"My mother!" Beatrice stopped short at the door, and caught hold of a chair to support herself. The shock of this discovery came upon her with overwhelming force. "Impossible!"
"It is true," said Lady Watson, advancing towards her with outstretched arms. "I am your most unhappy mother."
The girl suffered the little woman to embrace her, but did not return the caress. "My mother!" she repeated again faintly; "it is impossible, Lady Watson."
"Don't call me Lady Watson. I am your mother. I should not have told you: I promised Durban that I would not. But Nature is too, too strong," cried Lady Watson theatrically; "my heart spoke, and I responded. Darling! darling!" She embraced Beatrice still more affectionately, and guided her to a low armchair, into which the bewildered girl sank unresistingly.
Was Lady Watson in earnest? Was she really her mother? Were these violent demonstrations genuine? Beatrice could not tell. The whole thing seemed to be beyond the bounds of possibility. What of the supposed mother who was buried in Hurstable churchyard? Revolving these things in a much-puzzled brain, Beatrice sat silently staring at the artificial little woman who claimed so sacred a relationship. Lady Watson, seeing the girl's coldness--as she thought it was--squeezed out a few serviceable tears.
"Oh, cruel, cruel!" she wept. "My own child--the baby that I carried in my arms--to act like this! It is wicked, it is incredible."
"Mother!" said Beatrice blankly. "Are you really and truly my mother?"
"Of course I am," snapped the elder woman, drying her tears. "How often do you wish me to repeat it? I am not in the habit of calling other people's children my children. Can't you say something more affectionate, you cold-hearted girl?"
"It is all so strange--so new," gasped Beatrice. "Tell me how it came about that I never knew this until now."
"It's Durban's fault," said Lady Watson sullenly. "Durban always hated me, though I'm sure I was always kind to him--the beast!"
"Durban is a good man," said Beatrice quickly.
"Oh! dear me, that is exactly the exasperating sort of thing your father would have said. He was a good man also--the kind of man I most particularly hate. Never mind, I'll make everything plain to you. I've held my tongue long enough. Now I am going to speak out, and take back to my hungry heart the baby girl I loved."
"Did you really love me?" asked Beatrice doubtfully.
"Yes--really I did. You were all that I had to love, as my husband--the first one, your father--was a kind of stone image with no feelings and no affections. I loved you fondly, and wanted to be your dearest mother--which I certainly am--but that Durban and that horrid Alpenny were too strong for me. No, it wasn't Alpenny. I don't think he wanted to bring you up; but Durban insisted, and I gave way."
"Why did you?"
"There were reasons," said Lady Watson evasively, and a spot of red burned on either cheek.
"They must have been strong reasons to make a mother surrender her child to the care of strangers."
"Durban wasn't a stranger. He was in the house when you were born; and really you might have been his own child, from the fuss he made over you. But Colonel Hall--your father, my dear--saved Durban from being lynched in America, and Durban always pretended that he loved him dearly."
"I am sure Durban did," insisted Beatrice. "He is not a man who says one thing and does another."
"That is just what he does do," cried Lady Watson, fanning herself with a flimsy handkerchief all lace and scent. "Look at the way he has kept you in the dark all these years. And I am quite sure that he has told you heaps and heaps of lies! These niggers never can tell the truth."
"Durban told me as little as he could," confessed Beatrice; "but he never told me a deliberate lie, I am sure. But if you are my mother, who is the woman who is buried as you?"
"Not as me--the idea!" protested Lady Watson; "as Alpenny's wife--and a nice bargain she got in that old scoundrel! She was Amelia Hedge, and called herself Mrs. Hedge when she married Alpenny, to account for you. It wasn't my fault. I'm sure I always liked to have you with me, Beatrice, as you were such a pretty child, and it looks well to have one's children about one, nowadays. But Durban would insist that I should give you up--and perhaps he was right after all," ended Lady Watson candidly "as Sir Reginald--my second husband--would never have married a widow with a child."
So the weak little woman babbled on, and Beatrice felt her heart sink as she at last beheld her mother. To think that this frivolous and weak creature should have given her birth! Then a thought came to her. "Durban said that my mother was quiet and silent."
"And so I was, for years and years and years. Colonel Hall--I never could call him George, he was so military and stiff--made my life a perfect burden, and never would give me any pleasure. I was crushed, Beatrice, perfectly crushed, and held my tongue because I could not be natural. I was a dull, dowdy thing in those days. But now I really am something to look at and to listen to!" and Lady Watson smirked in a near mirror at her artificial beauty.
"Mother," said Beatrice, accepting what appeared to be the inevitable with a good grace, although the discovery of the relationship did not please her, "will you tell me if you had anything to do with the murder of my father?"
"Oh, dear me! no," said Lady Watson perfectly calmly, and showing no signs of indignation at the accusation,--which it was, in a way. "Of course Durban made capital out of it, and forced me to part with you and the necklace because of that horrid death. But I've got back the necklace"--Lady Watson fingered it fondly--"and you."
"How did you get the necklace?"
"A friend of mine called Miss Carr gave it to me. She got it from her father, though I don't know howhegot it, I'm sure. Major Ruck--you know the man, dear?--wanted Maud--that is Miss Carr--to give it up, and would have killed her for it. He's just the sort of bully who would kill a woman to get money, and I don't mind saying it, although he was my friend. So Maud, to spite him, gave it to me, and----"
"Wait one moment, mother. Were you not going to elope with Major----"
Lady Watson interrupted in her turn, and uttered an embarrassed scream. "Yes, I was, my dear. Your father was a bear--there's no good saying anything else. He was a bear! I couldn't stand his Puritan airs any longer, and on the very night he was murdered I intended to elope with him, to pay your father out. But Alpenny met me----"
"At the head of the stairs?"
