Lord Littimer sat on the terrace, shaded from the sun by an awning over his deck-chair. From his expression he seemed to be at peace with all the world. His brown, eager face had lost its usually keen, suspicious look; he smoked a cigarette lazily. Chris sat opposite him looking as little like a hard-working secretary as possible.
As a matter of fact, there was nothing for her to do. Littimer had already tired of his lady secretary idea, and had Chris not interested and amused him he would have found some means to get rid of her before now.
But she did interest and amuse and puzzle him. There was something charmingly reminiscent about the girl. She was like somebody he had once known and cared for, but for the life of him he could not think who. And when curiosity sometimes got the better of good breeding Chris would baffle him in the most engaging manner.
"Really, you are an exceedingly clever girl," he said.
"In fact, we are both exceedingly clever," Chris replied, coolly. "And yet nobody is ever quite so clever as he imagines himself to be. Do you ever make bad mistakes, Lord Littimer?"
"Sometimes," Littimer said, with a touch of cynical humour. "For instance, I married some years ago. That was bad. Then I had a son, which was worse."
"At one time you were fond of your family?"
"Well, upon my word, you are the only creature I ever met who has had the audacity to ask me that question. Yes, I was very fond of my wife and my son, and, God help me, I am fond of them still. I don't know why I talk to you like this."
"I do," Chris said, gently. "It is because unconsciously you yearn for sympathy. And you fancy you are in no way to blame; you imagine that you acted in the only way consistent with your position and dignity. You fancied that your son was a vulgar thief. And I am under the impression that Lady Littimer had money."
"She had a large fortune," Littimer said, faintly. "Miss Lee, do you know that I have a great mind to box your ears?"
Chris laughed unsteadily. She was horribly frightened, though she did not show it. She had been waiting for days to catch Littimer in this mood. And she did not feel disposed to go back now. The task must be accomplished some time.
"Lady Littimer was very rich," she went on, "and she was devoted to Frank, your son. Now, if he had wanted a large sum of money very badly, and had gone to his mother, she would have given it to him without the slightest hesitation?"
"What fond mother wouldn't?"
"I am obliged to you for conceding the point. Your son wanted money. and he robbed you when he could have had anything for the asking from his mother."
"Sounds logical," Littimer said, flippantly. "Who had the money?"
"The same man who stole Prince Rupert's ring—Reginald Henson."
Littimer dropped his cigarette and sat upright in his chair. He was keen and alert enough now. There were traces of agitation on his face.
"That is a serious accusation," he said.
"Not more serious than your accusation against your son," Chris retorted.
"Well, perhaps not," Littimer admitted. "But why do you take up Frank's cause in this way? Is there any romance budding under my unconscious eyes?"
"Now you are talking nonsense," Chris said, with just a touch of colour in her cheeks. "I say, and I am going to prove when the time comes, that Reginald Henson was the thief. I am sorry to pain you, but it is absolutely necessary to go into these matters. When those foolish letters, written by a foolish girl, fell into your hands, your son vowed that he would get them back, by force if necessary. He made that rash speech in hearing of Reginald Henson. Henson probably lurked about until he saw the robbery committed. Then it occurred to him that he might do a little robbery on his own account, seeing that your son would get the credit of it. The safe was open, and so he walked off with your ring and your money."
"My dear young lady, this is all mere surmise."
"So you imagine. At that time Reginald Henson had a kind of home which he was running at 218, Brunswick Square, Brighton. Lady Littimer had just relinquished a similar undertaking there. Previously Reginald Henson had a home at Huddersfield. Mind you, he didn't run either in his own name, and he kept studiously in the background. But he was desperately hard up at the time in consequence of his dissipation and extravagance, and the money he collected for his home went into his own pocket. Then the police got wind of the matter, and Reginald Henson discreetly disappeared from Brighton just in time to save himself from arrest for frauds there and at Huddersfield. A member of the Huddersfield police is in a high position at Brighton. He has recognised Reginald Henson as the man who was 'wanted' at Huddersfield. I don't know if there will be a prosecution after all these years, but there you are."
"You are speaking from authority?"
"Certainly I am. Reginald Henson, as such, is not known to InspectorMarley, but I sent the latter a photograph of Henson, and he returned itthis morning with a letter to the effect that it was the man theHuddersfield police were looking for."
"What an interesting girl you are," Littimer murmured. "Always so full of surprises. Our dear Reginald is even a greater rascal than I took him for."
"Well, he took your money, and that saved him. He took your ring, a facsimile of which he had made before for some ingenious purpose. It came with a vengeance. Then Claire Carfax committed suicide, thanks to your indiscretion and folly."
"Go on. Rub it in. Never mind about my feelings."
"I'm not minding," Chris said, coolly. "Henson saw his game and played it boldly. I could not have told you all this yesterday, but a letter I had this morning cleared the ground wonderfully. Henson wanted to cause family differences, and he succeeded. Previously he got Dr. Bell out of the way by means of the second Rembrandt. You can't deny there is a second Rembrandt now, seeing that it is locked up in your safe. And where do you think Bell found it? Why, at 218, Brunswick Square, Brighton, where Henson had to leave it seven years ago when the police were so hot upon his trail. He was fearful lest you and Bell should come together again, and that is why he came here at night to steal your Rembrandt. And yet you trusted that man blindly all the time your own son was suffering on mere suspicions. How blind you have been!"
"I'm blind still," Littimer said, curtly. "My dear young lady, I admit that you are making out a pretty strong case; indeed, I might go farther, and say that you have all my sympathy. But what you say would not be taken as evidence in a court of law. If you produce that ring, for instance—but that is at the bottom of the North Sea."
Chris took a small cardboard box from her pocket, and from thence produced a ring. It was a ruby ring with black pearls on either side, and had some inscription inside.
"Look at that," she said. "It was sent to me to-day by my—by a friend of mine. It is the ring which Reginald Henson shows to Lady Littimer when he wants money from her. It was lost by Henson a night or two ago, and it fell into the hands of someone who is interested, like myself, in the exposure and disgrace of Reginald Henson."
