"Francis Hain?" stammered Mallow, amazed. "Impossible! You must be mistaken. You have never seen Francis Hain!"
Vraik rubbed his hands and leered.
"That's as true as true," he croaked; "but if I ain't seen 'im other people 'ave. When you told me as 'ow you thought as all this business was mixed up with the murder, I went and saw the landlord, and all them tradespeople in and about Athelstane Place. From the description I got of Hain, I know 'im as well as I know my own partner. I follered that Major cove all these days till I'm fair worn out; and when I saw him talkin' to a light-'aired man with a beard as long as yer arm, it didn't take me long to recognize Hain. I tried to sneak up close and listen but they got their matter done, and parted afore I could hear a word.
"Where did you see them?"
"In Poplar Street."
"And when they parted, you followed one of them--which?"
"That Major cove, of course--didn't you tell me to keep an eye on 'im?"
Mallow was annoyed.
"I wanted you to use your own discretion," he said. "You should have tracked down Hain, and handed him over to the police."
"I didn't like to do that without orders," whimpered Vraik. "You see, I 'adn't got no orders so far as he was concerned."
"H'm. Well, of course, it is possible the man may not be Hain after all."
"Well, if 't'aint, it's 'is twin--goin' by the description," said Vraik, with emphasis. "But you just ask the Major cove about him."
"I intend to. But I'm pretty certain that the Major cove, as you call him, won't tell the truth."
"You let me tackle him, Mr. Maller, and I'll soon screw it out of 'im."
"No," said Mallow, sharply. "I'll call on him myself. You continue to watch Major Semberry until I have seen him. But if you should chance to meet Hain again, give him in charge. I'll take the responsibility."
"Oh, as long as you do that, I don't care. I'll just get back to Marquis Street, and keep an eye on the Major cove, but it's hard work, sir, and precious dry."
"Here's half-a-sovereign," said Mallow, tossing him the coin. "Don't get drunk on it."
Vraik slipped the piece into his pocket with a grin.
"Lord bless you, sir, I weren't born yesterday! I'm square, I am;" and he slunk away in the darkness, leaving Mallow more than a trifle disgusted at being obliged to come into contact with so degraded an animal.
The various side-paths along which Mallow had so carefully travelled began now to show signs of convergence.
They were pointing clearly to one principal highway, and that promised to lead directly from Soho to Athelstane Place. But in no way did he lose sight of the fact that, if at all possible, the capture of the money itself was greatly to be desired. That was an additional reason for refraining from putting matters into official hands; for, in that event, fearful of extradition, the pseudo-Carson would probably cease to affect Florence as a place of residence. On the contrary, as likely as not he would decide to place a considerable expanse of water between him and it. He decided it would be best at once to force from Semberry a complete confession, if possible; always duly heedful, of course, of that gentleman's anarchist connection and consequent powers. It would be necessary to be more than ever circumspect. Next morning, therefore, he proceeded to Marquis Street, St. James's. He found his warrior busy with the consumption of his morning meal. His reception was, he thought, unusually cordial. Had he known it, the Major's first impulse had been to refuse to see him. But second thoughts had prevailed; he determined it would be best to brazen it out. In the face of danger the weak brain is ever cunning. Thus it was that Mallow's reception was sufficiently jovial and hearty to have disarmed his suspicions entirely. But they were on too solid a foundation for that, and, though outwardly reciprocative, he was every bit as alert as the Major.
"Mornin'," said Semberry, shaking hands with his visitor, "you're out early. Had breakfast?"
"Yes, thank you. I must apologize for calling at so unusual an hour, but the fact is I want to consult you about Carson."
"Nothin' to do with that chap, now," said the Major, wagging his head. "He has gone his way, I go mine."
"And your way, I perceive, is also Italy," said Laurence, whose keen eyes had not failed to see a Cook's tourist ticket lying open on the table at "Lucerne to Chiasso."
Semberry had overlooked it. He was somewhat disconcerted; but he hastened to make the best of a bad job.
"Yes, just goin' there to see Carson," said he, sweeping the tickets into the pocket of his smoking-coat "As matter of fact, promised to take a box over for him."
"Oh. Is it a sandal-wood one?"
"How the--how do you know he has a sandal-wood box?"
"Why, easily enough. He explained as much to Mrs. Carson when she asked him why he had that everlasting smell about him. So you intend taking the box over yourself, do you? You are indeed a good friend, Major."
The Major was not appreciative of his position; but he replied bluffly enough, "Goin' for m' own sake. Carson owes me money. Not likely to see it unless I go m'self. Carson's a bit of a rogue, you know."
"Are you sure he isn't somewhat more than 'a bit,' Major? Are you quite sure he is Angus Carson?"
"Course I am; who else would he be?" said Semberry, with an admixture of indignation and ignorance in equal parts.
"Oh, don't ask me," replied Mallow, carelessly. "Only it was strange, was it not, that Mrs. Purcell should say the picture taken at Sandbeach did not represent her friend, Mr. Carson of Bombay?"
"Bad likeness, perhaps," growled Semberry. He was really uneasy now.
"On the contrary, it is a very good one--of the man who married Miss Bellairs."
"Angus Carson."
"If you like to call him so."
Semberry jumped up with a scowl.
"Do you mean to insult me; doubt m' word!" he said savagely. "Carson's been with me since his father died. Didn't lose sight of him till marriage. 'S matter fact, don't 'prove the way he's treated wife; that's another reason I'm goin' Italy, to bring him back and see things square before I return t'India."
"If you can do that, Major, you will be extremely clever; but I doubt very much your being able to persuade this stray lamb to return."
"Make him, if only to prove you and Mrs. Purcell wrong."
