"I'm glad she's gone," Connie exclaimed as the cab drove away and the last flutter of Grace's handkerchief had vanished. "Let us hope she will have a happy time with Lady Dashwood. But why didn't your dear relative fetch her as arranged? Why that telegram? I hope there is nothing wrong at the dower house?"
"Of course there is nothing wrong," Mary laughed. "It is not like you to imagine things. What is the matter with you this morning, Connie?"
Connie remarked tearfully that she did not know. For once in a way she was on the verge of tears. Perhaps she missed Grace, for her manner had changed, directly the cab was gone.
"Now I am going to know all about it," said Mary. "You are the dearest friend I have ever made as yet, and it hurts me for you to keep a secret from me."
"What a change!" Connie said, a smile flashing through her tears. "What has become of the cold, reserved girl that I met some days ago at Victoria Station? Well, I'll tell you what is the matter. You know that I lost those sketches the night Mrs. Speed went away and left us in the lurch. They were badly needed, and I could not supply them. They had to fake up some old blocks and it caused no end of trouble. The long and short of it is that last night I had a curt intimation that I need not expect to get any more work for theWheezer. It means that my poor little weekly income has vanished for the present. It's very hard just at a time when----"
"Oh, my dear," Mary cried, "how dreadful! And this is why you kept up before----"
"Before Grace. I could not possibly tell her, it would have been hateful to spoil her pleasure like that. But it has been hard work, Mary. Two or three times today I have had to struggle to keep from positive blubbering. I hate to snivel, but I suppose we are all prone to that at times. What to do I don't know."
Mary looked up from the packs of postcards she was engaged upon.
"Please don't worry," she said, "it isn't as if we were penniless. I am certain that you will get something to do before long."
"My dear girl, don't forget that the rent and the bread and butter go on just the same. And don't forget either that whilst the grass grows the steed starves."
"Not when the other steed has plenty of oats to spare," Mary laughed. "What do you think of that for an epigram? If painting fails, I shall take to literature. I'm quite sure that I shall be as good an author as an artist. Don't think me hard or unsympathetic, Connie. I know how good you are, I know that you would cheerfully share your last shilling with me, little as I deserve it. And I am going to do the same by you. I have some three pounds left of the money I borrowed from that convenient relative at the pawnshop, and I calculate that I can raise quite two hundred pounds altogether. Within a short time you will find fresh work to do."
Connie's tears were falling freely now. The burst of grief seemed to do her good, for the sunny April smile flashed out again.
"You shall do as you like, dearest," she said. "Pride is a very sinful luxury for people in my position. And I had forgotten all about that Pandora's box of yours. It is just possible that on the strength of myWheezerwork I may get a commission from theHoneysuckle Weekly. I believe they pay a slightly better price than the other papers. Let us have an early lunch, and then I can go the round of the offices. Don't worry if I am back late. And you can have a good long afternoon at the postcards."
Mary had a long afternoon at the postcards indeed, for tea had been a thing of the past for some time, and as yet Connie had not returned. Her head was aching now and her hands were stiff with the toil. How hot and stifling it was, how different to the coolness of the dower house. And Grace was there by this time, doubtless.
Mary's day-dreams vanished suddenly at the sound of a cab outside. Connie stepped out of the cab, followed by a tall, manly figure in a frock coat. From his quiet air and manner Mary put the stranger down at once as a doctor. She had little time to speculate as to that, for she saw to her distress that Connie's hat was off and that her head was bandaged up with a handkerchief. She staggered as she reached the pavement, and would have fallen but for the man by her side. Mary flew to the door with words of quick sympathy on her lips. She could see a curious tender smile on Connie's lips; her face was red; her eyes were shining with some great happiness.
"Not much the matter," she said. "I got jumbled up in the Strand, and the side-slipping of a motor threw me under a dray. The wheels did not go over me, and I have not come home to die or anything of that kind. I got a blow on the head, and I suppose I fainted. When I came to myself I was in Charing Cross Hospital. Dr. Newcome was very kind to me, and insisted on seeing me home in a cab. Strange as it may seem, Dr. Newcome is an old acquaintance of mine, Mary. This is Miss Dashwood."
"I am very happy to see you," the doctor said in a pleasant voice. "I am also glad to say that there is very little the matter with Miss Colam. I am almost glad of the accident because it has brought Miss Colam and myself in contact once more. I met her two years ago at Hastings, when I was getting over a bad illness."
"Then Dr. Newcome is your doctor, Connie," Mary cried.
Connie flushed to her eyes. The stranger dropped hisEvening Standardon the table and affected to fold it neatly.
"I wish I could think so," he said. "We only met for a day. Dreadfully unconventional, was it not? But I was very lonely at that time and very ill. My outlook was rather gloomy, too. But I wanted to see Miss Colam again, and when I got back to London I called at her rooms only to find her gone. I hope she will believe me when I say that I have been looking for her ever since."
