In the dead silence which followed Mona's enigmatic announcement a pin could have been heard to drop. Prelice's head was whirling. Here, at last, was the explanation, and he would now know the true relationship between the girl he loved and Ned, who apparently cared nothing for her. Shepworth stood quietly beside Miss Chent with a perfectly calm face, but his eyes were fixed threateningly on Captain Jadby, who appeared to be much amazed at the calm way in which Mona received his news. Lady Sophia glanced from one man to the other, and, having a shrewd idea of what was coming, made up her mind to depart, so as to spare herself a scene, and Shepworth an awkward explanation.
"Most interesting," she said, rising and shaking out her skirts, "but I have so much to do that I really cannot wait. Mona, child, you must come and see me at Folkstone, the Piccadilly Hotel, you know, though why Piccadilly by the seaside I really don't know."
"Will you not wait and hear what I have to say?" asked Jadby, who seemed desirous of having as many listeners as possible, so as to cast shame upon Shepworth.
"No, my good man," rejoined Lady Sophia, with all the polished insolence of a grand dame; "other people's affairs do not interest me. You had better go back to the South Seas, where I am sure you will be much more at home. Prelice, help me on with my dust-cloak." She pointed to a grey silk mantle, which her dutiful nephew duly adjusted on her shoulders. "Now, Mona, child, don't forget. Good-bye, Mr. Shepworth. Prelice, you had better come with me," she ended, sailing towards the door.
The young man hesitated, and looked at Mona doubtfully. She interpreted his look promptly. "Lord Prelice will stay, at my request."
"My dear," Lady Sophia at the door sunk her voice, "so very awkward, if you really know what that creature"—so she designed Jadby—"is going to say."
"It has to be said sooner or later," whispered Mona, "and I want Lord Prelice to hear."
"Oh!" A new thought seemed to strike Lady Sophia. She glanced from her hostess to her nephew, and then pursed up her lips, guessing in a flash what was coming. "You had better come with me, Prelice," she repeated, raising her voice, and at the sound of it Mona shrank away.
But Prelice looked dogged, and declined to come. "I must stop and support Miss Chent," he said.
"Mr. Shepworth can do that," cried Captain Jadby insolently.
"He can," said the barrister, taking a step forward, "and he can support the cause of"—with emphasis—"any lady."
The advocate of the Stone Age, standing at the open door, raised her lorgnette, and surveyed the group. "Most interesting," she said, with cool impertinence; "quite a comedy. Let us hope that it will not merge into a tragedy." And, biting her lip, she departed, with a glare at her obstinate nephew.
Guessing that Lady Sophia was offended, and pretty certain of the reason, Mona did not dare to follow.
The motor car of Lady Sophia was heard whirring down the avenue in the hot sunshine, and only when the sound died away did Miss Chent return to the three men. "What more have you to say, Captain Jadby?" she asked politely.
"It seems to me that there is little need of an explanation," he answered, with another shrug, and compressing his lips.
"None at all that I can see," rejoined Shepworth in a cool voice. "I think Captain Jadby had better go."
"Not until I receive Mona's answer from her own lips," he snarled, and looked a very ugly customer in his impotent wrath.
"Miss Chent to you," said the girl equably.
"Mona! Mona!" vociferated the captain, "I have a double right to call you by your christian name."
"I did not even know that you had a single right," she retorted.
"I have; Sir Oliver wished us to marry."
"Quite so, and for that reason I became engaged to Mr. Shepworth."
Prelice gave a gasp, and turned to his friend. Ned nodded. "It is true, Dorry," said the barrister. "When I was stopping here, during the lifetime of Sir Oliver, this man," he indicated Captain Jadby with contempt, "pestered Miss Chent with his attentions. Sir Oliver was on his side—why, I can't say—but——"
"I can tell you now," interrupted Jadby hoarsely; "I am Sir Oliver's son, and Mona is my cousin."
There was a second silence. "I don't believe it," said Prelice decidedly, and his opinion was echoed by Miss Chent and Shepworth.
Jadby threw back his handsome head scornfully. "It matters little what you believe," he said violently, "since what I say is the truth, and no denial can make it anything else. My mother was the daughter of a great chief of Tahiti."
"Oh!" broke in Prelice impulsively, "then you are a half-caste?"
"Yes," admitted the captain, his nostrils working and his native origin becoming more and more apparent as he lost his temper. "My father was married to my mother in native fashion, but that, I learn, does not entitle me to inherit my father's title and property, which it should do. However, my father made a will in my favour before leaving the South Seas. He never had much love for me, and therefore I dreaded lest he should change his mind and leave his property to someone else. I came to England to look after my interests, and then learned that a new will had been made leaving the money to Mona. My father, to give him his due, was ashamed of himself, and proposed that the affairs should be settled by marriage, so that both Mona and I should benefit. I loved her, and agreed to the arrangement, but she scorned me, and so——"
"And so her uncle died," ended Prelice, looking sharply at the captain.
Jadby whirled round furiously, and stamped. "My father's death has nothing whatever to do with my engagement to Mona."
"I never was engaged to you," she interposed swiftly; "it was because you persecuted me that I asked Ned to stand between us. I have known Ned for years, and he is a loyal gentleman."
"Very loyal," sneered Jadby, with quivering lips, "to love one woman and become engaged to another."
Shepworth would have spoken, but Mona prevented him. "There is no need for you to excuse yourself, Ned," she said coldly, and addressed herself to the fuming captain. "When I asked Mr. Shepworth to pretend to be engaged to me, so that your worrying might be stopped, he told me that he loved another woman——"
"A woman who is——"
Shepworth threw up his hand. "If you dare to say a word," he cried menacingly, "I shall break your neck."
"There is no need," said Mona again, while Prelice, keenly observant, held his peace. "I can explain to Captain Jadby, and then he can go."
"I have heard enough," said the sailor hoarsely, and glared. "To fool your uncle—my father," he added with emphasis, "and to fool me, you pretended to engage yourself to this man."
"You have stated the position accurately," said Mona with great calmness. "Mr. Shepworth and I have paid you out. We have played a comedy by which you, for your insolence, have been deceived."