"Who told you that?"
"Mrs. Snow," said Beatrice promptly.
"Julia Duncan? Ah, she always was a false-hearted cat. Why, the very last time I saw her, and that was when I went down to get Alpenny's money, she promised to hold her tongue."
"I forced her to speak."
"And you have forcedme, you clever girl. I promised Durban never to reveal who I really was but I did so, through natural affections; and now you know. I'm sure I don't care," added Lady Watson with a reckless air. "Durban can do his worst."
"What can he do?"
"Accuse me of your father's murder, although I'm as innocent as a child. But I dare say he'll hold his tongue if I pay him well. He was always fond of money, and Alpenny's legacy has made me rich."
"I don't think Durban can be bribed, nor do I think he is fond of money," said Beatrice with decision. "But for my sake, he may hold his tongue."
"Well, I shan't give up the Obi necklace," muttered Lady Watson. "The Colonel bought it for me; he got it from a Brazilian negro, and said there was a curse on it,--at least the negro did. For that reason your father--who really was fond of me, I suppose, although he had a horrid, dull way of showing his love--would not give it to me. He kept it in a green box along with his papers beside his bed, and I got it from there when he was lying dead."
"Did you see him dead?" asked Beatrice, horrified. "Of course I did. That is why Durban says that I killed him. He always did hate me, the beast!"
Beatrice passed her hand wearily across her forehead. "I cannot gather much from these scraps of information," she said irritably; "please tell me all connectedly and from the beginning."
"Oh, dear me, how very like your father you are!" said Lady Watson, with an affected shudder. "He was always so very precise: I don't know how I came to marry so dull a man. But my father made the match. He was a planter in Jamaica, and Colonel Hall was stationed at Port Royal I was merely a child--seventeen, in fact--and the Colonel fell in love with me. I married him, although I liked twenty other men better. Sir Reginald was one; but he went to England, on leave, and my father made me marry the Colonel while Reginald was away. He was in a rage when he came back. Afterwards, when the Colonel died so dreadfully, Sir Reginald married me, as he knew--if no one else did--that I had nothing to do with that horrid murder."
"Tell me the events of that night," said Beatrice keeping the voluble little woman to the point.
"Well, I'm doing it, if you will only let me speak," snapped Lady Watson; "but you are like your father, and want me to hold my tongue as he did. I'm sure I never opened my mouth for years with that man. Shortly after you were born we went to England. Amelia and Durban came also, as Durban would never leave the Colonel; and Amelia was brought for your sake, you being a baby--and a very pretty one too. Colonel Hall went down to see Mr. Paslow at Convent Grange, as they were great friends. I stopped in London for a time, as I was so sick of the Colonel's stiffness. Then I came down because he insisted on it. Major Ruck--who was really a nice man in those days--followed, and stopped at The Camp, as he wished me to elope with him. On the night of the murder I arranged to do so."
"Had the Major anything to do with the murder?" asked Beatrice hurriedly.
"He said he hadn't, but he might have told a lie. He never could tell the truth," said Lady Watson vaguely. "But as I was saying--and don't interrupt again, please--I dressed late at night I knew that Mr. Paslow, and Alpenny, and the Colonel had gone to bed. Your father and I were in different rooms, because we had quarrelled. I came out into the passage, and intended to meet Major Ruck at The Camp, where he had a carriage waiting. Alpenny should have been at The Camp also, only he stopped at the Grange--to spite me, I believe, as he loved me, and wanted to prevent my elopement."
"Did he know about it?"
"Yes. He wheedled the information out of the Major, and learned also that I intended to bring the Obi necklace with me. It was because of the necklace, as well as because of his love for me, that he stopped at the Grange to thwart me."
"But the necklace was in my father's possession?"
"In a green dispatch box beside his bed," explained Lady Watson. "You are quite right, dear; so it was. I stole out into the passage, and there I met at the head of the stairs that horrid Alpenny, who was on the watch. Julia Snow was watching also, as she told me afterwards. The horrid woman, she loved George, and----"
"I know--I know--please go on."
"Iamgoing on," cried Lady Watson in despair; "but youwillinterrupt. Alpenny said he wanted to help me to get away, which was a lie. I believed him, and we went to the Colonel's chamber. I could easily make some excuse, you know; that I had the toothache or something, and George would believe me."
"But your dress--your hat?"
"Oh, I took those off and gave them to Alpenny, who remained outside the bedroom door. When I went in I nearly screamed, for the Colonel did look so horrid, lying in bed with his throat cut. I could see it and him, plainly in the moonlight. I called Alpenny, and we were both afraid. Then I saw the box, and got out the necklace."
"Ugh!" said Beatrice, disgusted at this callous behaviour. "Why didn't you call for help?"
"What! and be arrested? Everyone knew that George and I were on bad terms; and besides, with the necklace in my possession, I might have been accused of killing him. Alpenny said we had better take the necklace and go away. The window was open, and I suppose the man who killed the Colonel got in there. I took the necklace, and went out into the passage with Alpenny, closing the door after me. I put on my hat and cloak, and then he refused to let me go to The Camp to meet the Major unless I gave him the necklace. I had to, and then went back to bed."
