Mrs. Anchor, _alias_ Miss Fanny Berry, was a pretty little creature even when the searching morning sunlight was full on her face. She had no absolute need of paint and powder to make her attractive. In a tea gown of delicate blue, with a head of fluffy golden hair, and a piquant face, she looked--as the saying is--as pretty as a picture.
Jarman eyed her sternly, and wondered how he could ever have loved a woman possessed of such obviously meretricious charms. Her mouth was hard, and there was an unpleasant glitter in her blue eyes which did not bode well for Eustace. After her failure in San Francisco the lady was intensely suspicious of Jarman, deeming him too scrupulous. Eustace saw the inquiring light in her eyes, and, having his own game to play, he pretended to forget the past, and to be overjoyed at the meeting. Now that he knew who Fairy Fan was, he felt quite certain that Captain Berry would answer readily to the name of Sakers, and hoped to see him before the termination of the interview. Meanwhile, to abate the suspicions of the little lady, he made himself agreeable. And Eustace could be extremely pleasant when it suited his book.
"Mrs. Anchor," he said, advancing with outstretched hands, "this _is_ a surprise."
"An agreeable one, I hope?" replied the lady with an artificial laugh, but searching his face keenly.
"Very agreeable. I have often thought of you, Mrs. Anchor."
Womanlike her thoughts reverted to his love, and she strove to see if she yet had him in her toils. But Eustace did not flush, and the calm expression of his face baffled the reading of his thoughts. A puzzled look which meant, "I-wonder-why-you-called!" crept into her expressive eyes, but beyond this she governed her feelings excellently. But Eustace had interpreted the look, and to rearrange their friendship hastened to explain.
"I have never seen you at the theatre," he said, easily, taking a chair, "so it never struck me that Fairy Fan, who was delighting the British public, was the same as Mrs. Anchor of San Francisco."
"Nor is she," replied the little woman, seating herself on the sofa. "After the sad death of my husband, I took my maiden name again."
"Miss Berry?" inquired Eustace.
"Fanny Berry," she replied, nodding. "I am over here with my uncle." She glanced uneasily at the door, thinking he might come in. "His name is Banjo Berry. He is a merchant captain, but in 'Frisco you knew him as Edward Sakers."
"Oh I thought--"
"I know you did," she interrupted petulantly, "and so did everyone else. But he is my relative, and nothing more. Owing to some trouble connected with the casting away of a fruit schooner on a South Sea reef, he was obliged to call himself Sakers. As I told you, my husband's behaviour became so impossible that I had to leave."
"You never told me that," said Jarman, serenely; "but at our last interview you hinted that I might fight Anchor with revolvers."
"I don't deny it. The man treated me shamefully. I was a good wife to him." Miss Berry--as it is best to call her--squeezed out a tear. "But he--he--well, what's the use of going over the old ground. You know how jealous he was."
"And I know how he loved you," said Eustace, pointedly.
"What about yourself?" she responded flippantly.
"I never lost the right of calling myself your husband's friend."
"No," she taunted, "you hadn't the pluck to do that. You pretended to love me, yet when I would have given you myself and a fortune you drew back."
"The price was too high. And you got someone else to put him out of the way."
Fairy Fan rose indignantly. "I never did!" she declared vehemently. "I was in Chicago at the time. When Anchor's conduct became unbearable I went with my uncle to that city. It was there that we heard of his death."
"Shot and stabbed, wasn't he?"
"Yes. But not by me--not by my uncle, although he was angry at the way in which I had been treated. I left Anchor and intended to get a divorce--but circumstances made me his widow."
"Did it make you a rich woman also?" asked Eustace, remembering the last interview he had with her.
"No," she said quietly. "You never gave me time to tell you about the money. Anchor speculated, and lost his fortune. However, he knew, through some Indian, of a treasure--a Spanish treasure which was buried in a certain place. I wanted him to tell me the secret, but he would not. When he died he took the secret along with him. I am as poor now as I was then, and I shouldn't be acting at the Piccadilly Theatre if I wasn't."
"Why was the death of your husband necessary to your learning the secret?" demanded Jarman, quickly.
Fairy Fan arranged herself on the sofa and took out a case, which she opened, "It wasn't," she said, blandly, selecting a cigarette. "But I feared I wouldn't get a divorce, and so I wished him out of the way. You were too scrupulous, although all you had to do was to pick a quarrel with him. You were a better shot than he was."
"I don't commit murder even for love, Mrs. Anchor."
"Berry, if you please. Love!" she repeated, lighting the cigarette. "You don't know the meaning of the word. Had you really and truly loved me you would have rid me of the man who struck me."
"Did he strike you?"
"I was beaten black and blue. I told you so," she retorted. "Would any woman put up with that treatment? I hated the man!" She clenched her small fist, and her face grew angry. "I would have killed him myself had I been able."
"Perhaps, as you didn't, you got someone else to--"
"How dare you say that, Eustace!" Jarman winced as she called him by the old name. "I tell you I knew nothing of the matter. If you have come here to denounce me for the murder of my husband, you have wasted your time. There is no evidence which can connect me with that crime, or my uncle either. We are quite at our ease--quite!"