"Mona!" The man took a step forward imploringly.
Miss Chent receded. "I am not afraid of you now," she declared in a clear voice, "although you did your best to frighten me. And I do not allow anyone to call me Mona save those I love. You may be my cousin for all I know, but I don't like you, and I shall have nothing to do with you. My fictitious engagement with Mr. Shepworth is at an end," she concluded, slipping off a ring and passing it to Ned, who put it in his pocket; "and you, I understand, have the property, since the will in my favour has been destroyed. There is no more to be said."
"There is this to be said," shouted Jadby, the veins on his forehead swelling dangerously, "that this house is mine, and you shall leave it."
Mona faced him coolly. "Mr. Martaban looks after my interests," she declared, quite composed; "as soon as he tells me to leave I shall do so, but until then I am mistress here, and I order you to go."
Jadby would have disobeyed, as he was furious at the failure of his two thunderbolts. He had hoped to overwhelm Mona by stating that he was her cousin, and he had hoped to separate her from Shepworth by telling of the latter's infatuation for Mrs. Dolly Rover. Having failed, he looked like a fool, and would have tried to recover his ground by insisting upon remaining, but that Prelice rose to his feet and Shepworth took a step forward. Jadby was no coward, for the drop of white blood in him came from a brave old stock; but the odds were too great. Moreover, he really and truly loved his cousin, and his soul was torn within him at the thought of losing her. With a sudden revulsion of feeling, the tears sprang to his dark eyes, although he was by no means a tearful individual. Putting out his hands blindly, he groped his way to the door. Mona's generous heart smote her when she saw the man brought thus low, and she sprang forward to lay her hand on his arm. "Do not go in anger, Felix," she pleaded, using his christian name, as Sir Oliver had often done; "if you are my cousin—and I believe that you have spoken the truth—let us part in peace. Shake hands."
Jadby dashed the tears from his eyes and her hand from his arm. Her appeal brought back the original devil to his semi-civilised heart fiercer than ever. "Will you be my wife?" he demanded savagely.
"No. I cannot."
"Do you love anyone else?"
Mona drew herself up, quivering. "You have no right to ask that."
"Perhaps not," raged the captain, with contempt, "because you love a man who is in love with a married woman, and——"
Shepworth ran forward, his face white and his eyes bright. "Silence!" he exclaimed, and took Jadby by the shoulders.
"I shall not be silent," shrieked the half-caste, becoming feminine and abusive in his towering passion. "You and your Mrs. Rover, who——"
What else he would have said neither Mona nor Prelice knew, for the barrister, becoming suddenly silent, after the manner of the angered white man, ran Jadby swiftly out of the room. The semi-Polynesian kicked and shrieked and swore, and even tried to bite. But Shepworth, with set teeth and grim eyes, forced him along the hall, and out of the front door. The next moment Jadby was lying on his back some distance away, with Shepworth blocking the door of the house he claimed.
"You devil!" yelled the half-caste, and he leaped up, to slip his hand behind him. The barrister flung himself down, while three shots rang out from the captain's derringer, then sprang to his feet on hearing no more. Apparently only three chambers had been loaded, for Shepworth, filled with wrath at this treachery, dared the worst, and ran blindly down the steps. Jadby flung away the still smoking weapon with an oath, and sped down the avenue, as though the fiend himself was after him. For some little distance Shepworth followed, until he lost him on the wide Downs, and then returned to the Grange, to meet Prelice coming down the avenue at top speed.
"Are you hurt, Ned?" shouted his friend.
"One of the bullets ripped my arm, but it's nothing to speak of," was Shepworth's reply. "Where's Mona?"
"She ran upstairs to see Mrs. Blexey. I'll send up and let her know that you are all right. I say, Ned, you have made a dangerous enemy."
"Oh, damn the danger," growled Shepworth, who was furious—"the low, mean, sulking hound. He insulted me before on account of Constance, and that was why we fought. He hadn't a revolver then, and I gave him a black eye, the brute."
"And are you really in love with Constance?" asked Prelice doubtfully.
"Yes," said Ned gruffly, and not seemingly inclined to talk about the matter just then. "I'll tell you all about it some day. Meanwhile let us reassure Mona, and get my arm bathed. It's only a scratch."
"But one moment, Ned," said Prelice, holding him back from entering the house. "You are not actually engaged to Mona—I mean Miss Chent?"
"No. I only agreed so as to save her from Jadby's insolence and Sir Oliver's persecution."
"Then Miss Chent is heart-whole?"
"Entirely, so far as I know," replied Shepworth dryly; and then wheeling to face his friend: "Why do you ask these questions?"
"I'll tell you all about it some day," said Prelice, echoing the former speech of the barrister. "Halloa, here's Mona—that is, Miss Chent herself." It was indeed Mona who appeared at the top of the steps, with Mrs. Blexey and two footmen behind her. She looked pale, and hurried forward. "Are you hurt, Ned?" she asked anxiously. "I heard the shots."
"It's only a flea-bite," said Ned quickly; "don't bother about it. I'll go to my room and bathe it."
"Let me do that, sir," said Mrs. Blexey; and Shepworth, nodding a faint assent, for he had lost some blood, went into the house, and up the wide oaken stairs. Prelice lingered behind with Mona.
"I am so glad," he said meaningly.
"That Ned has been shot? How cruel of you."
"No, no, no! You must be aware that I am glad, because——"
"I haven't time to listen now," said Mona, her face crimson and her eyes very bright. "I have to send a telegram."
"To whom?" demanded Prelice as she disappeared through the hall.
"To Dr. Horace," came back the reply; and then the young man in addition to his other puzzled thoughts had this new one concerning his former fellow-traveller.
"I wonder what she wants with Horace?" he asked himself.
The answer came at dinner, when Mona was in the safe presence of Ned, and Prelice could make no demonstration of the feelings he had for her—feelings which she had guessed long since existed. Shepworth's wound, which was worse than he admitted, had been bound up, and he was in very good spirits. Mona, startled by the events of the afternoon, looked pale, and was rather restless. But Prelice said nothing. In the first place, he could not in the presence of a third party, even though that party was his school-chum; and in the second, he was too happy to speak much. All he could do, and did do, was to fill his eyes and heart with the pale beauty of Mona Chent. After all, the gods had been very good to him by removing an apparently impassable barrier.