Littimer examined the ring carefully.
"It is a wonderfully good imitation," he said, presently.
"So I am told," said Chris. "So good that it must have actually been copied from the original. Now, how could Henson have had a copy made unless he possessed the original? Will you be good enough to answer me that question, Lord Littimer?"
Littimer could do no more than gaze at the ring in his hand for some time.
"I could have sworn—indeed, I am ready to swear—that the real ring was never in anybody's possession but mine from the day that Frank was a year old till it disappeared. Of course, scores of people had looked at it, Henson amongst the rest. But how did Claire Carfax—"
"Easily enough. Henson had a first copy made from a description. I don't know why; probably we shall never know why. Probably he had it done when he knew that your son and Miss Carfax had struck up a flirtation. It was he who forged a letter from Frank to Miss Carfax, enclosing the ring. By that means he hoped to create mischief which, if it had been nipped in the bud, could never have been traced to him. As matters turned out he succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. He had got the real ring, too, which was likely to prove a very useful thing in case he ever wanted to make terms. A second and a faithful copy was made—the copy you hold in your hands—to hold temptingly over Lady Littimer's head when he wanted large sums of money from her."
"The scoundrel! He gets the money, of course?"
"He does. To my certain knowledge he has had nearly £70,000. But the case is in good hands. You have only to wait a few days longer and the man will be exposed. Already, as you see, I have wound his accomplice, the Reverend James Merritt, round my finger. Of course, the idea of getting up a bazaar has all been nonsense. I am only waiting for a little further information, and then Merritt will feel the iron hand under the velvet glove. Unless I am greatly mistaken, Merritt can tell us where Prince Rupert's ring is. Already Van Sneck is in our grasp."
"Van Sneck! Is he in England?"
"He is. Did you read that strange case of a man being found half murdered in the conservatory of Mr. Steel, the novelist, in Brighton? Well, that was Van Sneck. But I can't tell you any more at present. You must wait and be content."
"Tell me one thing, and I will wait as long as you like. Who are you?"
Chris shook her head, merrily. A great relief had been taken off her mind. She had approached a delicate and difficult matter, and she had succeeded beyond her expectations. That she had shaken the man opposite her sorely was evident from his face. The hardness had gone from his eyes, his lips were no longer bitter and cynical.
"I may have been guilty of a great wrong," he murmured. "All these yearsI may have been living under a misapprehension. And you have told me whatI should never have suspected, although I have never had a high opinionof my dear Reginald. Where is my wife now?"
"She is still at Longdean Grange. You will notice a great change in her, a great and sorrowful change. But it is not too late to—"
Littimer rose and went swiftly towards the house. At any other time the action would have been rude, but Chris fully understood. She had touched the man to the bottom of his soul, and he was anxious to hide his emotion.
"Poor man," Chris murmured. "His hard cynicism conceals a deal of suffering. But the suffering is past; we have only to wait patiently for daylight now."
Chris rose restlessly in her turn and strolled along the terrace to her favourite spot looking over the cliffs. There was nobody about; it was very hot there. The girl removed her glasses and pushed back the banded hair from her forehead. She had drawn a photograph from her pocket which she was regarding intently. She was quite heedless of the fact that somebody was coming along the cliffs towards her. She raised the photograph to her lips and kissed it tenderly.
"Poor Frank," she murmured. "Poor fellow, so weak and amiable. And yet with all your faults—"
Chris paused, and a little cry escaped her lips. Frank Littimer, looking very wild and haggard, stood before her.
"I beg your pardon," he began. "I came to see you because—"
The words died away. He staggered back, pale as the foam beating on the rocks below, his hand clutching at his left side as if there was some mortal pain there.
"Chris," he murmured. "Chris, Chris, Chris! And they told me—"
He could say no more, he could only stand there trembling from head to foot, fearful lest his mocking senses were making sport of him. Surely, it was some beautiful vision he had come upon. With one unsteady hand he touched the girl's sleeve; he pressed her warm red cheeks with his fingers, and with that touch his manhood came back to him.
"Darling," he whispered, eagerly. "Dearest, what does it mean?"
Chris stood there, smiling rosily. She had not meant to betray herself; fate had done that for her, and she was not sorry. It was a cruel trick they had played upon Frank, but it had been necessary. Chris held out her hand with a loving little gesture.
"Are you not going to kiss me, dear?" she asked, sweetly.
Frank Littimer needed no further invitation. It was quiet and secluded there, and nobody could possibly see them. With a little sigh Chris felt her lover's arms about her and his kisses warm on her lips. The clever, brilliant girl had disappeared; a pretty, timid creature stood in her place for the time. For the moment Frank Littimer could do no more than gaze into her eyes with rapture and amazement. There was plenty of time for explanations.
"Let us go into the arbour," Frank suggested. "No, I am not going to release your hand for a moment. If I do you will fly away again. Chris, dear Chris, why did you serve me so?"
"It was absolutely necessary," Chris replied. "It was necessary to deceive Reginald Henson. But it was hard work the other night."
"You mean when I came here and—"
"Tried to steal the Rembrandt. Oh, you needn't explain. I know that you had to come. And we have Henson in our power at last."
"I am afraid that is too good to be true. But tell me everything from the beginning. I am as dazed and confused as a tired man roused out of a sound sleep."
Chris proceeded to explain from the beginning of all things. It was an exceedingly interesting and exciting narrative to Frank Littimer, and he followed it carefully. He would have remained there all day listening to the music of Chris's voice and looking into her eyes. He had come there miserable and downcast to ask a question, and behold he had suddenly found all the joy and sweetness of existence.
"And so you have accomplished all this?" he said, at length. "What aglorious adventure it must have been, and how clever you are! So is Mr.David Steel. Many a time I have tried to break through the shackles, butReginald has always been too strong for me."
"Well, he's shot his bolt, now," Chris smiled. "I have just been opening your father's eyes."
Frank laughed as he had not laughed for a long time.
"Do you mean to say he doesn't know who you are?" he asked.