"I never thought of doing such a thing," said Jarman, drily. "My coming here is a pure accident. I live in Essex, and rarely come to town. I had not the slightest idea of your identity. It was simply and solely to write you a sketch and make money that I came."
"Why did you write under a false name?"
"Bah! You understand well enough. I am known as Leonard Grant in this line, as I'm not proud of the occupation of writing these drivelling things. You--so far as I knew--were a stranger to me. I wrote you under the name I was best known by, to do the sketch. Fan--"
"Don't call me Fan!" she said petulantly.
"Well, I treated you so badly that I don't deserve much at your hands, my dear," he said, with feigned penitence, "but for the sake of old times let me call you by the old name."
"My uncle will not like it. He will be here soon, and should he hear you call me by so intimate a name he will be angry. He is very, very particular."
Jarman privately thought that an ex-skipper, who had cast away a schooner and had to change his name for that reason, had no need to be so scrupulous. But he did not believe in the relationship, and suspected that Fairy Fan was telling glib lies. However, it suited him to accept the story she set forth, and he swallowed the scrupulous Captain Banjo Berry along with the other fiction.
"I'll call you Miss Berry when he comes, but till then--" He looked imploringly.
She gave him a coquettish smile. "Very well, till then, Eustace!"
Jarman knew perfectly well that she was calculating to make use of him, and wished her to think so. Should she accept him as a colleague in the swindle which she and her so-called uncle were perpetrating, he might more easily penetrate the secret of Starth's murder.
"Then tell me, Fan, was it ever discovered who killed Anchor?"
"How you harp on that, Eustace! Yes. An old partner of his, whom he cheated in connection with a mining claim, shot him."
"And who thrust the knife into his heart?"
"A Chinaman. He found the body, or rather, he found Anchor dying, and intended to rob him. When Anchor opened his eyes and tried to sing out for the police Lo Keong knifed him. The Chinaman has been hanged, but the man who fired the shot got away. And now don't let's talk any more about the matter; it gives me the horrors. I'm doing very well here, and I hope to make a lot of money. Then I shall retire."
"And marry again?"
Fairy Fan shot a second provocative glance. "Perhaps," she said.
"H'm!" Jarman resolved to startle her. "So Walter Starth was not to your taste?"
He woefully failed to bring about the desired result. Fan was too old a hand to be startled. "You've been reading the papers?" she said.
Jarman nodded. "I saw that both Starth and the man who is supposed to have killed him loved you."
"They did, and I refused both of them. Nice boys, but a couple of paupers. If I marry again, I marry money. But why do you use the word 'supposed.' Frank Lancaster murdered Starth, sure enough."
"So the jury say, but--"
"And so I say. I know exactly how it happened. Starth thought that I was going to marry Lancaster, and they had a row. Then Frank, who always carried a revolver, shot him."
"And knifed him afterwards like your friend, Lo Keong, did Anchor."
"That _was_ strange," admitted Fan, thoughtfully. "I don't think such a nice boy as Frank would act so brutally; and it's odd that my husband should have been treated in the same way."
"A coincidence, I suppose," said Eustace, indifferently, knowing that Fan was watching him closely. "What's become of Lancaster?"
"I don't know. I wish I did. He should hang."
"I thought you liked him, as a nice boy."
"So I did," she replied, "but I liked Starth better."
"Oh!" Jarman found it difficult to believe this. She eyed him suspiciously, and he would have explained himself further, but that Banjo Berry, followed by a young man, entered the room.
"Uncle," said Fan, rising and anticipating Eustace, "who do you think Leonard Grant, who wants to do the sketch, is?"
"Well, this is very curious," said Berry, shaking Eustace by the hand in the warmest and most friendly way. "Jarman, of 'Frisco."
"That's me," responded Eustace. "How are you, Sakers?"
Berry winked. "Don't need that name now," said he. "There's no chance of my getting run in for piling up that old schooner at Samoa. I'm Banjo Berry now. M'own name, and it's a hummer in the South Seas."
"I've been explaining all that to him," said Fan, impatiently. "I say, Mr. Jarman"--Eustace observed the punctiliousness--"do you know this boy, Natty Denham?"
The boy, so-called, was a callow young gentleman of twenty-five, dark-haired and brown-complexioned. He had a pleasant smile but rather a vacant expression, and in Jarman's mind was sized up, not exactly as a fool, but as a youth of rather weak will. He thrust forward a slim hand, and gave Eustace a nerveless handshake.
"How do you do?" he said, talking very fast. "I never met you in 'Frisco, but I saw you often. I'm Chicago m'self, and came to this old country along with the Captain and Miss Berry."
"You never met in 'Frisco?" asked Fan, addressing Jarman.
"No. I heard you talk of Mr. Denham, though."
It seemed to Eustace that both Fan and her uncle were rather relieved by this admission, and he wondered what connection this fool could have with the game the two were playing. He fancied that Denham was the pigeon, and Berry & Co. the hawks. It also struck him that if he could get Natty to himself he might find out something, always supposing that the young fellow knew anything. Later on, after a desultory and friendly conversation, Natty gave him an opening.
"I say," said he, "you live down in Essex?"
"Yes. At Wargrove."
Natty nodded to Fan and the Captain. "I knew," he said. "Can't understand how it slipped my memory."