"Why didn't you elope?" asked Beatrice sarcastically.
"My dear, my nerves were shattered, and it would have been most dangerous. I went to bed, and pretended to be horrified when I heard of the murder. The Major would not marry me when he found that I hadn't got the necklace; so after the inquest I came to town, and met Reginald Watson. I told him everything, and he married me."
"But how did my nurse marry Mr. Alpenny?"
"Durban arranged that," said Lady Watson promptly. "He was almost mad when he found the Colonel was dead, and he forced the truth out of me. I believe Julia Snow told him what she had seen. I knew Durban would say nothing, because if he hated me, he loved you and your father. He did hold his tongue, but he insisted that Alpenny should give the necklace to him in trust for you. Of course Alpenny would not do so, and Durban threatened to inform the police. Then Durban, who didn't know much about English law, thought that he might get into trouble and be accused. I really don't know," added Lady Watson, pondering, "if I didn't threaten to accuse him."
"Oh, how could you?"
"Well, he might be guilty. Niggers always prefer to cut throats, and your father certainly died in that horrid way."
"The man with the black patch killed him?"
"Did he? I heard something about that; but I'm not sure. However, to make a long story short, Durban arranged that you should be taken charge of by Alpenny, and that he should look after you along with Amelia, who was consumptive."
"But why?"
Lady Watson rose wrathfully. "You may well ask that, Beatrice. Why? Because, if you please, this nigger didn't think I was a proper person to look after you. Then Amelia refused to go to The Camp unless she went--as she said, respectably. Alpenny, who was in love with me, and knew that I intended to marry Sir Reginald, agreed to marry her in order to keep the necklace. Amelia died shortly afterwards, and for the sake of safety was buried as your mother: you took her name of Hedge, you know. That's the story."
"It is a very horrible one," said Beatrice, rising in her turn.
Lady Watson burst into tears. "It is not my fault," she sobbed. "I'm sure, in spite of Reginald's objections, I would have kept you beside me; only Durban took you away, and Amelia also, because she wanted to marry a rich man, as Alpenny was supposed. They knew too much; I had to yield; and then Reginald thought you were dead. But I have always loved and longed for my pretty baby. Kiss me, darling!"
"No," said Beatrice sternly.
The little woman looked up aghast. "Your own mother?"
"I do not look upon you as my mother," said the girl coldly. "You deserted me in the most heartless manner. I don't know how much of your story is true----"
"It is all true--I swear it."
"It may be, and you may be innocent. But to see my father lying dead, and not give the alarm, was wicked. The assassin might have been caught and----"
"I would have been caught!" cried Lady Watson vehemently. "As it was, people thought that I had something to do with the horrid thing. I was quite innocent," she protested, sobbing. "Beatrice!"
Her voice rose to a scream as the girl walked to the door for the second time. "I am going," said Beatrice quietly. "You must give me time to think over our new relationship. I'll see you again soon."
"Oh!" wailed Lady Watson, as the door closed on the daughter who rejected her; "how like your father--how very like!"
Beatrice walked calmly down the stairs, and opening the front door herself, returned to the hotel to think over the matter. At the door of the little inn she found the stout landlady arguing with a red-haired, foxy man.
"Waterloo!" said Beatrice, drawing back.
"There," chuckled the rogue, grinning at the landlady, "she knows me does the young lydy.--Miss, come at once--Durban's dying."
"Durban dying!"
"He'll be dead in a jiffy," said Waterloo, grinning. "You come, miss." Then dropping his voice, "He wants to tell you who killed your father."
"Don't go with him, miss," urged Mrs. Quail. "He's a bad one: look at his eyes."
Beatrice had no need to look at them. She knew well the evil that they held, and shrank, as she always did, from contact with this creature of the night. Certainly Waterloo was much better dressed than when she had seen him last. He wore a somewhat shabby frock coat, a pair of smart patent-leather boots, a fashionable collar, and a silk hat which glistened like the sun. The tramp actually reeked of some fashionable scent, and swung a dandy cane with a genteel air. He wore a wig, from under which his natural red hair peeped; and his false teeth looked aggressively white and new. On the whole, Waterloo evidently considered that he was now a perfect buck, and ogled the comely landlady and the shrinking girl with an assured air.
"You are not deceiving me?" asked Beatrice, forcing herself to be civil to the man, for obvious reasons.
"S'elp me Bob! no," leered the rejuvenated wreck. "Durban, he come up t'town t'other day, an' wos run h'over by a bus as wos drivin' motor-car fashions--more miles an hour than sense, miss. He ses t'me--an ole pal of his--as he wanted to see you, and tell you wot y'should know. He ses es he'll tell you who killed your par an' th' ole Alpenny bloke."
This remark decided Beatrice. Come what may, she determined to learn the truth at last. Also, Durban was her best and oldest friend, and from what Lady Watson had said he had evidently been a better friend to her than she knew. After a moment or two she made up her mind, and turned to Mrs. Quail, who was gazing disdainfully at the leering Waterloo.
"I must go, Mrs. Quail," she said decisively; "if Durban is ill I must help him."
"But with this man?"
"Oh! I'm saif, laidy. No 'arm about me. Oh no, not at all."
"If Mr. Paslow comes," said Beatrice, addressing the landlady, and taking no notice of Waterloo, "tell him I have gone with Waterloo to see Durban.--Where is he?" she asked the man.
