically, "but then he always was a brute I am sorry to say."
"Dear me," murmured Jabez, "proceed, please."
"My mother left me with Mrs. Tait, as she had very little money and went to seek out my father at Wimbledon one bitterly cold, snowy day. He turned her from his door, and she nearly perished in the snow. Fortunately this good man," Maud glanced pathetically at Hale, who tried not to look too conscious, "took in the starving and chilled woman. My mother died, and I was left to Mrs. Tait's kind care."
"What about the cross?" asked Jabez abruptly, stifling a yawn.
"I can explain that," interposed Hale quickly, "indeed I have already done so. It was given to my wife and----"
"Of course: of course, I remember now. Well," Jabez turned to Maud, "so you remained with Mrs. Tait."
"Until she died. Then her husband adopted me as his niece and with him I lived, retaining my name of Maud Ellis."
"There was a husband then?"
"Yes," said Hale anxiously, "you may know of him, Mr. Michael Tait, the stockbroking philanthropist."
"Oh," drawled the solicitor quietly, "the same man who lost his jewels the other day."
"Yes," admitted Hale, quite ignorant of how much Jabez knew, "the same. He was poor when Miss Morse--or Miss Ellis if you like--came to his wife, and Mrs. Tait kept a boarding-house to help him. Then Tait made a lucky speculation--he was a clerk in the City--and began to grow rich. But before he could make a fortune Mrs. Tait died, and thus never benefited."
"No, poor dear, and she was so very kind," said Maud sweetly, "however, when my uncle grew rich----"
"Your uncle?" queried Jabez.
Maud coloured to the roots of her sandy hair. "I have fallen into the habit of calling my friend Mr. Tait my uncle. And, indeed, until the other day I almost thought that he was my uncle until I knew the truth. But as I was saying, Mr. Jabez, my uncle--for I still call Mr. Tait so--placed a magnificent tombstone over her remains when he grew rich. That is my story."
"A very interesting one," said Jabez politely. "Then I take it that you are the young lady entitled to fifty thousand pounds."
"I am. I understood that when I came and presented that cross," Maud pointed to the ornament on the table, "that the money would be given to me."
"You certainly said as much to me, Jabez," chimed in Hale anxiously.
"Quite right. The cross," Jabez waved his hand, "was only a little attempt of mine to introduce romance into the dry details of the law. Of course it is a means of identification, but it will be necessary for Miss Ellis to produce her certificate of birth, her baptismal certificate and----"
Hale bit his finger with vexation. "I anticipated that objection," he interrupted in hard tones, "and I knew you would make it."
"In the interest of Mrs. Walker I must make it."
"Yes! yes. But the fact is, that only Mrs. Tait, besides the mother, knew where the certificate of birth and that of baptism were to be found. They are both dead, as you have heard, so----"
"So," ended Jabez rising to stand before the fireplace, "so there will be no chance of this young lady getting the money."
"Don't you believe my story?" demanded Maud angrily.
"Oh yes. One has only to look into your face, my dear madam, to be certain that you speak as you believe. But the law is not so tender-hearted as I am. The law requires proofs."
"The amethyst cross----"
"Is one proof, but others are required. Then, you see, the cross was stolen and has not been in your possession all these years. It is not a very strong proof of your identity."
"I can make an affidavit," said Hale sharply, "swearing that the mother me told where the child was to be found."
"Quite so, and doubtless Mr. Tait--then in the Bloomsbury lodging-house kept by his wife--can make another affidavit showing how the mother left the child in his wife's charge."
"Of course," assented Hale readily. "Tait will do anything I ask him."
"And my uncle," said Maud, "for I must call him uncle, will only be too glad to see me come into my kingdom."
"Oh, I am certain of that," said Jabez, trimming his nails rapidly with a little knife, "and to show your gratitude, you will doubtless divide the money with him."
"Oh no. My uncle is too rich to need help," said Maud virtuously.
Jabez shut the knife and restored it to his pocket. "So he made enough by the double deal of the jewels and the insurance fraud to tide over the financial crisis which threatened him," he said deliberately.