"What slipped your memory, Bub?" asked Berry, sharply.
"Why, that he"--he nodded towards Eustace--"was in Essex. When Starth took me down to see that pretty sister of his, he said something about Jarman. I remember now."
"Why didn't you tell me, Natty," said Fan, in so cooing a voice that Eustace guessed she was thoroughly angry.
"I forgot. Can't remember anything," rattled on the youth. "I say"--suddenly turning to Eustace--"awful about poor Starth. Eh?"
"Oh, give it a rest," cried Berry, savagely. "You've done nothing but jaw of that since it happened. Jarman, wasn't it you who introduced him to Lancaster? Quite so. H'm! guess Lancaster's an almighty friend of yours. Eh?"
"Well, he was," drawled Jarman, seeing that his reply was awaited with much interest, "but now--" Eustace shrugged his shoulders. "I don't much care to consort with criminals."
"Right, sir. You don't happen to know where he's skipped to?"
"Certainly not. He legged it sharp to escape the police."
"He won't escape me," said Berry, grimly. "I'm goin' to get that young man lynched, you bet. I loved Starth just like a son."
Jarman laughed. "Yet Starth wasn't a lovable man," he said.
"Oh, there was no end of good in him when you got at it," replied the little skipper, solemnly. "Besides, we had a scheme on to make money."
"What sort of a scheme?"
"Never mind," said Berry. "He's dead now, and the scheme's up a tree."
"I suppose Miss Starth's cut up?" said Denham to Eustace.
"Naturally. Her only brother."
"I guess she needs a heap of consolation," went on the young man artlessly. "It's just in my mind to go down and see her."
Jarman was not at all pleased at this proposition, and was inclined to reply in the negative. But a bright thought struck him--a very daring thought of the nature of bluff. Denham was a fool, and not at all observant. It might be that if he came down and saw Mr. Desmond O'Neil he might be able to dispel any suspicions which might afterwards take shape in the minds of Fan and her uncle. With this idea he gave Natty an invitation.
"Come and stop with me," he said cordially. "There is no one with me but my secretary, an Irish chap called O'Neil. You'd get on well with him."
Natty seemed inclined to accept, but looked at Berry for instruction.
The skipper nodded. "Go by all means, and have a good time."
"You never ask me," said Fan, reproachfully, to her old lover.
"I'm afraid a bachelor establishment is not quite a paradise to ladies," said Eustace, laughing; "but if you will spend the day I'll be very pleased. When will you come down?" he asked Denham.
Berry answered. "He can come on Saturday," said he, "as I'm going to-morrow to see an old friend for a couple of days. I'll be back in the morning--Saturday morning, that is. I don't want Fan to be left."
"Is it Balkis you're going to see?" asked Denham.
Jarman nearly uttered an exclamation of surprise, for Balkis was the name of the negress in the portrait which Lancaster had seen in Starth's rooms. Berry didn't seem pleased at Natty's speech, and Fan frowned. But they both laughed indulgently.
"It isn't Balkis," said Berry, "but a marine officer I'm seeing in connection with Lancaster. He's left the country, and I think I know the ship he's skipped by."
"That's clever of you," said Jarman, rising to take his leave. "If you catch him, Captain, you'll do more than the police."
"Huh!" scoffed Berry. "Your police are fools. Most people in this old country are. I can squash the lot of them. Lancaster too, you bet!"
Eustace laughed when on his way home. He was pretty certain that, having already made a false start about Lancaster, Berry would _not_ squash him. Jarman hoped to gather a great deal from Natty's prattle.
Frank was not at all pleased when he heard that Denham was coming down to the Shanty. The experiment was too risky, as there was every chance that the young man would recognise him, in which case he would at once put the revengeful Berry on the scent. But Jarman did not look at the matter in this light, and explained himself after sundry questions.
"Have you met Denham often?" he asked.
"Yes. He was always dodging round the Berry establishment."
"I thought he lived with them."
"No, he had diggings some way off. Berry, so he told me, is a kind of guardian to him."
"Does a man require a guardian at the age of twenty-three?"
"Denham's twenty-five. He's almost the same age as I am, although I look older," said Lancaster; "and I should think, seeing what a fool he is, that he will require a guardian all his life."
"Then you think he's more fool than knave?" asked Eustace, ruminating.
Frank nodded emphatically. "I don't think he's a rascal at all, whatever the Captain may be. Denham's just a silly, good-natured ass, who would give his head away. He has a weak will, and is quite under the thumb of Berry."
"Did you fraternise with Denham?"
"No. His cackle got on my nerves. But he knows me well enough to spot me should I betray myself."
"Then you must not betray yourself," said Eustace, decidedly. "So far as looks go, he won't know you. I would defy even a detective to penetrate your disguise."
"Denham may twig me by my voice."
"I don't think from what I saw of him that he is so observant. Besides, I shall give you something to roughen your voice. You can say you have a cold."
Frank stared at his friend. "You seem to be up to all the tricks."
Jarman nodded. "I thought of being a detective myself once, and I practised for a time. I have all the materials for disguise here. I told you so when I made you up as Desmond O'Neil. I can get into the skin of a character with ease, and that's what you have to do. You are not Frank Lancaster, remember, but Desmond O'Neil from County Kerry."