"The fortune of war," Connie said with a red face. "Nomads like ourselves are always changing quarters. And here I am just as poor as I was that day at Fairlight. I hope you can say more for your prospects, Dr. Newcome?"
"I have been very fortunate," Newcome said gravely. "A distant relative died and left me some money. The money arrived just in time to enable me to buy an exceedingly good practice. I was calling on a house surgeon friend of mine at Charing Cross, when Miss Colam came in. And I do hope she won't change her lodgings again without letting me know."
There was no mistaking the significance of the last few words. Clearly Connie had found the haven of rest for which her tired soul at times longed for. Mary remembered what she had said as to the man to cling to for protection in the hour of need, and what a blessed thing the man's love was for the lonely and depressed. In her mind's eye Mary could see herself alone in those dingy lodgings, painting her postcards and waiting for, what? It was, perhaps natural that the figure of Ralph Darnley should rise before her now.
"I won't," Connie promised. "You will come and see me again, Dr. Newcome?"
Newcome promised eagerly. He would be in town again in a day or two. Would the girls dine with him, and go to the theatre afterwards? He had an aunt in London, who he was sure would join the party. He would ask her to call on Connie.
"So this is an end ofyourtrouble," Mary laughed, when Newcome had departed. "It is quite plain to me that you will very soon have the share of that practice at your disposal, dear. And if the happy expression of your face means anything, it tells me that you are not going to refuse the offer."
Connie hid her blushing face and laughed. She remarked that Dr. Newcome had left his paper behind him. With some show of interest, she turned over the paper. Then she stopped, and a little cry broke from her.
"Oh, Mary, listen to this!" she exclaimed. "'Mysterious outrage in Dashwood Park. Only this morning the body of a well dressed man was found lying in the avenue of Dashwood Park, the residence of Sir Vincent Dashwood. Robbery appears to have been the motive, for the pockets of the unfortunate man had been turned out, and his watch and chain were gone. As the sufferer was in evening dress, and had every appearance of being a gentleman, inquiries were made, with the result that the gentleman has been identified as Ralph Darnley. He is at present lying at the dower house in a precarious condition!'"
With a broken cry Mary rose to her feet. Her face was white as death and her hands were convulsively locked together. In a faint voice she asked for a time table; she wanted to know what time the next train went.
"You are going down to Dashwood?" Connie asked.
"Oh, of course I am," Mary wept. "I could not stay away. I must be near him so that I may know how he is progressing. I must help to nurse him back to life again. I owe him everything--my very existence, my new self, my womanhood that has come as such a precious thing to me. And to think that once I was fool enough to prefer pride to the affection of a man like that, who----"
"Mary, Mary, you love him. You love Ralph Darnley like that!"
Mary's eyes shone with a strange light. She flung her hands above her head despairingly.
"I know it now," she said, "now that it is perhaps too late. Yes, ever since I first met Ralph I have loved him with my whole heart and soul."
Mayfield's face was grim and set; there was just a flash of contempt in his eyes for Speed, who was breathing hard. The dramatic part of the situation was lost on Mr. George Dashwood, who could think of nothing else beyond the speculative possibilities that Mayfield had been holding out to him.
"You don't seem to be any better," Mayfield said to Speed. "you look ghastly. Anybody would think that you had been caught in some crime."
Behind the contemptuous words there was a note of warning to Speed. Anybody less blind than George Dashwood would have noticed how agitated he was. Speed caught just a glimpse of his own features in a quaint old mirror over the fireplace. He could see that he was green and grey by turns; he started at his own haggard face. Small wonder, then, that Mayfield had given him a warning.
"I'm feeling like a corpse," he said. "It's agony for me to sit up any longer. If you don't mind, I think I'll go to bed."
"Why not try the fresh air?" Dashwood suggested. "It is a cure sometimes."
"Drizzling with rain," Speed replied. "Darnley turned up the collar of his overcoat as he passed the window. I could see him from behind the screen. On the whole, I should be far better between the sheets."
As he spoke Speed shot a questioning glance at Mayfield. The latter nodded.
"Perhaps it would be as well," he said; "if you feel as seedy as that. I must not be long, either, as I have to leave pretty early tomorrow. I'll just finish my discussion with Mr. Dashwood over a cigar, and then I'll follow your example. I suppose the butler comes around and fastens up all the windows?"
"The rest of the house," Speed explained. "I generally fasten the windows here myself. I'll leave you to do it tonight, Mayfield. Don't forget. One never knows what sort of person is hanging about a house like this."
Speed crept out of the room and across the hall, on the way to his room. He was shaking from head to foot still and his legs were hardly equal to his weight. He lighted a candle with a trembling hand, taking several matches to do so. Out of the shadow came Slight, who watched his master with a curious expression.
"Perhaps you will permit me to do that for you, sir?" he suggested politely.
"Go away," Speed cried. "Go to bed. Think that I'm too drunk to light a candle? Why do you follow me like this? Send my man to me. Gone to Longtown for the night, has he? Oh, I recollect giving him permission now."
