The secretary of the late Sir Charles Moon smiled irresolutely when he recognized Dan. That young gentleman, who thought Penn a weak-kneed idiot, had never taken much notice of him, but for the fact that he was perfumed with the unusual scent would not have spoken to him now. But as he looked at the lank creature with his yellow face, and scanty moustache, he guessed that he was exactly the effeminate sort of person who would use perfume. What he wished to know was why he affected this particular kind of fragrance, and whence he obtained it. To gain the information he pretended a friendliness for the man he was far from feeling. Dan, strong, virile, and self-confident, was not altogether just to Penn, who was not responsible for his pallid looks and weak character. But Halliday was not a perfect individual by any means, and had yet to learn that the weak are meant to be protected and helped instead of being despised. "You here, Mr. Penn?" said Dan, thus formal to mark the difference between them. "Yes," replied the man in his faint hesitating voice, and, as they moved out of the crowd, Halliday smelt the weird perfume more strongly than ever shaken from Penn's clothes by his movements. "I stopped to look at the accident."
"A very ordinary one," rejoined Mr. Halliday, with a shrug. "By the way, I have not seen you since the funeral of Sir Charles. What are you doing now, if I may ask?"
"I am secretary to Lord Curberry."
"Oh!" The reply gave Dan something of a shock, for he did not expect at the moment to hear his rival's name. But then the whole incident of meeting Penn and smelling the incriminating perfume was strange. Monsieur Chance had proved himself to be an actuality instead of the mythical personage Dan had believed him to be. It was certainly odd that the meeting had taken place, and odder still that Penn should prove to be the servant of Curberry. As Halliday said nothing more than "Oh!" the other man stroked his moustache and explained. "Sir John got me the post, Mr. Halliday," he said, with his shifty eyes anywhere but on Dan's inquiring face. "I was quite stranded after Sir Charles's unexpected death, and did not know where to turn for employment. As I support a widowed mother, the situation was rather serious, so I took my courage in my hands and went to Sir John. He was good enough to recommend me to Lord Curberry, and I have been with his lordship for a month, more or less."
"I congratulate you, Mr. Penn, and Lord Curberry, also. Sir Charles always said you were an excellent secretary," Dan stopped as Penn bowed his acknowledgments to the compliment, and cast a keen side glance at the man. They were walking through Trafalgar Square by this time, passing under the shadow of Nelson's Column. "Do you know what I was thinking of when behind you in the crowd yonder, Mr. Penn?" he asked abruptly, and it must be confessed rather undiplomatically, if he wished to get at the truth. "No," said the secretary, with simplicity and manifest surprise. "No, Mr. Halliday, how can I guess your thoughts?"
"I was thinking of the murder of your late employer," said Dan straightly. Penn blinked and shivered. "It's a horrible subject to think about," he remarked in a low voice. "I can scarcely get it out of my own thoughts. I suppose the sight of me reminded you of the crime, Mr. Halliday?"
"Scarcely, since I was behind you, and did not recognize you until you turned," replied Dan, calmly, and the other appeared to be surprised. "Then how----" he began, only to be cut short. "It's that scent."
"Scent!" echoed Penn nervously, but manifestly still surprised. "I don't understand exactly what you mean, Mr. Halliday. I like scent, and use much of it." Dan's lip curled. "So I perceive. But where did you get the particular scent you are using now, may I ask?" Something in his tone annoyed the secretary, for he drew himself up and halted. "I don't know why you should criticize my tastes, Mr. Halliday."
"I'm not criticizing them, and don't jump down my throat. But you reek of some strange perfume, which I last smelt----" He paused. "You cannot have smelt it anywhere," said Penn indifferently. "What do you mean by that exactly?" asked Dan with considerable sharpness. Penn resumed his walk and drew his light eyebrows together. "I am willing to explain as soon as you tell me why you speak of the scent."
"Hang it, man," rejoined Halliday, dropping into step, "any one would notice the scent and speak of it since it is so strong."
"Oh"--Penn's brow cleared--"I understand now. You have taken a fancy to the scent and wish me to get you some." Halliday was about to make an indignant denial, when he suddenly changed his mind, seeing a chance of learning something. "Well, can you get me some?"
"No," said Penn coolly; "I cannot. This is a particular perfume which comes from the Island of Sumatra. I have a cousin there who knows that I like perfumes, and he sent me a single bottle."
"Can't I buy it anywhere?"
"No, it is not to be obtained in England," said Penn curtly. "In that case," said Halliday slowly, "it is strange that I should have smelt the same perfume on the clothes of Sir Charles after his death."
"Did you?" Penn looked surprised. "That is impossible. Why, Sir Charles detested scents, and I never dared to use this one until I left him for the night."
"You used it on the night of the murder?"
"Of course. I used it every night when I left Sir Charles. On that evening he sent me away with my usual batch of letters, and was going down to the House later. I would not have seen him until the next morning, so I took the opportunity to indulge in this taste."
"Then how did Sir Charles's clothes become impregnated with it?"