"But, I say, Eustace, why do you want Denham down here?"
"Well, I wish him to report to the Berry lot that there is no concealment about me. They may suspect that I know something of your whereabouts, and I don't want either one to drop down upon me. Denham is a fool, and what he sees he will report to them in his artless fashion. Consequently, Berry and Fan will trust me. I want to get in with them and learn what they are up to."
"Do you think Denham can tell you?"
"No," said Eustace, promptly, "I don't. Whatever the game is, that boy is in the dark. He has much too loose a tongue for Berry to trust him with his secrets."
"But what's Berry bothering about him for?"
"That's what I want to find out. Denham may know something. For instance, he mentioned the name of Balkis, as I told you."
"What's the use of that?" asked Frank, gloomily.
"This much. Starth had her portrait, and Berry is in touch with her. I want to learn why Berry calls at an opium shop at the docks. He's going there, I'm sure, to see Balkis."
The two were standing by the window chatting in this way. As Eustace repeated the name of Balkis there sounded a low moan, which made the speakers turn. Miss Cork, with the tablecloth over her arm, stood at the open door, her thin face as white as the linen she bore. Apparently she had entered silently, as was her wont, to lay the table for luncheon, and had overheard the name. Like a statue she stood, her vacant eyes fixed on Jarman.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
Miss Cork's lips moved. "Balkis!" she said in a whisper.
"What about Balkis. Do you know the name?"
"Balkis!" said Miss Cork again. Then she threw down the cloth and ran back to the kitchen. Eustace followed and found her moaning in a chair. Rather brutally he shook her.
"What's all this?" he asked.
Miss Cork went on moaning. "I had a child--" she began; then shut up, and not another word could he get out of her.
After many fruitless inquiries Eustace returned to the sitting-room to explain. "I told you I didn't trust her," said Frank, whose fears took shape at once. "She is a silent, secretive woman. I am sure she will get me into trouble. Why should she know that name?"
"I can't say. And now she talks of some child--her own, she says. But you needn't be afraid, Frank, she's as true as steel."
"I don't trust her," said Frank, doggedly. "Where did you pick her up?"
Jarman, driven into a corner, replied reluctantly: "In a London court."
"A police-court?" inquired Lancaster; then, when he received a nod, went on: "Then she's dangerous. What do you know of her past?"
"Nothing. She never speaks of it. The poor wretch was taken up for vagrancy, and afterwards was handed over to the missionary. I knew the chap, and he told me what a capital cook the woman was, and how she needed a good home to put her right. She came to me as Miss Cork, and I have had no reason to regret having played the part of a good Samaritan. But it's strange that the name of Balkis should upset her."
"Won't she explain?"
"No. She is a very obstinate woman when the fit takes her."
But the fit apparently did not seal Miss Cork's mouth on this occasion. A soft knock at the door told of her return, and she presented herself quietly. Picking up the cloth she proceeded to lay the table, and without looking at the men proceeded to exculpate herself.
"I ask your pardon," she said, in her whispering voice. "I ask your pardon, Mr. Jarman, and yours, sir, but the name Balkis--" Here she stopped, and laid her hand on her heart. "I had a child of that name."
"Ah!" said Jarman, sympathetically, while Frank still looked suspicious. "And the name brings sad memories to you?"
Miss Cork nodded. "I'm a married woman," she said softly, "but my husband left me to starve--with the child, and--and--"
"And the child died?"
"No?" she burst out fiercely. "The child was stolen!"
"By whom?"
Miss Cork stopped, and her fingers worked convulsively, as though they were clutching at a throat. "I wish I knew--I wish I knew!" she said, savagely, and the expression of her lean face surprised Jarman, who had always considered her an apathetic woman. Perhaps his looks warned her that she was betraying too much of her unknown past, for she pulled herself up with a faint titter.
"I'm a Billericay woman myself," she began, when Jarman cut her short.
"That's nonsense!" he said sternly. "You know you are not."
"I've said all I have to say," said Miss Cork, quite irrelevantly, "and if you aren't pleased, Mr. Jarman, I'll go."
"I don't want you to go, and I ask you nothing," he replied.
"My child was called Balkis," went on Miss Cork, "and she was stolen five years ago. I've been looking for her ever since. She will be seventeen years old by now, and I lost her five years ago--yes, five years ago," she kept on repeating. "I've been looking for her ever since."
"A strange name Balkis?" said Jarman, watching her.
"My husband was in the East. It came from the East, that name. I'm a Billericay woman myself, and--" She giggled, then shook her head and withdrew swiftly.
The two men looked at one another.
"She's quite mad, and harmless," said Eustace.
"Quite mad, and dangerous," replied Frank. "I don't trust her."
Confirmed in this opinion by the strange demeanour of Miss Cork, he watched her closely. She muttered to herself frequently, and kept counting on her fingers. Sometimes she would utter the name of Balkis and laugh. Her laughter was not pleasant. It did not seem to Frank that she retained any pleasant memories of the name--yet if it was that of her child she should have done so. Jarman did not trouble about Miss Cork's eccentricities. The meals were well cooked and well served, and there was no fault to be found with the woman's housekeeping. She was odd in her manner, and appeared to be labouring under suppressed excitement. Twice Frank caught her listening, but not in sufficiently open a way to admit of rebuke. As his position was a delicate one he became alarmed; but trusting in Jarman's influence over the woman, and his claim to her gratitude, he tried to dismiss his fears.