Speed staggered up the stairs, and into his own room. Once there, he opened a cupboard and produced therefrom a bottle of brandy. He poured out half a tumbler and drank it greedily. He placed his hands over his eyes as if to hide some horrible vision. He was free now to give way to his feelings; he was no longer under observation. He would have given ten years of his life to recall the last half hour.
He sat there, gazing into space and making no effort to remove his clothes. An hour passed; then there was a tap on the door. Speed started violently; he was half afraid that the arm of the law was groping for him already. His face cleared a little as Mayfield came in and closed the door very carefully.
"Well?" the latter said. "Are you getting over it? I'm more than sorry I started this little business. If Dashwood had had any power of observation he would have seen that there was something worse than illness the matter with you tonight."
"It was awful," Speed groaned. "you would feel just the same if you'd done it. All the time I was pretending to be ill behind the screen, I was standing by the open window. I heard Darnley say goodnight to you. I stood with the loaded stick in my hand. And as he passed by the window under the veranda I struck him down. . . . He fell stone dead without a single groan. He lay there absolutely still. And I would have forfeited all I had to recall those last few moments. If you could have seen his face----"
"Oh, never mind that," Mayfield said brutally. "The thing is done and there is an end of it. And you know perfectly well that you would do the same thing again tomorrow. So he lies there in the verandah, does he? What about the stick?"
"The stick is hidden in the laurel bushes. We can burn that when there is time."
"To-night. Our work is not finished. Darnley must not lie there. We shall have to carry him as far as the drive. It is a bit risky, but the thing must be done. Everybody has gone to bed now. Dashwood and old Slight can testify that neither of us have been out of the house since dinner time, so we are quite safe."
"Let him lie where he is," Speed whispered, with chattering teeth. "People will think that he came back for something after we had gone to bed, and that he had encounter with some prowling burglar. That's just as good as your plan."
"No, it isn't," Mayfield said impatiently. "Mine is much more artistic and reasonable. We have saved our own necks; now we want to put suspicion upon somebody outside. We've got to carry the body of Ralph Darnley as far as the avenue; we've got to turn out his pockets as if he had been robbed. We can bury what he has on him and destroy the loaded stick at the same time. Everybody has gone to bed. Come along."
Speed protested and groaned. But it was all the same to Mayfield. He contemptuously indicated the brandy bottle, and suggested that Speed should derive a little fleeting courage from it. Another strong dose and Speed declared himself to be ready.
They crept down into the hall and from thence into the darkened dining-room. In the hall Speed hastily snatched a big Inverness cape from the stand. His intention was obvious. He wanted to throw this over the body. . . . It lay there quite still under the shelter of the verandah; outside the rain was gently pattering on the grass. With half averted head, Speed flung the cloak over the still black form.
He was heedless of the rain; both were heedless of the rain by this time. It was not a tiring work, for the night was warm, and Mayfield had caught a little of Speed's nervous excitement. He did not notice that it was raining at all. They staggered on for some five hundred yards along the avenue. Speed declared that he could not go any farther.
"This will do," he panted in a hoarse whisper. "Under the oak tree. It's just the very spot where a man would stop to light a cigar. You do the rest, Mayfield."
Mayfield did the rest cautiously enough. It was the dark before dawn; the birds were not yet awake. A rabbit dashed across the road, and Speed started. Mayfield was only at work a moment; it seemed like ages to Speed. They stole quietly back to the house without meeting anybody; they gained the dining room at length. It was just as they had left it, nothing to show that anybody had been there. Then they were back once more in Speed's bedroom.
"I must have some more brandy," he said. "I believe I could drink the bottle. You are not looking quite so cool and self-possessed as usual, Mayfield. Take a drop."
"I hate the stuff," Mayfield growled. "All the same, I don't mind confessing that I am just a little bit shaky. I could do it with some whisky. I suppose I could find a decanter of it on the sideboard?"
"Always there," Speed explained. "There must have been some rain when we were out, for my coat is quite damp. So is yours. Better take it off."
Mayfield peeled off his dress coat carelessly. He took the candle and proceeded to make his way down the stairs once more. Surely enough the big glass bottle of whisky stood on the side-board. Mayfield helped himself liberally, and filled up the glass with a spurt of soda from a syphon. Somebody behind him coughed.
"It's only me, sir," the thin respectful voice of Slight said. "I've got a touch of neuralgia, and couldn't sleep, sir. And just now it seemed to me that I heard somebody about. Got the idea of burglars into my head, sir."
"Oh, that's all right," Mayfield said with a suggestion of relief in his tone. "I couldn't sleep either, so I came down for a drink."
Slight bowed respectfully. But his old eyes had not overlooked the fact that little beads of wet glistened on Mayfield's trousers, and that his dress shoes were spotted with mud. Very silently and respectfully he crept away up the back stairs, and so to the room of one of the menservants--a young protégé of his. He was sleeping soundly enough as Slight laid a hand on his shoulder. He struggled to a sitting posture.