"My dear boy, he hasn't the faintest idea. Neither had you the faintest idea when I made you a prisoner the other night. But he will know soon."
"God grant that he may," Frank said, fervently.
He bent over and pressed his lips passionately to those of Chris. When he looked up again Lord Littimer was standing before the arbour, wearing his most cynical expression.
"He does know," he said. "My dear young lady, you need not move. The expression of sweet confusion on your face is infinitely pleasing. I did not imagine that one so perfectly self-possessed could look like that. It gives me quite a nice sense of superiority. And you, sir?"
The last words were uttered a little sternly. Frank had risen. His face was pale, his manner resolute and respectful.
"I came here to ask Miss Lee a question, sir, not knowing, of course, who she was."
"And she betrayed herself, eh?"
"I am sorry if I have done so," Chris said, "but I should not have done so unless I had been taken by surprise. It was so hot that I had taken off my glasses and put my hair up. Then Frank came up and surprised me."
"You have grown an exceedingly pretty girl, Chris," Littimer said, critically. "Of course, I recognise you now. You are nicer-looking than Miss Lee."
Chris put on her glasses and rolled her hair down resolutely.
"You will be good enough to understand that I am going to continue Miss Lee for the present," she said. "My task is a long way from being finished yet. Lord Littimer, you are not going to send Frank away?"
Littimer looked undecided.
"I don't know," he said. "Frank, I have heard a great deal to-day to cause me to think that I might have done you a grave injustice. And yet I am not sure…. In any case, it would be bad policy for you to remain here. If the news came to the ears of Reginald Henson it might upset Miss Machiavelli's plans."
"That had not occurred to me for the moment," Chris exclaimed. "On the whole, Frank had better not stay. But I should dearly like to see you two shake hands."
Frank Littimer made an involuntary gesture, and then he drew back.
"I'd—I'd rather not," he said. "At least, not until my character has been fully vindicated. Heaven knows I have suffered enough for a boyish indiscretion."
"And you have youth on your side," Littimer said gravely. "Whereas I—"
"I know, I know. It has been terrible all round. I took those letters of poor Claire's away because they were sacred property, and for no eye but mine—"
"No eye but yours saw them. I was going to send them back again. I wish I had."
"Aye, so do I. I took them and destroyed them. But I take Heaven to witness that I touched nothing else besides. If it was the last word I ever uttered—what is that fellow doing here in that garb? It is one of Henson's most disreputable tools."
Merritt was coming across the terrace. He paused suspiciously as he caught sight of Frank, but Chris, with a friendly wave of her hand, encouraged him to come on.
"It is all part of the game," she said. "I sent for our friend Merritt, but when I did so I had no idea that Frank would be present. Since you are here you might just as well stay and hear a little more of the strange doings of Reginald Henson. The time has come to let Merritt know that I am not the clever lady burglar he takes me for."
Merritt came up doggedly. Evidently the presence of Frank Littimer disturbed him. Chris motioned him to a seat, quite gaily.
"You are very punctual," she said. "I told you I wanted you to give Lord Littimer and myself a little advice and assistance. In the first place we want to know where that gun-metal diamond-mounted cigar-case, at present for sale in Rutter's window, came from. We want to know how it got there and who sold it to Rutter's people. Also we want to know why Van Sneck purchased a similar cigar-case from Walen's, of Brighton."
Merritt's heavy jaw dropped, his face turned a dull yellow. He looked round helplessly for some means of escape, and then relinquished the idea with a sigh.
"Done," he said. "Clear done. And by a woman, too! A smart woman, I admit, but a woman all the same. And yet why didn't you—"
Merritt paused, lost in the contemplation of a problem beyond his intellectual strength.
"You have nothing to fear," Chris said, with a smile. "Tell us all you know and conceal nothing, and you will be free when we have done with you."
Merritt wiped his dry lips with the back of his hand.
"I come peaceable," he said, hoarsely. "And I'm going to tell you all about it."
There was an uneasy grin on Merritt's face, a suggestion that he did not altogether trust those around him. Hard experience in the ways of the wicked had taught him the folly of putting his confidence in anyone. Just for the moment the impulse to shuffle was upon him.
"If I say nothing, then I can't do any harm," he remarked, sapiently."Best, on the whole, for me to keep my tongue between my teeth."
"Mr. Henson is a dangerous man to cross," Chris suggested.
"He is that," Merritt agreed. "You don't know him as I do."
Chris conceded the point, though she had her own views on that matter. Lord Littimer had seated himself on the broad stone bench along the terrace, whence he was watching the scene with the greatest zest and interest.
"You imagine Mr. Henson to be a friend of yours?" Chris asked.
Merritt nodded and grinned. So long as he was useful to Henson he was fairly safe.
"Mr. Merritt," Chris asked, suddenly, "have you ever heard ofReuben Taylor?"
The effect of the question was electrical. Merritt's square jaw dropped with a click, there was fear in the furtive eyes that he cast around him.
"I read about Reuben Taylor in one of our very smart papers lately," Chris went on. "It appears that Mr. Taylor is a person who nobody seems to have seen, but who from time to time does a vast service to the community at large. He is not exactly a philanthropist, for he is well rewarded for his labours both by the police and his clients. Suppose Mr. Merritt here had done some wrong."
"A great effort of imagination," Littimer murmured, gently.
"Had done something wrong, and an enemy or quondam friend wants to 'put him away.' I believe that is the correct expression. In that case he does not go to the police himself, because he is usually of a modest and retiring disposition. No, he usually puts down a few particulars in the way of a letter and sends it to Reuben Taylor under cover at a certain address. Is not that quite correct, Mr. Merritt?"
"Right," Merritt said, hoarsely. "Some day we shall find out who Taylor is, and—"
"Never mind that. Do you know that the night before your friend Mr. Henson left the Castle he placed in the post-bag a letter addressed to Mr. Reuben Taylor? In view of what I read recently in the paper alluded to the name struck me as strange. Now, Mr. Merritt, is it possible that letter had anything to do with you?"