Denham duly arrived, and speedily made himself at home. Thanks to some herbal decoction given to him by Eustace, Lancaster welcomed the visitor in a hoarse voice--a regular nestling's note. Natty did not recognise in Mr. O'Neil, the dark secretary, the fair-haired Frank Lancaster, whom he had seen frequently in Bloomsbury. He was completely deceived, and Frank felt more at his ease, being now certain that his disguise was all that could be desired. And, luckily, Natty did not give him much of his frivolous company, as he was mostly with Jarman or hanging round Rose Cottage.
By this time Frank, introduced by Mrs. Perth, had made the acquaintance of his divinity. She likewise never suspected any disguise, and was quite at her ease with the new secretary. Frank's heart beat hard when she offered him her hand, and he could hardly see her face for a mist before his eyes. Now that he heard her voice, and saw her gracious manner, he fell more in love with her than ever. It was a strange feeling, and one that he had not experienced in his wooing of Fairy Fan. But, from the misery he suffered, there was no doubt that it was genuine passion.
Mildred was very amiable with him, and they were together a great deal. Mrs. Perth had taken a fancy to Frank, whose manners she pronounced perfect, and talked much to him. She even discussed the death of Walter Starth, and the probability of Lancaster being the assassin. But by this time Frank had schooled himself into hearing the case talked of without moving so much as an eyelid. In a couple of weeks he became quite an accepted fact in the life of Rose Cottage, and, indeed, of the village. Even Mrs. Baker had ceased to ask him questions. Several letters addressed to Desmond O'Neil, with the Dublin postmark, had arrived, so Mrs. Baker was quite satisfied that he came from the country whence she procured her butter. From being a nine days' wonder in that quiet Essex hamlet Frank became a comparative nonentity, which was exactly the state of things Jarman wished to bring about. Thus, when Denham arrived on his three days' visit, there was nothing likely to connect the secretary with the bedraggled man who had arrived so late at night. And Miss Cork, in spite of her odd ways and Lancaster's suspicions, kept her own counsel most faithfully.
One afternoon Frank, now quite at his ease in his disguise, strolled over to the cottage to ask for afternoon tea. He brought a book of poems in his pocket, for Mildred was fond of hearing him read. Frank could read admirably, which is a rare accomplishment, and often he would declaim poems to Mrs. Perth and Mildred. But on this occasion there was no chance of enjoying Browning, for Jenny Arrow from the Rectory was present. She was a kittenish damsel of eighteen, with a freckled face, a turn-up nose, and a gay, vivacious manner. Also she had a vein of romance, and cherished an unrequited affection for the dark secretary. She confided this to Mildred.
"Doesn't he look a romance, dear?" said Jenny, when gazing from the drawing-room window she saw Frank approach. "Don't you love him, Milly?"
Mildred laughed, "I have had quite enough of love," she said. "That Denham boy worries my life out. Then there's your brother Billy."
"Oh, Billy's an ass!" said Jenny, contemptuously. "He falls in love with everyone he sees. I suppose you will marry Mr. Darrel?"
"Certainly not," said Mildred, quickly. "What put such an idea into your head, Jenny?"
The young lady nodded sagaciously. "Oh, I know," said she; "it's not to see poor pa that Mr. Darrel comes down here. Ma saw that. Ma says he's in love with you, and, being rich, you're sure to marry him."
"I would never marry for money, Jenny," said Mildred, thinking of Eustace. "Mr. Darrel will never make me his wife."
"Oh, but he's so very rich."
"Then marry him yourself."
"I would rather marry Mr. O'Neil."
Mildred laughed again, but all the same, for some reason inexplicable to herself, felt annoyed. "Here _is_ Mr. O'Neil; you'd better propose."
"Mildred, if you reveal my love--oh! how I shall hate you."
But Mildred, watching the approaching figure of the man she knew merely as O'Neil, did not reply. She was wondering why she was so attracted towards him. He was not particularly good-looking, nor had he shown any marked preference for her society. Indeed, she had laughed with Mrs. Perth over the attentions which O'Neil paid the old lady. But there was something about the secretary which made Mildred's pulses beat as they never beat in the presence of Jarman. Perhaps, although she never knew, it was a case of telepathy, for Frank was always moved beyond his usual self when in her presence. But he never revealed it by his manner. Mildred, however, was not sufficiently a psychologist to analyse her feeling, so did not search too closely into the reason of her sensations. Still, she could not help wondering why she felt annoyed by Jenny's silly remark.
"I think you had better take that Denham boy," said Mildred to Jenny. "He bothers me greatly, and he's the kind of donkey who would fall in love with anyone."
"I don't regard myself as anyone," said Jenny, with dignity. "Besides, he's not half so nice as Mr. O'Neil."
Mildred acknowledged this with a sigh, and welcomed O'Neil with a blush, which he marked and wondered at. "Where is Mr. Jarman?" she asked.
