The year ended sadly for Lillian, since she had lost her father, her lover, and her home; gaining instead the doubtful companionship of a paternal uncle, who stepped into the position of guardian. The girl, although she did not know it at the time, was leaving a pleasant flowery lane to turn into a flinty high road, arched by a dismal sky. It is true that she still possessed Mrs. Bolstreath to comfort her, but the loss of Dan could scarcely be compensated by the attentions of the chaperon. Not that Halliday was altogether lost; but he had been pushed out of her life by Sir John Moon, who approved as little of this suitor as the late baronet had done. "You see, my dear child," he exclaimed to Lillian, immediately after the New Year and when things were more restful, "as your guardian and uncle, I have to see that you make a good match." "What is marriage without love?" queried Miss Moon scornfully. "Love!" Sir John shrugged his elegant shoulders and sneered. "Love is all very well, but a title is better. I say nothing about money, as you have any amount of that useful article. Now, Lord Curberry----"
"I detest Lord Curberry, and I shan't marry Lord Curberry," interrupted Lillian, frowning, and her mind held a picture of the lean, ascetic peer with the cruel, grey eyes. As a barrister, Curberry was no doubt admirable; as a nobleman, he filled his new position very well; but she could not see him as a lover, try as she might. Not that she did try, for under no conditions and under no pressure did she intend to become his wife. "Your father wished you to marry Lord Curberry," hinted Uncle John softly. "My father wished me to be happy," cried Lillian hotly, "and I can't be happy unless I marry Dan."
"That aviator man! Pooh! He has nothing to give you."
"He gives himself, and that is all I want."
"I see. Love in a cottage and----" Lillian interrupted again. "There's no need for love in a cottage. I have plenty of money; you said as much yourself, Uncle John."
"My dear," said the new baronet gravely, "from what I saw of young Halliday he is too proud a man to live on his wife. And you would not respect him if he did. I think better of you than that, my child."
"Dan has his profession."
"H'm! And a dangerous one at that. Besides, he doesn't make much money."
"He will though. Dan is a genius; he has all kinds of ideas about flying machines, and some day he will conquer the air." "Meantime, you will be growing old waiting for him."
"Not at all," Lillian assured him. "I shall be with him, helping all I can."
"You won't with my consent," cried her uncle, heatedly. "Then I shall do without your consent. I shan't give up Dan."
"In that case," sighed Sir John, rising to show that the interview was ended--and certainly it had ended in a clash of wills--"there is nothing for me to do but to make young Halliday give you up."
"He'll never do that," said Miss Moon, pausing at the door with a fluttering heart, for her uncle spoke very decidedly. "Oh, I think so," replied Moon, with the air of a man sure of his ground. "He has, I am sure, some notion of honor."
"It isn't honorable to give up a woman."
"It isn't honorable to live on a woman." The two antagonists glared at one another, and a silence ensued. Neither would give way, and neither would compromise in any way. Lillian wanted Dan as her husband, a post Sir John did not intend the young man to fill. But he saw plainly enough that harsh measures would drive Lillian to desperation, and he did not yet know sufficient of Halliday to be sure that he would not grasp at a rich wife. Sir John believed that men were like himself, and would do anything--honorable, or, at a pinch, dishonorable--to secure a life of ease and comfort. However, as he swiftly reflected, Halliday was young, and probably would be wax in the hands of a clever man, such as Moon considered himself to be. It would be best to see him and control the boy's mind by appealing to his decency--so Sir John put it. "Very good, my dear," he said, when he reached this point, "matters are at a dead-lock between us. I suggest that you let me interview Halliday."