Merritt did not appear to hear the question. His eyes were fixed on space; there was a sanguine clenching of his fists as if they had been about the throat of a foe.
"If I had him here," he murmured. "If I only had him here! He's given me away. After all that I have done for him he's given me away."
His listeners said nothing; they fully appreciated the situation. Merritt's presence at the Castle was both dangerous and hazardous for Henson.
"If you went away to-day you might be safe?" Chris suggested.
"Aye, I might," Merritt said, with a cunning grin in his eyes. "If I had a hundred pounds."
Chris glanced significantly at Littimer, who nodded and took up the parable.
"You shall have the money," he said. "And you shall go as soon as you have answered Miss Lee's questions."
Merritt proclaimed himself eager to say anything. But Merritt's information proved to be a great deal less than she had anticipated.
"I stole that picture," Merritt confessed. "I was brought down here on purpose. Henson sent to London and said he had a job for me. It was to get the picture from Dr. Bell. I didn't ask any questions, but set to work at once."
"Did you know what the picture was?" Chris asked.
"Bless you, yes; it was a Rembrandt engraving. Why, it was I who in the first place stole the first Rembrandt from his lordship yonder, in Amsterdam. I got into his lordship's sitting-room by climbing down a spout, and I took the picture."
"But the other belonged to Van Sneck," said Chris.
"It did; and Van Sneck had to leave Amsterdam hurriedly, being wanted by the police. Henson told me that Van Sneck had a second copy of 'The Crimson Blind,' and I had to burgle that as well; and I had to get into Dr. Bell's room and put the second copy in his portmanteau. Why? Ask somebody wiser than me. It was all some deep game of Henson's, only you may be pretty sure he didn't tellmewhat the game was. I got my money and returned to London, and till pretty recently I saw no more of Henson."
"But you came into the game again," said Littimer.
"Quite lately, your lordship. I went down to Brighton. I was told as Bell had got hold of the second Rembrandt owing to Henson's carelessness, and that he was pretty certain to bring it here. He did bring it here, and I tried to stop him on the way, and he half killed me."
"Those half measures are so unsatisfactory," Littimer smiled.
Merritt grinned. He fully appreciated the humour of the remark.
"That attack and the way it was brought about were suggested by Henson," he went on. "If it failed, I was to come up to the Castle here without delay and tell Henson so. I came, and he covered my movements whilst I pinched the picture. I had been told that the thing was fastened to the wall, but a pair of steel pliers made no odds to that. I took the picture home, and two days later it vanished. And that's all I know about it."
"Lame and impotent conclusion!" said Littimer.
"Wait a moment," Chris cried. "You found the diamond star which you pawned—"
"At your request, miss. Don't go for to say as you've forgotten that."
"I have forgotten nothing," Chris said, with a smile. "I want to know about the cigar-case."
Merritt looked blankly at the speaker. Evidently this was strange ground to him.
"I don't know anything about that," he said. "What sort of a cigar-case?"
"Gun-metal set with diamonds. The same case or a similar one to that purchased by Van Sneck from Walen's in Brighton. Come, rack your brains a bit. Did you ever see anything of Van Sneck about the time of his accident? You know where he is?"
"Yes. He's in the County Hospital at Brighton, He was found in Mr. Steel's house nearly dead. It's coming back to me now. A gun-metal cigar-case set in diamonds. That would be a dull thing with sparkling stones all over it. Of course! Why, I saw it in Van Sneck's hands the day he was assaulted. I recollect asking him where he got it from, and he said that it was a present from Henson. He was going off to meet Henson then by the corner of Brunswick Square."
"Did you see Van Sneck again that day?"
"Later on in the afternoon. We went into the Continental together. VanSneck had been drinking."
"You did not see the cigar-case again?"
"No. Van Sneck gave me a cigar which he took from the common sort of case that they give away with seven cigars for a shilling. I asked him if he had seen Henson, and he said that he had. He seemed pretty full up against Henson, and said something about the latter having played him a scurvy trick and he didn't like it, and that he'd be even yet. I didn't take any notice of that, because it was no new thing for Henson to play it low down on his pals."
"Did anything else happen at that interview?" Chris asked, anxiously. "Think! The most trivial thing to you would perhaps be of the greatest importance to us."
Merritt knitted his brows thoughtfully.
"We had a rambling kind of talk," he said. "It was mostly Van Sneck who talked. I left him at last because he got sulky over my refusal to take a letter for him to Kemp Town."
"Indeed! Do you recollect where that letter was addressed to?"
"Well, of course I've forgotten the address; but it was to some writing man—Stone, or Flint, or—"
"Steel, perhaps?"
"That's the name! David Steel, Esq. Van Sneck wanted me to take that letter, saying as it would put a spoke in Reginald Henson's wheel, but I didn't see it. A boy took the letter at last."
"Did you see an answer come back?"
"Yes, some hour or so later. Van Sneck seemed to be greatly pleased with it. He said he was going to make an evening call late that night that would cook Henson's goose. And he was what you call gassy about it: said he had told Henson plump and plain what he was going to do, and that he was not afraid of Henson or any man breathing."
Chris asked no further questions for the moment. The track was getting clearer. She had, of course, heard by this time of the letter presumedly written by David Steel to the injured man Van Sneck, which had been found in his pocket by Dr. Cross. The latter had been written most assuredly in reply to the note Merritt had just alluded to, but certainly not written by David Steel. Who, then, seeing that it was Steel's private note-paper? The more Chris thought over this the more she was puzzled. Henson could have told her, of course, but nobody else.
Doubtless, Henson had started on his present campaign with a dozen different schemes. Probably one of them called for a supply of Steel's note-paper. Somebody unknown had procured the paper, as David Steel had testimony in the form of his last quarter's account. The lad engaged by Van Sneck to carry the letter from the Continental to 15, Downend Terrace, must have been intercepted by Henson or somebody in Henson's pay and given the forged reply, a reply that actually brought Van Sneck to Steel's house on the night of the great adventure. Henson had been warned by the somewhat intoxicated Van Sneck what he was going to do, and he had prepared accordingly.