It was Shepworth who asked why Mona had sent the wire to Dr. Horace, and Prelice listened with great interest to her reply.
"After the case," explained the girl, more to Martaban than to the young men, "Dr. Horace sent and congratulated me on the verdict. Also he wrote a note saying that if Jadby proved dangerous—those were his words—that I was to wire to him, and he would draw Jadby's teeth—his own words again, Mr. Martaban."
"Do you know Dr. Horace?" asked the solicitor, looking puzzled.
"No. I never set eyes on him until he stepped into the witness-box to give evidence about the herb. But when I heard the shots I knew then that Captain Jadby was becoming dangerous, so I sent off a telegram to Dr. Horace. Just before dinner a reply came."
"And the reply?" asked Shepworth, also puzzled.
"Dr. Horace will be here by ten o'clock to-night."
Prelice stared. "It must be something very important to bring Horace down so promptly. Have you any idea of what he means?"
"No," replied Mona quietly; "all I know I have told you; but if this Dr. Horace can stop Felix from shooting people, it will be as wise to have him down."
"Felix," muttered Prelice discontentedly. Mona shot a smiling glance at him, not ill pleased to see how openly jealous he was, even though he had no official right to be so. "He is my cousin, you know," she said sweetly.
"I don't believe it," said Shepworth sharply.
"I do, and if you will look at Uncle Oliver's portrait up there," she turned to point at the wall, "you will see that there is a likeness between him and Felix, only Felix is darker," finished Mona.
Prelice did not argue, but sat restlessly in his seat. When Mona left the three men over their wine they had a long discussion concerning the present aspect of things, and formed a committee of three to decide what was best to be done. Lord Prelice insisted upon going up to London for an interview with Madame Marie, while Shepworth was equally certain that the trail of Jadby ought to be followed. As to Mr. Martaban, he openly bewailed the loss of the will, which would have placed Mona in possession of the Lanwin property.
As the dinner was late, the three men lingered for a considerable time talking of what was best to be done, and the stable clock struck ten before they were aware of the passing of time. At once Prelice jumped up and walked into the drawing-room. There, to his surprise, he found Dr. Horace, more shaggy and uncouth than ever, sitting comfortably beside Mona Chent. The two looked like Titania and Bottom the Weaver.
"How on earth did you come here?" asked Prelice, amazed.
"Walked," retorted Horace gruffly. "I caught an earlier train, and so got here before the time mentioned in my wire. Good-evening, Shepworth; so you've been killed. Eh?"
"Oh, I'm alive yet," laughed the barrister; and then Dr. Horace was introduced to Mr. Martaban, to whom he immediately addressed himself.
"I'm glad that you are here," he said in his usual growling tones. "I mean you, sir, the land-shark. I've some business for you."
"Is this the time to talk business?" said Martaban somewhat annoyed, as after a good dinner he did not feel able to give advice.
"Judge for yourself," said Horace, fishing a blue envelope, foolscap size, out of the breast-pocket of his shabby coat. "Look at that."
Martaban did so, and so did Prelice and Shepworth, peering over the shoulder of his dress-coat. Martaban uttered a cry of amazement.
"Why, it's the missing will!" he almost shouted.
On hearing Martaban's surprised cry, everyone stood still and silent out of sheer amazement. The unexpected had happened with a vengeance; and Dr. Horace, quite delighted with the sensation that he had produced, rubbed his hairy hands with a grim chuckle.
"Quite dramatic, isn't it!" said Horace.
Martaban drew a long breath, and clutched the document, as though he feared that it would vanish into thin air, like Macbeth's witches. "I am surprised," he confessed, staring at the doctor. "How did you become possessed of this, sir?" And in asking that very pertinent question he anticipated the speech of the others.
Horace did not answer immediately. Without requesting permission, he produced his immense German pipe, already stuffed as full as it would hold with strong tobacco, and lighted it calmly. Prelice looked annoyed at this breach of good manners, and would have stepped forward to remind Horace that he was not in his native wilds, but that Mona, guessing his intention, made a little gesture to stop him. Seeing what Dr. Horace had done, she was prepared to forgive him everything. Besides, the great traveller was such an eccentric person that no one could be angry when he behaved like a bear. It seemed natural that he should. Meanwhile the lawyer, becoming impatient, repeated his query.
"How did I become possessed of it?" said Horace, lying back luxuriously and puffing out white clouds of smoke. "Well, I might say that I murdered Lanwin, mightn't I?"
"Yes, you might," remarked Mona, smiling, "but you will not."
"No," sighed Horace, with an odd expression on his large face; "it would be an anti-climax."
"Oh, hang your dramatic instincts," said Prelice crossly. "Why can't you answer the question?"
"I am about to, if you will hold your tongue and sit down. You always did have too much chin-music, Prelice. Well," he looked round with a grin, like a somewhat malicious monkey, "if you must know, I got that will from Agstone."
Mona dropped back into the seat whence she had arisen, and her example was followed by the three men. Horace's calm announcement took their several breaths away, and their individual legs could support them no longer. "It seems to me," cried Prelice, much annoyed, "that you are presuming on our credulity."
"No; I am telling you the truth."
"But did you know Agstone?" demanded Shepworth, staring.
"Oh yes. He was my brother."
"What! What! What!" quacked Martaban like an excited duck.
"Go slow, old son of a gun," said the doctor, smoking calmly. "I told Lord Prelice yonder of my relationship, and there is no need for me to explain the same to you, beyond stating the fact that Steve Agstone was my brother. He knew of my address in London, and came to see me on the day after the murder."
"Why didn't you give him in charge?" asked the lawyer.
Horace surveyed the red face turned towards him in an aggravatingly calm way. "For two reasons," he grunted—"firstly, Agstone was my brother, and dog doesn't eat dog; secondly, I had no reason to believe that he had anything to do with the death."