"In a room in a 'ouse, Malta Street, Stepney--No. 50," said Waterloo quickly, and passed along a scrap of dirty paper to Mrs. Quail. "If the young laidy don't come back saif an' sound, you'll find me 'ere."
"If she's not back by nine to-night," retorted Mrs. Quail, putting the paper in her pocket, "I'll see the police about the matter.--And after all, miss, I wouldn't go with him."
"I must," said Beatrice quickly; "there is so much at stake." And giving the landlady no further time to remonstrate, she walked away with Waterloo, who swaggered like the buck he thought he was.
"How do we get to Stepney?" asked Beatrice while they walked along Kensington High Street.
"Underground," said Waterloo glibly. "Underground to Bishopgate, an' then we taike th' Liverpool Street train to Stepney, an'----"
"That is enough," said Beatrice, cutting him short, and walking very fast; "speak as little to me as you can."
Waterloo scowled, and his scowl was not a pleasant sight. However, he held his tongue until they were safe in a first-class underground carriage--Beatrice did not want to go with this creature in a third-class, and luckily there were three or four ladies in the compartment. While the train was steaming through the tunnels, Waterloo held a whispered conversation with Beatrice. At first she was inclined to stop him; but when she heard what he had to say, she listened attentively.
"I saiy," murmured the rogue confidentially, "you're a clipper; y'are tryin' to find out all about us. But y'won't. There's only one cove es can put things straight, an' thet is Waterloo Esquire."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Ah, thet's tellin's, miss. Don't you arsk any questing, an' no lies will be tole. But if y'meke it wuth me while, I'll git you the young gent all t'yourself."
"Mr. Paslow?"
"Thet's him. Not a bad cove--oh, by no means--but a greenhorn, miss, es anyone kin see. If he don't do wot the Major wants him to do, he's a goner--saime es your par an' the Alpenny cove."
"What does the horrible creature mean?" Beatrice asked herself half aloud, and he heard her.
"Don' call naimes, miss. Th' king comes the cadger's waiy sometime, es I knows, an' you may 'ave to meke use of me some daiy. It's all a questing of money."
"Of money?"
"Yuss"--he leaned forward and whispered hoarsely in her ear--"or of thet there necklace."
"It is not mine--it is----"
"But it are yours, miss, and you git it. Wen y'arsked everyone to try an' git t'know wot y'want t'know, and fail," said Waterloo, with great emphasis, "you pass along the necklace t'me, and then I'll tell y' wot's wot. I'm a oner, I am."
"But why do you wish to betray your friends for me?"
"Ah, their toime's acomin' to an end, miss, an' I don't want t'be in et th' finish, which is in th' dock. Wen ole Alpenny wos alive, he 'ad a 'ead, he 'ad; but this Major Ruck cove's spilin' things as quick es jimmy, oh."
"But in what way?"
"Oh, I ain't agoin' to saiy any more. Wen th' bust comes y'think of me, miss," and with this final remark, Waterloo lay back luxuriously against the soft cushions. Beatrice saw the necessity of enlisting this traitor on her side, and saw also that he was open to bribery, although the bribe of the necklace was a very costly one. But in spite of all her endeavours, she could not get the man to talk. Waterloo only winked and leered, and thrust his tongue in his cheek, much to the disgust of the ladies opposite, who apparently could not understand how such a quiet, ladylike girl came to be in the society of such a raffish animal.
With the utmost gravity Waterloo conducted Beatrice to the Liverpool Street Station, and placed her in another first-class carriage. This time he got the tickets himself, and she wondered where he had procured the money to do so. From what she had seen of the man, he was a genuine tramp, and more used to walking than to riding. But it was evident that he belonged to the Black Patch Gang, and apparently the gang had been successful lately. Waterloo himself declined to impart further information, but leered and winked as usual, so Beatrice held her peace, and tried to steel herself to the adventure. She recognised that she was acting foolishly in going into the slums with Waterloo, but since Vivian was lost to her, she felt that she cared very little what happened. Besides, desperate diseases require desperate remedies, and in that proverb she found ground for believing that she was acting rightly. Finally, she was certain that whatever was intended, her life would be safe, and while she lived she could always get out of any difficulty by exercising her strong will and undaunted spirit.
Alighting at Stepney Station, Waterloo conducted her to a four-wheeler, and this drove off down the street Then Waterloo engaged her in conversation, and hinted that he knew everything about the Black Patch Gang. Beatrice, listening to his half hints, became so interested that she did not notice that the cab was passing down a series of mean streets; and only when it drew up with a jerk before a most disreputable-looking house, did she see that she was in a very low and dangerous neighbourhood. However, she had gone too far to retreat, and therefore stepped out with great coolness. The cab drove off without payment. "One of us," said Waterloo, jerking his thumb over his shoulder with a wink.
They were admitted through a closely barred door into a narrow passage dimly lighted. On ascending the stairs Beatrice noted how foul the walls were with grime and grease. Various small rooms, some of which had open doors, revealed raffish individuals, and various states of disorder. The place was a den as foul as that inhabited by Mr. Fagin, and Beatrice, used to the fresh air of the country, felt ill with the tainted atmosphere. However, she suppressed all signs of disgust, as these would have made Waterloo angry, and for apparent reasons she wished to cultivate his good will.