A sudden light came to Chris. Henson had found out part of their scheme. He knew that David Steel would be probably away from home on the night in question. In that case, having made certain of this, and having gained a pretty good knowledge of Steel's household habits, what easier than to enter Steel's house in his absence, wait for Van Sneck, and murder him then and there?
It was not a pretty thought, and Chris recoiled from it.
"How could Van Sneck have got into Steel's house?" she asked. "I know for a fact that Mr. Steel was not at home, and that he closed the door carefully behind him when he left the house that night."
Merritt grinned at the simplicity of the question. It was not worthy of the brilliant lady who had so far got the better of him.
"Latch-keys are very much alike," he said. "Give me three latch-keys, and I'll open ninety doors out of a hundred. Give me six latch-keys of various patterns, and I'll guarantee to open the other ten."
"I had not thought of that," Chris admitted. "Did Van Sneck happen by any chance to tell you what he and Mr. Henson had been quarrelling about?"
"He was too excited to tell anything properly. He was jabbering something about a ring all the time."
"What sort of a ring?"
"That I can't tell you, miss. I fancy it was a ring that Van Sneck had made."
"Made! Is Van Sneck a working jeweller or anything of that kind?"
"He's one of the cleverest fellows with his fingers that you ever saw. Give him a bit of old gold and a few stones and he'll make you a bracelet that will pass for antique. Half the so-called antiques picked up on the Continent have been faked by Van Sneck. There was that ring, for instance, that Henson had, supposed to be the property of some swell he called Prince Rupert. Why, Van Sneck copied it for him in a couple of days, till you couldn't tell t'other from which."
Chris choked the cry that rose to her lips. She glanced at Littimer, who had dropped his glass, and was regarding Merritt with a kind of frozen, pallid curiosity. Chris signalled Littimer to speak. She had no words of her own for the present.
"How long ago was that?" Littimer asked, hoarsely.
"About seven years, speaking from memory. There were two copies made—one from description. The other was much more faithful. Perhaps there were three copies, but I forget now. Van Sneck raved over the ring; it might have been a mine of gold for the fuss he made over it."
Littimer asked no further questions. But from the glance he gave first to Chris and then to his son the girl could see that he was satisfied. He knew at last that he had done his son a grave injustice—he knew the truth. It seemed to Chris that years had slipped suddenly from his shoulders. His face was still grave and set; his eyes were hard; but the gleam in them was for the man who had done him this terrible injury.
"I fancy we are wandering from the subject," Chris said, with commendable steadiness. "We will leave the matter of the ring out of the question. Mr. Merritt, I don't propose to tell you too much, but you can help me a little farther on the way. That cigar-case you saw in Van Sneck's possession passed to Mr. Henson. By him, or by somebody in his employ, it was substituted for a precisely similar case intended for a present to Mr. Steel. The substitution has caused Mr. Steel a great deal of trouble."
"Seeing as Van Sneck was found half dead in Mr. Steel's house, and seeing as he claimed the cigar-case, what could be proved to be Van Sneck's, I'm not surprised," Merritt grinned.
"Then you know all about it?"
"Don't know anything about it," Merritt growled, doggedly. "I guessed that. When you said as the one case had been substituted for the other, it don't want a regiment of schoolmasters to see where the pea lies. What you've got to do now is to find Mr. Steel's case."
"I have already found it, as I hinted to you. It is at Rutter's, in Moreton Wells. It was sold to them by the gentleman who had given up smoking. I want you to go into Moreton Wells with me to-day and see if you can get at the gentleman's identity."
Mr. Merritt demurred. It was all very well for Chris, he pointed out in his picturesque language. She had her little lot of fish to fry, but at the same time he had to draw his money and be away before the police were down upon him. If Miss Lee liked to start at once—
"I am ready at any moment," Chris said. "In any case you will have to go to Moreton Wells, and I can give you a little more information on the way."
"You had better go along, Frank," Littimer suggested, under his breath. "I fervently hope now that the day is not far distant when you can return altogether, but for the present your presence is dangerous. We must give that rascal Henson no cause for suspicion."
"You are quite right," Frank replied. "And I'd like to—to shake hands now, dad."
Littimer put out his hand, without a word. The cool, cynical man of the world would have found it difficult to utter a syllable just then. When he looked up again he was smiling.
"Go along," he said. "You're a lucky fellow, Frank. That girl's one in a million."
A dog-cart driven by Chris brought herself and her companion into Moreton Wells in an hour, Frank had struck off across country in the direction of the nearest station. The appearance of himself in More ton Wells on the front of a dog-cart from the Castle would have caused a nine days' wonder.
"Now, what I want to impress upon you is this," said Chris. "Mr. Steel's cigar-case was stolen and one belonging to Van Sneck substituted for it. The stolen one was returned to the shop from which it was purchased almost immediately, so soon, indeed, that the transaction was never entered on the books. We are pretty certain that Reginald Henson did that, and we know that he is at the bottom of the mystery. But to prevent anything happening, and to prevent our getting the case back again, Henson had to go farther. The case must be beyond our reach. Therefore, I decline to believe that it was a mere coincidence that took a stranger into Lockhart's directly after Henson had been there to look at some gun-metal cigar-cases set in diamonds. The stranger purchased the case, and asked for it to be sent to the Metropole to 'John Smith.' With the hundreds of letters and visitors there it would be almost impossible to trace the case or the man."
"Lockhart's might help you?"
"They have as far as they can. The cigar-case was sold to a tallAmerican. Beyond that it is impossible to go."
A meaning smile dawned on Merritt's face.
"They might have taken more notice of the gentleman at Rutter's," he said, "being a smaller shop. I'm going to admire that case and pretend it belonged to a friend of mine."
"I want you to try and buy it for me," Chris said, quietly.
Rutter's was reached at length, and after some preliminaries the cigar-case was approached. Merritt took it up, with a well-feigned air of astonishment.
"Why, this must have belonged to my old friend, B—," he exclaimed."It's not new?"
"No, sir," the assistant explained. "We purchased it from a gentleman who stayed for a day or two here at the Lion, a friend of Mr. Reginald Henson."