"I am unable to say. Why do you ask? Surely"--Penn turned an alarmed face towards the speaker, and looked yellower than ever--"surely you do not suspect me of keeping back anything from the police likely to lead to the detection of the assassin."
"Ask yourself, Mr. Penn," said Dan coldly. "I and Inspector Tenson and Mr. Durwin smelt this particular perfume on the clothes of the dead man, and I do not mind telling you that the police consider it something of a clue."
"A clue to what? To me? It must be, since I alone possess this scent. I certainly came into the library when summoned by Mr. Durwin, and I helped to look after Sir Charles. As I was strongly perfumed with the scent it is not impossible that my employer's clothes took what, doubtless, you will call the taint. I think," ended Penn in a dignified manner, "that such is the proper explanation. You have found a mare's nest, Mr. Halliday."
"Upon my word, I believe I have," said Dan, quite good-humoredly, "but you must forgive me, Mr. Penn. Inspector Tenson agreed with me that the fly and the scent were clues."
"About the fly I know nothing," said the secretary positively, "but this scent is not to be had in England, and Sir Charles's clothes could only have gathered the fragrance from mine. If Inspector Tenson suspects me----"
"No, no, no!" interrupted Halliday quickly. "I assure you that he does not."
"He would if you told him of our meeting," retorted Penn as they passed into Piccadilly Circus, "and as I don't like even a suspicion to rest on me, Mr. Halliday--for my good name is my fortune--I shall go and see him and explain the whole circumstance. Indeed, if he wishes it, I shall give him the bottle which my cousin sent me from Sumatra, and never shall I use the scent again. I do not like these injurious suspicions."
"Don't make a mountain out of a mole-hill," said Dan, drily; "if I have hurt your feelings, I apologize."
"I accept your apology only on condition that you accept my explanation." Dan inwardly chuckled at Penn's dignity, but replied, readily enough. "Oh, yes, for if I did not accept your explanation I should not make any apology. You are probably right since the scent must have got on to Sir Charles's clothes from your own. The clue--as we took it to be--has ended in smoke."
"But don't you think that I should see Inspector Tenson and explain?"
"There is no need," Dan assured him, soothingly. "If the Inspector says anything about the scent, I shall explain; and, after all, it was I who suggested the perfume as a clue." "Would you like what is left of the bottle?" asked Penn, pacified by the very frank apology of the other. "No, thanks, I never use perfumes. I hate them."
"So did Sir Charles," mused Penn, and eyeing Dan with a lack-lustre gaze. "I wonder he did not suspect me of liking them. If he had come upon me scented in this manner, he would have kicked me out."
"It is to be hoped Lord Curberry has not the same dislike," said Dan, who having learned all he wished, desired to escape from such boring society. "No, he has not," said Penn with great simplicity; "he is very kind to me. I suppose he will marry Miss Moon."
"Then you suppose wrong. He will not," snapped Halliday roughly. "He loves her devotedly," insisted the secretary, and with a glint of malice in his pale-colored eyes. "Good-day," rejoined Dan shortly, as he did not wish to argue the matter. He turned into Regent Street--for by this time they had crossed the Circus--when Penn ran after him and seized his arm. "Is there any chance of the woman who killed Sir Charles being found?"
"No," replied Dan, halting for a moment. "Why?"
"Because Sir Charles was good to me, and I should like his death to be avenged. That is only natural. Surely the police will search."
"They are searching, Mr. Penn, and can discover nothing."
"Perhaps Lord Curberry may hunt for this woman. I shall ask him to, and as he loves Miss Moon so devotedly, he will try to learn the truth." Irritated by this speech--for Penn knew very well of the rivalry--Dan became scarlet. "I shall discover the truth. Lord Curberry need not trouble himself." "If you discover the truth----" began Penn, and hesitated. "Well?" asked Halliday sharply. "I think Lord Curberry will certainly marry Miss Moon."