"I don't mind, so long as I see him first," pouted the girl, mutinously. Sir John smiled drily. "So as to arm him for the fray. Very well. I consent, my dear. You can arrange your campaign, and then I can discuss the matter with this very undesirable suitor. But you must give me your promise that you will not run away with him meanwhile?" Lillian held herself very erect and replied stiffly. "Of course I promise, Uncle John. I am not ashamed of loving Dan, and I shall marry him in a proper manner. But I shan't marry Lord Curberry," she ended, and fairly ran away, so as to prevent further objections. "Oh, my dear, I think you will," grinned Sir John at the closed door, and he sat down to pen a diplomatic letter to Mr. Halliday, as he wished to have the matter settled and done with. "These romantic young nuisances," said the schemer crossly. The new baronet was a slim, well-preserved dandy of sixty, who looked no older than forty-five owing to the means he took to keep himself fit. He was the younger and only brother of Moon, and inherited the title since there was no nephew to take it. He also inherited ten thousand a year for life on condition that he acted as Lillian's guardian. It was no mean task, for the girl had an income of £50,000 coming in every twelve months. There would be plenty of hard-up flies gathering round this honey-pot, and Sir John foresaw that it would not be an easy business to settle the young lady's matrimonial future, especially as the said young lady was obstinate beyond belief. Sir John, being a loafer by nature, had never possessed sufficient money to indulge to the full in his luxurious tastes, since his brother had not financed him as largely as he could have wished. But now that he was safe for the rest of his life on an income which would enable him to enjoy the world's goods, Sir John did not wish to be bothered. It was his aim to get his niece married and settled as soon as possible, so that she would be looked after by a husband. Under these circumstances, and since Lillian was anxious to marry Dan, it was strange that the baronet did not allow her to indulge her fancy. He did not for two reasons: one was that he really did not think Halliday a good match; and, moreover, knew of his late brother's opinion on the matter of the wooing. The second reason had to do with the fact that he had borrowed a large sum of money from Lord Curberry, and did not wish to pay it back again, even though he could do so easily enough in his present flourishing circumstances. Curberry offered to forego the payment if Sir John could persuade Lillian to marry him. And as Moon wanted to be able to talk about the girl as a peeress, and did not want to reduce his new income by frittering it away in paying back debts, he was determined to bring about the very desirable marriage, as he truly considered it to be. "Curberry is sure to go in for politics," thought the plotter, "and he has enough brains to become Prime Minister if he likes. He's got a decent income, too, and a very old title. With Lillian's money and beauty she should have a titled husband. Besides," this was an after-thought, "Curberry can make himself deuced disagreeable if he likes." And perhaps it was this last idea which made Sir John so anxious for the marriage to take place. The late Sir Charles had been a big, burly, broad-shouldered man, with a powerful clean-shaven face--the kind of overbearing, pushing personality which was bound to come up on top wherever men were congregated. And Sir Charles had massively pushed his way from poverty to affluence, from obscurity into notoriety, if not fame. Now his honors and wealth were in the hands of two people infinitely weaker than he had been. Lillian was but a delicate girl, solely bent upon marriage with an undesirable suitor, while Sir John had no desire to do anything with his new income and new title save to enjoy the goods which the gods had sent him so unexpectedly. He was by no means a strong man, being finical, self-indulgent, and quite feminine in his love for dress and luxury. Much smaller and slighter than his masterful brother, he was perfectly arrayed on all occasions in purple and fine linen; very self-possessed, very polite, and invariably quiet in his manner. He had several small talents, and indulged in painting, poetry, and music, producing specimens of each as weak and neatly finished as himself. He also collected china and stamps, old lace and jewels, which he loved for their color and glitter. Such a man was too fantastical to earn the respect of Lillian, who adored the strength, which showed itself in Dan. Consequently, she felt certain that she would be able to force him to consent to her desires. But in this, the girl, inexperienced in worldly matters and in human nature, reckoned without knowledge of Sir John's obstinacy, which was a singularly striking trait of the man's character. Like most weak people the new baronet loved to domineer, and, moreover, when his ease was at stake, he could be strong even to cruelty, since fear begets that quality as much as it fosters cowardice. Moon had removed Lillian and Mrs. Bolstreath to his new house in Mayfair, because it was not wise that the girl should remain at Hampstead, where everything served to remind her of the good father she had lost. Therefore, Sir John wished for no trouble to take place under his roof, as such--as he put it--would shatter his nerves. The mere fact that Lillian wished to marry young Halliday, and that Curberry wished to marry her, was a fruitful source of ills. It stands to Sir John's credit that he did not take the easiest method of getting rid of his niece by allowing her to become Mrs. Halliday. He had a conscience of some sort, and wished to carry out his late brother's desire that Lillian should become a peeress. So far as the girl's inclinations were concerned he cared little, since he looked upon her as a child who required guidance. And to guide her in the proper direction--that is, towards the altar in Curberry's company--Sir John put himself to considerable inconvenience, and acted honestly with the very best intentions. His egotism--the powerful egotism of a weak man--prevented him from seeing that Lillian was also a human being, and had her right to freedom of choice. It must be said that, for a dilettante, Sir John acted with surprising promptitude. He took the two women to his own house, and let the mansion at Hampstead to an Australian millionaire, who paid an excellent rent. Then he saw the lawyers, and went into details concerning the property. Luckily, Sir Charles had gradually withdrawn from business a few years before his death, since he had more or less concentrated his mind on politics. Therefore, the income was mostly well invested, and, with the exception of the line of steamers with which Mrs. Brown's son had been concerned, there were few interests which required personal supervision. Sir John, having power under the will, sold the dead man's interest in the ships, withdrew from several other speculations, and having seen that the securities, which meant fifty thousand a year to Lillian, and ten thousand a year to himself, were all in good order, he settled down to enjoy himself. The lawyers--on whom he kept an eye--received the money and banked it, and consulted with Sir John regarding reinvestments. They also, by the new baronet's direction, offered a reward of £1,000 for the discovery of the murderess. So, shortly after the New Year everything was more or less settled, and Sir John found himself able to attend once more to his lace and jewels, his music and poetry. Only Lillian's marriage remained to be arranged, and after his conversation with the girl, Sir John appointed a day for Dan to call. That young gentleman, who had been hovering round, lost no time in obeying the summons, which was worded amiably enough, and presented himself in due time. Sir John received Halliday with great affability, offered him a chair and a cigarette, and came to the point at once. "It's about Lillian I wish to see you, Mr. Halliday," he remarked, placing the tips of his fingers delicately together. "You can go up to the drawing-room afterwards and have tea with her and with Mrs. Bolstreath. But we must have a chat first to adjust the situation."