"A tall man?" said Merritt, tentatively. "Long, thin beard and slightly marked with small-pox? Gave the name of Rawlins?"
"That's the gentleman, sir. Perhaps you may like to purchase the case?"
The purchase was made in due course, and together Chris and her queer companion left the shop.
"Rawlins is an American swindler of the smartest type," said Merritt. "If you get him in a corner ask him what he and Henson were doing in America some two years ago. Rawlins is in this little game for certain. But you ought to trace him by means of the Lion people. Oh, lor'!"
Merritt slipped back into an entry as a little, cleanshaven man passed along the street. His eyes had a dark look of fear in them.
"They're after me," he said, huskily. "That was one of them. Excuse me, miss."
Merritt darted away and flung himself into a passing cab. His face was dark with passion; the big veins stood out on his forehead like cords.
"The cur," he snarled—"the mean cur! I'll be even with him yet. If I can only catch the 4.48 at the Junction I'll be in London before them. And I'll go down to Brighton, if I have to foot it all the way, and, once I get there, look to yourself, Reginald Henson. A hundred pounds is a good sum to go on with. I'll kill that cur—I'll choke the life out of him. Cabby, if you get to the Junction by a quarter to five I'll give you a quid."
"The quid's as good as mine, sir," cabby said, cheerfully. "Get along, lass."
Meanwhile Chris had returned thoughtfully to the dog-cart, musing over the last discovery. She felt quite satisfied with her afternoon's work. Then a new idea struck her. She crossed over to the post-office and dispatched a long telegram thus:—
"To David Steel, 15, Downend Terrace, Brighton.
"Go to Walen's and ascertain full description of the tentative customer who suggested the firm should procure gun-metal cigar-case for him to look at. Ask if he was a tall man with a thin beard and a face slightly pock-marked. Then telephone result to me here. Quite safe, as Henson is away. Great discoveries to tell you.—CHRISTABEL LEE."
Chris paid for her telegram and then drove thoughtfully homeward.
Lord Littimer was greatly interested in all that Chris had to say. The whole story was confided to him after dinner. Over his coffee on the terrace he offered many shrewd suggestions.
"There is one thing wherein you have made a mistake," he said. "And that is in your idea that Henson changed those cigar-cases after Miss Gates laid your votive offering on Steel's doorstep."
"How else could it be done?" Chris said.
"My dear, the thing is quite obvious. You have already told me that Henson was quite aware what you were going to do—at least that he knew you were going to consult Steel. Also he knew that you were going to make Steel a present, and by a little judicious eavesdropping he contrived to glean all about the cigar-case. The fellow has already admitted to your sister that he listened. How long was that before you bought the cigar-case?"
"I should say it might have been a week. We had inquiries to make, you know. In the first instance we never dreamt of offering Mr. Steel money. I blush to think of that folly."
"Well, blush a little later on when you have more time. Then Henson had a week to work out his little scheme. He knows all about the cigar-case; he knows where it is going to be bought. Then he goes to Lockhart's and purchases some trifle in the shape of a cigar-case; he has it packed up, yellow string and all. This is his dummy. By keeping his eyes open he gets the chance he is waiting for. Ruth Gates hadn't the faintest idea that he knew anything when she left that case the day she bought it within reach of Henson. He gets her out of the way for a minute or two, he unties the parcel, and places the Van Sneck case in it. No, by Jove, he needn't have bought anything from Lockhart's at all. I only thought of that to account for the yellow string and the stamped paper that Lockhart's people use. He first takes one case out of the parcel and replaces it with another, and there you are. You may depend upon it that was the way in which it was done."
The more Chris thought over the matter the more certain she felt that such was the case. Like most apparently wonderful things, the explanation was absurdly simple. A conjurer's most marvellous tricks are generally the easiest.
"How foolish of us not to have thought of this before," Chris said, thoughtfully. "At any rate, we know all about it now. And we know who bought the cigar-case so promptly returned to Lockhart's by Henson. I should like to see this Rawlins."
"You have got to find him first," said Littimer.
"I'm going into Moreton Wells again to-morrow to make inquiries," said Chris.
But she was saved the trouble. Once more the ever-blessed telephone stood her in good stead. She was just on the point of starting for Moreton Wells when Steel called her up. Chris recognised him with a thrill of eager pleasure.
"You need not be afraid," she said. "You can speak quite freely. How isVan Sneck?"
"Very queer," David responded. "Bell hoped to have operated upon him before this, but such a course has not been deemed quite prudent. The day after to-morrow it will be, I expect. Henson has found out where Van Sneck is."
"Indeed. Has he been to see you?"
"He has been more than once on all kinds of ingenious pretences. But I didn't call you up to tell you this. We have been making inquiries at Walen's, Marley and myself. The time has come now to let Marley behind the scenes a bit."
"Did Walen's people know anything about the tall American?"
"Oh, yes. A tall American with a thin beard and a faint suggestion of small-pox called about a week before the great adventure, and asked to see some gun-metal diamond-mounted cigar-cases—like the one in Lockhart's window."
"Did he really volunteer that remark?"
"He did, saying also that Lockhart's were too dear. Walen's hadn't got what he wanted, but they promised to get some cases out of stock, which meant that they would go to the same wholesale house as Lockhart's and get some similar cases. As a matter of fact, one of Walen's assistants was sent round to study the case in Lockhart's window. The cases were procured on the chance of a sale, but the American never turned up again. No notice was taken of this, because such things often happen to shopkeepers."
"And this was about a week before the night of the great adventure?"
"Yes. Wait a bit. I have not quite finished yet. Now, once I had ascertained this, an important fact becomes obvious. The American didn't want a cigar-case at all."
"But he subsequently purchased the one returned to Lockhart's shop."
