"Oh, he gits a 'eavy screw,Tamaroo! Tamaroo!An' 'is father is a Jew,Tamaroo! Tamaroo!"
"Oh, he gits a 'eavy screw,
Tamaroo! Tamaroo!
An' 'is father is a Jew,
Tamaroo! Tamaroo!"
"Where did you hear that song?" interrupted Eustace, seizing the boy.
"Garn away with y'. It's m'own words an' music. 'Ow Tamaroo!'"
"Where did you hear the word?"
"That's my business. Tie it up, cocky," said the brat.
"See here, my lad, you tell me where you got the word Tamaroo and I'll give you a shilling."
"Wot! a whole bob? Right y'are, gov'ner. 'Twas 'Melia told it me. 'Melia kin read an' she got it orf a wall a hour ago. It 'ull be all over Londing soon. 'Ow Tamaroo! Tamaroo!' Ain't it a prime word?"
"Show me where Amelia got it?" Eustace saw that the melody of the word had caught the boy's ear, but he could not understand what he meant.
The boy conducted him down one street and up another, till he brought him up against a huge hoarding before some houses in the course of erection. There appeared the huge placard of a Scarlet Bat with outspread wings, as on Frank's arm. Beneath, was printed in gigantic red letters the mysterious word "Tamaroo!"
Jarman returned fuming to Wargrove. He was a clear-headed man, who liked to foresee what was coming, so that he might arrange his plans. But at the present moment he could not see an inch before his nose, and rather lost his temper in consequence. The unexpected appearance of the Scarlet Bat, and of the mysterious word "Tamaroo" on London hoardings perplexed him extremely. At first he thought that this might be a new move on the part of the astute Berry, but on consideration dismissed this idea.
"Berry is not anxious for publicity," argued Eustace, when in the train, "as it would attract attention to his underhand schemes to get this money. Again, I don't believe Denham knows anything, not even the meaning of the tattooing on his left arm. He would want to be told why the Bat appeared on posters, if it was Berry's work, and the Captain might not be disposed to furnish an explanation. No, there is some other person taking a hand in this game, and with that person I must come into contact. If the person is an enemy of Berry's we may work together to thwart him. On the other hand, the person who has plastered London with these posters may want the fortune himself, in which case he will be equally an enemy to Frank. He may want him hanged also. But it may be a woman," conjectured. Jarman. "That Balkis seems to be mixed up in the matter, not to mention the negro who called on the lawyers. H'm! I wonder what the barbaric element is doing in this galley?"
He turned and twisted and argued the matter in every way, but by the time he arrived at Wargrove he was as much in the dark as ever. His only chance of making any discovery likely to elucidate the mystery lay in the contents of the sealed letter. Anxious to see Frank and to tell him all his adventures, Jarman walked rapidly to the Shanty. When he reached it, he was surprised to find that it was shut up. Windows and doors were barred, and, not having a key, Eustace could not obtain entrance into his own home. There was no sign of Miss Cork or of his friend.
"What does this mean?" Jarman asked himself. "Can Frank have been arrested? But in that case Miss Cork would still be here."
The situation was puzzling, so Jarman set to work to learn details and make discoveries. He sought out an old gardener who lived in a cottage adjacent to his own house. This ancient, Bowles by name, was a bent, wheezy old creature, very garrulous. Jarman could not have hit upon a better man for information, as Jacob Bowles had the key of the Shanty.
"That dark gentleman, he guv it to me," said Bowles, surrendering the key to its owner. "T'other day he guv it to me--you might call it the day afore yesterday--yes, you might, Muster Jarman. The dark gent, he guv it me sayin' as you'd be back, Muster Jarman, and would be wishful to get into your house like."
"Did he leave any message?" asked Eustace, still perplexed. Bowles scratched his head. "I can't say rightly as he did, Muster Jarman."
"Do you know what has become of Miss Cork?"
"No, Muster Jarman, I can't rightly say as I do. But my missus, she did say as Mrs. Baker saw Miss Cork gitting to the station three days back. Aye, Muster Jarman, you might say three days."
Eustace remembered that this was the day of his departure, and questioned the female Bowles. But she simply repeated the information given by her husband, adding that Miss Cork had been seen by the ubiquitous Mrs. Baker walking rapidly towards Mardon railway station. "Across the Common, as you might say," said Mrs. Bowles, cautiously.
Considerably perplexed Eustace returned to his deserted house. It was plausible to think that Frank might have taken fright and have fled. But the disappearance of Miss Cork was remarkable. So far as Jarman knew, she had always expressed herself pleased with the situation, and certainly never stated that she was going. He hurried into the house, hoping to find some message from Frank. In this he was not disappointed, for on the writing-table lay a letter addressed to Jarman. The big man wrinkled his brows, and opening it read it at once in the waning light.
"Dear Eustace," wrote the missing man,--"I have to go. Darrel, who is stopping at the Rectory, recognised me, and for reasons which need not here be set forth it is probable he may denounce me. I think it best to go away, but will let you know as soon as I can what I am doing. I left a photograph of Balkis lying about, and after seeing it Miss Cork ran away. I believe she knows something about the negress, and is in league with the gang we know of."