"Mr. Slight," he said sleepily. "What is the matter? Is the house on fire? Why you do look serious! What is the matter?"
"I don't know," Slight replied. "It may be murder for all I know. And I thought that I was too clever for those two chaps. Get up and dress yourself, Walters. As soon as ever it is light we've got something to do. Don't sit there asking a lot of foolish questions. How did they manage it when he went so early?"
Walters stared at the speaker, who pulled up abruptly.
"I dare say you think I am talking nonsense," he said. "Nothing of the kind, my lad. Just put your clothes on and come as far as my room. If anything has happened to that bonny lad of mine, I'll never forgive myself."
The morning was just breaking as Slight and his companion left the house. By the time that it was possible to see they began their search. By this time too, Walters had more than an inkling of what was wrong. They went first in the direction of the dower house and then back again to the avenue. It was broad daylight now, and the sun was climbing up over the hills behind the river. Nobody was to be seen yet, nothing heard but the mad song of the birds welcoming the glory of the morning. Presently Walters paused and pointed to a black huddled object under one of the great oaks.
"What's that?" he whispered with a blanched face. "It looks like a man sleeping there."
A cry half of anger, half despair, broke from Slight. He crossed the drive and fell on his knees by the side of the limp figure. His tears ran without restraint down the old man's withered face. He was beside himself with grief.
"It's Master Ralph," he moaned. "I knew that I should find him like this. But when he went off so early last night I felt that that message had done those two ruffians. It made me feel easier in my mind. If I'd told him of my suspicions he would only have laughed at me. And to think that I should find him dead like this."
"Perhaps he isn't dead," Walters suggested in a whisper.
"Perhaps, not. You are a sensible young chap Walters. He isn't dead, either. I can feel him breathing. Good job it was a warm night. Good job, too, he lay under a tree so that the wet couldn't get at him. There's blood all over the back of his head. A nice murderous crack he got there. And here am I doddering like a silly old woman, whilst there is work to be done. Go over to the corner of the wood yonder, and pull up one of those gorsed hurdles there. Be sharp, boy."
Walters returned presently, dragging after him a hurdle which was filled with gorse. And then on this, with their coats and vests under his head, they laid their unconscious burden. A faint groan broke from Ralph; he opened his eyes for a moment.
"It's concussion of the brain, that's what it is," Slight said, with tears running down his face freely. "I've helped once or twice in the hunting field before now. Just you get hold of the other end of the hurdle, and start off on the left foot. We'll get Mr. Ralph as far as the dower house and send for a doctor."
It was not far away to the dower house, the inmates of which were speedily aroused. A little time later and one of the footmen was riding for a doctor. They made Ralph as comfortable as possible. Lady Dashwood came into the dining-room presently, where Slight was waiting to see her.
"This is a very dreadful business, Slight," she said. "Mr. Ralph was robbed and half murdered on his way from the Hall, they say. Strange that you found him."
"Not so very strange, my lady," Slight replied, "seeing that I set out early to look for him. I thought last night when your message came----"
"What message do you mean? I sent no message to the Hall."
"Well, that's very strange! Mr. Mayfield is staying at the Hall. He told Mr. Ralph that you wanted to see him very particularly last night, and he left early in consequence. Call me an old fool if you like, my lady, but I had a fancy that those two men meant mischief to Mr. Ralph. I couldn't sleep for thinking of it. I came downstairs very early this morning, and I found that Mayfield, not yet undressed, helping himself to whiskey and soda. And there was mud on his dress shoes. I couldn't stand it any longer, so I set out at daybreak to look for I didn't quite know what. And I found Mr. Ralph. How those fellows managed it, I can't say, but they did manage it. And it is no fault of theirs that they're not a pair of cold-blooded murderers."
The doctor came presently. He was upstairs for a long time, but when he came down again his face was not so grave as might be expected.
"A bad blow," he explained. "A bad concussion, but no brain injury as far as I can judge. And the patient is going on as well as I could expect. Oh, no, he isn't going to die. He has too good a constitution for that, and he has taken good care of himself. I'll come back in the course of an hour or so and report again."
There was nothing for it now but to wait and hope for the best and keep the patient quiet. Well satisfied with his efforts, Slight returned to the Hall. When he got back there he found that Mayfield had already departed. Speed, restless and irritable, and giving the impression that he had breakfasted on something potent, demanded to know where Slight had been. Mr. Dashwood had not come down to breakfast yet.
"Where have you been gallivanting to?" Speed demanded imperiously. "I'll put a stop to this. Pack up your traps and go. You'll not serve me any more."
"You never spoke a truer word than that," Slight said coolly. "I sha'n't serve you any more, for the very good reason that you won't be here to serve. If you raise a hand to me I'll break your head with this hot water jug, old man as I am. I was out early this morning looking for a murderer's work, and I found it. It was I who found the body of Mr. Ralph, and took it to the dower house. And he is not dead; and what is more to the point he isn't going to die, you cold-blooded assassin."