"Oh, I!--I have nothing to do with it. Carson may be the great Cham, for all I care; but Mrs. Purcell will not be so easily satisfied. You know her."
"Rather; interferin' old cat, that she is. Says Carson isn't Carson, does she? What the deuce does the woman mean?"
"You had better ask her, Semberry, and settle the matter offhand."
"I'll ask her," said the Major, furiously. "What's more, I'll bring back Carson himself to give her the lie. Hang it! she reflects on m' honour as an officer and gentleman."
"Oh, you know what ladies are," replied Mallow, laughing but observant; "once get an idea into their heads, and there is no getting it out again. Mrs. Purcell, on the authority of that portrait, declares that the man who married Miss Bellairs is not Carson; an idle theory of hers, if you will, but one she is bent upon proving."
"She can't," contradicted Semberry, testily. "Man is Carson right enough. I ought to know, and I say so. Will bring him back, I tell you, just to prove it. Whole thing's silly nonsense."
Mallow yawned.
"Dare say. Doesn't interest me in the least. I am sorry for Mrs. Carson, and I think she has been disgracefully treated; but I should like, if possible, to see her husband return to her. However, as you are going over to fetch him, I have no doubt that will arrange itself."
"Didn't intend to fetch him!" grumbled Semberry, "but will now, just to shut up Mrs. Purcell. Can't afford to play the doose with m' reputation when I'm in the Service. Carson's box is here, if Mrs. Purcell would like to see it."
Now, a sight of this precious box and its contents would, Mallow felt, be very acceptable. But he could not say so without rousing Semberry's suspicions. In such a position many a man would have jumped at the Major's offer, and have brought Mrs. Purcell to Marquis Street; but Mallow knew better. Of all things, caution was most essential. He merely laughed.
"Oh, I'll tell Mrs. Purcell, if you like," said he affably. "I don't think it's the box she wants to see so much as the man. Why not call on her before you leave?"
"What's the use? She would not believe me. I'll bring back Carson, I tell you, and he can shut her up himself. I ain't going to argue with Mrs. Purcell."
"Well, perhaps she is rather a difficult subject, Major. When do you go?"
"To-morrow, night train."
"Ah, well, pleasant journey. By the way, who was that fair chap you were talking to yesterday--the man I saw you with in Poplar Street? Excuse my asking, but I can't help thinking I know him."
The Major started, and looked searchingly at Mallow, who remained unmoved.
"Oh, a friend of mine; I.C.S. man," he answered carelessly. "Why?"
"Oh, nothing. I fancied he was a doctor I had met somewhere."
"Doctor!" repeated Semberry, nervously; "no, he's not a doctor. Civil engineer. He builds bridges of sorts. You don't know him. He's been India way these last twenty years."
"Ah, strange, too--I am convinced I know him," said Mallow, rising. "Just shows how apt one is to confuse faces. I could have sworn he was a doctor. Well, I must be off. Shall I take any message from you to Mrs. Purcell?"
"No. You can tell her, if you like, that I'm going to bring back Carson," said the Major, grimly. "And if I don't prove he's the man he says he is, she can write to the War Office and say I'm a swindler. Have a peg before you go."
"No, thanks; too early for strong waters. Good-day."
"Day," replied Semberry, curtly, accompanying Mallow to the door.
When his visitor was fairly off the premises, the Major drew a long breath and returned to his breakfast. "Time I got off," he muttered. "Wonder what the chap's driving at. I was a fool to leave those tickets about; but who'd ha' thought he'd have spotted them; who'd ha' thought o' seeing him now, for the matter o' that."
In the street Mallow was looking for Vraik. He knew he was somewhere not far off: Shortly he espied a ragged pavement artist at work on a series of glaring presentments in coloured chalk within sight of the Major's door. Mallow strolled across the road to drop a copper into the man's hat. As he did so he spoke hurriedly.
"The Major's leaving town to-night or to-morrow. Watch him Charing Cross or Victoria, and wire to my rooms at once when he goes."
"I'm fly," said the pavement artist, with a grin; and Mallow, satisfied that Semberry was under proper surveillance, went his way easy in his mind. Round the corner, as fate would have it, he ran almost into the arms of a stout elderly gentleman in black.
"Oh, my dear sir, my dear sir!" protested the stranger, puffing, "you knocked the wind out of me. Why, it's Mr. Mallow!"
"Mr. Brock?" said Mallow, recognizing the vicar. "Who would have thought of meeting you here."
"Surprising, indeed," said Brock, shaking hands. "But I'm on my way to see Major Semberry. Perhaps you can tell me where is Marquis Street, Mr. Mallow?"
"Just round the corner. So you are visiting the Major?"
"My dear young friend, I wish to speak with him about Angus Carson. With pain and grief I have heard of this terrible trouble between my old friend's son and Olive. I have thought it possible that Major Semberry might use his good offices to bring about a reconciliation.'
"I'm afraid that is beyond the Major's power, sir," said Mallow, shaking his head. "Was it Mrs. Purcell who told you of this separation?"
"It was. I received her letter two days back, and came up as soon as I could. I have not yet seen Olive. I decided I would see the Major first. This very painful matter must be settled."
"Mrs. Carson is not to blame, Mr. Brock. Her husband alone is at fault."
"So Mrs. Purcell said," said Brock, solemnly. "Dear! dear! Angus is not behaving in the way his upright father would have had him behave."
"His father? h'm," said Mallow, wondering if it would be wise to tell Brock that Carson was an impostor. On second thoughts he decided to hold his tongue. The open street hardly lent itself to explanations of the kind. He suggested that the vicar should call on Mrs. Purcell after he had seen Semberry.
"Certainly, it is my intention to do so, Mr. Mallow. We will put our two old heads together, and see what we can do. Good-day, good-day," and Brock trotted off.