"That remark does not suggest your usual acumen. The American was preparing the ground for Van Sneck to purchase with a view to a subsequent exchange. You have not fully grasped the vileness of this plot yet. I went to Lockhart's and succeeded in discovering that the purchaser of the returned case was a tall American, quite of the pattern I expected. Then I managed to get on to the trail at the Metropole here. They recollected when I could describe the man; they also recollected the largeness of his tips. Then I traced my man to the Lion at Moreton Wells, where he had obviously gone to see Reginald Henson. From the Lion our friend went to the Royal at Scarsdale Sands, where he is staying at present."
"Under the name of John Smith?"
"I suppose so, seeing that all the inquiries under that name were successful. If you would like me to come up and interview the man for you—"
"I should like you to do nothing of the kind," Chris said. "You are more useful in Brighton, and I am going to interview Mr. John Smith Rawlins for myself. Good-bye. Just one moment. For the next few days my address will be the Royal Hotel, Scarsdale Sands."
Chris countermanded the dog-cart she had ordered and repaired to the library, where Littimer was tying some trout-flies behind a cloud of cigarette smoke.
"Thought you had gone to Moreton Wells," he said. "Been at the telephone again? A pretty nice bill I shall have to pay for all those long messages of yours."
"Mr. Steel pays this time," Chris said, gaily. "He has just given me some information that obviates the necessity of going into the town. My dear uncle, you want a change. You look tired and languid—"
"Depression of spirits and a disinclination to exercise after food. Also a morbid craving for seven to eight hours' sleep every night. What's the little game?"
"Bracing air," Chris laughed. "Lord Littimer and his secretary, Miss Lee, are going to spend a few days at Scarsdale Sands, Royal Hotel, to recuperate after their literary labours."
"The air here being so poor and enervating," Littimer said, cynically."In other words, I suppose you have traced Rawlins to Scarsdale Sands?"
"How clever you are," said Chris, admiringly. "Walen's American andLockhart's American, with the modest pseudonym of John Smith, are whatMrs. Malaprop would call three single gentlemen rolled into one. We aregoing to make the acquaintance of John Smith Rawlins."
"Oh, indeed, and when do we start, may I ask?"
Chris responded coolly that she hoped to get away in the course of the day. With a great show of virtuous resignation Lord Littimer consented.
"I have always been the jest of fortune," he said, plaintively; "but I never expected to be dragged all over the place at my time of life by a girl who is anxious to make me acquainted with the choicest blackguardism in the kingdom. I leave my happy home, my cook, and my cellar, for at least a week of hotel living. Well, one can only die once."
Chris bustled away to make the necessary arrangements. Some few hours later Lord Littimer was looking out from his luxurious private sitting-room with the assumption of being a martyr. He and Chris were dressed for dinner; they were waiting for the bell to summon them to the dining-room. When they got down at length they found quite a large number of guests already seated at the many small tables.
"Your man here?" Littimer asked, languidly.
Chris indicated two people seated in a window opposite.
"There!" she whispered. "There he is. And what a pretty girl with him!"
Littimer put up his glass and gazed with apparent vacancy in the direction of the window. He saw a tall man with a grey beard and hair; a man most immaculately dressed and of distinctly distinguished appearance. Littimer was fain to admit that he would have taken him for a gentleman under any circumstances. In manner, style, and speech he left nothing to be desired.
"That chap has a fortune in his face and accent," Littimer said. "'Pon my word, he is a chance acquaintance that one would ask to dinner without the slightest hesitation. And the girl—"
"Is his daughter," Chris said. "The likeness is very strong."
"It is," Littimer admitted. "A singularly pretty, refined girl, with quite the grand air. It is an air that mere education seldom gives; but it seems to have done so in yonder case. And how fond they seem to be of one another! Depend upon it, Chris, whatever that man may be his daughter knows nothing of it. And yet you tell me that the police—"
"Well, never mind the police, now. We can get Mr. Steel to tell Marley all about 'John Smith' if we can't contrive to force his hand without. But with that pretty girl before my eyes I shouldn't like to do anything harsh. Up till now I have always pictured the typical educated scoundrel as a man who was utterly devoid of feelings of any kind."
Dinner proceeded quietly enough, Chris having eyes for hardly anything else beyond the couple in the window. She rose presently, with a little gasp, and hastily lifted a tankard of iced water from the table. The girl opposite her had turned pale and her dark head had drooped forward.
"I hope it is not serious," said Chris. "Drink a little of this; it is iced."
"And they told me they had no ice in the house," the man Rawlins muttered. "A little of this, Grace. It is one of her old fainting fits. Ah, that is better."
The man Rawlins spoke with the tenderest solicitude. The look of positive relief on his face as his daughter smiled at him told of a deep devotion and affection for the girl. Chris, looking on, was wondering vaguely whether or not she had made a mistake.
"Lord Littimer obtained our ice," she said. "Pray keep this. Oh, yes, that is Lord Littimer over there. I am his secretary."
Littimer strolled across himself and murmured his condolences. A little time later and the four of them were outside in the verandah taking ices together. Rawlins might have been, and no doubt was, a finished scoundrel, but there was no question as to his fascinating manner and his brilliant qualities as a conversationalist. A man of nerve too, and full of resources. All the same, Littimer was asking himself and wondering who the man really was. By birth he must have been born a gentleman, Littimer did not doubt for a moment.
But there was one soft spot in the man, and that was his love for his daughter. For her sake he had been travelling all over the world for years; for years he had despaired of seeing her live to womanhood. But she was gradually growing better; indeed, if she had not walked so far to-day nothing would have happened. All the time that Rawlins was talking his eyes were resting tenderly on his daughter. The hard, steely look seemed to have gone out of them altogether.
Altogether a charming and many-sided rascal, Littimer thought. He was fond, as he called it, of collecting types of humanity, and here was a new and fascinating specimen. The two men talked together till long after dark, and Rawlins never betrayed himself. He might have been an Ambassador or Cabinet Minister unbending after a long period of heavy labour.
Meanwhile Chris had drawn Grace Rawlins apart from the others. The girl was quiet and self-contained, but evidently a lady. She seemed to have but few enthusiasms, but one of them was for her father. He was the most wonderful man in the world, the most kind and considerate. He was very rich; indeed, it was a good thing, or she would never have been able to see so much of the world. He had given up nearly the whole of his life to her, and now she was nearly as strong as other girls. Chris listened in a dazed, confused kind of way. She had not expected anything like this; and when had Rawlins found time for those brilliant predatory schemes that she had heard of?
