The two men looked at one another, Jennings searchingly, and Cuthbert with a look of mingled amazement and indignation. They were rather like in looks, both being tall, slim and fair-haired. But Mallow wore a mustache, whereas the detective, possibly for the sake of disguising himself on occasions, was clean-shaven. But although Jennings' profession was scarcely that of a gentleman, he looked well-bred, and was dressed with the same quiet taste and refinement as characterized Mallow. The public-school stamp was on both, and they might have been a couple of young men about town discussing sport rather than an officer of the law and a man who (it seemed from Jennings' hints) was suspected of complicity in a crime.
"Do you mean this for a jest?" said Cuthbert at length.
"I never jest on matters connected with my profession, Mallow. It is too serious a one."
"Naturally. It so often involves the issues of life and death."
"In this case I hope it does not," said Jennings, significantly.
Cuthbert, who was recovering his composure, sat down with a shrug. "I assure you, you have found a mare's nest this time. Whatever my follies may have been, I am not a criminal."
"I never thought you were," rejoined the other, also taking a seat, "but you may have become involved with people who are criminals."
"I dare say half of those one meets in society are worthy of jail, did one know what is done under the rose," returned Cuthbert; "by the way, how did you come so opportunely?"
"I knew you had gone out of town, as I came a few days ago to see you about this matter, and inquired. Your servant said you were in Devonshire—"
"I went to see my mother who was ill," said Mallow quickly.
"I guessed as much. You said something about your mother living in Exeter when we met last. Well, I had Paddington watch for your return, and my messenger—"
"Your spy, you mean," said Mallow angrily.
"Certainly, if you prefer the term. Well, your spy—I mean my spy, reported that you were back, so I came on here. Are you going out?"
"I was, but if you wish to arrest me—"
"Nonsense, man. I have only come to have a quiet chat with you. Believe me, I wish you well. I have not forgotten the old Eton days."
"I tell you what, Jennings, I won't stand this talk from any man. Are you here as a gentleman or as a detective?"
"As both, I hope," replied the other dryly, "but are we not wasting valuable time? If you wish to go out this evening, the sooner we get to business the better. Will you answer my questions?"
"I must know what they are first," said Cuthbert defiantly.
Jennings looked irritated. "If you won't treat me properly, I may as well leave the matter alone," he said coldly. "My position is quite unpleasant enough as it is. I came here to an old schoolfellow as a friend—"
"To try and implicate him in a crime. Thanks for nothing."
Jennings, whose patience appeared to be exhausted, rose. "Very well, then, Mallow. I shall go away and hand over the matter to someone else. I assure you the questions must be answered."
Cuthbert made a sign to the other to be seated, which Jennings seemed by no means inclined to obey. He stood stiffly by his chair as Mallow paced the room reflectively. "After all, I don't see why we should quarrel," said the latter at length.
"That's just what I've been driving at for the last ten minutes."
"Very good," said Mallow soothingly, "let us sit down and smoke. I have no particular engagement, and if you will have some coffee—"
"I will have both cigarette and coffee if you will help me to unravel this case," said Jennings, sitting down with a smoother brow.
"But I don't see what I can—"
"You'll see shortly. Will you be open with me?"
"That requires reflection."
"Reflect as long as you like. But if you decline, I will hand the case over to the next man on the Scotland Yard list. He may not deal with you so gently."
"I don't care how he deals with me," returned Mallow, haughtily; "having done no wrong, I am not afraid. And, what is more, Jennings, I was coming to see you as soon as I returned. You have only forestalled our interview."
"What did you wish to see me about?"
"This case," said Cuthbert, getting out a box of cigarettes and touching the bell. "The deuce!" said Jennings briskly, "then you do know something?"
Cuthbert handed him the box and gave an order for coffee. "Any liqueur?" he asked in friendly tones.
"No. I never drink when on—ah—er—pleasure," said the other, substituting another word since the servant was in the room. "Well," he asked when the door closed, "why did you wish to see me?"
"To ask if you remember a coining case that took place some twenty years ago?"
"No. That was before my time. What case is it?"
"Some people called Saul were mixed up in it."
"Humph! Never heard of them," said Jennings, lighting his cigarette, "but it is strange you should talk of coining. I and several other fellows are looking for a set of coiners now. There are a lot of false coins circulating, and they are marvellously made. If I can only lay my hands on the coiners and their factory, there will be a sensation."
"And your reputation will be enhanced."
"I hope so," replied the detective, reddening. "I want a rise in my salary, as I wish to marry. By the way, how is Miss Saxon?"
"Very well. You met her, did you not?"
"Yes! You took me to that queer house. What do they call it? the—'Shrine of the Muses'—where all the sham art exists. Why do you look so grave, old boy?"