"What situation?" asked Dan, wilfully dense. "Oh, I think you understand," rejoined Sir John, drily. "Well?"
"I love her," was all that Dan could find to say. "Naturally. Lillian is a charming girl, and you are a young man of discernment. At least, I hope so, as I wish you to give Lillian up." Dan rose and pitched his cigarette into the fire. "Never," he cried, looking pale and determined and singularly virile and handsome. "How can you ask such a thing, Mr. Moon--I mean Sir John."
"My new title doesn't come easily I see," said the baronet smoothly. "Oh, I quite understand. My poor brother died so unexpectedly that none of us have got used to the new order of things. You least of all, Mr. Halliday."
"Why not 'Dan'?" asked that young gentleman, leaning against the mantelpiece since he felt that he could talk better standing than sitting. "Because, as I say, there is a new order of things. I have known you all your life, my dear boy, as your parents placed you in my late brother's charge when you were only five years of age. But I say Mr. Halliday instead of Dan as I wish you to understand that we are talking as business men and not as old friends."
"You take away your friendship----"
"Not at all, Mr. Halliday. We shall be better friends than ever when we have had our talk and you have done the right thing. Probably I shall then call you Dan, as of yore."
"You can call me what you please," said Dan obstinately, and rather angrily, for the fiddling methods of Sir John annoyed him. "But I won't give up the dearest girl in the world."
"Her father wished her to marry Lord Curberry."
"If her father had lived, bless him," retorted Halliday vehemently, "he would have seen that Lillian loves me, and not Curberry, in which case he would not have withheld his consent."
"Oh, I think he would," said Sir John amiably. "Lillian is rich, and my poor brother wished to obtain a title for her. Very natural, Mr. Halliday, as you must see for yourself. Charles always aimed at high things."
"He loved Lillian and would not have seen her unhappy," said Dan bluffly. "I don't see that Curberry would make her unhappy. He is devoted to her."
"But she does not love him," argued Halliday crossly, "and how can there be happiness when love is lacking. Come, Sir John, you have, as you said just now, known me all my life. I am honorable and clean-living and wellborn, while Lillian loves me. What objection have you to the match?"
"The same objection as my brother had, Mr. Halliday. Lillian is wealthy and you are poor."
"I have only a few hundreds a year, it is true, but----"
"No 'buts' if you please," Sir John flung up a delicate hand in protest. "You can't argue away facts. If you marry Lillian, you will live on her." Dan bit his lip and clenched his hands to prevent his temper from showing itself too strongly. "If another man had said that to me, Sir John, I should have knocked him down."
"Brute force is no argument," rejoined Moon unruffled. "Consider, Mr. Halliday, you have a few hundreds a year and Lillian has fifty thousand coming in every twelve months. Being wealthy, she can scarcely live on your income, so to keep up the position to which she has been born, she must live on her own. Husband and wife are one, as we are assured by the Church, therefore if she lives on the fifty thousand per annum, you must live on it also."
"I wouldn't take a single penny!" cried Dan hotly and boyishly. "Oh, I am not suggesting that you would," said Sir John easily, "but Lillian cannot live in the cottage your few hundreds would run to, and if she lives, as she must, being rich, in a large house, you must live there also, and in a style which your income does not warrant. You know what people will say under the circumstances. Either you must take Lillian to live on your small income, which is not fair to her, or you must live on her large one, which is not fair to you. I speak to a man of honor, remember."
"These arguments are sophistical."
"Not at all. You can't escape from facts."
"Then is this miserable money to stand between us?" asked Dan in despair, for he could not deny that there was great truth in what Sir John said. The baronet shrugged his shoulders. "It seems likely unless you can make a fortune equal to Lillian's."
"Why not? Aviation is yet in its infancy."
"Quite so, and thus accidents are continually happening. If you marry my niece, it is probable that you will shortly leave her a widow. No! No! In whatever way you look at the matter, Mr. Halliday, the match is most undesirable. Be a man--a man of honor--and give Lillian up."
"To be miserable with Lord Curberry," said Dan fiercely, "never!" And he meant what he said, as Sir John saw very plainly. This being the case the baronet used another argument to obtain what he wanted. "I have been young myself, and I know how you feel," he said quietly. "Very good. I suggest a compromise."
"What is it?" muttered Dan dropping into his chair again and looking very miserable, as was natural, seeing what he stood to lose. "My poor brother," went on Sir John smoothly, and crossing his legs, "has been struck down when most enjoying life. The person who murdered him--presumably the woman who called herself Mrs. Brown--has not yet been discovered in spite of the efforts of the police backed by a substantial reward. I propose, Mr. Halliday, that you search for this person, the period of searching be limited to one year. If you find her and she is punished, then you shall marry Lillian; if you fail, then you must stand aside and allow her to marry Lord Curberry."
"You forget," said Dan, not jumping at the chance as Sir John expected, "if I do bring the woman to justice, your arguments regarding my living on Lillian remain in full force."