He led her to the very top of the house, and came to another door sheeted with iron. In response to a touch on a button this opened, and pushing Beatrice in he closed it again, remaining on the outside. The girl, who was taken by surprise, tried to reopen the door, but it was fast closed, and she heard the little brute chuckle on the other side. She was caught, like a rat in a trap. It only remained for her to see if Durban was caught also--or if he exercised sufficient authority over the gang to release her when she wished to return to Kensington.
The surroundings amazed her. The corridor--it was not a narrow passage this time--was spacious, and decorated with velvet hangings. The carpet was velvet pile, and the ceiling was painted in a most delicate and artistic manner. While she was marvelling at this sight, so unexpected, a side door opened, and she beheld Major Ruck, as gigantic as ever, arrayed in a smart smoking suit.
"Just in time for afternoon tea," said the Major gallantly, and threw open the door. "Please to enter a bachelor's den, Miss Hedge."
"But Durban?" she asked, drawing back.
"I will tell you all about him," said the big man, with a bland smile. "In the meantime, as we have much to talk about and you must be faint after your long journey into these wilds, perhaps you will enter and accept my hospitality."
Beatrice cast one look at him, and entered without another word. The room was not large, but furnished with a splendour which startled her when she remembered the exterior of the house. The walls were hung with green silk, and the hangings were drawn back here and there by silver cords to show choice pictures. The ceiling was also painted, the floor was stained and covered with valuable Persian praying mats, and the furniture would have done credit to a West End drawing-room. It really looked rather like a woman's room, as there were plenty of flowers about, and on a tiny table of carved wood stood a tea equipage of silver and delicate egg-shell china.
"I have made ready for you," said the Major, drawing forward a chair to the table, and near a window which was filled in with stained glass. "I hope you like my crib. It is not so comfortable as that in the West End; but in these wilds"--he shrugged his big shoulders--"one has to put up with hardship. Will you have some tea?"
"No, thank you. I want to see Durban."
"He will be in presently."
Beatrice started to her feet. "Is he not ill?"
"He never was better in all his life. Pardon the ruse that was used to bring you here, but I knew well that you wouldn't come of your own free will."
"Allow me to go away," said Beatrice, walking towards the door,
"When we have had a talk and understand one another--not before," said Ruck, rising and standing before the fireplace. He was still smiling and bland and genial, and looked very spruce in his well-cut clothes. It was difficult to imagine such a man in such a room, when one recollected the vile neighbourhood.
"You will not dare to detain me against my will?"
"Oh yes, if it be necessary," said Ruck easily; "but I trust"--with a graceful bow--"that it willnotbe necessary."
"If you keep me here, my landlady in Kensington has the address of this place and will tell the police."
"I fear the police will waste their time, Miss Hedge. The address was a wrong one, with which Waterloo was purposely furnished."
"The address was Stepney----"
"But not Malta Street. This is in a different locality. Come, Miss Hedge, you must see that you are in my power. But I am a gentleman, so do not be afraid."
"Afraid!" The sound of the word made Beatrice fling back her head with a proud gesture. "I am afraid of nothing and no one, Major Ruck. I know how to protect myself."
"I hope you will know how to protect Mr. Paslow."
"What do you mean?"
"That can be explained after tea. Do pour out the tea, Miss Hedge; it is so pleasant to see a lady officiate."
Beatrice deliberately walked to the table and poured out a cup of tea for the Major, which she handed to him along with a plate of delicate cakes. "Will you not take one yourself?" said Ruck winningly; "it is not drugged."
Beatrice, although her heart was beating loudly, walked back to the table with a gay laugh. "You do not give me time," she said. "I am not at all afraid of drugs," and she filled herself a cup which she sipped with great enjoyment. When she also began to eat a cake, the Major smacked his leg with a look of admiration.
"Upon my word, Miss Hedge, you are plucky and no mistake. I wish you would marry me."
"Thanks; but I have no wish to."
"We should do great things together," urged Ruck.
"Doubtless; but you see I have an aversion to appearing in a police-court, Major Ruck. By the way, why did you not tell me that Mr. Paslow had appeared in one?"
"I very nearly did," said Ruck with great frankness, "as I thought it might frighten you into refusing him. But then I thought it would be better to send his wife along."
"Is she really his wife?" asked Beatrice doubtfully.
"Really and truly. Paslow always was a moral man. You can never marry him now."
"No. But I can always love him."
"The shadow without the substance," said Ruck, with a shrug; "you will find that unsatisfactory, Miss Hedge."
"That is entirely my affair, Major. And why don't you give me my proper name of Miss Hall?"
"Oh yes. I forgot that you knew all about that matter."
"I know more than you think, since I have seen Lady Watson."
Ruck started. "She told you nothing?" he said in vexed tones.
"Everything--even to the fact that she was about to run away with you on the night my father was murdered."
Ruck's brow grew dark, and he uttered something which was not exactly a blessing. However, he speedily recovered his good humour, and asked for a second cup of tea, which Beatrice just as good-humouredly handed to him. It was an odd interview.
"Well," said Beatrice after a pause, "and what do you wish to see me about, Major? I don't want to stay long."
"You seem to forget that you are in my power," said Ruck, nettled by this coolness.
"Oh no, I don't; but I am not afraid. Come now, Major, you can speak glibly enough when it suits you. I pay you the compliment of saying that you don't want to make love?"
"I don't. All the same, I admire you so much that I am mighty near insisting upon your becoming my wife. We have a clergyman who belongs to the Black Patch Gang, you know."
"Ah! Then you are a member of that Gang?"