"But the knife which he brought to Mr. Shepworth's flat——"
"Oh yes!" Horace glanced at the two young men and chuckled; "but you see there was no mention of the knife when Steve came to see me. Still, I must admit that he feared lest he should be accused of the crime."
"Oh!" cried Mona, sitting bolt upright, "then he did not accuse me again?"
"Not to me," answered the doctor promptly; "in fact, Steve seemed to be rather friendly inclined towards you."
"No! No! No!" cried Mona earnestly. "He never liked me; he was jealous because my uncle loved me."
"Well," Horace looked at his pipe rather than at the speaker, "I should not say that if I were you. In my opinion Steve was not so very devoted to Lanwin as was made out——"
"But I thought——"
"Never mind what you thought," said Horace rudely, and rose to walk up and down the room. "I am here to tell you facts. When I have explained as much as is possible for me to explain, I'm going."
"Won't you stop here for the night?" asked Mona, surprised.
"No," retorted Horace abruptly; "I won't. Now listen, as my time is valuable, and I can't remain here chattering nonsense, and——"
"And behaving rudely," finished Prelice, with sarcasm.
"Oh, you're there, my son, with your monkey-brand manners. There, there!" he went on teasingly, as Prelice jumped up, flushing, "don't get out your little gun. There's a lady present."
"I wish you would remember that."
"Oh, so I do. There's a lady present who wishes to hear how I became possessed of a document which gives her ten thousand a year. Very good, don't interrupt, or——" Horace broke off with a gruff laugh. "What bad manners you civilised people have."
Prelice looked despairingly at Shepworth. It seemed impossible to bring this uncouth person to the point. But Mona was laughing at the bearlike antics of the traveller, although Mr. Martaban's indignant face showed how his feelings were outraged. "This," cried the lawyer, "is quite intolerable."
"Cock-a-doodle-doo," crowed Horace derisively; then unexpectedly whirled a chair round between his stumpy legs, and sat down, leaning his arms over the back, to address his audience as it were from an imaginary pulpit. "Listen," said Horace gravely, and the smiles gave place to watchfulness on every face. "My brother came to see me on the day after the murder. I had already read of Lanwin's death in the papers, and asked Steve how his master came by his end. Steve swore that he did not know, but stated that he quite expected to be accused. He then lugged that blue envelope which Mr. Martaban is holding out of his pocket, and passed it along to me. Before I could open the envelope he was out of the house, and I never heard of him again until Prelice yonder brought me the report of his death in Shepworth's flat. When alone I opened the envelope, and found the will."
"Why didn't you bring it forward at once?" fumed the lawyer.
"Because I thought that its production might implicate Steve, and I didn't wish to have Steve hanged for a crime which he did not commit."
"Are you sure that he did not?" asked Shepworth, meaningly.
"One is sure of nothing in this old ramshackle world," said Horace philosophically; "but what I want you all to understand is that Steve told me nothing. Why he should bring me the will I can't say, and he did not wait to tell me how he became possessed of it. I should have brought it forward at the trial, but that the papers hinted at the burning of this will being a point in Miss Chent's favour. I therefore waited until Miss Chent was acquitted, and resolved only to use the will when Jadby—whom I don't like—tried to secure this property. Miss Chent sent me the wire to-night, saying that Jadby was making himself disagreeable, so I came down with the will.Youhave it, Mr. Land-shark," he added, looking at Martaban, "so that is a present for you, Miss Chent." He pulled out a small white paper packet from his breast-pocket, and flung it dexterously across the room. "You will find that useful should Captain Jadby prove to be troublesome, as he will now that he has lost the money. That is all my mission here." He jumped away from his chair unexpectedly, and trotted to the door, where he turned to survey the company. "Good-night."
"Stop, stop!" cried Mona, running to the door, through which he had so promptly vanished; and the others following, echoed her urgent cry. But by the time they reached the hall the door was wide open, and Horace had disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowed him up. Beyond was the darkness, which veiled him. "Is he mad?" asked Mona, turning an amazed face to the three men.
"Mad or not, he has done you a service," said Martaban, looking down at the will, which he still held. "This is undoubtedly your uncle's last testament, which wasnotburnt. It is signed by Sir Oliver in the presence of Stephen Agstone and Emma Blexey. What a facer this will be for our South Sea friend," ended the lawyer, actually becoming slangy in his delight.
"Ought we to follow Horace?" Shepworth asked.
"No," replied Prelice, who was frowning at Horace's manners; "even if we caught up with him, he would say nothing. We must wait to see if he will again intervene in the case."
"He seems to have washed his hands of it," said Ned, sauntering back to the drawing-room.
"He did so before, yet when Miss Chent wired he came down. I wonder——" Prelice paused, and bit his fingers.
"You wonder what?"
"If Horace killed Sir Oliver and Agstone."
Shepworth stared. "That's a rotten bad shot, Dorry. Why should he?"
"Oh, I can assign no reason, but——"
"My dear old chap, it is absurd. I know you are thinking of the will being brought here by Horace; but why should not his story be a true one, since Agstone is his brother?"
"Well," Prelice threw out his hands with a despairing gesture, "I can't understand the whole business; it passes my powers of comprehension."
Before Ned could reply Mona summoned both the young men. Along with Martaban, she had been opening the parcel which Horace had thrown across the room, and was now exclaiming at its contents. "Ned, Lord Prelice, here is the Sacred Herb."
They hurried over to have a look, and there sure enough was the yellowish stalk of the herb from Easter Island, bearing seven or more purple leaves. In addition, there was a written paper, which Mona read aloud.
"Use the enclosed when Jadby comes to close quarters and makes himself unpleasant," she read in a bewildered manner; "also, it will be as well for you to use your power over Lord Prelice to prevent his searching further in this case. If he meddles with what does not concern him, it means sorrow, and perhaps a public scandal."
There was a dead silence. "Now what does that mean?" asked Mona.
No one knew; no one dared to suggest an explanation. Prelice was the first to speak. "I advise you, Miss Chent, to obey Horace, and keep this herb constantly in your pocket. He is not the man to give a warning without some grave reason. He has saved you once from Jadby, and this herb, as he plainly says, intimates that it will save you again."