Speed's face turned a ghastly grey. His bluster had left him.
"I know now how it was done," Slight went on. "I guessed it all as soon as I heard that Lady Dashwood sent no message as to wanting to see Mr. Ralph last night. The dodge was to get him to leave the house and pass along the verandah. You shammed being ill, and pretended that the light was too strong for you. That enabled you to lie and wait till Mr. Ralph came along. Then you hit him with a loaded stick, the one that used to hang in the gun room. James missed that stick just now and told me so. And there poor Mr. Ralph lay till everybody had gone to bed. Then you stole out and carried him as far as the big oak tree, and left him there with his pockets all turned out as if robbery had been the motive. But one thing gave you away. Mr. Ralph left the house when it was raining. He walked under the balcony out of the rain till he was struck down by you, so that he lay sheltered.
"If he had walked from the house to the oak tree, under which we found him, his clothes would have been all wet. Whereas they were perfectly dry. Therefore, his body must have been carried to the old oak after the murderous assault had been committed. Probably you threw some kind of wrap over the body in case you met anybody--rabbit poachers or the like. Oh, you are very clever, sir, but you didn't work your plans quite so secure as you might. You have so arranged it that you can call Mr. Dashwood as a witness to prove that you had not been outside the house after Mr. Ralph left; but there are other things. I came down early this morning to find Mr. Mayfield here at the whisky and soda. His dress shoes were covered with mud. I've got those dress shoes, for I sent Walters home to get them."
Speed started again. He recollected now that Mayfield had made a fuss before starting over the loss of his evening slippers.
"And I've got yours," Slight went on. "I've got proof that you were both out in the rain last night, after everybody had gone to bed. And Mr. Ralph isn't dead. And before very long I shall have the pleasure of giving evidence against you both, and seeing that you don't either of you do any harm to society for some years to come. And I don't altogether absolve Mr. Ralph from blame. If he had spoken out in the first place, all this trouble would have been saved. If he had said openly, 'I am Sir Ralph Dashwood,' why----"
"He isn't," Speed said feebly. "I am Sir Vincent----"
"Vincent fiddlestick," Slight cried shrilly. "Just as if I didn't know who you were after seeing Sir Ralph for the first time after his return. I was a blind old fool not to have guessed from the start. I might have known where you learned all the family secrets. And when Sir Ralph came home my eyes were opened. He would not let me say anything, for he had his own reasons for concealing the truth for the present. But I knew who you were when I spotted who your mother was, Mr. Vincent Speed."
The wretched listener made no response. It was hopeless to continue the fight in the face of such evidence as this. Slight still held the hot water jug in his hand, ready for anything in the shape of an assault, but he need not have been alarmed.
"You are not so clever by half as you think you are," Slight went on. "You have only been the cat's paw of Mayfield all along.Heknew all about Sir Ralph, though he may not have known my young master's reasons for concealing his identity. If this murder had been successful, and you had not been found out, what would have happened? Mayfield would have had you betrayed and kicked out of the house, and Mr. Dashwood, as Sir George, would have come into the title and estates again. And Mayfield would have married Miss Mary.Thatwas Mayfield's little game as far as I can see it. I may be an old man, but I'm not quite devoid of wit for all that. And that's why I am no longer in your service, and so you can make the best of it."
Slight marched out of the room, feeling that he had vindicated his position and his manhood. Speed stood there gnawing his nails, sick at heart, fearsome of every sound. He was a fugitive now, ready to fly, eager to be away, but with no settled plan of action. His one idea was to be off to London now and see Mayfield.
There were strange rumours in the air; the servants at the Hall were asking thrilling questions in whispers. Nobody seemed to know anything but Slight, who kept his counsel. Everything was going to come right in a day or two; all they had to do was to go about their business quietly. Late in the afternoon it became known that Sir Vincent had vanished, and within an hour or two, strange men with an air of authority were calling at the Hall and asking questions. Mr. Dashwood had gone over to the dower house to see what was really wrong. He found Lady Dashwood in the dining-room in deep discussion with the family solicitor, Mr. Morley.
"What is all this I hear?" Dashwood asked. "The new head of the family has vanished, and I'm told that he and Mayfield tried to murder Ralph Darnley last night. Slight has told me a great deal, but he will not say anything as to the motive for the extraordinary crime. He says he prefers to leave me to hear the truth from Lady Dashwood."
"Or from me," Mr. Morley said grimly. "As I have said all along, you have been the victim of a most impudent imposter--the son of a woman called Speed. Lady Dashwood has just been telling me the whole history of the painful case. I need not go into that at length, Mr. Dashwood, as it is a confidential matter. She was a sister of the late Mr. Ralph Dashwood's first wife, which accounts for many things that that impudent imposter knew. I hear that the police have taken out a warrant for the arrest of this Speed and his companion in crime, Horace Mayfield. In any case, they are not likely to trouble us again."