Having digested this letter, Jarman sat down to think over the matter. He had always been afraid lest Darrel should recognise Frank, and wondered that his friend had not the sense to keep out of the way of so dangerous an acquaintance. But he could not conjecture any reason for Darrel's denunciation of the unhappy man. However, as Darrel was staying at the Rectory, Jarman decided to go over on the morrow and hear what he had to say. But as regards Miss Cork?
"H'm!" thought Jarman, while getting a scratch meal together. "I wonder if there is any truth in Frank's belief? She certainly seemed startled when she heard the name of Balkis, and pitched that yarn about her child being called so. I don't believe she has a child of that name--or, indeed, a child at all. However, she seems to have taken fright on seeing the photograph. I wonder where Frank got it? Ah! I remember. Starth had a photograph, and probably it was passed on to Mildred. Frank could get it from her. But why should Miss Cork run away, and where has she gone?"
He could not answer this question without further information, and only Frank could give details. But Frank was gone also, and Jarman wondered whither the poor persecuted young fellow had fled. He did not dare to make inquiries, lest he should attract the attention of the police. The only thing to be done was to remain passive until such time as Frank chose to write from his new place of concealment. Then he might see him and learn details about the inexplicable flight of his housekeeper. Meantime, it would be just as well to see Mildred and learn if his surmise about the photograph was true. After a hurried meal, Jarman walked to Rose Cottage.
The maid who answered the door was a fat, red-faced creature, and was the only domestic employed by the two ladies. She stated that Miss Starth was lying down with a bad headache--had retired early to bed, in fact--but that Mrs. Perth was still in the parlour. Jarman would have walked in, but Mrs. Perth herself appeared, and seemed indisposed to admit him. Jarman put down this unwillingness to her prim manners, as nine o'clock at night was certainly not the time to pay a visit to two single ladies. But on seeing her face in the moonlight, he noticed that she looked disturbed. However, she appeared friendly enough--why should she not be?--although declining to let him in. When the maid retired he had a few minutes' conversation with her on the doorstep.
"No," said Mrs. Perth in her decisive tones, "I have not seen Mr. O'Neil lately. He called once after your departure, Mr. Jarman, but since then has not favoured us with a visit."
"Do you know that he has gone away?" asked Eustace.
"Gone away?" replied Mrs. Perth. "What do you mean?"
"What I say," said Jarman, rather chafed. "He has gone away, and I thought that you might know where he is?"
Mrs. Perth drew herself up in a prim manner.
"Why should I know, Mr. Jarman?" she said stiffly. "Your friend's movements have no interest for me. It seems to me that you should know best where he is. I presume he gave you notice, being your secretary?"
"He left a letter saying he was going. I never expected him to leave so suddenly."
"There appears to be a mystery about him."
"Oh, not at all," rejoined the big man, quickly, "but he is an odd fellow, and doubtless left in a freakish way. I only came to ask, as I thought he might have called before going."
"He called only the once, when Mr. Darrel was here. He and Mr. Darrel went away together."
"Have you seen Mr. Darrel since?"
"Oh dear me, yes. He is stopping with Mr. Arrow."
"Does he know that my friend has left?"
"I really do not know," replied Mrs. Perth, with a fatigued air. "He made no remark."
"Ah! thank you. I shall not keep you any longer. I suppose," added Eustace, with some hesitation. "I suppose it is impossible for me to see Miss Starth?"
"Certainly it is impossible. She has retired to bed. You can call to-morrow. Good evening."
Thus dismissed, there was nothing for it but for Eustace to return to his house. In spite of Mrs. Perth's calmness he saw that she was worried, and had something on her mind. He wondered if she really knew anything of Frank. But that was impossible, unless Darrel had told Mildred that Lancaster, _alias_ O'Neil, was the murderer of her brother. That would account for Mrs. Perth's stiffness, as she would not be too well disposed towards Jarman for having introduced a criminal--and such a criminal!--to her and Mildred. However, nothing could be learnt until he saw Darrel on the morrow. "And if he _has_ told," said Eustace, over a final pipe, "why, Mildred will be angry with me."
That night Jarman got little sleep. It annoyed him that Frank should be absent at so critical a moment. He wanted the young man to open the sealed letter, and had half a mind to open it himself. But on consideration he did not think he was justified in taking such a course. If Darrel had told Mildred, Eustace determined to explain the whole of his connection with the matter, and to assure her again of his firm belief in Frank's innocence. As soon as Lancaster revealed his new hiding-place he would take him the sealed letter, and from its contents might be gathered some clue to all these mysteries. They seemed to increase every day, and to grow darker the more he endeavoured to throw light on them.