"Oh, as to that, Mr. Halliday, when the time comes, I can find arguments equally strong on the other side. To use one now, if you revenge my brother's death, no one will deny but what you have every right to marry his daughter and enjoy her income. That would be only fair. Well?"
"Well," echoed Dan dully, and reflected with his sad eyes on the carpet. Then he looked up anxiously. "Meanwhile, Lillian may marry Lord Curberry."
"Oh," said Sir John, coolly, "if you can't trust her----"
"He can trust her," cried the voice of the girl, herself, and the curtain of the folding doors was drawn quickly aside. "Lillian!" cried Dan, springing to his feet and opening his arms. Sir John saw his niece rush into those same arms and laughed. "H'm!" said he whimsically, "I quite forgot that the folding-doors into the next room were open. You have been listening." Lillian twisted herself in Dan's arms, but did not leave them, as she felt safe within that warm embrace. "Of course I have been listening," she cried scornfully; "as soon as I knew Dan was in the house, and in the library, I listened. I told Bolly that I was coming down to listen, and though she tried to prevent me, I came. Who has a better right to listen when all the conversation was about me, and remember I should have seen him first."
"Well," said her uncle unmoved, "it's no use arguing with you. A man's idea of honor and a woman's are quite opposed to one another. You heard. What have you to say?"
"I think you're horrid," snapped Lillian, in a schoolgirl manner, "as if my money mattered. I am quite willing to give it to you and marry Dan on what he has. It's better to love in a garret than to hate in a drawing-room."
"Quite epigrammatic," murmured Sir John cynically. "Well, my dear, I am much obliged to you for your fifty thousand a year offer, but I fancy what I have is enough for me. I never did care for millions, and always wondered why my late brother should wear himself out in obtaining them. I decline." "Whether you decline or not, I marry Dan," said Lillian hotly. "What does Dan say?" The young man disengaged himself. He had kept silent during the passage of arms between uncle and niece. "I say that I can trust Lillian to remain true to me for twelve months."
"For ever, for ever, for ever!" cried the girl, her face flaming and her eyes flashing; "but don't make any promise of letting our marriage depend upon finding the woman who murdered my poor father."
"Ah," said Sir John contemptuously, "you never loved your father, I see."
"How dare you say that?" flashed out the girl, panting with anger. "My dear, ask yourself," replied Moon patiently; "your father has been basely murdered. Yet you do not wish to avenge his death and prefer your own happiness to the fulfilment of a solemn duty. Of course," added Sir John, with a shrug, for he now knew what line of argument to take, "you can't trust yourself to be faithful for twelve months and----"
"Icantrust myself to be faithful, and for twelve centuries, if necessary."
"No, no, no!" smiled Moon, shaking his head, "you prefer pleasure to duty. I see you love yourself more than you loved your father. Well," he rose and waved his hands with a gesture of dismissal, "go your ways, my dear, and marry Dan--you observe I call you 'Dan,' Mr. Halliday, since you are to become my nephew straight away. When is the wedding to be?"
"You consent?" cried Lillian opening her eyes widely. "I can't stop you," said Moon, still continuing his crafty diplomacy. "You will soon be of age and you can buy your husband at once, since you dare not risk a probation of twelve months."
"I can risk twelve years," retorted Lillian uneasily, for in a flash she understood how selfishly she was behaving, seeing that her father's assassin was still at large, "and to prove it----" she looked at Dan. He understood and spoke, although he had already made up his mind as to the best course to pursue. "To prove it," he said steadily, "we accept your proposal, Sir John. Lillian will wait twelve months, and during that time I shall search for the woman who murdered Sir Charles. If I don't find her----"
"Lillian marries Lord Curberry," said Moon quickly. "No," cried the girl defiantly; "that part of the agreement I decline to assent to. Twelve months or twelve years it may take before the truth comes to light, but I marry no one but Dan." Sir John reflected on the dangers of aviation and swiftly came to a conclusion. "We'll see at the end of the year," he said cautiously, "much may happen in that time."
"So long as Lillian's wedding to Curberry doesn't happen," said Dan obstinately, "I don't care. But it is understood that Lillian is not to be worried about the matter?"
"That depends upon what you and Lillian call worry," said Moon drily, "so far as I am concerned I shall not coerce her in any way. All I wish is the promise of you both that you will wait twelve months before taking any steps to marry. Meantime, you must not see too much of Lillian."
"Oh," cried the girl, indignantly, "you would push Dan out of my life."
"It's a test," explained Sir John, blinking nervously. "You will be in mourning for the next twelve months, and should see few people."
"Of whom Dan will be one," she flashed out. "Occasionally--very occasionally, you can see him, but, of course, if you can't trust yourself to be true without being continually reminded that Mr. Halliday exists, there is no more to be said."
"I can trust myself," muttered the girl uneasily. "And I can trust Lillian," said Dan, promptly and decisively. "It does not look like it since you always wish to see one another. And remember, Lillian, you owe it to your father's memory to put all thoughts of love, which is self, out of your heart until the mystery of his death is entirely solved."