"But why should——"
"Oh!" Prelice shrugged his shoulders. "I can explain nothing. And with your leave I shall go back to Hythe, Ned."
"I remain here for the night," replied the barrister.
"All right, I shall see you in the morning." And Prelice sauntered to the door, after bowing to Miss Chent. He did not dare to take her hand, for fear he should never let go of it again. But she hurried after him, and spoke anxiously in the hall as he put on his light summer overcoat. This hasty departure annoyed her, as she showed plainly.
"Why will you not remain and talk over this strange matter?" she asked.
"No, no!" answered the young man, averting his eyes and quickly opening the door himself, since no footman was at hand: "But if you will permit me, I shall come here at five in the morning."
"At five? Why at five?"
"Then is the breaking of a new day," whispered Prelice in a somewhat tremulous voice. "And in the gardens—in the light of the dawn—you can then say—-you can then say——" He repeated the phrase, raised his eyes to meet hers, and left with a hurried good-night.
Mona stood where she was, amazed and confused. "What did he mean?" she asked herself; and immediately her heart explained. A light broke over her lovely face, and she whispered to herself: "At five—in the gardens—in the light of the dawn."
Meanwhile Prelice rushed downward to Hythe through the darkness of the night. There was no moon, but the purple sky scintillated gloriously with stars. A warm wind, laden with the fragrance of wild flowers, was blowing with strange murmurings over the bare spaces of the Downs, and the young man's spirits thrilled to the beauty and peace of the night. He should have thought of the case; of Horace's queer warning, repeated for the third time; and of the behaviour of Captain Jadby, now converted from a secret foe into an open enemy. But he considered nothing of these pressing matters, which had to do with the everyday world. Rather did he think of Mona and her starry beauty; rather did he recall with joy the great truth, which he could scarcely realise, that he was free to woo her, without being disloyal to his bosom friend. Mona was not engaged to Ned; her heart was free to receive a loving occupant; and Prelice, striding through the leafy lanes, swore inly that he would be that occupant. Lady Sophia would be hostile; he knew that from the way in which she had taken leave of the girl. But what did that matter, so long as Mona received him at dawn, in the enchanted gardens of the secluded Grange?
All that night Prelice slept soundly. As a lover, the tumult of his heart should have kept him wide awake, but the transcendental heights to which his thoughts raised him so drew him away from earthly matters that he lost consciousness of physical surroundings. Lying on his bed, the sound of the breaking waves on the rugged beach below the hotel lulled him to sleep. And then his spirit soared to a higher world, spiritual and pure, in which there was no pain or sorrow or weary misunderstandings. When he awoke, with the rosy lights of sunrise streaming through the curtainless window, his spirit told him little of what it had seen in the superphysical world. But Prelice was conscious that somewhere in the vast spaces of the unknown he had met with Mona, and had talked with her for endless periods of time. True, according to the clock, he had slept but a few hours; but, living in eternity, as a true lover should, he took no count of earthly time—man's measure of the eternal. He had lived for thousands of years during the dark hours, kneeling at the feet of Mona, crowned Queen of Dreams, of Kisses. And now he was to see her again in the flesh, gracious and lovely, and—as he knew she would be—truly kind.
The spirit of the man having bathed in the fountain of sleep, rose therefrom pure and undefiled. It seemed meet to Prelice—although he was not usually so imaginative—that he should wear a suit of pure white as symbolic of the coming interview. And as he passed uphill clothed in spotless flannels, with the purity of the dawn stealing into his soul, he felt as though he had been reborn into a fairer and more perfect world. Passing swiftly over the grassy uplands, his eager feet bore him down into the hollow, through the ancient woods, and on to the bird-haunted lawn. And there, in the cold, searching, chaste light of the dawn hours, he beheld his lady standing amidst the dewy grass, waiting for his coming. And she also was clothed in white.
As Prelice came across the lawns, his eyes far off met those of Mona, which shone like twin stars in the rosy flushing of her face. According to precedent, he should have raised his hat; he should have greeted her with a hand-shake; he should have explained his desire for this unconventional meeting. But he did none of these things; neither did she desire that he should do them. Without a words without a pause, he came to her swiftly, and clasped her in his arms. Their lips met in one long kiss, and the awakened birds sang joyfully in the rustling trees. So might Adam have greeted Eve in Paradise, when God presented him with the helpmate who was to be the mother of all mankind.
"And you knew—you knew all the time?" murmured Mona on his breast.
"No, I did not know, more shame to me. I really thought that you were engaged to Ned."
"I don't mean that. But surely you knew—you guessed that I loved you, and you only?"
"No. How could I when——"
"I showed my love in a hundred ways," she said, with a playful laugh. "Oh, Lord Prelice, how very little you know of women."
"I know more than is good for me," he murmured, smiling.
"What?"
"That is, Lord Prelice does," he protested, hedging; "but George is an innocent boy, who knows nothing."
"Who is George?"
"I am." And he kissed her again, victoriously.
Mona laughed happily. "I am afraid that George is not so innocent as he makes himself out to be."
"Teach him to be good, my darling."
"A hard task you set me—George," she lingered lovingly over the name; "and oh, what you must think of me, who take so much for granted."
"I think that you are an angel," he cried fervently.
"Dear, I loved you from the moment I first saw you in that cruel Court."
"And I loved you," she whispered. "I thought that it was merely friendship, until we met again, and then—then, I knew!" She gave a delighted little crow of laughter, which stirred the young man's heart to its depths. Impulsively he dropped on his knees, and kissed her hands alternately, scarcely able to speak.
"I am not worthy of you," he muttered.
"Dear." She stooped, and raised him to her breast. "Let me find out your imperfections by myself."
"I have many," he said humbly.
"And I love you for them. I marry a man in the world of men, and not an archangel; in the same way as you take a faulty woman, and not a spirit of light. But we are spirits, although clothed in coats of skin," she ended gently, "and when the hour strikes we shall know each other."
"Do we not know each other now?"
"No. That is, Mona Chent knows George Prelice."
The young man jumped gaily to his feet. "Enough for the day is the delight therefore," he cried. "I am quite content to know Mona Chent until she becomes Mona Prelice. When will you marry me?"