When Mallow returned to his rooms he found Lord Aldean seated in his most comfortable arm-chair. His expression was extremely thoughtful, and, withal, a trifle anxious. Polyphemus, as Laurence sometimes called him--in allusion to his size--was not usually given to a gentle melancholy. Mallow could only conclude there must be something wrong with the boy.
"You here, Jim?" said he, throwing hat and gloves on a near table. "What is the matter with you, man? You look as miserable as an owl."
"Mallow, you lack the delicacy of perception necessary for the correct understanding of the feelings of a man in my condition. Besides, your simile is rude."
"Oh, I see. Miss Ostergaard has been crushing you as usual."
"On the contrary, she is particularly amiable."
"That ought to encourage you."
"It does," said Aldean miserably; "so much so that I have made up my mind to propose to her this very day."
"One would think you had made up your mind to be hanged--from your expression. Why so dejected?"
"Mallow, I know what fear is now; my heart is in my boots."
"Is it? Then you had better reinstate it before you go on your knees. What are you afraid of, you jackass? Miss Ostergaard won't eat you."
"She might say 'No,'" groaned the wretched Jim. He paled at the bare idea of so terrible a catastrophe.
"She might, on the other hand, say 'Yes,'" replied Mallow consolingly. "Come, Polyphemus, you needn't go out in a coach-and-four to meet your troubles. Look at mine; they come right to my very door, confound them."
"Mallow, you don't know how fond I am of that girl."
"I must, indeed, be dull of understanding, then," said he, "for you have endeavoured to bring me to a very clear comprehension of your feelings upon several occasions. Cheer up, old man!"--he clapped Jim's broad shoulders--"you have every chance of success. The girl's in love with you."
"Do you really think so?" said Jim, brightening. Then, with a deeper groan, "No, no, she is always teasing me."
"Of course she is. But it is only her way. Some women are like that--especially when in love. You must interpret them contrariwise--like dreams, you know."
"In that case I may hope."
"Yes, hope and put your fortune to the test. Also, if you think you are in a fit condition to do so, answer me a question."
"What is it?" asked Aldean, accepting a cigarette. "Do you put love before friendship?"
"Well--er--no; that is not your friendship."
"You do not seem very certain on the point," said Mallow, dryly. "However, I am about to ask your aid. At present I cannot leave London. I am too heavily involved with these Anarchists, and I must remain on the spot to watch Mrs. Arne and Drabble. Now, I saw Semberry this morning, and learned, thanks to his carelessness in leaving tickets about, that he is off to Italy. I want you to follow him there and watch his little game with Carson."
"Oh, I'll go, of course," said Jim, with rather a long face; "but how do you know Semberry is going to Carson?"
"Because that blackguard is in Italy. Moreover, I told Semberry about Mrs. Purcell's assertion that the man who married Olive is not Carson. It is now the expressed intention of our good Major to bring back his friend, and--as he says--put his identity beyond doubt."
"Do you believe him?"
"No, Jim, I do not. Semberry funks Mrs. Purcell. He knows perfectly well that the man is an impostor. He is simply going over to Italy for the purpose of securing his share of the plunder. Then he will slip down to Naples or Brindisi, and board the next out-going liner for India, where he hopes to be safe. This is why I want you to hang on to his tail, and stop him clearing out."
"I'm your man, Mallow. But I don't see how I can stop the beggar without a warrant."
"Oh, a warrant is out of the question; besides, you can frighten him without that. Interview this scamp who calls himself Carson, and get the truth out of him if you can. Of course, I can't exactly forecast events for you, but you must use your common sense; you have plenty of it, you know, at a pinch. If the Major tries a bolt, tell him you will communicate with the War Office; in fact, threaten him with the most merciless exposure."
"But I can't do that."
"I can," said Mallow, with decision. "There is a man called Trall who can prove that the fellow whom Semberry introduced as Carson is a fraud. And I hope, also, when I get the evidence, to prove that the real Carson was murdered in Athelstane Place with Semberry's connivance. Tell him this. I don't think you will find him refractory then."
"He is only the more likely to skidaddle, I should think."
"In that case, he'll have to chuck the army," said Mallow. "If the War Office communicates what I know to Semberry's colonel, he will not only be cashiered, but brought back to England under arrest. However, as I say, I can't foretell events; you must use your discretion."
"I'll do my best," said Jim, feeling his muscle, as though the question were best settled that way. "When does Semberry start?"
"Either to-night or to-morrow. He says to-night; but I don't trust him. I have that man Vraik watching him; and as soon as he clears a wire will be sent here. If I am in when it comes I'll advise you; but, in any case, come round and keep a look-out for it yourself. Open it--open any letter; I have no secrets from you."
"But won't you be in this evening?"
"Perhaps yes, perhaps no; I can't say. I have heard from Vraik that the man Hain, who was concerned in that murder, is hanging round Poplar Street. He was seen talking to Semberry yesterday. I must watch for him; so, if I'm not back when you receive the wire, don't wait for me. Start straight away for Italy. Lose no time; go by the same train, if you can; or follow by the next. It's a case of life or death, Jim."
"You can depend on me," said Jim, shaking Mallow's hand; "I'll hang on like grim death. If he gets away from me he'll be a smarter man than I take him to be. But I say, Mallow, don't you get into trouble with these beastly Anarchist chaps. They're a queer lot, you know."
"No fear, my boy; I know them. If I should get into any mess, however--for accidents will occur--look up Vraik at the private inquiry office I told you about. He knows Trall, and Trall is my very good friend. He hates Drabble, and will help me so far as he is able in any little difficulty."
"I understand," said Jim, with a nod.
"My poor Polyphemus, this will put an end to your courtship."