"There is something in that," said Halliday thoughtfully and Lillian nodded; "but of course I can write to Lillian." "Occasionally," said the baronet again, "you must both be tested by a year's separation, with a meeting or a letter every now and then. Duty must be the keynote of the twelve months and not pleasure. Well?" The lovers looked at one another and sighed. The terms were hard, but not so hard as Sir John might have made them. Still both the boy and the girl--they were little else--recognized that their duty was to the dead. Afterwards pleasure would be theirs. Silently they accepted and silently adjusted the situation. "We agree!" said the two almost simultaneously. "Very good," said Moon, rubbing his hands, "how do you intend to begin your search for the missing woman, Mr. Halliday?"
"I don't know," murmured Dan, miserably. "Neither do I," rejoined Sir John with great amiability. "Come to tea?" And to tea the lovers went as to a funeral feast. But Sir John rejoiced.
Dan left the Mayfair house very mournfully, feeling that Sir John was indeed master of the situation. By a skilful appeal to the generous emotions of youth, to the boy's honor and to the girl's affections, he had procured a respite of twelve months, during which time the lovers could do nothing, bound as they were by silken threads. This would give Curberry time to push his suit, and there was always a chance that Dan would come to grief in one of his aerial trips in which case Lillian would certainly be driven to marry her titled swain. Halliday knew nothing of Moon's reckoning on these points, or he would have only accepted the situation on condition that Curberry was not to meet the girl or write to the girl oftener than himself. Logically speaking, the peer and the commoner should have been placed on the same footing. But Dan's grief at the parting confused his understanding, and he had not been clever enough to seize his opportunity. Therefore Sir John, winning all along the line, had cleared the path for Curberry, and had more or less blocked it for Dan. But, as yet, the young man did not grasp the full extent of Sir John's worldly wisdom. What Halliday had to do--and this dominated his mind immediately he left the house--was to solve the mystery of Sir Charles's death. The sooner he captured the false Mrs. Brown, who, presumably, had murdered the old man, the sooner would he lead Lillian to the altar. Therefore he was feverishly anxious to begin, but for the life of him he did not see how to make a start. He had absolutely no experience of what constituted the business of a detective, and was daunted at the outset by the difficulties of the path. All the same he never thought of halting, but pressed forward without a pause. And the first step he took was to consult a friend, on the obvious assumption that two heads are better than one. It was Freddy Laurance whom he decided to interview, since that very up-to-date young journalist knew every one of any note, and almost everything of interest, being, indeed, aware of much of which the ordinary man in the street was ignorant. He and Dan had been to Oxford together, and for many years had been the best of friends. Laurance had been brought up in the expectation of being a rich man. But over-speculation ruined his father, and on leaving the University he was thrown unprepared on the world to make his money as best he could, without any sort of training in particular. Hearty praise from an expert for three or four newspaper articles suggested journalism, and having an observant eye and a ready pen, the young man was successful from the beginning. For a time he was a free-lance, writing indiscriminately for this journal and for that, until the proprietor ofThe Moment, a halfpenny daily, secured his exclusive services at a salary which procured Freddy the luxuries of life. This was something to have achieved at the age of five and twenty.The Momentwas a bright shoot-folly-as-it-flies sort of journal, which detailed the news of the day in epigrammatic scraps. Its longest articles did not exceed a quarter of a column, and important events were usually restricted to paragraphs. It, indeed, skimmed the cream of events, and ten minutes' study of its sheets gave a busy man all the information he required concerning the doings of humanity. Also it daily published an extra sheet concerned entirely with letters from the public to the public, and many of these were prolix, as the paragraph rule did not apply to this portion of the journal. People wrote herein on this, that, and the other thing, ventilating their ideas and suggesting schemes. And as many wrote many bought, so that friends and relatives might read their letters, therefore vanity gaveThe Momentquite a large circulation independent of its orthodox issue. The proprietor made money in two ways; by supplying gossip for curious people, and by giving vain persons the chance of seeing themselves in print. Seeing what human nature is, it is scarcely to be wondered at thatThe Momentwas a great success, and sold largely in town and country. Freddy's post was that of a roving correspondent. Whenever any event of interest took place in any of the four quarters of the globe, Laurance went to take notes on the spot, and his information was boiled down into concise, illuminative paragraphs. Indeed, the older journalists said that it was hardly worth while for him to make such long journeys for the sake of condensed-milk news; but, as Freddy's details were always amusing as well as abrupt, the editor and the public and the proprietor were all satisfied. A man who can flash a vivid picture into the dullest mind in few words is well worth money. Therefore was Laurance greatly appreciated. Dan walked to a grimy lane leading from Fleet Street with some doubt in his puzzled mind as to whether Freddy would be in his office. At a moment's notice, the man would dart off to the ends of the earth, and was more or less on the move throughout the three hundred and sixty-five days of the year. But, of late, sensational events had concentrated themselves in England, so Dan hoped that his friend would be on the spot. An inquiry from the gorgeous individual who guarded the entrance to the red brick building whereinThe Momentwas printed and published and composed revealed that Mr. Laurance was not only in London, but in his office at the very second, so Dan sent up his name, and rejoiced at the catching of this carrier-pigeon. And it was a good omen also that Freddy saw him straight away, since he generally refused himself to every one on the plea of business. "But I couldn't resist seeing you, Dan," remarked Mr. Laurance, when he had shaken hands, before supplying his visitor with a cigarette and a chair. "I was coming to see you, if the mountain hadn't come to Mahommed!" Dan lighted up, and through the smoke of tobacco stared inquisitively at his friend, wondering what this introductory remark meant. Laurance was rather like Dan in personal appearance, being tall and slim and clean-shaven, with Greek features and an aristocratic look. But he was decidedly fair, as Halliday was decidedly dark, and his eyes were less like those of an eagle than the eyes of the aviator. But then Laurance was not accustomed to the boundless spaces of the air, although he had twice ascended in an airship; therefore the new expression of the new race was wanting. Nevertheless, he looked a capable, alert young man, able to get the full value out of every minute. He was an admirable type of the restless, present-day seeker. "Well, Mahommed," said Dan, leisurely, "here's the mountain. What have you to say to it?"