"He has gone bathing with Billy and Denham," said Frank, standing outside and looking in at the window. "I have done my work, and came to be rewarded."
"With what--cakes and ale?" asked Jenny, languishing.
"Their modern equivalent in the shape of afternoon tea."
"Let's have it outside on the lawn. Oh, Mildred, do!"
Miss Starth assented. "Mrs. Perth is lying down," she said, "and as the room is rather hot, we may as well have a picnic on the lawn."
Forthwith she ordered the tea, which was brought out by the one servant of the establishment. But Jenny had to lay the cloth, and Frank was told to place the tables under the noble elm. In a few minutes they were all seated, Mildred and Frank in chairs, and Jenny lying gracefully on the lawn. Every now and then she looked up adoringly at the secretary, who took no notice. But Mildred did, and so strong became that absurd feeling of irritation that she could willingly have slapped Jenny.
After a desultory conversation, Jenny asked when Denham was returning to town. "Billy will be sorry when he goes. He's awfully fond of Mr. Denham. The adventures that man's had in America are extraordinary."
"He comes from America, doesn't he?" asked Mildred, idly.
Jenny nodded. "And Billy says he's been a sailor, he thinks."
"He doesn't look much like a sailor," said Frank, contemptuously. "He has been wrapped up in cotton-wool all his life."
"Oh, no, he hasn't indeed," said Miss Arrow, eagerly. "He has lived in Mexico, and among the Indians--not the Red Indians, you know, but amongst those Cortez found."
"The Aztecs," said Mildred. "My dear girl, there are none left."
"Oh, yes, there are, Mr. Denham says so. Billy calls him Natty, because that's his name, and he and Billy are going to explore for hidden treasure. There's lots of it in Mexico."
"Denham's been reading romances," said Frank, disbelievingly.
"No," insisted Jenny, "he's had all sorts of adventures. Why, when he was just a baby, he was carried off by these Indians."
"How do you know?"
"He says so, and they tattooed him on the left arm, Billy says."
Frank sat up suddenly. "On the left arm?" he asked. "With what?"
"With a Scarlet Bat--the queerest thing, Billy says-- Oh! what's the matter?" Frank, profoundly moved, had fallen back in his chair.
Seeing Frank's disturbed face, Mildred also became alarmed, but he managed to pacify both her and Jenny in a few words. It was impossible to tell the truth, therefore he was obliged to romance. "I think the heat is too much for me," he said, smiling, "and your mention of tattooing, Miss Arrow, recalled a disagreeable story."
"Tell it to us," said Jenny, eagerly. "I love ghastly tales."
"I wouldn't shock you by repeating this one," said Lancaster, finding it difficult to improvise. "It's about a leper."
Mildred uttered an exclamation of disgust. "Ugh! how dreadful. I don't want to hear it."
"I do," cried Miss Arrow, with the avidity of a ghoul. "You must tell it to me on some other occasion, Mr. O'Neil."
"I will, if you will tell me more of Mr. Denham's tattooing."
Jenny shook her head. "I don't know any more. You must ask Billy. He has this Scarlet Bat on his left arm, that's all I know."
"Did he ever tell Billy how it came to be there?"
"I told you. The Indians marked him. I can't say the reason."
Frank was silent. He was particularly anxious to know why Denham was marked in this peculiar way, and resolved to find out before the young man returned to town. As it was, the tattooing was another link in the chain which, to his mind, connected Berry with the crime. However, he kept his ideas to himself, and would have taken his departure to think them out at leisure but that he had a purpose to achieve connected with the photograph of Balkis. He knew that Walter's effects had passed into the hands of Mildred, and wished to obtain the portrait, for reasons which he afterwards explained to Jarman. Mildred herself gave him a chance of introducing the subject without awakening suspicion.
"You have been working too hard," she said, in reference to Lancaster's late emotion, "and it is so very hot."
"Perhaps I have," he assented, glad of the excuse; "but Jarman is anxious to get a new story finished quickly. It's an Eastern tale."
"Tell it to us," said the bold Jenny, sitting up and hugging her knees.
"Jenny, how can you!" corrected Mildred. "Mr. O'Neil must keep all those sort of things quiet."
"I can tell you this much, Miss Arrow, that Jarman wants a few words of Arabic, and we can't find them."
"I never knew him to be at a loss before," said Mildred.
"Well, he is this time, so you can crow over him, Miss Starth. He is anxious to get some Arabic letters. You haven't such a thing, I suppose," he added, half jokingly.
"Good gracious! where could I-- Wait," she said, rising, "there's a portrait which belonged to poor Walter. There are some Arabic letters on it. Mrs. Perth told me they were Arabic. But she may be wrong."
"As a governess she ought not to be," put in Jenny. "Get it, Mildred."
While Miss Starth hastened into the house, Jenny stared up into Frank's face in quite an embarrassing way. "Are you going to stay long at the Shanty?" she asked.
"That depends upon Mr. Jarman."
"Oh, then you'll stay as long as you like. He's very fond of you."
"He is a very good friend to me," said Frank, quietly.
Jenny nodded. "He is to everyone, I think. Mildred's fond of him. He has helped her a lot with her poetry. I like him better than Mr. Darrel. Do you know Mr. Darrel?"