Lord Aldean looked somewhat rueful. "I am not likely to be away more than a week or so, am I? and I dare say Tui will still be free when I get back."
"Oh, you call her Tui now, do you?" laughed Mallow. "In my own mind, I do--not to her face."
"That will be a pleasure to come. Seriously, Jim, I am greatly obliged to you for your readiness to help me. Believe me, I shan't forget it."
"Oh, that's all right, Mallow. Our friendship is more than a name, I hope," said Jim, with another shake of his whilom tutor's hand. He then took his departure, in, be it said, a considerably more cheerful frame of mind.
That same afternoon Mallow walked as far as Soho, with the intention of seeing Mrs. Arne, and telling her that he had decided to take the oath. As a matter of fact, he had not; but, as there were eight days to the time appointed for his installation, he hoped that something might turn up in the interval which would render it unnecessary for him to go so far.
It was four o'clock when he arrived in the neighbourhood of Soho. The sky was growing darker every minute; but there was still light sufficient to distinguish the passers-by. At the entrance to Poplar Street he was passed by a man walking swiftly--a tall, fair-bearded man, who looked neither to right nor left, but raced on breathlessly towards No. 49. Instinctively Mallow guessed this was his enemy. "Francis Hain, to a certainty," he muttered under his breath; "light hair, light beard, tall, thin--the exact description given in the papers. Will he enter No. 49?" At No. 49, surely enough, the man pulled up, and admitting himself, evidently with a latch-key, disappeared within. Mallow's hot blood was at boiling point. Here was the wretch who had murdered the unfortunate Carson within his grasp. Heedless of the danger he was running, he knocked at the door of No. 49. It was opened almost immediately. He had given the signal knock which Rouge had taught him. The door-keeper recognized him at once, and the next minute he was standing in the dark passage of that dangerous den.
"Where is the gentleman who entered just now?" he asked the door-keeper breathlessly.
"Upstairs; he goes to see Madame," replied the man, who had no idea that anything was wrong. Mallow had given the signal, and his face was known to him. The door-keeper was quite easy in his mind.
Up the narrow stairs Mallow sprang two at a time, reckless, and full of fierce courage. He was determined to face Hain, and wring the truth from him at all costs. Caution, wisdom, fear, all went to the four winds. The hot Irish fighting blood fizzled through his veins--burned in his cheek. Rash and unthinking, he dashed forward with a courage absolutely blind--the courage which wins or loses all. On the first landing he caught a glimpse of a tall figure. He heard the click of a turning door-knob. The next moment Mallow the hero, Mallow the fool, had flung open the door and stood on the threshold of Mrs. Arne's room. She was there, and near her stood the man Hain. "At last!" cried Mallow between his teeth. "At last I have got you."
"What does he mean?" demanded Madame, in her metallic voice.
"It means that I want Francis Hain for murder."
The tall man slipped back a pace. His voice quavered. "I am not Hain," he said, keeping a wary eye on Mallow.
"You liar!" Mallow sprang forward. "You are Hain the murderer. You and that woman--one of you--killed young Carson."
"Madman! Carson is alive in Italy."
"Carson is dead--murdered! You killed him. You are Hain."
"He is not Hain," said Mrs. Arne, simply.
"I am not Hain," repeated the man. Something in the tone of his voice sounded strangely familiar to Mallow.
"No, you are not Hain," said Mallow, throwing himself at the man's throat. "I know you now--you are Drabble"--his hand twitched away the light beard, and the doctor's clean-shaven face was revealed--"Drabble the murderer!"
"Kill the spy," breathed Madame Death-in-Life; "he knows too much."
"Enough to hang you both." Mallow threw Drabble on one side, ran past Mrs. Arne, and dashed his gloved fist through the window. "Help! help! Police! police!"
"Kill him! Kill him!" shrieked Madame, fiercely.
"Spy!" roared Drabble.
The two men swung and reeled across the floor. Neither uttered a word. With clenched teeth and muscles tense they battled fiercely in the small space. Madame rushed to the door and flung it open.
"A spy! a spy! Danger! Up! up! up!" she cried down the well of the staircase. Immediately there was a noise of rushing feet--a babel of fierce voices. Mallow heard rather than saw the room filling. He had a firm grip on Drabble's throat, and the man was staggering and gurgling for want of breath. Then a hundred hands--as it seemed--plucked him back. He was hurled to the ground, and beaten and trampled into insensibility.
"May I ask, Lord Aldean, if you have ever perused the biography of the celebrated Dr. Johnson of Auchinleck?"
"Yes, Mrs. Purcell, I have. Mallow made me read it when I was cramming for the 'varsity."
"Made you read it!" echoed Mrs. Purcell, majestically; "the word 'made' is misapplied, surely!"
"Well, it is a teaser, isn't it?" said Aldean, frankly; "shouldn't read it to keep myself awake. Boswell's a bit long-winded, ain't he?"
"Boswell, Lord Aldean, whatever he may be, is not frivolous."
"I don't read anything, as a rule," confessed Jim, "except the papers."
Mrs. Purcell frowned. "The general slovenliness of style of the daily journals is not such as Dr. Johnson would have approved," said she, in her deep voice. "The very letters of the illustrious lexicographer have the roll and volume of ethic poetry."
"'Paradise Lost,'" said Miss Ostergaard; "everybody talks about it and no one reads it."
"I have read it, Tui," observed Miss Slarge, rousing herself from her brown study; "it afforded me useful hints on idolatry. Moloch, who is mentioned therein, is identical with the Baal or Bel of the Babylonians. The Romish festival of St. John, at the midsummer solstice, is simply the relic of the Chaldean worship of Tammuz. One of Bel's names was Oannes: the Latinized form of John in the sacred language of the Papists, Joannes. Remove the 'J,' and you can see how the idol was converted into the prophet."