"That murder of Sir Charles Moon." Halliday quivered with surprise. It was so amazing that Laurance should hit upon the very subject, which employed his own thoughts. "Yes?" he inquired. "You are engaged to Miss Moon; you were in the house when the crime was committed; you saw the body; you----"
"Stop! Stop! I was not in the house when the crime was committed. I returned there from the theatre some time later--in fact about midnight. I certainly did see the body. As to being engaged to Miss Moon--h'm! I came to see about that, Freddy."
"The deuce you did. Great minds jump. What?" Laurance puffed a blue cloud, sat down astride a chair and leaned his arms on the back. "Strange!"
"That you and I should be on the hunt. Well it is."
"On the hunt!" echoed Laurance, staring. "What do you mean?"
"I should rather ask that question of you," said Dan drily. "Sir Charles is dead and buried these many weeks, and the woman who assassinated him can't be found, in spite of the reward and the effort of the police. Why, at this late hour, do you wish to rake up stale news? I thought thatThe Momentwas more up-to-date."
"It will be very much up-to-date when the next murder is committed," observed Laurance, grimly and significantly. The legs of Dan's chair grated, as he pushed back in sheer surprise. "What do you mean by the next murder?" he demanded sharply. "Well, this gang----"
"Gang! gang! Who says there is a gang?" and Dan's thoughts flew back to Durwin's reason for visiting Sir Charles. "Humph!" growled Laurance, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "I'm disappointed. I thought you knew more."
"I know a good deal," retorted the other quickly, "but I don't intend to talk to you about what I know until I learn your game."
"What about your own?" "That comes later also," said Halliday promptly. "Go on! I want to know why you rake up Moon's murder."
"Naturally you do, seeing you are engaged to the daughter."
"Am I? I am not quite sure. She loves me and I love her, but the new baronet wants her to marry Lord Curberry. She refused, and I kicked up a row some hours back. Result, we are on probation for one year, during which time I am to discover the assassin of Sir Charles."
"And if you don't?"
"Time enough to talk about that when I fail," said Halliday coolly; "at least I have twelve months to hunt round. I came for your help, but it seems that you want mine. Why?" Freddy, through sheer absence of mind, flung away a half-smoked cigarette and lighted another. Then he rose and strolled across the room to lean his shoulders against the mantelpiece. "We can help one another, I think," was his final observation. "I hope so. In any case I intend to marry Lillian. All the same, to pacify Sir John, I am willing to become a detective. You know my game. Yours?"
"Listen," said Laurance vivaciously. "I forgot all about the murder, since there seemed to be no chance of the truth coming to the light, and so did every one else for the same reason. But a few nights ago I was dining out, and met a chap called Durwin----"
"Scotland Yard man," interrupted Dan, nodding several times. "He came to see Sir Charles on business and found the corpse." "Just so. Well, after dinner we had a chat, and he told me that he was anxious to learn who killed Moon, because he didn't want any more murders of the kind to happen--as a police official, you understand."
"Strange he should be confidential on that point," murmured Halliday thoughtfully, "seeing that he wished his theory regarding a possible gang kept quiet, in the hope of making discoveries."
"He has changed his mind about secrecy, and so has Tenson," said Freddy. "Oh!" Dan raised his eyebrows. "The Inspector. You have seen him also?" Laurance nodded. "After I saw Durwin, and learned what he had to say I saw Tenson, and interviewed him. They told me about the fly on the neck, and remembering the case of the purple fern, and having regard to the fact that the fly in question was artificial, both men are inclined to believe in the existence of a gang, whose trade-mark the said fly is." Dan nodded again. "Quite so; and then Durwin came to see Moon and hear about the gang. He found him dead."
"So you said; so Durwin said," rejoined Laurance quietly. "It seems very certain, putting this and that together, that Sir Charles became dangerous to this gang, whatever it is, and wherever it exists, so was put to death by the false Mrs. Brown, who came expressly to kill him."
"So far I am with you on all fours," said Halliday. "Well?"