"So like a man," laughed the girl; "you wish to settle an important future in five minutes. We must wait."
"Wait? Oh no, no! Why should we?"
"Because," Mona laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, "your wife must be like Cæsar's, above suspicion."
"You wish me, then, to go on looking into the case?"
"I do, unless you accept the warning of Dr. Horace."
Prelice threw his panama over the hedge "I accept no warning, since you make me strong to dare it. I shall go on with the case—to-morrow."
"Why to-morrow?"
"Oh, Mona, let me enjoy Paradise for twenty-four hours."
"No. You must act, and at once, lest we lose our Paradise altogether. I don't understand what Dr. Horace means, but in spite of his hints I wish you to look into matters in order to find out who murdered poor Uncle Oliver, and in order to clear my name. You must go up to London to-day and begin your search. It is a sacrifice I ask of you, no doubt, but then love—true love—means sacrifice."
"Very good," said Prelice sedately; "I shall go up by the midday train and interview Madame Marie Eppingrave."
"Why her particularly?"
"She gave the herb to your uncle. Mrs. Blexey mistrusts her. Now," he closed her mouth with a kiss, "not a word more. The gates of Paradise will close in a few hours. Until then——"
"Yes, yes! Until then?"
"Let us play at being Adam and Eve in a garden."
And they did.
It had been Prelice's intention to ask Ned about his love for Constance Rover before leaving the Grange, but on second thought he resolved to wait until he learned more concerning the murders before putting Shepworth in the witness-box. Nevertheless, he was somewhat upset to think that his best friend was entangling himself with a married woman. Prelice was no prude, and had not been a Sir Galahad himself; all the same, he did not think that Ned was acting rightly. Of course, the case was a hard one, since the two truly loved one another. Constance had been sacrificed on the family altar, and to a man who took advantage of her sacrifice to play the tyrant as much as he dared. The poor woman was very unhappy, and it was to be presumed that the man who loved her was unhappy also. It said a great deal for Shepworth and Mrs. Rover that they had not long ago defied conventionality and eloped. Since they had not gone this length, Prelice argued that they were trying to bear their several burdens as honourably as possible. But how long would such endurance last?
According to Shepworth himself, Mona knew of his love for Constance, since he had explained the same when the pretended engagement was made to save the girl from Jadby's wooing and Sir Oliver's persecution. But Prelice, in the first flush of his love, shrank from questioning her about so distasteful a subject; and on her side, Mona was loyally silent, until Ned chose to speak. Thus it came about that, although Prelice met his friend at breakfast, he made no remark about this very private business, and Shepworth did not volunteer an explanation. Rather did the conversation turn on the unexpected appearance of the lost will; and Martaban explained his future actions. These included an immediate journey to London with Mrs. Blexey, who had to make an affidavit as to the authenticity of the document.
Under these circumstances, as Shepworth could scarcely remain at the Grange when both Martaban and the housekeeper were absent, he arranged to go to London with them by the ten o'clock train. Prelice would fain have lingered in those delicious gardens with Mona, but as he knew her views, he kept to his determination. However, when the trio drove away to Hythe, Prelice had a golden hour or so all to himself, and very wisely made the most of it. It was with great regret that he took his way to the station at Hythe and to the train which was to bear him miles away from his goddess. But the memory of the last kiss which she gave him cheered his somewhat despondent mood all the way to Charing Cross. And on stepping on to the platform of the metropolitan station Prelice shook off his dreams, and addressed himself to the task in hand.
As the day was fine, and Prelice, as usual, felt the need of exercise to tame his exuberant spirits—which had quite recovered during the journey—he walked to New Bond Street, and somewhere about three o'clock found himself reading a brass plate inscribed "Madame Marie Eppingrave." And afterwards he entered a narrow and dark passage, to mount a steep flight of stairs, and finally came to the second floor of the building, where the fortune-teller received clients.
A dark-complexioned lad of fourteen, dressed in white robes, with a blue scarf round his waist, received the new-comer, and informed him that Madame Marie was engaged for ten minutes or so. Prelice therefore sat down, and glanced over some papers lying on a round table. These mostly dealt with occult matters up to date, and he speedily grew tired of reading much which he could not understand. The room was small and commonplace, and even ugly in its adornments. The table aforesaid, a few cane chairs, and an old horse-hair sofa completed the furnishings, and two dingy uncurtained windows overlooked Bond Street. There was nothing of the mystical about this very ordinary apartment, and Prelice concluded that Madame Marie certainly did not spend her earnings on magical frippery in order to impress those who called upon her. After a glance round he spoke to the lad, who was seated cross-legged at the door, and asked him if he was a Hindoo.
"No," answered the boy in very good English, and with a flash of snow-white teeth; "I come from the South Seas."
"Indeed," answered Prelice in his turn, and somewhat astonished. "Has your mistress been in the South Seas?"
"Yes, sir. She brought me from Tahiti, but I want to go back again."
Prelice reflected. Tahiti was the home of Captain Jadby, and the former haunt of Sir Oliver Lanwin. He wondered if Madame Marie had met the baronet there. But the lad was not likely to know that, so he asked him another question. "Does your mistress know Captain Felix Jadby?"
The effect on the boy was somewhat strange. He leaped to his feet, and muttered some words in his native tongue, which apparently were not complimentary to the captain, judging from the savage expression of his face. "Madame does know him," he said at length, "and he comes to see her here very often. I don't like him. He kicked me. I would kill him if I were in Tahiti, but here——" The boy shrugged his shoulders, to show that the English law was much too particular.
"Madame loves the captain, and wants to marry him," went on the boy, apparently so carried away by his hate that he said more than was wise, considering his dependent position, "but he loves another, and——" Here the sound of the inner door opening made the lad aware of his folly in speaking secrets to a stranger. He cringed, and caught Prelice's hand. "You will say nothing to her?" he implored.
"No, no," Prelice assured him, and slipped half-a-crown into his hand; "but later you must tell me more. I also dislike Captain Jadby."
"I'll tell you what I can to harm him," said the boy viciously. "He kicked me and struck me—me, the son of a chief. But don't tell her," he added, pointing with a trembling hand to the inner door; "oh, my soul, don't tell her, for she can send the spirits to torment me."