The next morning Eustace, having had a bad night, slept well into the middle of the day. Then he had a cold bath, and having cooked his own breakfast sat down to it, somewhere about twelve o'clock. He was still worried but ate well, as he knew he had a hard day before him. But just as he was pouring out his second cup of coffee, he became aware that someone was looking at him through the window. To his surprise he saw the arch and piquant face of Fairy Fan. With a sudden start he rose and went to the door. There she was in the most dainty of costumes, looking amused at his astonishment.
"You asked me to come, so I have come," she said, stepping into the house without being asked. "I hope you don't mind my taking you by surprise in this way?"
"Oh, not at all," said Eustace, mechanically, and led the way to his sitting-room, wondering what ill wind had blown her hither. "But I wish you had given me notice of your coming."
Miss Berry--as she chose to be called--plumped into a seat, and cast an eye over the untidy table. "You didn't want to be found at breakfast so late," she said smiling. "I thought you were an early riser."
"I had a bad night," said Eustace, shortly.
Fan selected a cigarette from a box near at hand, and lighted it. "I don't wonder at that," she said through a cloud of blue smoke. "If you will shelter criminals, what can you expect?"
Jarman started uneasily. "What do you mean?" he demanded frowning.
"Why," said she, waving a daintily gloved hand, "it seems that Frank Lancaster's been with you. What a cunning fellow you are, Eustace. I guess you gave Uncle Banjo and me the outside running."
"I don't know why you want the inside."
"No. And nobody else does," she replied, smartly.
"Not even Balkis?" hinted Jarman, and could have bitten out his tongue for making a remark so calculated to place her on her guard.
As it was, she coloured and looked keenly at him. "I guess you know more about the matter than you'll give away."
"Perhaps I do," he replied, determined not to let her know the extent of his knowledge. "But if you came here to see Lancaster, he's gone."
"That's a lie," said Miss Berry, coolly.
"Search the house then," retorted Eustace, serenely, meeting her with her own weapons. "I give you full permission."
She looked at him again. "No," she said, after a close scrutiny. "I guess I believe you."
"I am flattered."
"Not a bit. You feel angry. Where is Frank?"
"I don't know."
"Oh, yes, you do," she rejoined persuasively; "and see here, there's five hundred pounds to be earned."
"So I believe," said Eustace, coolly, "and your uncle is playing the part of a philanthropist."
"You can put it that way if you like, Eustace. Come, tell me where the boy is. I wish him well."
"I doubt it, seeing that your relative offers this reward for his capture. However, I can reply with an honest heart that I don't know where he is."
Fairy Fan threw away her cigarette with an important air. "I wish you did," said she, "I want to save him from being lynched."
"Why do you wish to save him after bringing him into this state."
"I didn't," she said fiercely. "Yes, you did. For some reason best known to yourself you induced Starth and Lancaster to quarrel. Having been successful up to the point of putting a rope round Frank's neck, you come to me to ask if I will help you to adjust it."
The woman clasped and unclasped her hands nervously, and rose to pace the room. "Believe me, I come to save him," she said earnestly. "He's in great danger, and I alone can help him."
"Ah! then you know who killed Starth."
"I don't--I don't! I swear I don't!" she cried vehemently. "So far as I know it was Frank. My uncle believes in his guilt also."
"I know. It is to his interest to believe," snapped Jarman. "How much money is involved in this business, Miss Berry?"
She turned pale, and looked down. "There is no money," she said.
"Oh, yes. We'll say about a million. Your uncle doesn't offer this reward for nothing. It's a small sprat to catch a large mackerel."
Fan threw herself down and burst into tears. "I wish I were dead!"
"Or you wish Frank were dead. Which?" asked Jarman, mercilessly.
"No, I don't. Oh! do tell me where he is. I can save him."
"From being hanged?"
"I--I--think so. Where is he?" She stamped her foot imperiously.
Eustace smiled as he saw she was trying all her arts to make him reveal what he was determined to conceal. "I tell you I don't know," he said quietly. "Now that you have learnt that I sheltered the man, I don't mind admitting that he was here. But he has gone away, and has left no address."
"What frightened him away from this hiding-place?"
"You had better ask Darrel, who told you where to find him."
"Darrel?" Fan seemed genuinely surprised. "He never told me."
"Then who did?" asked Eustace, bluntly. Fan thought for a moment, then looked up with a winning smile. "I'll tell you that if you'll answer me a question."
"What is the question?"
"Why have you placarded London from end to end with those posters?"
Eustace looked at her much surprised. "If you don't know of those things, I don't," he said.
"Do you mean to say you didn't get them out?"
"Certainly. I saw one, and was very much surprised."
"Do you know what the Scarlet Bat means?" she asked.
"Perhaps I do," he said, enigmatically.
"And the name Tamaroo?"
"Oh, it's a name, is it!" said Jarman. "Thank you for the information, Mrs. Anchor."
"Don't call me by that name," said Fan, frowning.
"Why not? You were married to the man, and the name Tamaroo was the last word he said to me."
The woman changed colour. "What did he mean?" she asked softly.