"Well, both Durwin and Tenson, dreading lest the gang may commit another crime, wish me to make the matter as public as I can, so as to frighten the beasts."
"H'm!" said Dan, looking at his neat brown boots. "They have changed their minds, it seems. Their first idea was to keep the matter quiet, so as to catch these devils red-handed. However, publicity may be a good thing. How do you intend to begin?"
"I have got facts from Tenson and from Durwin," said Freddy promptly; "and now, since you saw the body and found the fly, I want to get the facts from you. On what I acquire I shall write a letter in that extra sheet of ours, and you can be pretty certain from what you know of human nature that any amount of people will reply to my letter."
"They may reply to no purpose."
"I'm not so sure of that, Dan. If I mention the fly as a trade-mark and recall the strange case of the purple fern, some one may write about matters known to themselves from positive knowledge. If this gang exists, it has committed more murders than one, but the fly being a small insect may not have been noticed as a trade-mark in the other crimes. I wonder you spotted it anyhow."
"It was easily seen, being on the back of the neck near the wound. Besides, flies in November--the month of the murder--are rare. Finally Tenson discovered the fly to be artificial, which shows that it was purposely placed on the dead man's neck, near the wound. H'm!" he reflected, "perhaps someone may know of some crime with the fly trade-mark, and in that case we can be certain that such a gang does exist."
"So I think," cried Laurance quickly, "and for that reason I intend to start a discussion by writing an open letter. Publicity may frighten the beasts into dropping their trade; on the other hand, it may goad the gang into asserting itself. In either case the subject will be ventilated, and we may learn more or less of the truth."
"Yes. I think it's a good idea, Freddy. And the perfume? Did Durwin or the Inspector tell you anything about the perfume. No, I can see by your blank stare that they didn't. Listen, Freddy, and store this knowledge in your blessed brain, my son. It is a clue, I am sure," and Halliday forthwith related to his attentive listener details concerning the strange perfume which had impregnated the clothes of the dead man. "And Sir Charles hated perfumes," he ended, emphatically; "he didn't even like Lillian or Mrs. Bolstreath to use them, and they obeyed him." "Curious," mused the journalist, and idly scribbling on his blotting-paper; he was back at his desk by this time. "What sort of scent is it?"
"My dear chap, you ask me to describe the impossible," retorted Dan, with uplifted eyebrows. "How the deuce can I get the kind of smell into your head? It must be smelt to be understood. All I can say is that the perfume was rich and heavy, suggestive of drowsiness. Indeed, I used that word, and Tenson thought of some kind of chloroform used, perhaps, to stupefy the victim before killing him. But there was an odor about the mouth or nose."
"On the handkerchief, perhaps?" suggested the reporter. "No. Tenson smelt the handkerchief."
"Well, if this Mrs. Brown used this perfume, you and Miss Moon and Mrs. Bolstreath must have smelt it on her in the hall. I understand from Durwin that you all three saw the woman." "Yes. And Lillian, poor girl, persuaded her father to see the wretch. But we did not smell the perfume on the woman. Tenson or Durwin--I forget which--asked us the question."
"Humph!" said Laurance, after a pause; "it may be a kind of trade-mark, like the fly business." He took a note. "I shall use this evidence in my letter to the public. I suppose, Dan, you would recognize the scent again?"
"Oh, yes! I have a keen sense of smell, you know. But I don't expect I shall ever drop across this particular fragrance, Freddy."
"There's always Monsieur Chance, you know," remarked Laurance, tapping his white teeth with a pencil. "Perhaps the gang use this scent so as to identify one another--in the dark it may be--like cats. How does that strike you?"
"As purely theoretical," said Dan, with a shrug, and reached for another cigarette; "it's a case of perhaps, and perhaps not." Laurance assented. "But everything so far is theoretical in this case," he argued; "you have told me all you know?"
"Every bit, even to my year of probation. Do you know Curberry?"
"Yes. He was a slap-up barrister. A pity he got title and money, as he has left the Bar, and is a good man spoiled. Lucky chap all the same, as his uncle and cousin both died unexpectedly, to give him his chance of the House of Lords."
"How did they die?" "Motor accident. Car went over a cliff. Only the chauffeur was saved, and he broke both legs. Do you know the present Lord Curberry?"
"I have seen him, and think he's a dried-up, cruel-looking beast," said Dan, with considerable frankness. "I'd rather see Lillian dead than his wife."
"Hear, hear!" applauded Laurance, smiling. "The girl's too delightful to be wasted on Curberry. You have my blessing on the match, Dan."
"Thanks," said Halliday ruefully, "but I have to bring it off first. Sir John's infernally clever, and managed to get both Lillian and me to consent to let matters stand over for a year, during which time I guess he'll push Curberry's suit. But I can trust Lillian to be true to me, bless her, and Mrs. Bolstreath is quite on our side. After all," murmured the young man disconsolately, "it's only fair that Sir Charles should be avenged. Perhaps it would be selfish for Lillian and me to marry and live happy ever afterwards, without making some attempt to square things. The question is how to start. I'm hanged if I know, and so I came to you."