The young man promised again, thinking that the lad in a way was somewhat like Caliban in his fear of spirits, and looked upon Madame Marie as a sort of female Prospero, who could have him pinched black and blue. But he had little time to think about this new ally, who might be of assistance in undermining Jadby's schemes; for a lady, fashionably dressed, and holding a handkerchief to her face, emerged from the inner room. The lad showed her out, and Prelice waited for his reception. A silver bell sounded within, and the boy returned to point meaningly at the door, laying his finger on his lips in token of silence. Prelice nodded reassuringly, and stepped into the shrine.
If the approach to this holy of holies was commonplace, the shrine itself certainly was not. Prelice beheld a room of no great size furnished very oddly—that is to say, it was not furnished in the ordinary acceptation of the word. The ceiling was painted a dull red, and a plain carpet of the same hue was spread over the floor. Two windows looking on to Bond Street were filled in with painted glass, representing various mystical signs, and the four walls were hung with lustreless black stuff, which made the place look like a chapel during a funeral service. But the odd thing was that the red carpet was strewn with perfectly white cushions, and there was neither table nor chair. Tall pillars of black marble stood in the four corners, each bearing a glass ball on its summit, and between the windows was placed a bronze tripod, in which smoked a perfumed fire. What with the dim religious light, the black walls, the red carpet, and the snowy cushions of silk, Prelice felt somewhat dizzy. All this theatrical parade was evidently designed to produce a confusing effect, and unseat as much as possible the reason and judgment of Madame's dupes. Annoyed that he should give way so easily, the young man pulled his wits together, and looked at the priestess who had conceived this artfulmise en scène.
Madame Marie, clothed in a long white silk robe, made perfectly plain, knelt—Japanese fashion—on a cushion in front of the tripod, and with her back to the painted windows. She was a stout, heavy-looking woman, of apparently no great height, with a colourless face, very large and smooth, and with masses of snowy, silvery hair, which tumbled down her back in waves of white. What her figure might be Prelice could not judge because of the robe, but he noted that her hands were slender and beautiful, and also ringless. Indeed, she did not wear a single ornament of any description, and kneeling perfectly motionless, with closed eyes, looked like an idol carved out of alabaster. It was cleverly done, and Prelice, the sceptical, could quite understand how the majority of people yielded to the carefully prepared spells of this managing woman. But it was when Madame Marie opened her eyes that Prelice became aware of the true secret of her power over weaker minds.
These were large and blue and clear, looking from under white eyebrows in a penetrating way, fathomless as the sea, and as mysterious. Prelice met this mystical gaze calmly, but felt his skin prickling, and his will power growing weak. Aware that the seeress was trying to hypnotise him, as she doubtless hypnotised her other clients, the young man concentrated his will to meet and baffle hers. For some time they stared at one another, Prelice looking down from his height, and Madame Marie gazing upward from her cushion. Then the woman closed her eyes again with a somewhat annoyed expression.
"You are not a weak man," she said in a deep melodious voice, like the sound of a mellow bell.
"No," answered Prelice calmly; "I am not!" And he sat down cross-legged on a cushion directly in front of the sibyl.
"Then why do you come to me?" she asked, looking at him steadily; "only weak persons wish to know the future. The man who is strong and self-willed and sceptical, as you are, need learn nothing of the future, which lies in his own hands."
"In the hands of God rather," corrected Prelice. "Do you know who I am?"
"You are Lord Prelice."
"How do you know?"
"I might say by magic, but you would not believe that. I always suit myself to the nature of those I meet, therefore I shall give a commonplace explanation. I saw you in Court, when you gave evidence during the trial of Miss Chent for murder."
Prelice nodded. "I might have guessed that. Do you know why I have come?"
Madame Marie folded her hands calmly before her, and replied equally calmly. "You have come to solve the secret of the murders."
"That is a very clever guess, and I rather think that you can solve the secret, Madame."
"Why should you think so?" she asked with absolute calmness.
"You gave the Sacred Herb to Sir Oliver."
"I did. The Sacred Herb of Easter Island—but I need not explain to you, since you heard what Dr. Horace said in Court. The herb induces trances, and Sir Oliver wished to go into a trance by its aid. I therefore gave him a few twigs."
"Why did Sir Oliver wish to go into a trance?"
"He desired to explore the Astral Plane, if you understand that——"
"I quite understand; I have studied Theosophy. Well?"
"There is nothing more to be said," rejoined Madame Marie, with a little shrug, which hinted at French blood. "He went into a trance, and while his spirit was absent from his body he was murdered."
"Who by?"
"I can't tell you. Even with my powers, and they are great, I am not permitted to know who killed Sir Oliver Lanwin. It was his Karma, and he had to bear it, since he reaped only as he sowed. The Karma of his murderer has nothing to do with me, therefore my sight is veiled, and I cannot read the truth; and if I could," added the woman with emphasis, "you must be aware, if you have studied the occult, that I would not be permitted to tell without permission from those who rule."
"The Lords of Karma?" asked Prelice, wondering if she was talking in earnest, or merely wriggling out of an awkward position.
Madame Marie bowed solemnly. "I see you understand somewhat; but may I ask you to be more open with me regarding the purpose of your visit. You can hardly have come to accuse me of these crimes?"
"No," said Prelice, studying her face carefully; "I think that you are innocent. Let us leave the murders alone for the moment; I want you to help me"—he paused to add effect to his next words—"with Captain Felix Jadby."
The woman's hands moved restlessly, and she began to lose her calmness when the name was pronounced. "I know nothing about Captain Jadby beyond the fact that I met him at Lanwin Grange; but he is not guilty of Sir Oliver's death, if that is what you mean."
"Oh dear me, that is not what I mean at all," rejoined Prelice in his most airy manner, and resolving to be very plain; "but the fact is that Captain Jadby is my rival."
Madame Marie rose as though moved by a spring, and he then saw that she was little, but tremendously dignified. "Your rival!" she repeated, and her marble-white face became crimson with angry blood. At length he had managed to break through her calculated calm. "I understood that Miss Chent was engaged to Mr. Shepworth?"