The two men, getting more confidential, were dropping into the language of school-days and speaking more familiarly. Mallow did not reply at once, as his servant had just brought in the coffee. But when each gentleman was supplied with a cup and they were again alone, he looked gravely at Miles. "I want to ask your advice," he said, "and if you are my friend—"
"I am, of course I am."
"Well, then, I am as interested in finding out who killed Miss Loach as you are."
"Why is that?" demanded Jennings, puzzled.
"Before I answer and make a clean breast of it, I should like you to promise that you will get no one I know into trouble."
Jennings hesitated. "That is a difficult matter. Of course, if I find the assassin, even if he or she is one of your friends, I must do my duty."
"Oh, I don't expect anything of that sort," said Mallow easily, "but why do you say 'he' or 'she'?"
"Well, the person who killed Miss Loach might be a woman."
"I don't see how you make that out," said Cuthbert reflectively. "I read the case coming up in the train to-day, and it seems to me from what The Planet says that the whole thing is a mystery."
"One which I mean to dive into and discover," replied Miles. "I do not care for an ordinary murder case, but this is one after my own heart. It is a criminal problem which I should like to work out."
"Do you see your way as yet?" asked Cuthbert.
"No," confessed Jennings, "I do not. I saw the report you speak of. The writer theorizes without having facts to go on. What he says about the bell is absurd. All the same, the bell did ring and the assassin could not have escaped at the time it sounded. Nor could the deceased have rung it. Therein lies the mystery, and I can't guess how the business was managed."
"Do you believe the assassin rang the bell?"
Miles shrugged his shoulders and sipped his coffee. "It is impossible to say. I will wait until I have more facts before me before I venture an opinion. It is only in detective novels that the heaven-born Vidocq can guess the truth on a few stray clues. But what were you going to tell me?"
"Will you keep what I say to yourself?"
"Yes," said Jennings, readily enough, "so long as it doesn't mean the escape of the person who is guilty."
"I don't ask you to betray the confidence placed in you by the authorities to that extent," said Mallow, "just wait a moment."
He leaned his chin on his hand and thought. If he wished to gain the hand of Juliet, it was necessary he should clear up the mystery of the death. Unaided, he could not do so, but with the assistance of his old schoolfellow—following his lead in fact—he might get at the truth. Then, when the name of the assassin of her sister was known, the reason of Mrs. Octagon's strange behavior might be learned, and, moreover, the discovery might remove her objection. On the other hand, Cuthbert could not help feeling uneasy, lest Mrs. Octagon had some secret connected with the death which made her refuse her consent to the match, and which, if he explained to Jennings what he knew, might become known in a quarter which she might not approve of. However, Mallow was certain that, in spite of Mrs. Octagon's hint, his uncle had nothing to do with the matter, and he had already warned her—although she refused to listen—that he intended to trace the assassin. Under these circumstances, and also because Jennings was his friend and more likely to aid him, than get anyone he knew and respected into trouble, the young man made up his mind to tell everything.
"The fact is, I am engaged to Juliet Saxon," he began, hesitatingly.
"I know that. She is the daughter of that absurd Mrs. Octagon, with the meek husband and the fine opinion of herself."
"Yes. But Juliet is the niece of Miss Loach."
"What!" Jennings sprang from his chair with a look of surprise; "do you mean to tell me that Mrs. Octagon is Miss Loach's sister."
"I do. They quarrelled many years ago, and have not been friendly for years. Mrs. Octagon would never go and see her sister, but she did not forbid her children being friendly. As you may guess, Mrs. Octagon is much distressed about the murder, but the strange thing is that she declares this death renders it impossible for me to marry her daughter."
Jennings looked searchingly at his friend. "That is strange. Does she give no reason?"
"No. But knowing my uncle knew her when she was a girl, I thought I would ask him what he thought. He told me that he had once been engaged to Miss Loach, and—"
"Well, go on," said Miles, seeing Cuthbert hesitating.
"There was another lady in the case."
"There usually is," said Jennings dryly. "Well?"
"The other lady's name was Saul—Emilia Saul."
"Oh," Miles sat down again. He had remained standing for a few moments. "Saul was the name you mentioned in connection with the coining case of twenty years ago."
Cuthbert nodded, and now, being fully convinced that he badly needed Jennings' aid, he told all that he had heard from Caranby, and detailed what his mother had said. Also, he touched on the speech of Mrs. Octagon, and repeated the warning he had given her. Miles listened quietly, but made no remark till his friend finished.
"You have told me all you know?" he asked.
"Yes. I want you to help me. Not that I think what I have learned has anything to do with the case."