"Most interesting," said Aldean, groaning, as this deluge of hard names rattled about his head. "Do you write like Dr. Johnson, Miss Slarge?"
"Alas! Rubina does not," sighed Mrs. Purcell. "Rather does she adopt the antithetic style of Macaulay, the historian."
The conversation was taking place in Mrs. Purcell's drawing-room round a cheerful fire. In the next room Olive was writing letters. She was, in truth, somewhat depressed by the non-appearance of Mallow, whom she had expected that evening, and felt little inclined for conversation. True to his promise, Aldean had called at Mallow's rooms after dinner, but, finding there neither his friend nor a telegram, had come over to enjoy himself at Campden Hill. But that the business on hand might not be neglected, he had left word that, if a telegram came, it was to be sent on to him at Mrs. Purcell's house. Mallow's absence had not surprised him. He concluded that he was in the neighbourhood of Poplar Street, Hain-hunting. As it was, Mallow was at that moment a prisoner in the Anarchist den, and, by his very warning to Aldean that his absence might be indefinite, he had done away with all chance of rescue.
Jim's true errand to Campden Hill was to propose to Miss Ostergaard. He was determined to know the worst--or the best--before leaving for Italy. But it chanced that Mrs. Purcell's Johnsonian mania was strong upon her, for she pestered the poor boy with a hundred and one details concerning her celebrated Samuel, until he fervently wished that he or Johnson had never been born--not to speak of Bean, Goldy, Reynolds, and all other illustrious old bores idolized of Mrs. Purcell. He was hopelessly dazed with it all--and looked it. Nor did it add to his comfort in any degree to find Tui heartily laughing at his plight. It became too much for the wretched Jim. He grew both desperate and rude.
"Seems to me, the most creditable thing about Johnson," said he, crossly, "was that he didn't murder Boswell."
"Murder Boswell!" gasped Mrs. Purcell. "Murder his biographer?"
"I mean the fellow who was always asking questions," explained Jim. "I can't think how Johnson put up with his silly gabble. Fancy a fellow asking another fellow what he'd do if he was shut up in a castle with a baby. Such bosh, y'know!"
"Lord Aldean," said Mrs. Purcell, solemnly rising, "you are evidently not aware that it was Boswell's object to afford the great Doctor an opportunity for the display of his unrivalled fund of argument."
"And of contradiction," hinted Tui, sweetly.
Mrs. Purcell shook her head sadly. "I perceive that you are both of you of the earth, earthly," she said pityingly. "The solemnity of the learned lexicographer's periods is lost upon you. Rubina, let us leave these unideaed young people to their own puny, foolish ways."
"Yes, Priscilla," said Miss Slarge, rising. "I must return to my desk."
"No, Rubina, not with my consent. You shall do no such thing. To tax your brain at so late an hour is the height of folly. In the next room we will play draughts; it is a cheerful amusement."
Miss Slarge sighed, but complied. She knew from experience the futility of attempting to argue with her ponderous sister.
As they left the room Aldean stepped forward to open the door. "Hope I haven't been rude, Mrs. Purcell!"
"Rude? Certainly not, Lord Aldean; but it must be confessed that you are sadly ignorant. Your style of conversation is neither elegant nor well considered."
Jim returned to the fire and Tui, unabashed. He was bent on proposing; and Tui, by some peculiar instinct, purely feminine, knew it. What is more, she intended to let him have his say. Lately it had dawned upon her that it was possible to play her fish too long. He might sulk away from the hook; and she had no intention of allowing that to happen. So she sat, and looked at the fire, and Jim sat and looked at her; while the hearts of both beat a lively rataplan, utterly incommensurate with so tranquil an occupation.
"I say!" began Jim, gracefully. "You don't think Mrs. Purcell's on her hind legs? Do you?"
"Oh no!" responded Tui, still confining her interest to the fire. "Women never get on their--I mean, never lose their tempers."
"Don't they?" said Aldean (this as a simple interrogation, not an assertion).
"Of course not. I am a woman; I ought to know. How silly you are."
"I'm unideaed! Mrs. Purcell says so."
"She made the same remark about me. She stole the word, you know, from Boswell, who got it from Johnson. It seems we are both of us"--Tui sighed--"'unideaed.'"
"It's a kind of bond between us, isn't it?"
"Dear me, Lord Aldean, how should I know?" (Silence for a few moments, during which, the ordinary medium for conversation proving unsuitable, recourse was had to certain more subtle means--chiefly ocular. Finally, a combination seemed to be decided upon.)
Aldean (gloomily): "I hate Dr. Johnson; don't you?"
Tui (viciously): "Not so much as I do Boswell--the nasty Poll-Pry."
Aldean: "So he is--so he was! That's another bond between us" (insinuatingly), "ain't it?"
Tui (repeating herself): "How should I know, Lord Aldean?" (Silence.)
Aldean (desperately) "Do--do you think that marriages are made in heaven?"
Tui (faintly): "I--I have heard that they are."
Aldean (speculating): "I wonder when they--whoever they are--will set about manipulating ours?"
Tui (with a maidenly perturbation): "Ours, Lord Aldean! What do you mean by ours?"
Aldean (moving his chair closer): "You know!" (No answer.) "I'm sure you know."
Tui: "Ridiculous." (Deserts the fire for the hearthrug.)
Aldean (intercepting the field of view): "Tui! Oh" (with a gasp) "Tui!" Certain physical demonstrations followed, amid which the dental emissions necessary for the iteration of the name "Tui" crackled like volleys from a machine-gun.
"Oh, Lord Aldean!" implored Tui, collecting her senses, "don't."