Maud turned pale and uttered an exclamation. "I don't understand."
"Do you, Mr. Hale?" asked Jabez.
"No," said the man coldly, "I know nothing of Tait's business."
"Rubbish! rubbish! See here, Hale, and you, young woman, before you came here to try your games on me, you should have made certain that I knew nothing of your doings. As it is, from Mrs. Walker, from her son, and from various other people, I know all that has taken place in connection with that cross from the time Miss Lesbia Hale gave it to her lover, and----"
"You insult Miss Morse," interrupted Hale furiously.
"Miss Maud Ellis you mean," sneered the lawyer, "and--no you don't," he stretched out his long arm, and snatched the cross away, before Hale could lay a finger on it. "That belongs to Mrs. Walker's niece."
"I am Mrs. Walker's niece," panted Maud, standing up with a red and furious face. Since Jabez appeared to know so much, she saw very well that the plotting of herself and Hale had come to an untimely end. Nevertheless, like a woman, she persisted in fighting, even when the game had been irretrievably lost. "She will acknowledge me."
The lawyer slipped the case containing the cross into the pocket of his coat and faced round. "If Mrs. Walker will acknowledge you as her niece," he declared, "I will give you the money."
"What's the use of talking in this way?" cried Hale angrily. "You know well enough that Mrs. Walker wants the money for herself. She will certainly not help this poor girl to gain her rights."
"Girl," echoed Jabez cruelly, and with his eyes on Maud's plain face, which showed elderly lines. "I am no judge of a lady's age, but----"
"Brute! brute," cried Miss Ellis, making for the door. "Hale, come away, I am not going to stand here and be insulted."
"I am coming," said Hale sullenly: then turning to the lawyer: "as to these veiled accusations you bring against me----"
"Oh, you want me to speak clearer. Very well, then. You, Mr. Hale, and you, Miss Maud Ellis, belong to a gang of clever thieves. The police have been trying to break up the gang for years: but hitherto have not succeeded. Now they will lay hands on one and all."
"Oh!" gasped Maud, trembling. "What nonsense you talk."
"The police do not think so. You and Hale had better make yourselves scarce, for one of your gang has given the rest away."
"Canning, blast him!" shouted Hale fiercely.
"Ah!" Jabez turned on him, "you admit then that I speak the truth."
"I admit nothing," muttered Hale, wiping his face.
"As you please," Jabez moved towards the door leading into the inner room where Lord Charvington and George were concealed, "but Canning is now in communication with the police. I learned yesterday that he knew all. I got his address from young Walker, and have seen him. To save his own skin he will turn king's evidence and you and Miss Ellis there, and her dear uncle and Sargent, and a few others, including Mrs. Petty, will be----"
"Damn you," cried Hale, while Maud stood trembling at the outer door, which she had not strength enough to open, "I'll kill you."
With outstretched hand he lunged forward to grip the lawyer. Jabez on the watch dexterously slipped aside and flung open the door. Hale unable to restrain his impetus plunged right through the entrance into the strong arms of George Walker. That young gentleman picked him up like a feather and carrying him into the outer room, flung him into Jabez's chair. Maud uttered a cry of alarm. She did not know Lord Charvington: but she knew George, and guessed that he had overheard the whole wicked plot. Overcome with shame she tore blindly at the door, opened it hurriedly and fled away, pulling down her veil to hide her shameful face. She could not meet the eye of the man, whom she had wronged so deeply, because she loved him too well.
None of the three men followed her, as their attention was taken up with Hale. Over him stood George, righteously indignant. "You confounded blackguard," cried George between his teeth, "if you were not Lesbia's father I would murder you."
"Set your mind at rest on that point, George," said Lord Charvington, who was strangely white, "I am Lesbia's father."
"You!" George recoiled, dazed and startled. "Katherine Morse was my first wife and I am Lesbia's father."
"Now," said George to Hale, "I can choke the wicked life out of you."
But Charvington stopped him. "Leave him to God."