"You can explain that best," answered Eustace. "See here, Mrs. Anchor, or Miss Berry, or whatever you choose to call yourself, I want to know what your game is."
"There is no game," she insisted.
"Yes there is, else you would not have put Starth and Lancaster against one another, nor would you come down to see me and ask questions. There's some scheme in your mind, and in the mind of your so-called uncle--"
"He _is_ my uncle!" she flashed out, tapping her foot.
"Bah! Do you think I believe that? Accomplice, if you like."
Fan started to her feet like a small fury. "You dare to insult me, do you?" she said. "Better take care, you low-down cad!"
"Ah!" said Eustace, calmly, "now the mask is being dropped."
With an effort she controlled herself, seeing she had gone too far.
"It's enough to make a woman angry," she said panting, "to be talked to in that way. I am perfectly honest."
"I never called your honesty into question."
"Yes, you did, and I'll never forgive you for having done so. I know you are my enemy now. I thought you were a fool."
"So I was in San Francisco, but I have learnt sense since. And I am your enemy, Mrs. Anchor, and the enemy of that man Berry."
"You'd better not threaten him."
"Indeed! Do you think I am afraid of him?" sneered Eustace. "I also have been in the Wild West, and I can handle my weapon as neatly as Berry did--when he shot Starth."
"It's a lie--it's a lie! He did not."
"Don't lose your temper; you'll gain nothing by it. I am on the side of Frank Lancaster, and I intend to prove his innocence."
"You can't," said Mrs. Anchor, with a pale face. "He is guilty."
"It's your scheme to make him appear so," retorted Jarman; "but I know better, and so do you. Who told you he was here?"
"That's my business," she said doggedly.
"And a very shady business it is. Do you wish to murder Frank as you murdered your husband?"
With a spasm of fury Fan snatched up a knife and flung it at him. It flew over his head. "Don't do that again," said he, "or I'll forget that you are a woman."
"The woman you loved," she said again, weeping.
Eustace grew tired of thus running in a circle.
"Don't you think you'd better try something new, Mrs. Anchor? We have had cajoling, tears, violence, temper--I'm growing weary!"
"I also," said Fan, drying her tears, and speaking in a much more business-like manner. "It's not worth while losing one's temper."
"Not with me, I assure you."
"You're a brute!" she said violently.
"Possibly. Did you come to tell me that?"
"I came to see Frank, not you. But as he is not here--and I don't think you are clever enough to deceive me--please send him my message."
"I don't know where he is, Mrs. Anchor." Jarman used the name because he could see that it annoyed her. "But the message?"
"Tell him that if he will promise to marry me I will save his neck. But I must have the promise in writing."
"I'll convey the message if I can," said Eustace, without making any comment, "on one condition."
"What is that?" asked Mrs. Anchor, turning from the mirror, before which she was adjusting her veil.
"You must write a letter to Miss Starth, deploring the death of her brother, and stating that you loved him so much that you wished to marry him."
Fan grew crimson, and her eyes sparkled. "I shall not write such a tissue of lies," she said with a stamp.
Jarman laughed, but not pleasantly. "You have become wonderfully scrupulous all of a sudden," he sneered. "But you intended to marry either Starth or Denham."
"Denham!" she said contemptuously. "I wouldn't marry him if he asked me. Why do you want me to write such a letter?"
"For your own sake," responded the big man, coolly. "Miss Starth believes that you are concerned in the death of her brother. Such a letter will convince her that you were well disposed towards him."
"Bah! She won't believe it."
"She may, or she may not. However, I want it written."
Mrs. Anchor sat down, and leaning her cheek on her hand stared musingly at the floor. After a few minutes she looked up. "You're on some game or another," she said calmly, "and for some reason you wish me to join in. Well, I don't mind. The letter shall be sent."
"Oh and don't you want to know what the game is?"
"Not at all. Whatever you are doing can't concern me. This letter will do no harm, and as I wish the message taken to Frank I am willing to buy it on those terms."
Jarman looked at her distrustfully. He wondered why she yielded so suddenly, and knowing her tricky ways, he felt sure that she had some card to play. However, for reasons of his own, he wanted the letter, and, so long as he got it, was not particular how it came into his possession. It was useless to act honourably towards a pair of sharpers like Fan and her so-called uncle. Having thus arranged matters, the little woman held out her hand.
"I have a carriage waiting to take me to Mardon," she said. "We understand one another, I hope?"
"I think we do. But I am in the dark regarding your schemes."
"I can say the same thing about this letter. I don't know why you want it written."
"Tell me who told you of Lancaster's whereabouts, and I'll explain."
"No, thanks," she rejoined, with a shrug. "Writing such a letter won't hurt me in any way, and telling you too much, might."
"As you please. Let me see you to the carriage."
She accepted his offer, and together they walked across the fields to where a fly from Mardon was waiting. Mrs. Anchor hopped into this as lightly as a bird, and again held out her hand. "Goodbye," she smiled. "You won't forget to deliver my message?"
"I will if I can, on condition--"
"Yes, I know the condition. The letter shall be sent to Miss Starth."