"Oh, the whole world knows that," replied Prelice, still airy in his manner, "but that was merely an official engagement to prevent Jadby from worrying Miss Chent. Sir Oliver was in favour of the engagement with Jadby, for reasons——"
"I know those reasons—I know that Felix," she let slip the name, forgetting that she had disclaimed intimacy—"that Felix is his son."
"His illegitimate son," said Prelice with emphasis.
"Yes, by the daughter of a chief to whom he was married in native fashion, Lord Prelice. Of course, Captain Jadby," she had the name stiffly by this time, remembering her slip, "came home to look after his interests, and wished to marry another woman; forgetting," cried Madame Marie, beginning to pace the room, "that he was engaged to marry another woman—myself, Lord Prelice—myself."
Remembering what the native boy had said, Prelice expressed no surprise, but rapidly resolved to work on her jealousy. "I congratulate Captain Jadby more than I do you," he remarked gravely.
"Oh, I know that he is not a good man," she cried, now quite the woman, and kicking several cushions out of the way; "but I loved him, I have always loved him, and he owes much to me. He promised, when we met in the South Seas, that he would make me his wife. Not that I am young or beautiful, but because he found in me—so he said—a good comrade. I gave him the money to come home and see his father, and to secure his inheritance if possible. But he saw that girl, and loved her. Oh, how I hate that girl who stole his heart."
"You need not," said Prelice very dryly. "Miss Chent dislikes Jadby immensely, and pretended to be engaged to Shepworth so as to escape his clutches, otherwise Sir Oliver might have worried her into consenting to a marriage which she hated; but Jadby came down the other evening to Lanwin Grange, and knows now that the engagement was a false one. What he does not know," ended Prelice emphatically, "is that Miss Chent is now engaged to me."
"To you!" Madame Marie stopped in sheer surprise, then went on pacing the room, talking half to herself. "But why should I be astonished? I saw her look at you in Court; I noted how you glanced in her direction. I told Jadby that you loved her, and that she loved you."
"Oh, you couldn't be certain," cried Prelice blushing.
"I have occult powers which enable me to read hearts," said Madame Marie coldly, "believe, or disbelieve, as you like."
"I shall believe if you will read my heart now."
"There is no need of my exercising occult powers for that," she replied, waving her beautiful hands; "you wish to learn the truth about the murders so that Miss Chent's name may be cleared and Felix thwarted."
"Yes," said Prelice coolly; "you are right. And you can help me to clear Miss Chent's name, to discover the truth, as I can help you to marry Jadby."
"How can you do that?"
"By marrying Miss Chent myself."
Madame Marie nodded, and thought, pressing her hands to her head. "I can help you by the power of the herb," she said rapidly. "Listen. I shall go into a trance, induced by the herb. Do whatever I say, but do not attempt to waken me. Simply listen to what I say, and then leave the room. I shall send my spirit to seek out the truth; but first," she said, slipping down on to the cushion again, "tell me how much you know."
Prelice saw no objection in being thus clear. Even if Madame Marie wished to work against him—and seeing that her love for Jadby was at stake, he did not think that she would—all that he told her would do little to harm his own schemes. He therefore made no demur, but detailed everything from the time Lady Sophia had first drawn him into the case by sending him to the New Bailey. Madame Marie listened intently, nodding at intervals.
"It is useless for Felix to strive," she said when he ended, and with an air of triumph; "the fate of yourself is mingled with that of the girl. You love so speedily now, because you loved before, in previous incarnations. Her Karma is your Karma. Felix can never marry her, nor can Mr. Shepworth marry her, even if he did not love Mrs. Rover."
"Pardon me," cried Prelice quickly; "I made no mention of Mrs. Rover beyond the fact that she wore the green domino and the scarlet-embroidered dress. And she, as I explained, is innocent. You have no right to talk of Mr. Shepworth's love for a married woman."
"Lord Prelice," said Madame Marie quietly, and moved towards the wall, "my knowledge of these affairs is greater than you imagine. Mrs. Rover has consulted me, and Felix learned—how it matters not—that she loved Mr. Shepworth. However, we can talk of these things another time. I will go into a trance, and search in Alexander Mansions for what I can find, only, as I said, after I have spoken and have become silent, leave this room at once. In due time I shall come out of the trance, when the power of the herb is exhausted."
Prelice nodded in silence, and Madame Marie, drawing aside a portion of the black hangings, revealed a small recess. From this she took some purple leaves, and moving towards the tripod, threw them on the perfumed fire. "Lie down on your face," she commended, "else the fumes will send you into a trance. Quick! The smoke rises."
It certainly did, in a thick white cloud. Madame Marie stood over it, letting the odour flow into her nostrils. Not wishing to experience the power of the herb, as he had witnessed its results before, Prelice lay full length on the red carpet. The smoke was circling so high up that he could not breathe it, although a sickly whiff of tuberose perfume came to his nostrils. Perhaps the draught sweeping from under the door neutralised the powerful scent at this lower level; but be this as it may, Prelice lay perfectly flat, and, as in a dream, heard Madame Marie speak after the manner of the tranced in an unemotional voice, and very distinctly.
"I leave this room," she said in her mellow tones. "I rise high. I pass across London; the streets are under me. I see the Park, and now I poise above Alexander Mansions. I sink; I pass through the roof; I am in Mrs. Rover's flat."
"Search for the dress," commanded Prelice softly.
There was a pause, and then the calm voice sounded again. "I search in Mrs. Rover's room. The dress she wore is there in a wardrobe together with a green domino."
"Search for another dress," said Prelice, risking the chance; "another dress of the same style."
Again there came a pause. "I am searching!" said the voice, and a silence ensued. For quite two minutes it endured; then Madame spoke again, still with the same awful calmness. "A man's dressing-room—in the flat across the landing. I see a cupboard, in which many clothes are hanging up. Men's clothes they are. Behind them is a green domino with a scarlet-embroidered dress sewn to it."
"Who wore it?" asked Prelice, his heart beating.
"I cannot tell. It is not permitted by the Powers."
Then came a long silence.