"Don't what, Tui?" said Jim, seizing her hand.
"Get up! If Mrs. Purcell came in, what would she say?"
"She would say I was proposing, Tui; and she wouldn't be far wrong. Say 'Yes.'"
"Why should I say 'Yes?'"
"Because I love you and you love me."
"I haven't said that I love you," said Tui, rising in feigned alarm,
"I don't need you to say it. I can see it."
Henceforth, for some time, conversation became superfluous, if not impossible.
At length Jim came to the point. "My darling!" he implored, "say that you will marry me."
"How can I? It's so sudden; you're so--so--so very demonstrative. No, no; I won't--I can't."
"Oh, very well, Miss Ostergaard," cried Aldean, suddenly releasing her. "I'm a fool, and you're a hard-hearted coquette," and he turned his back to fold his arms and sulk.
"Lord Aldean!" said Tui, faintly. There was no reply. "Lord Aldean," she repeated. Still no reply. Finally, in desperation, "Jim!"
"Oh, Tui, Tui!" His arms were round her. "Will you--will you?"
"I will," murmured Tui, with accents well-nigh liturgical.
"Dearest!"
Then there was a great silence, and what is perhaps best expressed by typographic constellations.
* * * * * *
There came a knock--a discreet knock, be it said--at the door; and, shortly following it, the footman--a concrete being indeed. His signal gave rise to a very elegant little manœuvre, whereby the width of the hearthrug was speedily, if somewhat obtrusively, placed between these two. Under his breath Jim muttered, "Hang it!"
"M'lord," said the Apollo in livery; "if you please, m'lord, there's a person below who wishes to see your lordship."
"What sort of a person?"
"A low sort of person, m'lord. His business is important, he says."
"Hope nothing's wrong with Mallow, poor chap," mumbled Aldean, driving the footman out of the room.
Then he went downstairs. In the hall he found a disreputable marionette, who, at the sight of him, at once commenced profusely to scrape and bow. This creature confessed to the name of Vraik, and addressed Lord Aldean in a husky whisper--presumably that the lordly footman should not hear.
"Mr. Mallow told me to send a wire to his rooms, m'lord," said the man--"that is, when I saw the Major cove off. But bein' a bit late for a telegram, I thought I might as well trot round myself. Mr. Mallow wasn't in, and they told me you'd left a message for this place, m'lord."
"Yes, I did. Well, what about the Major?"
"He's off to the Continong, m'lord; cleared off by the nine hexpress from Victorier--took three boxes with 'im."
"Went off to-night, did he?" mused Jim. "That is just what Mallow expected. He's a bit of a liar, that Major. Very well," he said to Vraik, "I will convey your message to Mr. Mallow."
"What am I to do now, m'lord?"
"Call and see Mr. Mallow to-morrow. He will give you your orders. You can go now, Vraik."
"Foggy night, m'lord--fog will get into the throat som'ow."
Aldean construed the remark correctly, and produced half-a-crown. The creature slipped it into his pocket, and sneaked out with the abasement he judged befitting to the occasion.
"Well," said Aldean, re-ascending the stairs, "I can't say Mallow's particular as to whom he employs. But one can't work in mud, I suppose, without getting a bit dirty. H'm! so the Major's off. That means I'll have to go to-morrow. There's a nine o'clock, I think, as well as the midday mail from Victoria. I had better take it, I suppose. Hang it!" grumbled Jim--"just when she's said 'Yes.' This comes of sticking closer than a brother."
On re-entering the drawing-room, Aldean found Tui the centre of manifest congratulations. Olive and Mrs. Purcell, assisted by Miss Slarge--who had returned from Babylon for the purpose--were showering upon her many expressions of delight, osculatory and otherwise. Tui, of course, was weeping. How things had progressed thus far, in so incredibly short a space of time, Jim was at a loss to comprehend. He felt a little out of his depth, and wondered if all was as it should be. He supposed it was all natural enough. Still, he was obviously disconcerted when the trio bore down upon him, brimful of compliments and general expressions of goodwill. He blushed, and sought a corner with as much speed as he felt to be compatible with politeness. But even so he was only protected in the rear. Olive shook one hand and said, "Oh, Lord Aldean, I am so glad." Mrs. Purcell took the other, and continued, "Lord Aldean, I congratulate myself that beneath my roof you have met the future partner of your joys and sorrows."
"I knew it would be all right," said Miss Slarge, beaming. "One marriage invariably brings another. That superstition we can trace back to the land of Uz."
"Thanks, awf'ly," muttered Jim, nervously.
Then once again Tui became the centre of attraction.
"Dearest Tui," said Olive.
"My sweet girl," said Miss Slarge.
"It will be a pleasing spectacle for me to witness the progress of Love's young dream," rolled Mrs. Purcell, still majestic.
"Oh dear! you are all very kind," wept Tui. "How--how--how very happy I am!"
"I fear you are not to see the progress of Love's young dream just yet, Mrs. Purcell," blurted out Aldean. "I am going away, you know."
"Going away?" echoed the combined trio.
"Oh, Jim!" wailed Tui. "Oh, Jim!"
Aldean steeled his heart. "Major Semberry has bolted to Italy," he said. "I must follow him--promised Mallow.'
"And why has Major Semberry departed so suddenly?"
"Guilty conscience, Mrs. Purcell. He's gone off to see Carson."
"To see my husband?" cried Olive, turning white. "Are you following him?"
"Yes; by the nine train to-morrow. Don't want to go, but promised Mallow. I can't break my promise, you know."
Tui jumped up and kissed him before them all. "Jim," she cried, "you are a darling!"