"Yes," said the Major, with an embarrassed air. "I am a poor gentleman, who has taken to bad ways instead of earning an honest living."
"That is a pity," replied Beatrice, "for, in spite of your behaviour, Major, I like you. I wish you would turn over a new leaf."
"I doubt if I have one to turn," muttered Ruck, flushing a brick-red at her words. "However, if you will give me that necklace, I shall try and lead a better life. I have to," he confessed candidly, "as I don't mind telling you that the course of the Black Patch Gang is nearly run. The police have got to know too much, and at any moment may raid us."
"I have not got the necklace," said Beatrice coldly.
"I know that. Maud Carr had it, and told me how her father had found it. But instead of giving it to me, she passed it along to your mother."
"To whom," said Beatrice with emphasis, "it rightfully belongs."
"Well, yes; but also it belongs to me. Lady Watson will not give it to me, but she will to you. And, as a matter of fact, your father the Colonel left you the necklace."
"You contradict yourself, Major: you said it belonged to my mother."
"Possession is nine points of the law," said the big man, with a shrug, "and Lady Watson has the necklace, sure enough. But you can insist on her giving it to you, and then hand it to me. I'll vanish out of your life and trouble you no more. There is a wide field for the exercise of a gentleman's abilities in the States."
"And suppose I decline?" asked Beatrice disdainfully.
"In that case," replied Ruck, regarding her attentively, "I shall be compelled to accuse Mr. Vivian Paslow of having murdered Alpenny."
"That is a lie," cried Beatrice, starting to her feet. "It is the truth," retorted the Major, "the real truth."
Beatrice sank back in the chair and fixed her eyes fearfully on the man who thus accused Vivian of a terrible crime. "You say that to frighten me," she gasped.
Major Ruck made no direct reply, but touched a bell. In response to its sound an old woman neatly dressed, but as evil-looking as the tramp, appeared. "Send Waterloo to me," said the Major.
The old woman vanished, and Major Ruck strolled to the window, whistling, with his hands behind his back. Beatrice, grasping the arms of her chair with the perspiration beading her forehead, wondered what Waterloo had to do with the accusation. She remembered the tramp's hint, and fancied that perhaps after all he really knew the truth; but that the truth should place Vivian in the position of an assassin appeared too terrible for words. While she thus meditated and the Major whistled, Waterloo with his familiar leer appeared. In the presence of his master the old man--for he was very old, as Durban had said, in spite of his attempts to renew his youth--seemed meaner than ever, and very much afraid.
"Yuss, Major," said Waterloo meekly.
Ruck wheeled sharply. "Tell this young lady what you saw of Alpenny's murder," he commanded.
"Why, lor' bless me, I sawr very little, sir," whined the tramp.
"Tell what you did see, and how Vivian Paslow killed the man."
"I don't believe it--I can't believe it!" muttered Beatrice, twisting her hands in agony.
"Wait till you hear what Waterloo has to say," said Ruck grimly.
"It wos this waiy, miss," said the tramp, addressing himself to the pale girl. "The Alpenny cove, he set me to watch you an' Mr. Paslow seein' as you loved one another."
"And do still, in spite of all," murmured Beatrice, while the Major raised his eyebrows superciliously.
"I wos awatchin' the pair of you on thet night," went on Waterloo in a cringing way, "and follered you, miss, to th' oak."
"You were the man crouching near the gates of The Camp?"
"Yuss, miss. I guessed you sawr me. I follered y'; and then wen Mr. Paslow sawr me, he follered me. He got 'old of me and kicked me, and I tuck out my knife to stab him. But he went away and back to the oak; I pulled myself together, and follered to knife him if I could. You had gone, miss, and Mr. Paslow he went to The Camp to see if you wos back, miss. I didn't keep quiet enough in the follering, and Mr. Paslow he caught me agin near The Camp and kicked me 'ard. I tried to use my knife," said Waterloo with a venomous look, "but he took it off me, and climbed over the big gates. I follered."
"Why did Mr. Paslow enter The Camp?" questioned Beatrice.
"To see if you wos back, miss," explained the tramp, while the Major smiled graciously. "I follered to git back me knife. I sawr the door of the counting-house open, an' the ole cove Alpenny come out hollering 'Thieves!' He was dressed in his hat an' cloak to go away----"
"That," interpolated the Major, "will be explained later."
"Wen he sawr Mr. Paslow he made for him, and Mr. Paslow held out my knife--unthinking, like. Alpenny fell on it, and then he struck Mr. Paslow. I never sawr any cove go so mad es Mr. Paslow did. He fair raged, and got the ole man down an' cut his throat."
"No, no, no!" cried Beatrice fiercely; "you lie!"
"I don't lie, now," said Waterloo sullenly; "it's the truth. And wen Mr. Paslow sawr me comin' over the gate, he bolted, leaving his handkerchief behind."
"Ah!" Beatrice remembered what Durban had said about the handkerchief. "Mr. Paslow left that with Mr. Alpenny on the day he quarrelled with him, previous to the death."
"Did Mr. Paslow explain that himself?" asked Ruck sneeringly.
"No. Durban gave me the explanation. I never spoke to Mr. Paslow of the handkerchief, as I believed Durban."
"And Durban told that lie to save your asking Mr. Paslow. Though, I dare say," added the Major with a shrug, "that Paslow would have lied also had you spoken to him."