"Well," said Laurance thoughtfully, "there's a hope of Monsieur Chance you know. In many ways you may stumble on clues even without looking for them, since this gang--if it exists--must carry on an extensive business. All you can do, Dan, is to keep your eyes and ears and nose open--the last for that scent, you know. On my part I shall write the letter, and publish it in the annex of The Moment. Then we shall see what will happen."
"Yes, I think that's about the best way to begin. Stir up the muddy water, and we may find what is at the bottom of the pond. But there's one thing to be considered, and that is money. If I'm going to hunt for these scoundrels I need cash, and to own up, Freddy, I haven't very much." "You're so beastly extravagant," said Laurance grinning, "and your private income goes nowhere."
"Huh! what's five hundred a year?"
"Ten pounds a week, more or less. However, there's your aviation. I hear that you take people flights for money?" Dan nodded. "It's the latest fashionable folly, which is a good thing for me, old son. I get pretty well paid, and it means fun."
"With some risk of death," said Laurance drily. "Well, yes. But that is a peculiarity of present-day fun. People love to play with death--it thrills them. However, if I am to hunt for the assassin of Sir Charles, I can't give much attention to aviation, and I repeat that I want money. Oceans of it."
"Would two thousand pounds suit you?"
"Rather. Only I'm not going to borrow from you, old man, thank you."
"I haven't that amount to lend," said Freddy, drily; "but you must have seen, if you read our very interesting paper, that our proprietor has offered a prize of two thousand pounds for a successful flight from London to York."
"A kind of up-to-date Dick Turpin, I suppose," laughed Dan, rising and stretching his long limbs. "Good, I'll have a shot, I may win."
"You will, if you use a Vincent machine."
"Vincent, Vincent? Where have I heard that name?"
"Everywhere if you know anything of the aviation world," snapped Laurance rather crossly, for at times Dan's indolence in acquiring necessary information annoyed him. "Solomon Vincent, who has been inventing airships and new-fangled aeroplanes for ever so long."
"Yes, yes! I remember now. He's a genius. Every one knows him." "Every one knows of him, except yourself; but no one knows him personally. He lives a secluded life up in Hillshire, on the borders of the moors, where he can find wide space for his experiments in aerial craft. I interviewed him a year ago, and--and----" Laurance blushed red. "Hullo, what's this?" asked Dan shrewdly. "Can it be that the inventor has a daughter fair?"
"A niece," retorted Laurance, recovering; "why shouldn't I be in love as well as you, Halliday? However, that doesn't matter."
"It matters a great deal to you."
"Never mind. What you have to do is to secure one of Vincent's machines and try for this race. If you win the prize you will have heaps of money to search for the gang. But why doesn't Miss Moon----"
"I don't take Lillian's money," said Dan curtly, and blushed in his turn. "It is a good idea, Freddy. How can I get hold of the machine?"
"I shall take you up to Hillshire next week, and you can see Vincent for yourself. He can talk to you, and----"
"And you can talk to the niece. What's her name?"
"Oh, shut up and get out," said Laurance, turning away, "you're interrupting my work."
"Going to write a letter to the beloved," said Dan, leisurely making for the door. "All right, old son, I'll go. You know my address, so write me when you want me. I'd like to see Vincent's machines, as I hear he has made several good improvements, and everything tells in a race. Salaam!"
"Keep your eyes open," Laurance called after him; "remember Monsieur Chance may prove to be our best friend." Dan departed, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't believe in heaven-sent miracles," were his last words. But they were wasted on Freddy, for that alert young man was already buried in his work. It was painful to witness such industry, in Halliday's opinion. In an inquiring frame of mind, the amateur detective strolled along Fleet Street, thinking of Lillian instead of keeping his wits about him, as Freddy had requested. It seemed impossible that he should strike on a clue without deliberately searching for it, which he did not feel inclined to do at the moment. Monsieur Chance, indeed! He was a mythical personage in whom this sceptical young man did not believe. Besides love dominated his thoughts to the exclusion of minor matters, and he dreamed about his darling all along the Strand. Thus he did not look where he was going, and stumbled into the midst of a Charing Cross crowd, where a motor had broken down after colliding with a 'bus. A policeman was conversing with the chauffeur and the 'bus driver, who were conversing abusively with one another. The crowd blocked the street and stopped the traffic in order to enjoy the conversation, which left nothing to be desired in the way of free language. Dan halted idly, as a spectator, not because he wished to be one, but for the very simple reason that he could not get through the crowd into Trafalgar Square. Thrust up against one man, and wedged in by two others, and surrounded by hundreds, he grumbled at the delay, and peered over shoulders to see when the incident would end. As he did so, he suddenly in his mind's eye saw a vision of Sir Charles lying dead in the well-lighted library. While wondering why he thought of the crime at this particular moment, he became aware that a familiar scent assailed his nostrils, the scent about which he had talked to Durwin and Tenson and Laurance. Nosing like a hound, he tried to find the person from whom it emanated, and almost immediately later the man turned, and Dan found himself face to face with Marcus Penn.