"I'm not so sure of that," said Jennings musingly, his eyes on the carpet. "Mrs. Octagon bases her refusal to allow the marriage on the fact of the death. However, you have warned her, and she must take the consequence."
"But, my dear Jennings, you don't think she has anything to do with the matter. I assure you she is a good, kind woman—"
"With a violent temper, according to your mother," finished Jennings dryly. "However, don't alarm yourself. I don't think she is guilty."
"I should think not," cried Mallow, indignantly. "Juliet's mother!"
"But she may have something to do with the matter all the same. However, you have been plain with me, and I will do all I can to help you. The first thing is for us to follow up the clue of the portrait."
"Ah, yes! I had quite forgotten that," said Mallow, casting a look on the photograph which lay near at hand. "Just pass it, will you."
Miles did so. "You say you recognize it," he said.
"I recognize my own face. I had several portraits done like this. I think this one—" Mallow looked at the inscription which he read for the first time, and his face grew pale.
"What is it?" asked Miles eagerly.
"I don't know," faltered the other uneasily.
"You recognize the inscription?"
"Yes, I certainly wrote that."
"It is quite a tender inscription," said Miles, his eyes on the disturbed face of the other. "'With my dear love,' it reads."
Cuthbert laid down the portrait and nodded. "Yes! That is the inscription," he said in low tones, and his eyes sought the carpet.
"You wrote that to a servant."
"What servant?"
"The new parlor-maid engaged by Miss Loach on the day of her death—Susan Grant."
"I remember the name. I saw it in the papers."
"Do you know the girl well?" asked Jennings.
"I don't know her at all."
"Come now. A man doesn't give a portrait with such an inscription to any unknown girl, nor to one he is not in love with."
"Jennings," cried Mallow indignantly, "how can you think—" his voice died away and he clenched his hands.
"What am I to think then?" demanded the detective.
"What you like."
"That you love this Susan Grant?"
"I tell you I never set eyes on her," said Cuthbert violently.
"Then how does she come into possession of your portrait?" asked the other. Then seeing that Mallow refused to speak, he laid a persuasive hand on his shoulder. "You must speak out," he said quickly, "you have told me so much you must tell me all. Matters can't stand as they are. No," here Jennings looked straight into Mallow's eyes, "you did not give that portrait to Susan Grant."
"I never said so."
"Don't be an ass, Mallow. You say you don't know the girl, therefore you can hardly have given her the photograph. Now the inscription shows that it was given to a woman you are in love with. You told me when you introduced me to Miss Saxon that she was the only woman you ever loved. Therefore you gave this portrait with its tender inscription to her."
"I—I can't say."
"You mean you won't trust me," said Jennings.
Cuthbert rose quickly and flung off his friend's arm. "I wish to Heaven I had never opened my mouth to you," he said.
"My dear fellow, you should show more confidence in me. I know quite well why you won't acknowledge that you gave this photograph to Miss Saxon. You think it will implicate her in the matter."
"Jennings!" cried Cuthbert, his face growing red and fierce.
"Wait a moment," resumed the other calmly and without flinching. "I can explain. You gave the photograph to Miss Saxon. She gave it to Miss Loach, and Susan Grant falling in love with your face, took possession of it. It was found in her trunk."
"Yes—yes, that's it!" cried Mallow, catching at a straw. "I did give the photograph to Juliet, and no doubt she gave it to her aunt. It would be easy for this girl to take it. Though why she should steal it," said Cuthbert perplexed, "I really can't say!"
"You don't know her?" asked Jennings.
"No. Really, I don't. The name is quite unknown to me. What is the girl like in appearance?" Jennings described Susan to the best of his ability, but Cuthbert shook his head. "No, I never saw her. You say she had this photograph in her trunk?" Then, on receiving an affirmative reply, "She may have found it lying about and have taken it, though why she should I can't say."
"So you said before," said Jennings dryly. "But strange as it may appear, Mallow, this girl is in love with you."
"How do you know that?"
"Well, you see," said Miles, slowly. "After the murder I searched the boxes of the servants in the house for the weapon."
"But there was no danger of them being accused?"
"No. Nor would I have searched their boxes had they not insisted. But they were all so afraid of being accused, that they wished to exonerate themselves as much as possible. The fact that the whole four were in the kitchen together at the time the crime was committed quite clears them. However, they insisted, so I looked into their boxes. I found this photograph in the box of the new housemaid. She refused to state how it came into her possession, and became so red, and wept so much, that I soon saw that she loved you."
"But I tell you it's ridiculous. I don't know the girl—and a servant, too. Pshaw!"
"Well, then, I must get her to see you, and possibly some explanation may be made. I took possession of the photograph—"
"Why? On what grounds should my photograph interest you, Jennings?"