"What do you mean by that?" demanded Dan, but Penn gave no answer. Shaking his head significantly, he stepped back, and in one moment was lost in the midst of the crowd which thronged the corner. Halliday would have followed, for the man's last observation seemed to hint that he knew more about the truth than he was disposed to admit; but many people came between him and the secretary, so it was impossible to get hold of him again. Dan was forced to walk on alone and he walked on pondering deeply. Did Penn know the truth? It seemed impossible that he should know it. The evidence of the typewriting girl went to show that he had not left his private room all the evening until summoned by Durwin when the death was discovered. What Penn said about the perfume appeared to be reasonable enough, as he certainly had handled the body, and if reeking of the scent--as he was reeking on this very day--it was not surprising that the odor should communicate itself to the dress clothes of the dead man. Some odors cling very powerfully, and endure for a considerable time. This Sumatra scent assuredly had done so, for it was quite three hours after the death that Dan himself had seen the corpse, and even then he had smelt the perfume. However, on the face of it, Halliday saw no reason to doubt Penn's statement, and quite understood how he became, through Sir John's mediation, the secretary of Lord Curberry. Only the last speech of the secretary was strange. Why should he say that, if the truth were discovered by Dan, Curberry would marry the girl, when, on the discovery of the truth--so far as Dan could see--the marriage of himself to Lillian depended? Dan could find no answer to this question, and had half a mind to follow Penn to his new employer's house, so as to force an explanation. But as he knew Curberry did not like him, he decided to let matters stand as they were, and only reveal what he had heard to Laurance. For the next four or five days, young Halliday went about his business in a quiet, determined manner, and thought as little as possible of Lillian. He did not even write or call to see her, since he wished to give up his whole attention to discovering the truth about Moon's death. If he thought of love and Lillian, he certainly could not concentrate his mind on the necessary search. And it was very necessary, if he intended to marry the girl. He became certain that in some way Sir John intended to trick him, but if he found out the false Mrs. Brown, and solved the mystery, Sir John would be forced out of sheer justice to sanction the marriage. It was heroical of Halliday to turn his thoughts from his beloved and it was no easy task to one so deeply in love as he. But he saw the need of it, and manfully set himself to endure present pain for future joy. Whether Lillian saw things in the same light, or resented his neglect, he did not know, as he had no word from her, neither came there any letter from Mrs. Bolstreath. Dan had, certainly been pushed out of the girl's life by her astute uncle; but it was his own common sense that kept him out of it--for the time being--be it understood. Love demands its martyrs, and Halliday had become one for Love's sake. By doing so, although he knew it not, he was displaying more real love towards her than he had ever done in his life before. Meanwhile, Laurance lost no time in publishing his letter, which dealt with the mystery of Moon's death. AsThe Moment, including its extra letter-writing sheet, had a large circulation, and as it was a season devoid of news, the letter caused great discussions. It was sufficiently alarming to those who loved law and order, since it boldly announced that a gang of criminals existed which coldly and cautiously and deliberately employed its members to put people to death. The letter called attention to the fly--and that an artificial one--on Sir Charles's neck near the poisoned wound, and declared that such was the sign-manual of the accursed society. No mention was made of the scent, since Dan had explained what Penn had said to Laurance, and Laurance had accepted the explanation as valid. But there was quite enough in the letter to startle the most dull, especially when the writer called attention to the happening of various mysterious murders, and suggested that such were the work of this misguided set of people who constituted the unknown gang; finally, Freddy ended his letter by saying that Moon had knowledge of the gang, and had sent for a Scotland Yard official--name not given--to explain the whole matter, when he met with his death. It was a fact, therefore, that the false Mrs. Brown was an emissary of the gang who had been sent to murder Sir Charles, and had performed her vile errand only too well. A postscript to the epistle invited discussion, and particularly called upon any person who knew of an artificial fly being found on a corpse to give evidence. In two days the sheet was filled with letters from various people, and the matter was much discussed. Some of the writers laughed at the idea of such a society existing in a civilized country such as England, while others expressed alarm and asked what the police were doing not to arrest the criminals. These last scribes evidently entirely forgot that no one knew where the central quarters of the gang were, and that the letter of Mr. Laurance was an attempt to root out the heart of the mystery. Those who appeared in print and aided the circulation ofThe Momentby buying their own lucubrations certainly did not help much. The generality of the letters were discursive and ornate, wandering very much from the point, and giving no positive information such as would assist Freddy's purpose. But three or four epistles drew attention to certain mysterious crimes, the perpetrators of which had never been brought to justice, and who were not even known. There was the case of a young girl found dead on the Brighton railway line, near Redhill, and who must have been thrown out of the train. Then some one wrote about a miser in the East End who had been strangled, and another person recalled the drowning of a well-known philanthropist in the Serpentine. A verdict of suicide had been brought in as regards this last victim, but the writer of the letter positively asserted that the philanthropist had not the slightest intention of making away with himself. Finally came a batch of letters concerning children who had been murdered. But only in one case did it appear that any fly was seen on the victim, and that was when a schoolmistress was stabbed to the heart while in bed and asleep. The assassin had entered and escaped by the window, and the victim's mother--who wrote the letter drawing attention to this case--had found the fly on her daughter's cheek. She had thought nothing of it at the time, and had brushed away the insect. But after the mention of the fly on Sir Charles Moon's neck, she remembered the incident. Also it turned out that the schoolmistress, had she lived, would have inherited a large sum of money. It was this last circumstance that suggested the intervention of the gang to murder the girl, so that someone else might inherit. But all the letters dealing with the various cases were vague, and no enlightening details could be given. All that could be said was that there were many unusual deaths, the mystery of which could not be solved. Laurance, reading the letters during the week of their appearance, felt sure that the gang existed, but he was more or less alone in his opinion. Even Dan was doubtful. "It seems such a large order for a number of people to band themselves together, to murder on this comprehensive scale," he objected; "and I don't quite see the object. Many of the victims mentioned in these letters are poor."
"You seem to have changed your mind about the matter," said Laurance drily, "for when my letter appeared you were assured that there was such a gang."