"I have heard of him," replied Frank, cautiously.
"I don't like him at all," said Jenny, shaking her head vigorously. "He's a great friend to pa and ma, and very rich. But he doesn't come down to see them," she tittered. "No, Mildred's the attraction."
"Does Miss Starth like him?" asked Frank, quickly.
"She says she doesn't; but, of course, he's so rich. But I would rather she married Mr. Jarman, wouldn't you?"
Frank was spared the pain of replying to this embarrassing query by the return of Mildred with the portrait, which she placed in his hands. "It's the picture of a negress," she said, "and the letters at the foot--"
"They are Arabic sure enough. Who is the woman!"
"I don't know. It is a fancy portrait, I suppose."
"Probably. Can I take this away with me for a few days to copy the letters, Miss Starth? I'll return it safe."
"Oh, take it by all means. Look, Jenny, there's beauty."
Jenny sat up, and looked at the face earnestly. "It's something like Mr. Darrel," she said at length.
"Nonsense!" said Mildred, looking in her turn at the picture. "But, really, I don't know. What do you think, Mr. O'Neil?"
There was a resemblance to Darrel. The same sulky expression, and thick lips, and arrogant air. "Perhaps she's a relative of his," giggled Jenny. "He was born in the West Indies, you know."
"This portrait was taken at some place in Rotherhithe," said Mildred, pointing out the photographer's name. "But it is like Mr. Darrel."
"Quite as ugly," said Jenny; "though it's mean of me saying that," she added, "for Mr. Darrel gave me a lovely brooch last time he was down. He's coming again in a month. Do you know, Mildred?"
"Yes, I know," replied Miss Starth, in no very pleased tone.
Frank slipped the portrait into his pocket, as Billy Arrow came on to the lawn followed by Jarman and Natty. Billy was nearly twenty-one, and a Sandhurst cadet, but a great deal of the schoolboy remained in him. "We've had a rippin' time," said the young gentleman, throwing himself on the lawn.
"Would you like some tea?" asked Mildred.
"Rather. Tea would be saucy. Let me get it," and Billy swept into the house like a whirlwind.
Frank saw that Jarman looked rather disturbed, and wondered what could be the reason. He guessed that he had learnt something relative to the Berrys from Natty, and was anxious to know what it was. But he could not question Eustace at the moment, therefore curbed his curiosity until a more seasonable time. Meantime Natty was paying compliments to Mildred.
"You do look well, Miss Starth," he babbled in his inconsequent way--"and what a slapping day! We had an A1 dip. You should have come along, Mr. O'Neil."
Frank suppressed a smile, thinking how soon his disguise would have vanished had he accepted this offer. "I have been more pleasantly engaged," he said; "here comes Billy and the tea."
Billy was a first-rate hand at getting what he wanted. He brought a tray laden with strawberry jam, a large bowl of Devonshire cream, some hot cakes, and a fresh pot of tea. "You'll starve us out of house and home, Billy," said Mildred, when these were arranged before her. "What will Mrs. Perth say?"
"She'd say eat well, and not too quickly," said Billy, selecting a cake, while Jarman looked on amused.
"You're still a boy, Billy."
"So am I," said Natty, taking a slice of bread and cream, "in spite of being nearly twenty-five. I'm not that till the twenty-fifth of September, you know."
Frank looked up quickly, and glanced sideways at Jarman. That was the date of his own birthday, and then he, like Natty, would be twenty-five. This coincidence, taken in conjunction with the tattooing, puzzled him not a little. Jarman also looked perplexed, and asked a question. "Where were you born, Denham?" he demanded.
"At Zacatecas in Mexico," prattled Natty. "No end of a place. But I went to school in New Orleans. Yes, sir--to a slap-up school. My dad said I'd have to have the best education possible, so that I could look after the money when it came."
"Are you coming into a fortune?" asked Frank.
"Rather--to no end of a fortune. But it's a long yarn. I'll tell it to you some night, Jarman. It's good for your books."
"I shall be delighted to hear it."
"I get the money after my twenty-fifth birthday," said Natty, "and then I'll buy you all presents. Billy shall have a horse."
"And what will you give me?" asked Jenny.
"A husband," replied Natty. "And you, Miss Starth?"
"I'll have a husband also," said Mildred, frivolously, and then was sorry when she said it, recalling Natty's attentions. Jarman also was annoyed, and addressed himself to the young man.
"You must first catch your hare," he said gravely. "And I suppose your guardian, Captain Berry, will have to be consulted."
"No, I guess not. His control ceases when I get the dollars."
"On your twenty-fifth birthday?"
"_After_ my twenty-fifth birthday. I can't say how long!"
Jarman said no more, being afraid to press his inquiries. Natty was a babbling fool; still, it was not wise to arouse his suspicions. He might mention them to Captain Berry and Fan, when there would probably be trouble. And Jarman wished that estimable couple to look upon him as one wholly unconcerned in their shady doings. By assuring them of his lack of interest he hoped to throw them off their guard.