For a young gentleman to face with equanimity four ladies, each one more or less gifted in her particular way, especially when the said young gentleman has just proposed to one of them and been accepted, requires a considerable amount of moral courage. Aldean confessed he felt the want of it when Tui kissed him, and the three onlookers smiled sympathetically. It was only when they quitted romance for reality, and became interested in Olive's troubles in place of his engagement, that Jim recovered his equanimity. Mrs. Purcell adjusted the situation to the lower and less romantic topic with her usual majesty.
"Be seated, Lord Aldean," she said, enthroning herself on the nearest and most comfortable chair; "let me hear your opinion on this unexpected and suspicious departure of Major Semberry."
"My opinion is the same as Mallow's," replied Jim, bluntly. "Semberry has gone off to get his share of this money. It is my business to stop him getting it."
"That will be difficult," said Olive, despondently.
"It would be, Mrs. Carson, if the Major were irresponsible as well as a scamp, and if he did not happen to be in the Service. As it is, I have the pull over him, and so has Mallow. We are in a position to prove Carson's imposture through a third party, and--as Semberry must have been accessory to the swindle--I can get him cashiered if he doesn't leave the money alone and make a clean breast of his conspiracy."
"How can you prove that Olive's husband is an impostor?" asked Tui.
"By bringing forward a man called Jeremiah Trall as a witness."
"Clara's uncle!" said Olive, nodding. "I know. Mr. Mallow told me all about him. Oh! and I am married to this man."
"No, you are not, Mrs. Carson--or, rather, I should say, Miss Bellairs."
"Lord Aldean!" cried Mrs. Purcell, while Olive remained silent, too amazed for words, "I trust that you are not about to inform me that this profligate has contracted a previous matrimonial alliance."
"No, but he is not Angus Carson, and he therefore married Miss Bellairs under a false name. To do this wittingly nullifies a marriage."
"Are you certain of that?" asked Olive, pale and anxious.
"Certain. Mallow saw Dimbal about it, and, to make doubly sure, they took counsel's opinion on the subject. You are not married."
Tui threw her arms round her friend's neck.
"Oh, Olive," she said aloud, and then whispered slily, "I know why Mr. Mallow consulted the lawyer."
"The iniquity of the fellow is preposterous," said Mrs. Purcell, in her most stately tone; "nevertheless, if our dear Olive can be freed from her matrimonial bonds, I shall rejoice sincerely and without reserve."
"I should like to punish the wretch," cried Tui, vehemently.
"I'll punish him for you," murmured Jim in her ear. "Shall I kick him, or wring his neck, or throw him into the Arno?"
"Well, I think the last would be best; it might wash the sin out of him."
"Water was used for lustration by the Chaldeans," said Miss Slarge, her ruling passion strong within her. Then the genuine woman asserted herself. "Olive, my poor love, I trust indeed that this may be so, and that you will escape from the power of this bad man."
"I was never in his power," cried Olive, proudly; "he was never my husband. I hated him. I will throw the ring--no"--she stopped suddenly, and replaced the wedding-ring on her finger--"I must not cease to wear this until I am certain of my freedom. Lord Aldean," she asked suddenly, "you go over to Italy to-morrow?"
"Yes, by the nine o'clock express from Victoria."
"And you will see this--this man who calls himself Carson?"
"It is probable. I must put a stop to his game and Semberry's. I promised Mallow to do so."
"Then I will go to Florence with you."
Mrs. Purcell stared. Her face assumed an expression of horror.
"My dear," she said, aghast, "are you in your right mind?"
"Of course I am. I must and will know the truth about this man, and, what is more, I intend to hear it from his own lips."
"But--but that woman!" gasped Miss Slarge.
"If I am not married to the man, she is nothing to me. Lord Aldean, will you take me to Florence?"
"Certainly," said Jim, promptly; "and I think that you are brave and right to face your troubles so boldly."
"She is a heroine," cried Tui; then whispered softly, "and you are a dear."
"Pray consider the feelings of society," boomed Mrs. Purcell.
"I prefer to consider my own, thank you. It is no use talking, my mind is made up, and Lord Aldean has consented to take me. I must know how I stand towards this man. I must hear from himself that he is not Carson, and I must recover the money stolen from me."
"Oh dear me!" wailed Miss Slarge. "Can't you wait until Mr. Brock calls? He is in town. He writes to say that he will visit us to-morrow afternoon."
"Can't wait," struck in Aldean, judiciously; "promised Mallow to follow Semberry next train. Must be off nine sharp."
"I shall be at the station at half-past eight," cried Olive. "You get the tickets and engage a carriage, Lord Aldean."
"Consider the feelings of Mr. Mallow.'
"Oh, he will be glad I am going. Mr. Mallow is not a prude. I'll write him a note to-night. Perhaps he will be at the station in the morning."
"No need to write," said Aldean, rising; "I am going round to his rooms now. I'll tell him, if I see him, though it's just possible I may not see him. He's so mixed up with these Anarchists that he never keeps regular hours now."
"I cannot but condemn this insane determination."
"Oh, but, Mrs. Purcell, you can trust Olive with Lord Aldean," coaxed Tui. "I am sure you ought to, when I trust him with her."
"I have a great mind to undertake the journey myself," cried Mrs. Purcell, with energy, "but I fear that the excessive travelling would prove highly injurious to me."
"Two days and two nights," hinted Aldean; "it's a corker of a trail."
"You must not think of going, Mrs. Purcell," said Olive, resolutely. "I will go alone with Lord Aldean, so that is all about it. Good-night, Lord Aldean; there is none too much time. I must go and pack."
When Olive had left the room, both Aldean and Tui brought their persuasive powers to bear upon Mrs. Purcell. After no small amount of trouble, they succeeded in reducing her to a more pliable state of mind. She confessed that Olive's position was so extraordinary, that perhaps extraordinary measures were justifiable for the adjustment of it. In the end, she went further, and expressed her opinion that it was right the girl should go.