"Well, what do you think of them?" Littimer asked, when at length he and Chris were alone. "I suppose it isn't possible that you and I have made a mistake?"
"I'm afraid not," Chris said, half sadly. "But what a strange case altogether."
"Passing strange. I'll go bail that that man is born and bred a gentleman; and, what is more, he is no more of an American than I am. I kept on forgetting from time to time what he was and taking him for one of our own class. And, finally, I capped my folly by asking him to bring his daughter for a drive to-morrow and a lunch on the Gapstone. What do you think of that?"
"Splendid," Chris said, coolly. "Nothing could be better. You will be good enough to exercise all your powers of fascination on Miss Rawlins to-morrow, and leave her father to me. I thought of a little plan tonight which I believe will succeed admirably. At first I expected to have to carry matters with a high hand, but now I am going to get Mr. Rawlins through his daughter. I shall know all I want to by to-morrow night."
Littimer smiled at this sanguine expectation.
"I sincerely hope you will," he said, drily. "But I doubt it very much indeed. You have one of the cleverest men in Europe to deal with. Good-night."
But Chris was in no way cast down. She had carefully planned out her line of action, and the more she thought over it the more sure of success she felt. A few hours more and—but she didn't care to dwell too closely on that.
It was after luncheon that Chris's opportunity came. Lord Littimer and Grace Rawlins had gone off to inspect something especially beautiful in the way of a waterfall, leaving Chris and Rawlins alone. The latter was talking brilliantly over his cigarette.
"Is Lord Littimer any relation of yours?" he asked.
"Well, yes," Chris admitted. "I hope he will be a nearer relation before long."
"Oh, you mean to say—may I venture to congratulate—"
"It isn't quite that," Chris laughed, with a little rising in colour. "I am not thinking of Lord Littimer, but of his son…. Yes, I see you raise your eyebrows—probably you are aware of the story, as most people are. And you are wondering why I am on such friendly terms with Lord Littimer under the circumstances. And I am wondering why you should call yourself John Smith."
The listener coolly flicked the ash from his cigarette. His face was like a mask.
"John Smith is a good name," he said. "Can you suggest a better?"
"If you ask me to do so I can. I should call myself John Rawlins."
There was just the ghost of a smile on Rawlins's lips.
"There is a man of that name," he said, slowly, "who attained considerable notoriety in the States. People said that he was thedernière criof refined rascality. He was supposed to be without feeling of any kind; his villainies were the theme of admiration amongst financial magnates. There were brokers who piously thanked Providence because Rawlins had never thought of going on the Stock Exchange, where he could have robbed and plundered with impunity. And this Rawlins always baffles the police. If he baffles them a little longer they won't be able to touch him at all. At present, despite his outward show, he has hardly a dollar to call his own. But he is on to a greatcoupnow, and, strange to say, an honest one. Do you know the man, Miss Lee?"
Chris met the speaker's eyes firmly.
"I met him last night for the first time," she said.
"In that case you can hardly be said to know him," Rawlins murmured. "If you drive him into a corner he will do desperate things. If you tried that game on with him you would regret it for the rest of your life. Good heavens, you are like a child playing about amidst a lot of unguarded machinery. Why do you do it?"
"That I will tell you presently. Mr. Rawlins, you have a daughter."
The hard look died out of the listener's eyes.
"Whom I love better than my life," he said. "There are two John Rawlins's—the one you know; and, well, the other one. I should be sorry to show you the other one."
"For the sake of your daughter I don't want to see the other one."
"Then why do you pit yourself against me like this?"
"I don't think you are displaying your usual lucidity," Chris said, coolly. Her heart was beating fast, but she did not show it. "Just reflect for a moment. I have found you out. I know pretty well what you are. I need not have told you anything of this. I need have done no more than gone to the police and told them where to find you. But I don't want to do that; I hate to do it after what I saw last night. You have your child, and she loves you. Could I unmask you before her eyes?"
"You would kill her," Rawlins said, a little unsteadily; "and you would kill me, I verily believe. That child is all the world to me. I committed my first theft so that she could have the change the doctors declared to be absolutely necessary. I intended to repay the money—the old, old story. And I was found out by my employers and discharged. Thank goodness, my wife was dead. Since then I have preyed on society…. But I need not go into that sordid story. You are not going to betray me?"
"I said before that I should do nothing of the kind."
"Then why do you let me know that you have discovered my identity?"
"Because I want you to help me. I fancy you respect my sex, Mr. Rawlins?"
"Call me Smith, please. I have always respected your sex. All the kindness and sympathy of my life have been for women. And I can lay my hand on my heart and declare that I never yet wronged one of them in thought or deed. The man who is cruel to women is no man."
"And yet your friend Reginald Henson is that sort."
Rawlins smiled again. He began to understand a little of what was passing in Chris's mind.
"Would you mind going a little more into details?" he suggested. "So Henson is that sort. Well, I didn't know, or he had never had my assistance in his little scheme. Oh, of course, I have known him for years as a scoundrel. So he oppresses women."
"He has done so for a long time: he is blighting my life and the life of my sister and another. And it seems to me that I have that rascal under my thumb at last. You cannot save him—you can do no more than place obstacles in my way; but even those I should overcome. And you admit that I am likely to be dangerous to you."
"You can kill my daughter. I am in your power to that extent."
"As if I should," Chris said. "It is only Reginald Henson whom I want to strike. I want you to answer a few questions; to tell me why you went to Walen's and induced them to procure a certain cigar-case for you, and why you subsequently went to Lockhart's at Brighton and bought a precisely similar one."
Rawlins looked in surprise at the speaker. A tinge of admiration was on his face. There was a keenness and audacity after his own heart.
"Go on," he said, slowly. "Tell me everything openly and freely, and when you have done so I will give you all the information that lies in my power."