"Go on," said Beatrice, speaking to Waterloo with grey lips. The conviction was forcing itself upon her that, after all, he might be telling the terrible truth.
"Wen Mr. Paslow slung his 'ook," said Waterloo, leering, and more at his ease, "he got over the big gate. I dragged Alpenny into the counting-house and laid him out. Then I locked the door, and got away by the underground passage. Outside I heard voices, and saw the Major here."
"Quite so," said Ruck courteously; "and now I can tell the remainder of the story. I came down, Miss Hedge, to punish Alpenny, who had been betraying the organisation of which he was the founder."
"The Black Patch Gang?" said Beatrice faintly. She felt very ill.
"Exactly. Alpenny founded it thirty years ago, and I was one of the earliest members, as was Waterloo here. When Alpenny was stopping at Convent Grange with your father and Mr. Paslow's father, he was even then a receiver of stolen goods, although the operations of the Gang were not so wide then as they have been since. We include all classes amongst us. Tuft the lawyer, who acted for Alpenny, and who got Mr. Paslow out of trouble when he was accused of shoplifting, is one of us; so is his wife, Miss Carr--or, as I should say, Mrs. Paslow. I am the head of the lot. The cabman who drove you here is a member; so is the doctor who attended Miss Carr's double, and who gave a false certificate by my direction."
"Why?" asked Beatrice quickly.
"Well, if you had procured me the necklace, I would have allowed you to marry Paslow. And then if Miss Carr had married this American, we would have got money out of him. I always," added the Major with a smile, showing his white teeth, "believe in killing two birds with one stone. However, to resume. We are bound by a death-oath not to betray one another. Alpenny made a lot of money, and found that the police were getting to know too much. He decided to bolt. I warned him twice, and the third time the warning was conveyed by Durban, through Mr. Paslow."
"Wait. Is Durban one of the Gang?"
"No," scowled the Major with a sudden change of tone, "he is too honest. But he knows everything about us. Because we threatened to kidnap you, he held his peace. However, Alpenny received his third warning, and instead of profiting by it he prepared to bolt. I thought he would do it, and went down with another man to kill him."
"Kill him!" screamed Beatrice. "Oh no, no!"
"Oh yes, yes!" said the Major coolly; "we had to make an example of him. However, Mr. Paslow saved us the trouble. When Waterloo here heard my voice, he came out and told us the truth. I entered by the great gates, as I had a duplicate key. Waterloo went through the underground passage and let us into the counting-house. We saw the body, and searched for the Obi necklace, which, however we were unable to discover."
"It was in a pocket behind the rep curtains," said Beatrice.
"And Durban found it. I know all about that. But at the moment we could not find the necklace, and as you might be back at any moment, according to Waterloo here, we had to go away. But I picked up Mr. Paslow's handkerchief where he left it on the ground while struggling with his victim, and, soaking it in the blood, I left it beside the body in the counting-house."
"I found it," said Beatrice. "Why did you do that?"
"I wanted Paslow to be accused, since he would not join us. However, you found it, and Durban explained its presence there by a lie. Waterloo and the other man, whose name need not be mentioned, as he is our executioner----"
"Ah! You did not intend to kill Mr. Alpenny yourself?"
"No," said Ruck, with an expression of disgust. "I have done many criminal things in my time, but my hands are free from blood. This man was always employed to punish any traitor. I took him down to kill Alpenny, but Mr. Paslow, as I say, saved us the trouble. I was alone outside the counting-house as Waterloo and the other man locked the door from the inside, and then escaped by the underground passage. When I was going away amidst the storm I saw you enter the great gates----"
"Ah!" Beatrice started up. "You were the tall man in the cloak with the black patch?"
"I was," admitted the Major coolly; "so now you know the whole story.--Waterloo, you can go."
The little man seemed glad to get away from the calm, searching eye of the Major, and with a final leer at Beatrice he slunk out of the door. When alone with the girl, Ruck turned to her again. "Well?" he asked.
"What do you want me to do?"
"You must get your mother to return the necklace to you, and go back to The Camp. I shall meet you there in a couple of days--in the evening. At any moment the police may get to know of the Gang's movements, and then we will be raided. I have had several warnings. There are traitors about; but I won't punish them. Since Alpenny's death things have gone wrong. I have not the head to command, as had that old scoundrel; I confess it freely. However, I have collected what money I could, and I am going to America. I want the Obi necklace also, which will bring me in ten thousand pounds. I'll settle in Mexico and live a decent life--retire, as it were," said the Major jocularly, "on my money."
"And if I get the necklace?"
"Then I'll say nothing about Vivian Paslow's guilt, or about your mother's complicity in the death of your father."
"She never killed him," said Beatrice weakly. "She felt crushed by the things she had been told."
"I am not so sure of that. If she did not kill him herself, she knows who did. I wanted the necklace," said the Major brutally, "and not her. However, Alpenny got ahead of me. But he's dead; and now you know my terms. I must have that necklace."
"You will hold your tongue?"
Ruck bowed gracefully. "I promise you," he said in a smooth voice. "You can easily see that if you do not accept my terms that I can make myself very unpleasant."
"You forget that if the Gang is found out the police will arrest you," said Beatrice, trying to get out of the dilemma in which he had placed her.
"I admit that, and so I intend to do what Alpenny designed, namely, to bolt--with the necklace, of course. But even if arrested I could denounce Paslow, and get him hanged. I could also tell Lady Watson's friends what she is, and how she helped to kill her husband. I could make things very unpleasant. Now, if you accept my terms, I'll hold my tongue, and then you can marry Vivian Paslow."