When the fly drove away, Eustace stood in a brown study for a few minutes. He wondered why Mrs. Anchor had so readily accepted his assurance that Frank was not in the house. Certainly he was not, but Jarman fancied that so suspicious a woman would have made sure. Yet she did not even avail herself of his offer to let her inspect the house. "I wonder what stake those two are playing for?" mused Jarman, walking down the road. "It's that million, I suppose."
But he could not be sure until he gained more explicit information. Jarman had conceived a plot, with which the letter to Mildred was concerned. By it he hoped to learn the secrets of Berry, who certainly appeared to be the head of the whole business. As to the Scarlet Bat, the opening of the sealed letter might reveal what that meant. But the letter could only be opened by Frank, and Frank was nowhere to be found. Jarman decided to tell Mildred the whole story, and then to consult her about opening the letter in Frank's absence. It seemed foolish to wait, and to leave the man in such peril. And he was in the greatest peril, now that Fan knew he had been hiding at Wargrove. Eustace felt thankful that for obvious reasons she could not take the police into her councils, else he might have got into trouble for compounding a felony.
While thus thinking a man had approached him softly, and Jarman was startled by a touch on his shoulder. He wheeled round sharply to behold Darrel. The man looked sulky as usual, and purred like a cat when he addressed Jarman.
"So your friend Lancaster has gone away?" he said quietly.
"Yes," replied Eustace, thinking it best to save time by admitting so obvious a fact; "you frightened him away."
"Ah! then he left a letter behind him?"
"He did, Mr. Darrel, in which he stated that you knew him, and that you threatened to denounce him."
"Only if he interfered between me and Mildred," said Darrel.
Jarman flushed, and his face grew angry. "What do you mean by speaking of Miss Starth in so familiar a fashion?"
"I speak as I like, and being in love with Miss Starth--since you want me to be punctilious--I call her by the name I like best."
Jarman could have struck him to the earth, as he stood there like the Man-mountain of Gulliver. There was something insolent about Darrel which inspired the meekest of men to kick him, and Eustace was by no means a Moses. For the moment Eustace was inclined to take him up on the question of loving Mildred, but remembering that he was not officially engaged to the girl, and that should he not discover the assassin of her brother he might never be her husband, he thought it best to pass over the matter. However, he remarked on the conjunction of the girl's name with Frank's. "Lancaster was not likely to interfere between you," he said.
"Oh, yes, he was," said Darrel, in his slow, heavy voice. "Lancaster is in love with her."
Jarman felt a jealous pang. "Impossible!"
"Not a bit of it. Lancaster saw her that night in the theatre, and even then admired her more than I liked. Down here I saw them together, and he loves her. I'm in love myself, and I know. And I'm not certain," added Darrel, viciously, "that she doesn't love him."
"I tell you she can't," cried Jarman, agitated.
"Oh! then she knows Lancaster killed her brother?"
"She knows nothing. I only speak from my knowledge of her character. She would not love a man she knew so little of as Lancaster."
"According to you, she did not know him by that name. But she is just the kind of romantic girl to fall in love with that Irish secretary of yours. He made up well for the part," sneered Darrel.
Jarman straightened his shoulders. "I don't think it is good taste to discuss Miss Starth," he said, "but I can safely assure you that she does not love the man."
"You seem very sure." Darrel scanned Eustace in his usual insolent way. "I believe you are in love yourself," he said with a short laugh. "Well, I give you the same warning as I gave Lancaster."
"I'm not disposed to take any warning," rejoined Jarman, hotly, "and if you denounce Lancaster as having been here I shall deny it."
"Oh, now that he has cut, there's no necessity for me to say a word. But don't you interfere."
"See here, Darrel," said Jarman, controlling his temper with an effort, "no man shall speak to me like this. I forbid you to mention Miss Starth's name to me again. She will choose for herself."
"I know she will. She will choose me," said Darrel, complacently.
"There's always two to a bargain," said Eustace, drily. "However, as Lancaster has gone, there was no need for you to tell Miss Berry."
Darrel looked up in genuine surprise. "I did not tell Miss Berry."
"She was down here an hour ago, and stated--"
"That I had told her? She's a liar!"
"She did not say that you had told her. But she knew that Lancaster had been here. And you were the only person who spotted him."
"What fools the others must be," said the genial Darrel. "However, that's neither here nor there. I assure you, on my honour, that I kept Lancaster's secret. He may, or he may not, have killed Starth, but so long as he leaves Miss Starth alone he is in no danger from me. I hope you will understand that."
"I understand," said Jarman, coldly. "And now we will part."
"On an understanding, however," said Darrel, striding after Eustace--"that you don't interfere with my affairs. If you do, I'll--" He stopped, and looking at Eustace with an evil face walked on. "You are warned!" he said over his shoulder.
For a moment Eustace was inclined to follow, and dash his insolent words down his throat. But such an act might have jeopardised the safety of Frank. Jarman, therefore, was compelled to swallow his anger, and greatly he disliked doing so, but under the circumstances he could do nothing else.