George Dashwood responded suitably. He hoped that Mr. Ralph Darnley was in no danger. At the same time he could not be blind to the fact that the amazing change in the condition of affairs made a great difference to his own position. He had suffered the most from the machinations of the rascal who had so deceived them all. Also, he could see now that he was free for ever from the persecutions of Horace Mayfield. He felt quite proud and self-important; his position took definite shape before him.
"In that case," he said, "we revert to the old condition of affairs. As a matter of fact, I have never had any occasion to drop the title to which----"
"Pardon me, sir," Morley said drily. "You never had any more right to it than the wretched criminal who at the present moment is flying from justice. The young man you know as Ralph Darnley is really Sir Ralph Dashwood. Lady Dashwood has just given me the most absolute proofs of his identity. Besides, just before his death, the last Ralph Dashwood wrote to me and explained everything. It was the new head of the family who asked me to let Vincent Speed have his lead for a time. I believe there was some quixotic and sentimental reason to account for this conduct on Sir Ralph's part. On that head Lady Dashwood can speak more definitely than I can."
"When the time comes," Lady Dashwood murmured. "It is exactly as Mr. Morley says, George. And I am glad to say the doctor reports very favourably of Ralph this afternoon. If you had ever known my son, George, you would not have doubted the identity of young Ralph directly you cast eyes on him. I would rather not tell you as yet the real reason why he wished to be known as Ralph Darnley."
George Dashwood was very disappointed. Yet, on the whole, things might have been worse. He had never disguised from himself that the deposed impostor was anything but a gentleman. And his position at the Hall might have been a comfortable one, but it was full of humiliation. These things Dashwood spoke of as he walked with Morley down the avenue.
Meanwhile Lady Dashwood was spending her time between the dining-room and the bedroom wherein Ralph lay. She was sorry for all the anxiety and misery on the very day that Grace Cameron had arrived, but she had found the girl a great comfort to her, she was so quiet and resourceful, so ready to help. The doctor had called again for the third time just before dinner, and his report was as favourable as before. Lady Dashwood and Grace were sitting down to something in the way of dinner.
"I have been thinking," Grace said. "Mary ought to know of this."
Lady Dashwood started and laid down her knife and fork. She had forgotten all about Mary.
"She had quite escaped my memory," she confessed. "She will be very distressed because she rather likes Ralph, and he saved her life on more than one occasion. But Ralph is masterful and Mary is proud. Of course, I know what Ralph's feelings are, and I may say that he was instrumental in getting her out into the world. Oh, my dear, I think you can guess what the dream of my life is as to those two people."
Grace smiled with ready sympathy. Her delicate face flushed.
"It will not be a dream much longer or I am greatly mistaken," she said. "Mary loves that man. I know by the way she speaks of him. And Connie Colam has told me. I don't want to be inquisitive, Lady Dashwood, but I should like to hear the story of that romance. Connie says that I should hardly know Mary if I had met her on the first day in London. She was hard and proud and distant, and she deliberately allowed the ice to grow round her heart; she was eaten up with family pride. And she learned her lesson in two days. I could see her change, as a butterfly newly out changes in the sun. I dare say you may call that a ridiculous simile, but I can't think of a better. And when Connie spoke to her of love and the advantages of love over everything else she came to guess. I am sure that Ralph Darnley has told her that he cares for her."
"That is so," Lady Dashwood smiled. "He is a very masterful young man, as I told you before. And I fancy he told Mary that he would win her in spite of everything. He has taken his own way of doing it, as you may hear some day. But if all you say is true, I am not going to spoil Mary's pleasure in the telling of her pretty love story. So you think that Mary ought to know what has happened? You think that if we send her a telegram she will come down here at once?"
"I am certain of it," Grace cried. "She will be displeased with us that we had forgotten. It is all going to come right, Lady Dashwood. Your dream is coming true, and Mary will be a happy girl yet."
Lady Dashwood smiled as she reached for the telegram forms. She wondered if it would be possible for Mary to reach the dower house that night. Presently a cab crept along the drive; no doubt it was the doctor coming to call once more. Then Grace gave a cry of pleasure as the cab door opened and a slender figure in black jumped out.
"She is here, Lady Dashwood," the girl exclaimed. "Mary! She must have heard. These things find their way into London evening papers directly."
The door of the dining-room opened and Mary came in. She was pale and agitated; she had her hand to her heart. It was some time before she could speak. She glanced from one to the other, as if not daring to ask what was trembling on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes filled with relief as she noted the welcome on the faces of the others.
"He is better?" she gasped. "He is not dead. I--I was afraid to ask. Oh, if you only knew the gnawing agony of the last hour! I saw it in one of the evening papers. I flew down here as soon as possible. And how is he--how is Ralph?"
Deeply touched as she was, Lady Dashwood smiled. She was glad to hear Ralph's name come so naturally off Mary's tongue. It showed that she thought of him by his Christian name.