"Only because of Sir Charles's remarks to Durwin."
"It was a pity Sir Charles was not more explicit," retorted Freddy crossly. "He had no time to be explicit," said Dan patiently, "since he died before he explained. But let us admit, for the sake of argument, that such a gang exists. Why should the members murder poor people?"
"Folks have been murdered by way of revenge, as well as for money. And let me remind you, Dan, that four or five of these victims mentioned in the letters had money, or were about to inherit money. I am quite convinced," said Laurance, striking the table, "that there is such an association."
"An association for what?"
"You are very dull. To get undesirable people out of the way. Remember, in the reign of Louis XIV there were dozens of poisoners in Paris who undertook to kill people when engaged to do so. The reason was for revenge, or desire for money, or--or--or for other reasons," ended Laurance vaguely. "Hum!" Dan stroked his chin, "it may be as you say. Certainly Sir Charles was got rid of, because he knew too much."
"About this gang," insisted Laurance, "since he was to see Durwin about the same. I am certain that such an association exists."
"You said that before," Halliday reminded him. "And I say it again. At all events there is one thing certain--that we have learned from these letters of many mysterious crimes."
"But only in one case was the fly discovered," objected Dan again. "That is not to be wondered at," replied the journalist; "the wonder is that such a small insect should be noticed at all. No one would ever think of connecting a fly, whether dead or alive, with the death. The mother of this schoolmistress did not, until your experience with regard to Moon was quoted in my letter. The fly business is quite ridiculous."
"And perhaps means nothing."
"Oh, I think it does, seeing that in Moon's case, the fly was artificial. Probably in the case of the schoolmistress it was artificial also, only the mother who noticed it did not make an examination. Why should she? I wonder the gang don't have a better trade-mark."
"Perhaps the gang may think it would be spotted if it did."
"Then why have any trade-mark at all," answered Laurance, sensibly. "If there is to be a sign, there should be some sensible one. If the fly was stamped on the skin, as the purple fern was stamped, there would be some sense in the matter. But a fly, artificial or real, is----" Freddy spread out his hands, for words entirely failed him. "Well," said Dan after a pause, "I don't know what to say, since everything is so vague. However, I shall assume that such a gang exists, and shall do my best to aid you to bring about its destruction, as that means my marriage to Lillian. To help, I must have money, so the sooner we get North and engage one of Vincent's machines with all the latest improvements, the better shall I be pleased." He moved towards the door, as they were in Laurance's rooms when this conversation took place, and there he halted. "I think, Freddy, you will have a chance of proving in your own person, as to the truth of your supposition regarding this gang!" "What do you mean?" asked Laurance somewhat startled. "Well," murmured Dan, "the gang knows you started the hunt for its destruction, as I expect the members read the papers. If that is the case you will be a source of danger, such as Sir Charles was and----"
"I'll look after myself," interrupted Laurance grimly. "Well, if you don't, and the worst comes," said Dan agreeably, "I shall carefully examine your corpse for the celebrated fly."
"I'll look after myself," said Laurance again, "and if you think I am going to give up doing business through fear of death, you are much mistaken. If I can find the gang and exterminate the gang, I'll get a much larger salary, and so will be able to marry Mildred."
"Oh, that's her name, is it? Mildred Vincent! Is she pretty?" "You might not think so, since Miss Moon is your ideal," said Freddy, with a blush. "Mildred is dark and tall, and well-proportioned--none of your skimpy women, old man."
"Lillian isn't skimpy," cried Halliday indignantly. "I never said she was. Let us call her fairy-like."
"That's better. And your Mildred?" "You'll see her when we go North the day after tomorrow."
"Good!" Dan nodded thankfully, "we go to Vincent the day after to-morrow?"
"Yes. Meet me at a quarter to twelve at St. Pancras Station; the train leaves at mid-day and we change at Thawley for Beswick about four o'clock. I expect we'll arrive--all going well--at Sheepeak about six."
"Good. But why shouldn't all go well?" inquired Dan, after a pause. Laurance chuckled. "According to you, the gang will hunt me down, and as you are in my company--well!" he chuckled again. "Oh, I don't care a cent for the gang, no more than yourself," retorted Dan with a shrug. "I'm not even going to think of the beasts. We go North to get the machine which will enable me to win this two thousand. And then----"
"And then?" echoed Laurance with a grin. "Then I shall discover the truth, crush the gang, and marry Lillian." In this way, therefore, the muddy water was stirred up.
Freddy Laurance usually opened his mouth to ask questions, rarely to talk about himself. In the newspaper world, confidences may mean copy, given that such are worthy to appear in print. Therefore, as the young man found, it is just as well to be sparing of personal details, and having made this discovery, he was careful to keep his tongue between his teeth in all matters dealing with his private life. This reticence, useful in business, but wholly unnecessary in friendship--particularly when the friendship had to do with Dan Halliday--had grown upon Laurance to such an extent that he said very little about his love affair. Dan, being a genial soul, and a fellow-sufferer in the cause of Cupid, and having a heart-whole liking for the journalist, resented being shut out in this way. He therefore made it his business to extract Freddy's love story from him when the two were in the train making for Sheepeak,viâThawley and Beswick. "Where did you meet her?" asked Dan abruptly, as they had the compartment to themselves, and he had exhausted not only the newspapers but the magazines. "Her?" repeated Laurance, who was calmly smoking, with his feet on the opposite seat, "what her?"