All that day he wondered what amount of truth there was in the assertion of Darrel that Frank was in love with Mildred. Eustace could not bring himself to believe that Frank would act basely towards him, and make love during his absence. "He knows that I adore Mildred," soliloquised Eustace as he paced his rough lawn, "and to try to get her to himself would be a base thing to do. I have helped him. He certainly would not betray me. I swear by Frank."
Nevertheless, in spite of these brave words, he caught himself frowning at the thought, and finally made up his mind to see Mildred and learn the worst. He was aware that she liked him, but that into their bargain no love had entered. If she really loved Frank, and the young man had acted honourably, why then-- "But it's impossible--impossible!" groaned Jarman, clenching his hand. "He would not treat me in such a way."
Troubled in this fashion he presented himself at Rose Cottage, looking unlike his usual self. Mildred was in the garden watching the sunset, and was walking towards the summerhouse when she heard him call her name. Turning with a cry of alarm, she came swiftly towards him, holding out both hands.
"Eustace, I'm so glad you have come! I was sorry that I could not see you last night. Why did you not come earlier?"
"I was busy," he said, evasively, and looked into her eyes. "Mildred, why were you alarmed when I called you?"
She faltered. "I thought it might be Darrel," she said faintly. "But he would not call you by your Christian name?"
Mildred blazed up. "I'd like to see him dare!" she said. "But he has insolence enough for anything. He persecutes me!"
"Oh, does he!" cried Jarman, angrily. "Then I'll made short work of him. You see if I don't. I'll--"
"Do nothing--do nothing!" she panted, catching his hands. "He is a dangerous man. He knows too much."
"About what I don't understand." She turned red, and her hands dropped. "Mr. O'Neil," she said, in a low voice, then covered her face.
"He has gone away. I don't know where he is," said Jarman, "but--"
"No, no! Say nothing." She dried her tears and drew him into a sheltered part of the lawn. "He is here," she whispered. "I have concealed him, and he has told me his story."
Jarman looked at her, astonished. "You know then that he is Lancaster?"
She nodded with a smile.
Jarman was so astonished at Mildred's communication that he dropped into a garden-seat which was fortunately close at hand. It was wonderful enough to hear that Lancaster was concealed in Rose Cottage, but still more wonderful to hear that she knew who he was. Eustace would have thought it unlikely that she would have anything to do with the man suspected of being her brother's murderer. Yet she admitted the fact boldly, and actually smiled. He recalled the remarks of Darrel, and wondered if there was an understanding between her and Lancaster.
"How long have you known his real name?" he asked sternly.
"Since you went away," replied Mildred, sitting beside him. "Don't be angry, Eustace. I agree with you that he is innocent, and when he came to me for shelter, what could I do? Even if he were guilty I could not give him up." And she shuddered.
"Does Mrs. Perth know?"
"Yes. I had to tell her. But we have kept it secret from Jane."
Eustace nodded. "It's just as well. The girl might babble. How was it Lancaster dared to come here?"
"He did not know what to do, or how to escape. You see, Mr. Darrel--"
Jarman interrupted. "I know Darrel recognised him. He told me so to-day. And he said other things, for which I felt inclined to knock him down. And I should have done so, but that, as you say, he is too well aware of the existing state of things."
"What did he say?" asked Mildred, an angry light in her eyes.
"There is no need to repeat his insolence."
"There certainly is not, for I know quite well what he said. He is determined to make me his wife, and--"
"And he coupled your name with that of Lancaster."
"Oh, he is jealous of everyone," said Mildred, tossing her head. "You don't believe that, I hope?"
"Believe what?" asked Eustace, wishing for details.
But like a woman, having brought the matter to a point, she changed the subject hurriedly.
"Nothing, nothing!" she declared, hurriedly. "I am engaged to you, Eustace, if you find out who killed Walter."
"So I understand," he replied sadly. "But there is no love on your side, my dear."
"I told you plainly what I thought."
"You did, and I should not have taken advantage of your position. I think we had better--"
"Stop!" she interrupted, and in the moonlight he could see her bosom heave. "You had better not say too much. Let us leave the subject alone until we get out of these troubles."
Eustace was quite willing to do this. He could scarcely tax her with being in love with Frank on the evidence of Darrel. But he was resolved to question Lancaster at the first opportunity. Meantime, seeing that Mildred was disposed to grow angry, he thought it best to leave the matter alone.
"Where is he?" was his question.
Mildred looked round as though she thought the birds of the air might overhear.
"He is in the summerhouse," she said. "There is a small room at the back, which I fitted up as a kind of studio for painting."
"But is that safe, Mildred?"
"Quite safe. No one ever goes there but me. The summerhouse, as you can see, is quite buried amongst the trees, and I have hung some Eastern stuffs round the walls to conceal the door into the studio. Besides," she added, with a little hesitation, "no one would ever think of looking for him in my house."
"No. That is all right," assented Jarman; "but why did he come?"