"He is much better," she said. "The doctor gives a very good report. And he is not in the least likely to die this time."
"You might have let me know," Mary said reproachfully. "It would have saved a deal of anxiety. And I am quite sure that in his heart you know that----"
"You loved the man who is lying upstairs," Grace said gently.
Mary's pale face flushed; a yearning look came into her eyes.
"You have finished the confession for me," she cried. "I did not know, I could not guess till I saw that dreadful paper. And then it came to me that a great blank would come into my life if Ralph died. He said that I should learn my lesson, and I have done so. It has not taken me long to learn the difference between the false and the true, and that love is everything, and money and position are nothing by the side of it. And then as if some veil had been lifted from my eyes, I saw that I had cared for Ralph all the time. He told me once that I should come to him on my knees and ask forgiveness. I am ready to do it now."
The girl's voice rose loud and clear; she looked very sweet and womanly in her self-abnegation. She felt all the better for her confession, as if a weight had been lifted from her soul. Lady Dashwood would have said nothing in reply, but the door opened at the same moment and the nurse came in.
"Mr. Darnley is conscious, my lady," she said. "He asked for you. It will do no harm if you see him for one moment. He seems troubled to think that he is in your room----"
Mary darted for the door. Before anybody could interfere she was half-way up the stairs. In the darkened room Ralph lay; he could catch the rustle of a dress; he noted the faint fragrance of a woman's hair. Then Mary was kneeling by the bedside, her cool, wet face pressed to Ralph's hot flushed one.
"I have come to you," she said. "My darling, I have come to you. My lesson has been learned. My eyes have been opened. And I love you, Ralph. I have come to tell you, and make my confession. On my knees, dear, on my knees, dear heart, as you prophesied, I make it!"
Mr. George Dashwood was of opinion that things at the Hall were not as they used to be in the old days. In the first place he had been compelled to walk up from the station after ordering a trap to meet him on his return from Longtown, and now he could see no sign of dinner. He had come downstairs in a temper, and had looked into the dining-room as he passed.
It was eight o'clock to the moment; there was no sign of dinner. The banks of ferns and the great silver bowls of roses were there, but nothing else. Dashwood forgot for the moment that he was no longer master of the house, and rang the bell. Slight came in presently. He was still wearing his morning coat.
"What is the meaning of this?" Dashwood demanded. "I ordered a trap to meet me at the station and no trap appears. Then I came back here to dinner, of which I see no sign. Have the servants left the house in a body?"
"No, sir," Slight replied. "We have had a trying day. In the first place the police----"
"Oh, the police, have they been here? Is there any clue to the mysterious attack upon Mr.--er, Ralph Darnley? I had to go into Longtown today; I did not expect to get back here till late. If your master has suddenly been called to town----"
"He has vanished, sir," Slight said. "you may not be so very much surprised to hear that he was at the bottom of the attack on Mr. Ralph--leastways I'll speak of him as Mr. Ralph for the present. In a manner of speaking, it was I who found the whole thing out. Perhaps it was foolish of me to do so, but I couldn't help letting that rascal know all about it. He went off in a great hurry this morning, and I for one shall be very much surprised if we ever see him again. In a manner of speaking, we are like a lot of servants in bear cages--nobody to look after us or give any orders. Me and the housekeeper are doing what we can, sir, in the hopes that Lady Dashwood will come over tomorrow and take charge. And that's why your dinner is forgotten."
"We will let it pass," Dashwood said with great magnanimity. "In the present extraordinary circumstances, I suppose that I cannot complain. If you could get me some cold chicken and salad, Slight, I dare say I could manage. And perhaps you will be so good as to wait on me yourself, seeing that you are so far in the confidences of the family. And perhaps you will give me an idea of what has happened."
The salad and chicken were served presently, and the meal together with the champagne, went far to salve Dashwood's wounded dignity. A cigarette completed the process.
"Now tell me everything," he said. "Mind you, you must be wrong as to our late host having anything to do with the outrage on Ralph Darnley."
"Begging your pardon, sir," Slight replied. "Why, the thing was as good as admitted. To call him by his proper name, Vincent Speed saw that the game was up. Mind you, servants hear a great deal more than their employers give them credit for, and I know that in some way Speed was under the thumb of that scoundrel Mayfield. How you could ever have tolerated him in the house, beats me, sir."
"Iwas also under the thumb of Mayfield," Dashwood murmured. "He was the sort of man who always got his own way, and he was not in the least scrupulous as to his methods. Possibly he knew who Speed really was."
"That's it, sir," Slight said eagerly. "He was after money. Well, Speed found out that Mr. Ralph was the real heir, and that his time here was limited. I dare say Speed got that information from his mother. I suppose it never occurred to the fool that both Lady Dashwood and myself knew who Mr. Ralph was."
"How did you know?" Dashwood asked. "I'm sure I didn't."