"That is impossible; he is married already. I don't suppose you intend to kill Mrs. Paslow with that executioner of yours?"
"Oh no,"--the Major shuddered,--"I can fix matters without going so far. Believe me, Miss Hedge--or, rather, Miss Hall--I can do all I say. You will marry Paslow--that is, if you are willing to take a hand which is stained with blood."
"I don't believe that he is guilty."
"What! Not after all the evidence?"
"No. I cannot believe that Vivian would act in such a way."
"Well, well," said Ruck impatiently; "believe it or not as you like, Miss Hall. Time is precious with me. Accept my terms, and you can return to get the necklace. I don't want to keep you here."
"I accept," said Beatrice faintly. "There is nothing else for me to do, Major Ruck."
"Really, I don't think there is," said the Major pleasantly. "Well, then, I'll expect you in the counting-house, where that old scoundrel was murdered, within two days--in the evening. If you play me false, I'll send a letter to the police, and Mr. Paslow will find himself in the dock instead of at the altar. And now, Miss Hall, permit me to escort you to the four-wheeler, which will be waiting."
He held out his long white hand with a polite smile; but Beatrice, ignoring the courtesy, walked alone towards the door. Ruck frowned and winced, and followed with a shrug. All the same, scoundrel as the man was, he did not like the implied slight. As the two emerged into the corridor there came a ring at the door. With a stifled exclamation of anger the Major opened it, and there on the threshold stood Durban, looking green with rage. The half-caste entered hurriedly and closed the door.
"Waterloo told me that missy was here," he said in an imperious tone, "and I have come to take her away."
"Oh, Durban, Durban!" cried the girl, and seized his arm.
"It's all right, missy." He patted her hand. "You are safe with me."
"She is safe in any case," said Ruck contemptuously. "She has accepted my terms, and she has my leave to go. As to Waterloo, I will punish him for telling you what he had no right to tell you."
"He has told many other things he has no right to tell," said Durban significantly, "and to the police."
"What?" The Major's face became ghastly, and he reeled against the wall with an oath.
"The game is up, Major," said Durban, holding the hand of Beatrice still tighter. "All I want to do is to get Miss Hall away before the police come to arrest the lot of you."
"I believe you told the police yourself," said the Major, choking with fury. "Waterloo would never dare----"
"Pshaw! I come to give you warning, Major, as you have always been kind to me. Waterloo was in league with my dead master to cheat you and the rest of the Gang."
"Is this true?" asked the Major of himself, biting his carefully-tended nails. "It is impossible! I could have staked my life on Waterloo's truth."
"Then you would lose your wager," said Durban. "The man is, and always was, a scoundrel.--Come, missy."
"One moment," said Ruck, recovering himself. "I am ready to get away, and have placed all my money safely abroad. When do the police come?"
"This night, I believe," said Durban. "I came up from town a few days ago to see if I could find out who killed Alpenny. I guessed it was one of the Black Patch Gang, especially as you gave him warning through me--or rather through Mr. Paslow. In making enquiries, I heard enough to convince me that Waterloo was in correspondence with the police, and was prepared to turn King's evidence to save his skin."
"And the beast was here only a few moments ago. Where is he?"
"Where you won't find him. He met me down the stairs a short time since, and told me what I now tell you--that the police were going to break up the Gang. He hates you, Major, because you once horsewhipped the poor wretch. He also told me that missy was here, and I came to save her from being taken along with your scoundrels. Waterloo has hidden himself; where he is, I don't know. He guessed that I would tell you, I suppose, as I let him know that I knew of his treachery. You won't get him, Major."
"Oh yes, I shall," said Ruck grimly. "I'm not going to be betrayed by a reptile like that without revenging myself. All the same, Miss Hall, I hold you to my terms. Remember, The Camp in two days--seven in the evening of the second day."
Beatrice bowed her head, being too weak to speak. Durban, with a surprised glance at the Major--for he could not understand the reason of this appointment--drew the girl away, and together they descended the grimy stairs, leaving the Major arranging for immediate flight. The four-wheeler was waiting, sure enough, and Durban told the man to drive to the station. When in the cab with his young mistress, Durban questioned her about the interview and the appointment. Beatrice told him the truth and concealed nothing. "And, I fear," she said with a shudder, "that the Major will betray Vivian, in spite of everything."
"No," said Durban quietly; "when he gets the necklace he will hold his peace. The Major is not a cruel man, in spite of his surroundings and follies--criminal follies. He will hold his tongue, but I doubt if Waterloo will."
"He wants the necklace also," said Beatrice faintly.
"I don't care if he gets it, or if the Major secures it, or if Lady Watson keeps it, missy," said Durban gloomily; "it will bring bad luck to either one of the three. But the Major said that you could marry Mr. Paslow?"
"Yes. I don't know how he intends to arrange. But I cannot marry Mr. Paslow. I believe him to be innocent, but I cannot be sure. There was the handkerchief, you know."
"I lied about that to save you pain, missy," said Durban sadly. "But it really seems as though Mr. Paslow was guilty. But he is not."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know who killed Mr. Alpenny."
"You, Durban?" she said, astonished.
"Yes. You can marry Mr. Paslow with a clear conscience, missy, because you love him, and he is innocent of this crime."
"Then who is guilty, Durban?"
"I am, missy. I killed the master."