"For the very reason I have stated. He was afraid lest Mr. Darrel should send a message to the police, so he gave the key of your house to old Bowles, and came in the afternoon--"
"As Desmond O'Neil?"
"Certainly. Then he told me his story. At first I was horrified, but, remembering how you believed in his innocence, I decided to help him. As the secretary, he then went for a long walk, and came back at night. I had the studio ready for him, and he has been in it ever since."
"Let me see him," said Jarman, rising.
"One moment," said Mildred, catching his hand; "you will find him different to what you expect. His disguise has been taken off."
"Were you surprised at the change?"
"No." She blushed. "The fact is, Eustace, I saw him in the theatre on that night, so I knew him again when he became himself."
Jarman felt a jealous pang. He began to think that Mildred loved the boy, seeing how she blushed when she spoke of him. Also her voice faltered, and she seemed embarrassed. At first Eustace almost felt inclined to speak out, and demand if she loved Lancaster; but remembering the position of the young man, and being afraid of the wrath of Mildred, he held his tongue. In silence they moved across the lawn and entered the summerhouse. It was luminous with moonlight, and Eustace saw a faint sparkle of gold, the threads of the Eastern stuffs which draped the walls. Mildred gave a little cough, and repeated it twice. "The signal!" she whispered with her finger on her lips; and in spite of the gravity of the position she seemed quite to enjoy its mystery. In many ways Mildred Starth was still a schoolgirl.
From the other side of the wall came a cough, and this also was repeated twice. Mildred drew aside the drapery and revealed a door.
"I'll leave you now," she murmured. "You can talk to him alone. Come in and see me afterwards," and before Eustace could say a word she was gone. He saw her flit across the lawn in the moonlight, then knocked softly at the door. A key was turned, the door opened, and Frank looked out.
"Who is it?" he whispered.
"Your friend Jarman," said that gentleman, and stepped inside.
It was perfectly dark, save where a slender moonbeam stole in through the high window. Frank gave a gasp of relief, and gripped Eustace's hand in the gloom. They exchanged a hearty handshake, and then Frank pushed forward a chair. As he had been long in the darkness, he was better able to see than Jarman.
"I'm so glad you have come," said Frank, drawing another chair close to that of his friend, so that he could converse in a whisper. "I have been longing for you. You got my letter?"
"Yes. And I am much astonished to find you here."
"I thought it was the best thing I could do," said Lancaster. "After you left, Darrel--"
"I know all about it. But why did he threaten you?"
"Oh!--" Frank hesitated. He could not tell Jarman the reason, and hardly knew what to say. But Jarman brought things to a point.
"Lancaster," he said, seizing the young man's hand, "I have been a good friend to you. Have you--are you--I mean, do you treat me as a man of honour should treat another?"
"Yes. I swear I have said nothing."
"Ah! you know what I speak of?"
"I do. I can hardly make a mistake when you speak to me in such a tone. Eustace, don't think so basely of me."
"Do you love Mildred?" asked Jarman, sternly.
There was a moment's silence. "Heaven help me, I do!"
"And you have--"
"No, no!" Frank's voice broke out quickly and earnestly. "I have not said a word to her. I have not even shown that I take any interest in her. I knew she was engaged to you, and that sealed my lips. I would not have come here, but that I was driven into a corner. Darrel knew me under my disguise. I fancied he might put the police on my track. If I had gone to London, or anywhere in the country as O'Neil, the police would have caught me from the description Darrel could give. And if I took off my disguise, the description in the papers would enable them to recognise me. Eustace, I swear that if a poor hunted wretch like myself had had any corner to hide in I should not have come here. But you trust me--say you trust me?"
"Yes, I do trust you," said Jarman, a little sadly. "I know you have been driven to take up this position. But we will talk no more of the matter. When you are free from trouble then we can talk. But tell me, how did Mildred receive you?"
"She was horrified at first, but afterwards, when I confessed all, she believed me to be innocent. She told Mrs. Perth, who also thinks I am guiltless. I am safe here. Even Darrel can't find me in this place. But if you like, Eustace, I can disguise myself in another way and go abroad. I don't want to remain here longer than I can help."
"You must remain here," said Jarman, decisively. "If you try to escape you may be captured. Fan knows of your disguise."
"And Berry?" asked Frank, in alarm.
"I can't say that. Fan was down to-day, but she did not tell me if she had revealed anything to Berry."
"Who told her? But I needn't ask. It was Darrel."
"You are wrong. Both Darrel and Fairy Fan deny that."
"Then who could have told?"
"I can't say. But Fan came down to see you."
"To have me arrested, I suppose?" said Frank, bitterly.
"On the contrary, she wished to make you a proposal of marriage." Frank sat still for a moment, then, in spite of his troubles, laughed softly.
"You or she must be crazy, Eustace."
"Then it is she. Her message, which I promised to deliver on conditions, was that if you would marry her she would save you."
"Then if you see her again you can refuse her offer. I should not think of marrying her. I have got over my infatuation there."