"But for her own sake," said Mrs. Purcell, severely, "the more so, seeing that she has been so wantonly deceived by that unprincipled profligate, you must take the greatest care of her, Lord Aldean."
"I will treat her as I would a sister of my own," said Jim.
This seemed to suffice Mrs. Purcell. She fussed out of the room to help Olive with her packing, followed in a few minutes by Miss Slarge, tearful and doubtful: The room was empty, and the two young people grasped their opportunity for saying good-bye, after their own fashion, and in their own time. Jim--in this instance, at least--was nothing if not thorough, and fully twenty minutes elapsed before he descended the staircase. As he lay in bed that night, he confessed to himself that the love-scenes of fiction were not so highly coloured after all. The course of his true love had at last begun to run very smooth indeed.
But before going home to dream of his good fortune, Lord Aldean had not forgotten to call at Mallow's rooms, only to learn from the night porter that their occupant was still absent. Little thinking how Laurence's impulsive Irish spirit had led him into difficulties, Jim scribbled a few lines on his card, to say that Major Semberry had left that evening for Florence, and that, with Mrs. Carson, he intended to follow by the nine o'clock morning mail from Victoria. This card he gave to the porter, with strict injunctions that it was to be handed to Mr. Mallow immediately on his return. That done, Aldean abandoned himself with a clear conscience to the full enjoyment of his dreams.
Shortly before eight o'clock next morning he drove to the station, arriving there on the stroke of the half-hour. He quite expected to find Mallow waiting for him; but there was no sign of him. Jim could only conclude he had not received the card.
"Been out all night, I suppose," grumbled Aldean, in no very good temper. "In the thick of it with the brutes in Soho, I expect. I only hope he won't get into trouble with them. Must have spotted and followed Hain; he's probably hanging on to him till the police run him in."
It was a cold, raw morning, and Jim, in a fur-lined coat, rolled about the platform like a giant bear. He took two through tickets to Florence, bought a couple of morning papers and some illustrated weeklies, and, with the assistance of the guard, engaged a carriage supplied with foot-warmers. Hardly had he completed his preparations when Olive made her appearance, accompanied, to his great delight, by Miss Ostergaard. Both ladies were in the best of spirits.
"But I don't see Mr. Mallow," said Olive, her face falling somewhat. "Does he not know that I am going?"
"Told him so last night--that is, I left an explanatory card for him; but he can't have got it."
"Oh, Lord Aldean, I trust nothing is wrong with him."
"No fear of that," replied Jim, confidently. "You can trust Mallow to look after himself; besides, he told me he might very likely be away for some time over this Hain business."
"Is that the man connected with the murder?"
"Yes; Vraik reported that he had seen him talking to Semberry in Poplar Street, so Mallow determined to catch him himself."
"Talking to Major Semberry?" said Tui, thoughtfully. "That looks as though the Major had something to do with poor Mr. Carson's death."
"I have not the slightest doubt about it. Semberry knows a good deal more than he is inclined to tell. But you needn't worry about Mallow, Mrs. Carson--or, shall I say, Miss Bellairs?"
"No, no," said Olive, hurriedly. "Don't please do that for the present. Have you the tickets?"
"Yes; tickets, and carriages, and papers. Everything is square."
"Are you well wrapped up?" asked Tui, with an air of proprietorship.
"Warm as toast," said Jim, laughing, and they walked down the platform.
"You have left nothing behind, Jim?"
"Nothing, except my heart."
"And that is in good keeping," said Olive, smiling. "Lord Aldean, wait in the carriage with Tui while I buy a paper."
"Plenty of papers here," said the stupid Aldean, not seeing her kindly intention.
Tui, more quick-witted, turned over the journals.
"Telegraph, Morning Post, Daily Mail, Sketch, andGraphic," she counted, "and not a single fashion-paper amongst them; so like a man."
Jim looked depressed, and Olive went off, laughing, in search of publications of a more particularly feminine nature. Tui and her lover were left alone in the carriage.
"Oh, what a donkey!" she said, shaking her head.
For the moment Aldean failed utterly to understand. Then a comprehension of her meaning dawned upon him, and doubtless he did his best to make amends.
Tui's farewell left him in a state of ecstasy, which endured long after the train rolled out of the station. He stared solemnly out of the window, and Olive, who knew well where his thoughts were, had not the heart to break so sacred a silence. She let him dream on, and secluded herself behind her morning paper. He had been indulging himself for the best part of half an hour, when a startled exclamation from Olive aroused him.
"Oh, how dreadful!" she said.
"'What's the matter?" said Jim, shortly. "Anything wrong?"
"I should think so. Poor Mr. Brock has been run over."
"By Jove! you don't say so? When? Where?"
"Yesterday evening, in Marquis Street," said Olive, referring to the paper. "He was crossing the road, when a hansom, coming too quickly round the corner, knocked him down. His leg was broken, and they took him to Charing Cross Hospital."
"Poor old chap!" said Aldean, sympathetically. "Deuced hard lines on a man of his age. Marquis Street, did you say? Why, that's where Semberry lives."
"He intended calling on Major Semberry, I know," said Olive. "In his letter to Miss Slarge he said so. Dear me, I am sorry for him."
"So am I. He's a good old chap, is Brock. May I see the account?"
Olive passed him the paper. He read the account, but beyond being sincerely sorry for his friend the vicar, he attached no especial importance to it. Little did he think how significant it really was. This particular ill wind, in common with others of its kind, blew great good to somebody. That somebody was Major Semberry. How good a wind it was for him they neither of them knew till it was too late.