"Because you never met Mr. Ralph's father, sir. The likeness is a speaking one. The very first day that Mr. Ralph arrived here, I knew that you had no right to be in this house at all, sir. The same when Speed came along--though I'm bound to admit that he took me in at first."
"But the whole thing is inexplicable," Dashwood said irritably. "Why this masquerade? Why was Speed permitted to oust me at all? And why did I remain here?"
Slight had his opinion, but it was not his plan to utter this. He shook his head with an air of wisdom. Perhaps Miss Mary could explain that part. At any rate, if she could not do so, Lady Dashwood could solve the problem.
"Well, it really doesn't matter," Dashwood exclaimed. "Get on with your story. What had Speed to do with the disgraceful attack on Ralph Darnley?"
"He struck the blow, sir," Slight proceeded. "The murderous plot was arranged between Speed and Mayfield. It was necessary to get Mr. Ralph out of the way, and they determined to do it. For that purpose Mr. Ralph was invited to dine at the Hall. The game was to get him out of the way in such a manner as would not throw the slightest suspicion on those ruffians. They picked out you, sir, to be their witness as to the fact."
"But they were not out of the house," Dashwood protested. "Neither of them left the dining-room till bedtime, and we all went to bed together. And Speed had such a dreadful bilious attack that he was good for nothing. I have no reason to love either of those fellows, but I should be compelled to exonerate them."
"Itwasclever," Slight admitted. "At the same time, it was Speed who did it. He sat behind the screen over yonder, sir, but the window leading to the balcony was open. Perhaps you will call to mind how Mayfield left the table to fetch his cigar case. Then he came back with a message to the effect that Lady Dashwood wanted to see Mr. Ralph on his way home. I have had it from her Ladyship's lips that she sent no message of the kind. Still, the supposed message had the desired effect for it took Mr. Ralph past the balcony; Speed had only to pop out and knock him on the head, which he did. All the time you thought that he was simply sitting in the armchair behind the screen."
"Incredible, but possible," Dashwood murmured. "Go on, Slight."
"Well, sir, I was frightened. I felt that there was something dark going on, and I didn't go to bed. I came downstairs and found Mayfield drinking whisky and soda not long before daylight. And his dress slippers were all over dirt. I got hold of Speed's pumps, too, and they were as bad. That told me a story. I made Walters get up, and together we began a search. At the foot of one of the oak trees in the park we found Mr. Ralph. Though it had been raining at the time he left here, his clothes were quite dry, though we found him nearly half a mile from the house. Then I knew quite well that the body had been carried there. The pockets being turned out was only to make it look like robbery. And I taxed Speed with it. I gave him chapter and verse for everything, and he's gone. And, what's more, I know what his game is. I got that from the telegrams he sent and the timetable he left about. He's gone to Weymouth on his way to Jersey. When he reaches Weymouth, he'll charter a fishing boat to take him as far as Jersey. It's no great distance, and for a little time he will be safe there. From Jersey he can easily get across to Granville by a sailing boat."
The more Dashwood thought this over the more was he disposed to agree with the old servant. It was good, at any rate, to know that he was no longer likely to suffer at the hands of Mayfield, for that rascal would have to fly also. No doubt Speed had given his fellow-conspirator a hint of what had happened, and that by this time he, too, was on his way to some place of safety. With these thoughts uppermost in his mind, Dashwood walked across the park in the direction of the dower house.
It was not yet dark, and Lady Dashwood was walking in the garden. There was a look of peace and happiness on her face that Dashwood had never seen there before. It was, at any rate, a good omen as to the progress of the patient.
"I have been having a long talk with Slight," Dashwood explained. "He has been giving me some astounding information. I have been in Longtown all day, and when I came back Speed had vanished. And Slight had afforded very cogent reasons for his disappearance. Only I am utterly in the dark as to why Ralph Darnley has behaved in this way. Slight suggests that you know."
"I do," Lady Dashwood smiled. "It is a very pretty story, and I think that even you will be touched when it comes to be told. In the meantime, there is one thing that I will ask you to do--please say nothing to Mary as to who Ralph really is till you have permission."
"I can promise that all the more readily because I am not likely to see Mary," Dashwood said in a grieved tone. "The child has behaved very badly to me; she seems to forget that I am her father. So long as she remains in London----"
"She is not in London, George. She has come back, and so far as I can judge, is not in the least likely to return to London again. Directly she heard of Ralph's accident, she came here at once to nurse him. Do not forget that she owes her life to Ralph. And do not forget that he loves the very ground she walks on. If my memory serves me correctly, he told you as much when you were doing your best to sell your child to that scoundrel Mayfield. If you refrain from interfering, that romance will end happily."
"By Jove, you don't mean it?" Dashwood cried. Visions of himself, comfortably housed and fed at Dashwood, rose before his eyes. It was not quite like being the master of the house, but it was the next best thing. "What a fortunate circumstance! Really, my dear lady, I appear to be luckier than I deserve."