"And have placed your heart elsewhere?" said Jarman, quietly.
"We agreed not to speak of that," said Lancaster, stiffly. "I am an honourable man, and in my position--oh! it's ridiculous. Don't hit a man when he is down, Eustace."
"I'm not so ungenerous, I hope."
"You are the best of good fellows," said Frank, impetuously, "but my nerves are worn rather thin with all this worry. What are the conditions on which you delivered the message?"
"I'll tell you later. I have a scheme in my head to counterplot Fan and the man she calls her uncle."
"Don't you believe that he is her uncle?" asked Frank.
"No," replied Eustace, decidedly, "I don't. She met him in San Francisco, and he became her accomplice to get Anchor out of the way. I am sure that Berry--or, as he was then--Sakers, fired the shot that killed the man. But in some way the two were done out of this fortune connected with Denham and with you. They brought the boy to England to plot against you, and then intended when you were put out of the way to get the money from Natty. That poor lad doesn't know it, but I believe his life is not safe."
"You don't think they would murder him?"
"They murdered Starth. Oh, yes, I am certain on that point. If Berry didn't fire the shot himself, he got someone else to do it. But the object was to throw the blame on you, so that you might be hanged. I can't think why it should be necessary. However, we may find out from the sealed letter."
"Ah!" Frank started, and spoke in a rather agitated tone. "I forgot that in my troubles. Have you got it?"
"Yes, it's in my pocket. I'll show it to you immediately. Have you a candle here?"
"Yes. But I am afraid to use it. The light might be seen from the road."
"And if Mrs. Baker saw it she would certainly make inquiries. We'll wait for a bit. I'll show you the letter before I go, and then I must talk to Mildred and Mrs. Perth. But about Berry. I wonder if anyone knows details of his past life?"
"Darrel does," said Lancaster, promptly. "He saw him in Los Angeles."
"H'm! I wonder if he would tell me anything? He was most insolent to me to-day, but in your interests I don't mind putting up with that if there's anything to be learnt."
Jarman paused for a moment, and then went on: "Frank, do you think there is negro blood in Darrel?"
"It's curious you should say that, Jarman. Jenny Arrow saw that portrait of Balkis, and she thought it resembled Darrel."
"I haven't seen that portrait. Miss Cork took it away, you said."
"Yes." And Frank described how he had obtained the photograph from Mildred, and for what purpose. "I'm sure Miss Cork knows Balkis."
"She might--she might," mused Jarman "Well, I'll soon know her also, for I am going to look her up at the Docks."
"For what purpose?"
"Can't you guess? That woman is mixed up in this thing. Her photograph was in Starth's possession, and Berry visits her. Now you tell me that there is a resemblance between her and Darrel. I shouldn't be at all surprised to find that this negress is some relative."
"Oh, but that's absurd, Eustace. Darrel comes from Africa." Jarman laughed. "He went out there in the first instance. He talked of being in Los Angeles. That is in Mexico, and Mexico is in the same latitude as the West Indies."
"Then you think he may come from the Islands?"
"It's not improbable. Where does Balkis come from?"
"Zanzibar, according to Starth."
"Who was a born liar," said Eustace, cynically. "I shouldn't be surprised to find she came from the West Indies also. And remember, Frank, that Denham was born in Zacatecas--that's in Mexico. Your father travelled in those parts."
"Yes. But what's all this to do with me?"
"A great deal, I fancy. I am sure the money is connected with Mexico, with Balkis, with Darrel, and with Denham. Fan and Berry know about it. And the Scarlet Bat. I shouldn't be surprised to learn that it was a kind of sign connected with the affair. I can't say in what way. But we'll know soon. What I can't make out," said Jarman, nursing his chin, "is why London should be plastered with posters of the Scarlet Bat and Tamaroo."
"You don't mean to say--?"
"Yes, I do." And Eustace told Frank of the poster, and how Fan had denied having anything to do with it. "And I'm sure she spoke the truth," he said decisively, "for she asked me if I had posted the Bat. Of course, she must guess that you have it tattooed on your arm, and thought that I made use of it."
"But for what purpose? You and I are not supposed to know anything about the fortune--if there is one."
"Oh, there is one, sure enough, and the Berry lot think I know much more about it than I do. And there's another negro mixed up in the matter besides Balkis. The lawyers I called on told me that one came to ask after you." And Jarman gave details.
"Well," said Frank, more and more puzzled, "there's only one thing to be done. We must open the sealed letter."
"All right. Here you are," and in the darkness Jarman passed it along. Frank opened it, but it was impossible to see. Therefore Eustace lighted a match, which was not likely to be seen from the road, and held it while Frank read the letter. The paper had a Scarlet Bat drawn in one corner with red ink, and the writing consisted of only a few words. "My son," ran the writing, "when you are twenty-five send your address to 'Tamaroo, The General Post-Office, London. To be called for.' Then wait events."
"And Tamaroo is the name on the bills!" said Eustace under his breath.