"The her. The one girl in the world for you?"
"Oh, bosh!" Freddy colored, and looked pleasantly embarrassed. "Is it? Perhaps you are right!" and Dan began to hum a simple little American song, entitled, "I wonder who's kissing her now." Laurance took this personally. "No one is! I can trust her."
"Trust who?" asked Dan innocently. "The person you mentioned now. Miss Vincent, Mildred."
"Did I mention her? Well, now you recall her name, I did. Old man, we are the best of friends, but this fourth estate habit of holding your confounded tongue is getting on my nerves. Give yourself a treat by letting yourself go. I am ready to listen," and he leaned back with a seraphic smile. Freddy did not fence any longer, but came out with details. After all, since he could trust Dan, he was beginning to think that it would be delightful to talk his heart empty. "She's the dearest girl in the world," was the preamble. Dan twiddled his thumbs. "We all say that. Now Lillian----"
"Mildred! We are speaking of her." Freddy spoke very fast lest his friend should interrupt. Since Dan wanted confidences, Dan should have them given to him in a most thorough manner. "Mildred is an angel, and her uncle is an old respectable, clever beast."
"Yes!" said Halliday persuasively. "I thought in that way of Sir Charles when he interrupted private conversations between Lillian and myself. I am of the same opinion as regards Sir John Moon because----"
"Yes, I know what you mean by because. But with regard to Mildred----"
"Who is an angel. Yes?"
"I met her a year ago in London--Regent Street, to be precise as to locality. A snob spoke to her without an introduction, so she appealed to me, and I punched his head. Then I escorted her home----"
"To Hillshire? What a knight-errant," chuckled Dan. "Don't be an ass. I escorted her to the Guelph Hotel in Jermyn Street, where she and her uncle were staying. The uncle appreciated the service I did for his niece, and made me welcome, especially when he found that, as a newspaper man, I was able to talk in print about his machines. For an inventor the old man had an excellent idea of business."
"Inventors being generally fools. So you called the next day to see if Miss Vincent's nerves were better." Freddy cast a look of surprise at Dan's dark face. "How did you guess that, Halliday? Well, I did, and I got on better with Solomon Vincent than ever."
"Undoubtedly you got on better with the niece," murmured Dan, mischievously. "Well," Laurance colored, "you might put it that way."
"I do put it that way," said Dan firmly, "and from personal experience."
"Not with Mildred. Well, to make a long story short, I saw a great deal of them in town, and took them to dinner and got them theatre seats, and fell deeper in love every day. Then Vincent asked me to Sheepeak to inspect his machines and I wrote several articles inThe Moment."
"Ah! I thought I remembered Vincent's name. I read those articles. But you didn't mention the niece."
"Ass!" said the journalist scornfully, "is it likely! Well, that's the whole yarn. I've been several times to Sheepeak and Vincent likes me."
"To the extent of taking you as a nephew?" inquired Dan, thoughtfully. "No, hang him! That's why I call him a beast. He says that Mildred is necessary to his comfort as a housekeeper, and won't allow her to marry me. She is such a good girl that she obeys her uncle because he brought her up when her parents died, and has been a father to her."
"A dull romance and a league-long wooing, with the lady in Hillshire and the swain in London. How long is this unsatisfactory state of things going to last, my son?"
"I don't know," rejoined Fred mournfully, "until her uncle dies, perhaps."
"Then let us hope he'll fly once too often," said Dan cheerfully; "but do not be downhearted. I am sure it will be all right. I shall dance at your wedding and you will dance at mine. By the way, there's no necessity to talk to Vincent or his niece about our endeavors to spot this gang."