The conversation became more or less frivolous, as was natural amongst such young people. Jarman was the eldest present, and he felt his forty years painfully. He even began to ask himself if it were fair that he should make Mildred his wife. She was young, he was elderly, and he remembered the proverb of May and December. He was not exactly December yet, but he was getting rapidly into the sear and yellow leaf. The reflection made him sad. When he went home with Frank--Natty remaining behind to play a game of tennis with Billy--he talked very little. Frank likewise was silent for a time, but ultimately he spoke first.
"I was rather startled to-day?" he said, as they neared the Shanty.
"Eh, what was that? Nothing wrong?"
"No. But Jenny Arrow told me that Denham, according to Billy, had a Scarlet Bat tattooed on his left arm."
"I know," said Jarman, quietly. "I saw it to-day when he was bathing. I intended to surprise you with the news. Strange that you should have made the discovery on the same day as I did. The long arm of coincidence again, I suppose."
Frank paid little attention to this, being taken up with his own thoughts. "You know I have a Scarlet Bat tattooed on my right arm?"
Jarman nodded. "I remember, and I suggested that as it was the sole mystery in your life, it might have to do with Berry's desiring to have you hanged. Now that we know Denham is marked in a similar way, it puts the matter beyond a doubt."
"I can't see how," said Frank, frowning.
"Wait till we get inside," said Jarman, "then we can talk at our ease."
Not another word was spoken until they entered Jarman's den, and sat down in the coolness. The blinds were down and there was a pleasant darkness. Jarman closed the door, then took a seat opposite to that into which Lancaster had thrown himself.
"Tell me again of your past," he said. "I want to refresh my memory."
"There's so little to tell that I wonder you don't know every word by heart," said the other, drearily.
"You only told me once, and my memory is a bad one. Go on."
While Jarman lighted his pipe, Frank told how he had been sent home from San Francisco by his father when he was two years of age, and placed under the care of a Quaker aunt called Miss Dorothy Drake. "She lived in Devonshire, at a place called Kingsbridge," went on Lancaster, "and there I was brought up till it was time for me to go to college. I studied at the Elizabethan Grammar School in that town. My father was always coming home, but never appeared. Then, when I was ten, he stopped writing altogether. But my aunt had the money for my education sent to her regularly. I went to Oxford, as you know, and then came, five years ago, to make my mark in London. And a pretty mark I have made!" said Frank, bitterly.
"You never spoke of this past to anyone?"
"No. My aunt particularly told me not to do so. I can't see, myself, why I should have kept silence though," he added, frowning. "There's nothing wrong about my past that I can see."
"No. It would seem as though your father was anxious you should live as quietly as possible, so as not to attract the attentions of adventurers of the Berry type."
"I don't understand."
"Well, that tattooing on your right arm! You never knew what it meant?"
"No. I asked my aunt and she could not tell me. It was on my arm--the Scarlet Bat I mean--when I came from America. Denham, I understand, says that his tattooing was done by Indians."
"H'm! He might believe that," said Jarman, sceptically, "and I daresay he's as ignorant of what the symbol means as you are. But Berry knows."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because he is hounding you down, and you are marked in a similar way to that boy whom he has in his clutches."
"Do you think Denham is in his clutches?"
"I am sure of it. The boy believes in him thoroughly, and is quite under Berry's thumb--poor wretch. He knows nothing about the significance of the Scarlet Bat, or Berry would not trust his babbling tongue within reach of my ears. But you told me that there was a chance of your learning something about yourself?"
"Yes. Aunt Dorothy said that when I was twenty-five, she had been told by my father to give me a sealed envelope. What it contained she did not know. In fact, Jarman, my aunt knew nothing, save that my father was a great traveller, that he married in America, and that when my mother died he sent me home. She thinks he is dead, because she has not received a letter from him for so long. I don't agree with her, as all this time the money has been forwarded for my education and keep."
"Are you still receiving money?"
"Yes. Twenty pounds a month. But I don't touch it. Aunt Dorothy is poor, so I give it to her and work for my own bread and butter."
"H'm! You're a good fellow. Who pays you the money?"
"White & Saon, lawyers in the City."
"Can't they tell you anything?"
"Maybe they might be able to do so, but they refuse. All they say is that the money comes from their San Francisco agents, and that they are empowered to pay it to me."
"Have they any papers?"
"No. I asked them. They said they had none. I must wait for that sealed envelope."
"On your twenty-fifth birthday," mused Jarman. "Observe, my son, Denham states that he is to come into money _after_ his birthday. He is the same age as you are."
"And his birthday is on the same day, which makes it stranger. There is money knocking round, as you guessed. But I can't see how it is to come my way."
"You may learn when you open that envelope."
"I'll know soon then. Next month I'm twenty-five. Poor Aunt Dorothy. I wonder what she thinks of my scandal."
"Didn't you write her?"
"No. How could I. I feared lest the police might see her and make inquiries? She is a truthful old lady, and, although she would not betray me, she would give herself away by being confused. No, Eustace, it's best that my aunt should know nothing of my whereabouts."
"Well, she will know soon, as I intend to call on her next week."
"What for?" asked Frank, surprised.
"To get that envelope, and to learn all I can from her about your father's life in America. There's money I tell you, Frank, and it comes either to you or Denham."
"How do you make that out?"
"Because you are both marked with the Scarlet Bat. And Berry," said Eustace, with emphasis, "is doing his best to get that money."