"Of course not. The matter won't be mentioned. All I am talking about is private, and you come to Sheepeak with me to get a machine so as to win the London to York race. It will be an advertisement for Vincent." "That's all right. And Mildred--talk about her, old man. I know you are dying to explain the kind of angel she really is. Lull me to sleep with lover's rhapsodies"--a request, with which Freddy, now having broken the ice, was perfectly willing to comply. He described Mildred's appearance with a lover's wealth of details, drew attention to her many admirable qualities, quoted her speeches, praised her talents, and thus entertained his friend--and incidentally himself--all the way to Thawley. Dan closed his eyes and listened, puffing comfortably at his pipe. Occasionally he threw in a word, but for the greater part of the time held his peace, and let Laurance babble on about his darling's perfections. Secretly, Dan did not think these could match Lillian's in any way. At the great manufacturing town of Thawley, which was overshadowed by a cloud of dun smoke, the travellers left the main line, and crossed to another platform where they boarded the local train to Beswick. This station was only six miles down the line, and they turned on their tracks to reach it, since it branched off from the main artery into the wilds. It nestled at the foot of a lofty hill covered from top to bottom with trees, now more or less leafless. Laurance informed his companion that there was a ruined abbey hidden in the wood, and also pointed out several interesting places, for he was well acquainted with the locality. At Beswick they piled their bags on a ramshackle old trap, and proceeded in this to climb up a long, winding, steep road, which mounted gradually to the moors. As the year was yet wintry and the hour was late, the air became wonderfully keen, and--as Freddy said--inspiriting. Dan, however, did not find it so, as he felt quite sleepy, and yawned the whole way until the trap stopped at the solitary hotel of Sheepeak, a rough stone house, with thick walls and a slate roof. The landlady, raw-boned, sharp-eyed, and not at all beautiful, met them at the door, smiling in what was meant for an amiable manner when she saw Laurance. "Oh, you're here again?" she said defiantly, and Dan noticed that beyond the Northern burr she did not reproduce the country dialect. "Yes, Mrs. Pelgrin, and I have brought a friend to stay three or four days. We want two bedrooms and a sitting-room, and supper straight away."
"You shall have them," said Mrs. Pelgrin, still defiantly. "And the price will be a pound each for the four days," ventured Freddy. "With ten shillings extra for the sitting-room," said Mrs. Pelgrin, fiercely. "Oh, come now."
"I'll not take you in for less." "Well," put in Dan, shrugging, "sooner than stand here in the cold and argue, I shall pay the extra ten shillings."
"Cold, do you call it? Cold!" Mrs. Pelgrin's tone was one of scorn. "Ha, cold!" and she led the way through a flagged stone passage to a large and comfortable room at the back of the house. "Will this suit you?"
"That's all right, Mrs. Pelgrin," said Freddy, throwing himself down on a slippery horse-hair sofa--"and supper?"
"You'll have it when it's ready, no sooner and no later," barked the ogress, leaving the room. "Cold is it?" and she laughed hoarsely. "I say, Freddy," observed Halliday in a lazy tone, "why is the good lady so very savage?"
"She isn't, Mrs. Pelgrin is quite fond of me. I've stayed here often."
"Fond of you?" echoed Dan, with a chuckle. "Good Lord, how does she speak to those she isn't fond of?"
"It's Northern brusqueness. She's honest----"
"But rude. The two seem to go together with many people. They think they will be taken for rascals if they are decently polite." Laurance remonstrated. "Mrs. Pelgrin is a rough diamond."
"I like my jewels polished. However, here we are and here we stay, and here we eat, if that amiable lady will bring in supper. Then I shall go to bed, as I shall certainly yawn my head off if I don't."
"But it's just after six," cried Laurance. "I want to take you to see Vincent to-night--this evening, that is."
"Go yourself, and see the beautiful Mildred," muttered Dan drowsily. "Two's company and three's a crowd. I'm going to bed"; and, in spite of Laurance's arguments against such sloth, to bed he went, after a brisk fight with Mrs. Pelgrin over a fire in his sleeping apartment. He said that he wanted one, while the landlady declared that it was unnecessary. Finally Dan got his own way, and when the fire was blazing, Mrs. Pelgrin said good-night. "But you're no more nor a butterfly," she informed her guest, and went out banging the door, with muttering remarks concerning people who felt cold. "No doubt this weather is here regarded as tropical," murmured Dan, getting into bed and referring to the weather, and he smiled over Mrs. Pelgrin's manners until he fell asleep. Next morning Laurance woke him at eight, and Dan grumbled about getting up, although he was assured that he had slept the clock round. However, a cold bath soon brisked him up, and he came down to the sitting-room with an excellent appetite for breakfast. Mrs. Pelgrin brought it in, and again joked in her fierce way about the cold, which the butterfly--as she again termed Dan--was supposed to feel so keenly. Laurance talked about Mildred, who had been delighted to see him, but mentioned regretfully that he did not think that Dan would get the machine he was in search of. "Why not?" asked Mr. Halliday, lighting his pipe and finishing his third cup of coffee. "Vincent wants his aeroplanes exploited, doesn't he? And where will he find a better chance than for an experienced man, such as I am, flying his latest invention inThe Moment'sLondon to York race?"
"Vincent's a queer fish. That's all I can say," retorted Laurance. "Well, you can't say more and you can't say less, I suppose. We'll go and have a look at the queer fish in his pond whenever you like."
"At eleven o'clock then."
"Right oh! I can talk to the uncle and you can talk to the niece. It's a fair division of labor." This arrangement was willingly agreed to by Laurance, as Dan was certain it would be since he saw that his friend was fathoms deep in love. Afterwards, the two went out of doors and surveyed the landscape. Sheepeak was situated on the top of a lofty tableland, the village being a tolerably large collection of substantial stone houses, whence the moors spread north and south, east and west. From where they were, the friends could see the green squares of cultivated fields, the purple bloom of the heather, and the azure hues which distance gave to the distant mountains. Here and there the vast country, which looked enormously large from the elevation whence they surveyed it, dipped into verdant dales, snugly clothed with forests, and sprinkled with manor-houses and villages, big and little. The lands were so far-stretching and the prospect so extensive, that Dan became mightily impressed with the magnitude of the sky. It covered them like a huge inverted cup, and as there was nothing to break its league-long sweep, Dan felt quite small in the immensity which surrounded him above and below. "I feel like a pill in the Desert of Sahara," said Mr. Halliday, sighing. "What is the sensation of feeling like a pill," rejoined Laurance drily, for he was not an imaginative individual. "Only a poet can explain, Freddy, and you are very earthy."
"I never knew you were a genius," snapped Laurance, with a shrug. "You have much to learn," replied Dan reprovingly; "and as it's near eleven o'clock, suppose we light out for Vincent." Freddy agreed, and skirting the village for three-quarters of a mile, they suddenly came upon a small cottage, with walls and roof of yellowish stone covered with lichen, and standing in a small garden of wind-tormented vegetation. A low stone wall divided this from the high road, and the visitors entered through a small wooden gate to pass up a cobble-stone walk to the modest door. But the cottage itself was dwarfed wholly by huge sheds of wood covered with roofs of galvanized tin, which loomed up suddenly behind it, on a vast scale more in keeping with the character of the landscape. These were the workshops of Vincent, where he built his machines and housed them from prying eyes. The fields at the back cultivated into smooth lawns were where the aeroplanes started to fly over hill and dale, to the wonderment of the inhabitants. "Though they are pretty well used to Vincent's vagaries by this time," said Freddy, ending his explanation. Mildred received them in the small parlor of the cottage which was about the size of a doll's drawing-room, and expressed herself as pleased to make the acquaintance of Mr. Halliday. Her uncle, she mentioned, was busy as usual in his workshop, but would see the visitors in half an hour. While she explained, Dan took stock of her, and admitted that she was really a very amiable and pretty girl, though not a patch on Lillian. But then Dan did not care for tall ladies with olive complexions, blue eyes, dark hair, and the regal melancholy look of discrowned queens. Mildred--the name suited her--was too tall and stately for his taste, which approved more of little golden-haired women, fairy-like and frolicsome. Miss Vincent looked serious and thoughtful, and although her smile was delicious, she smiled very seldom. It seemed to Dan that her solitary life in these moorlands and in the company--when she enjoyed it--of her morose uncle, made the girl sober beyond her years, which were not more than two-and-twenty. However, many minds many tastes, and Dan could not deny but what Freddy's fair Saxon looks went very well with the Celtic mystic appearance of the inventor's niece. They were a handsome couple, indeed, but much too solemn in looks and character for Dan, whose liking leaned to the frivolous side of things. "Don't you find it dull here, Miss Vincent?" asked Halliday casually. "Dull!" she echoed, turning her somewhat sad eyes of dark blue in his direction, "oh, not at all. Why I have a great deal to do. We have only one servant and I assist in the housework. My uncle is not easy to cater for, as he has many likes and dislikes with regard to food. Then he employs a certain number of workmen, and I have to pay them every Saturday. Indeed, I look after all the financial part of my uncle's business."
"Is it a business, or a whim--a hobby?" inquired Dan respectfully, for, being frivolous, he was struck with awe at the multitude of Miss Vincent's employments. "Well, more of the last than the first perhaps," said Mildred smiling at his respectful expression. "Uncle Solomon really doesn't care for publicity. All his aim is to construct a perfect machine, and he is always inventing, and improving, and thinking of new ways in which to obtain the mastery of the air."
"His machines have been tried by other people, though," remarked Freddy. "Oh, yes, and with great success. But uncle doesn't even read the papers to see what is said about his aeroplanes, although he is always anxious to read what other inventors are doing, and takes a great interest in races across Channel and over the Alps, and from city to city. But he is wrapt up in his own schemes, and works for twelve and more hours out of the twenty-four in perfecting his machines. Public applause or public rewards don't appeal to him, you see, Mr. Halliday; it's the work itself."
"Ah, that is the true spirit of genius," said Dan approvingly, "a man like that is sure to arrive."
"He will never arrive," said Miss Vincent quietly, "for as soon as he arrives at one point, he only regards it as a resting-place to start for a further goal. He doesn't care for food or drink, or clothes, or politics, or amusements, or anything for which the ordinary man strives. His machine takes up all his attention."
"Happy man. To have one strong aim and to be allowed to work at that aim, is the true happiness of any man. I shall be glad to have a talk with him."
"He doesn't talk much, Mr. Halliday."
"A man obsessed with one idea seldom does," retorted the young fellow. "I hope, however, he will let me have a machine for this race. I can handle any aeroplane, once it is explained to me, and Freddy here, says that your uncle's machines have many improvements likely to tell against competitors."
"I am not sure if he will let you have a machine," said Mildred, her face clouding; "he is very jealous and whimsical you know." "Like all inventors," murmured Laurance rising; "let us go and see him."
"Yes," added Dan, also getting on his feet, "and then you take Freddy away, Miss Vincent, and let me talk to your uncle. I shall get what I want, somehow." Mildred laughed and led the way out of the cottage by the back door. "It is not an easy task you have set yourself to do," she said, doubtfully; "here are the workshops and the buildings where the machines are housed, and yonder is Uncle Solomon." The buildings looked plebeian and gimcrack with their flimsy wooden walls and tin roofs, impressive only in their magnitude. They must have cost a deal to erect in this neighborhood where all the houses, great and small, were of stone; and wood was comparatively scarce. Vincent, as Dan considered, must be well-off to indulge in so expensive a hobby. To be sure by racing he could gain prizes, and if successful could also sell machines at a good figure; but from what Mildred said, it seemed to Dan that her uncle had the true jealous spirit of an inventor, and did not let his darlings go out of his hands if he could help it. To live on this vast moorland, working at his inventions and experimenting with his ideas, was enough for Solomon Vincent, without the applause and rewards of the world. Undoubtedly to carry out his plans he must have a private income, and not an inconsiderable one at that. "Uncle, this is Mr. Laurance and Mr. Halliday," said Mildred, introducing the two young men, though the first did not require mention. But Vincent, like most inventors, was absent-minded, and it took him quite a minute to recognize Laurance, whom he had not seen on the previous night. "Mr. Laurance and Mr. Halliday," he said casually, and turning from the workman to whom he had been speaking--"yes, of course. You understand about the propeller, Quinton," he added, again taking up his conversation with the workman, "it must be seen to at once," and quite oblivious of the company he went on giving instructions, until the man went away to do his task, and Mildred touched her uncle's arm. "This is Mr. Laurance and Mr.----"
"Of course I know it is Mr. Laurance," said Vincent testily, "do you think I am blind? How do you do, Laurance? Good-by, I am busy."
"And this is Mr. Halliday who wants a machine," went on Mildred persuasively. "Indeed. Then Mr. Halliday shan't get one," retorted Vincent, and sauntered into the nearest shed with a scowl on his lean face. He was an acrid-looking man of fifty, with untidy gray hair and an untrimmed beard. "Follow him, and he will talk," said Mildred hastily, "I shall remain here with Freddy, as uncle doesn't like many people to be about him."
"He is not easy to get on with," sighed Dan, "I can see that." However, he took the girl's advice and went into the shed after the ungracious inventor, leaving the lovers to return to the cottage parlor, which they did forthwith. Laurance was quite astute enough to lose no time, since the moments spent with Mildred were all golden and not easily obtainable. Dan marched into the shed with a fine air of possession, and again surveyed Vincent, who was examining some specifications near a window. The man was carelessly dressed in a shabby suit of blue serge, and seemed to care little about his personal appearance. Marking once more his shaggy hair and beard, and yellow skin considerably wrinkled, the young man went up to him. As if waking from a dream, Vincent looked up, and Dan met the gaze of two very keen dark eyes, whose expression was anything but amiable. "Who are you, and what do you want?" demanded the owner of the eyes crossly. "My name is Halliday. I want a machine to race between London and York. I have just been introduced to you by your niece."
"My niece should have more sense than to have brought you here," cried the inventor fiercely; "you come to spy out my ideas and to steal them."
"I assure you I don't," said Dan drily. "I am not a genius as you are."
"All the more reason you should pick my brains," snapped Vincent in no way mollified by the compliment as Dan intended he should be. Halliday laughed. "If I did, I could make no use of my pickings, Mr. Vincent, as you may guess. I can handle a machine, but I can't put one together."
"Who told you about me?" demanded the man suspiciously. "Laurance."
"He's a meddlesome fool."
"Well," said Dan cheerfully, "there may be two opinions about that you know."
"I don't want him, and I don't want you, and I don't want any one. Why do you come and bother me when I don't want you?"
"Because my wants are to be considered. See here, Mr. Vincent," added Halliday in a coaxing voice, for he saw that it was necessary to humor this clever man like a child, "there is to be a race between London and York for a big prize given byThe Moment, the paper Mr. Laurance works for. I wish to compete, but my machine isn't so good as I should like it to be. I hear that you have made several improvements which make for speed and easier handling of aeroplanes. Let me have one of your latest, and I'll share the prize with you. It's two thousand, you know."
"I don't want money," snapped Vincent abruptly. "I congratulate you," said Dan coolly; "and yet large sums must be needed to help you to build machines. You must be rich. Are you rich?" Vincent grew a dusky red, and glanced in an odd way over his shoulder, as if he expected to find some one at his elbow. "Mind your own business," he said in a harsh voice, and with suppressed fury; "whether I'm rich or not is my business. You shan't have an aeroplane of mine. Clear out." Dan did clear out, but as he went, wondered why the man was so angry and confused. He seemed quite afraid of the simple question that had been put to him.