"On the grounds that you are a friend of mine, and that I knew your face the moment I saw it. I naturally asked the girl how it came into her possession, as I know your tastes don't lie in the way of pretty parlor-maids, however attractive. It was her reply which made me take the portrait and come to ask you for an explanation."
"What reply did she make?" demanded Cuthbert, exasperated by the false position he was placed in.
"She said that she would explain nothing in case you should get into trouble with the police. Can you explain that?"
"No," said Mallow, perplexed. "I really cannot be responsible for the vagaries of a parlor-maid. I don't know the name Susan Grant, and from your description of her appearance, I never set eyes on her. I am quite sure your explanation is the correct one. Juliet gave it to her aunt, and for some ridiculous reason this girl stole it."
"But her remark about the police."
Mallow made a gesture of helplessness, and leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece. "I can't guess what she means. Well, what will you do now, Jennings?"
"First, I shall get the girl to come here and see you. Then I shall ask Miss Saxon why she gave the photograph to Miss Loach. You were not a favorite with the old lady, I gather."
"On the contrary, she liked me much more than I did her."
"You see. She liked you so much that she insisted on having your photograph. I must ask Miss Saxon when she gave it. Will you let me bring this girl to see you to-morrow?"
"Certainly. But it's all very unpleasant."
The detective rose to go. "Most matters connected with a crime are, my dear fellow," said he calmly. "I only hope there will not be any more unpleasantness."
"What do you mean?"
"I can't say what I mean—yet."
"You are mysterious, Jennings."
"I am perplexed. I don't seem to advance. However, I intend to follow up the clue of your photograph, though if the explanation I suggest is the true one, there's nothing more to be said. But the girl, Susan Grant, has not the look of a thief."
"That means, I gave her the photograph," said Cuthbert haughtily.
"Not necessarily," rejoined Jennings, putting on his overcoat. "But I will not theorize any more. Wait till I confront the girl with you in a few days. Then we may force her to speak."
Cuthbert shrugged his shoulders. "As you please. But I really am at a loss to think what she will say."
"So am I," said Jennings, as they walked to the door. "That is why I am anxious to see her and you together. And, after all, I may have found only a mare's nest."
"You certainly have so far as I am concerned. By the way, when is the body to be buried?"
"The day after to-morrow. Then the will has to be read. I hope the old lady will leave you some money, Mallow. She was reported to be rich. Oh, by the way, I'll look up that Saul coining case you speak of."
"Why?" asked Mallow, bluntly and uneasily.
"It may have some bearing on this matter. Only in the past will we find the truth. And Miss Selina Loach certainly knew Miss Saul."
As Jennings departed the postman came up the stairs with the late letters. Cuthbert found one from Juliet and opened it at once. It contained one line—
"Don't see the police about aunt's death—JULIET."
Cuthbert Mallow slept very badly that night.
The most obvious thing for Cuthbert to do was to seek Juliet and ask for an explanation of her mysterious note. He went to the "Shrine of the Muses" the very next day, but was informed that Miss Saxon and her mother had gone out of town and would not be back for a few days. He could not learn where they were, and was leaving the house somewhat disconsolately when he met Basil.
"You here, Mallow," said that young gentleman, stopping short, "have you been to see my mother?"
"I went to see Juliet," replied Cuthbert, not sorry that the meeting had taken place, "but I hear she is out of town."
"Well, not exactly. The fact is, she and my mother have gone down to Rose Cottage and intend to stop there until the funeral is over and the will is read."
"The will?" echoed Mallow.
"Yes. Aunt Selina is likely to leave a great deal of money. I expect it will all go to Juliet. She never liked me."
"Yet you were frequently at her house."
"I was," confessed Basil candidly. "I tried to make myself as civil as possible, so that she might remember me. Between ourselves, Mallow, I am deuced hard up. My mother hasn't much money, I have none of my own, and old Octagon is as stingy as he well can be."
This sounded well coming from an idler who never did a stroke of work, and who lived on the charity of his step-father. But Basil had peculiar views as to money. He considered himself a genius, and that Peter should be proud to support him until, as he phrased it, he had "stamped his name on the age"! But the stamping took a long time, and Basil troubled himself very little about the matter. He remarked that genius should not be forced, and loafed away the greater portion of his days. His mother kept him in pocket-money and clothes, Peter supplied board and lodging, and Basil got through life very pleasantly. He wished to be famous, to have his name in every mouth and his portrait in every paper; but the work that was necessary to obtain these desirable things he was unwilling to do. Cuthbert knew that the young fellow had been "born tired"! and although something of an idler himself, liked Basil none the more for his laziness. Had Mallow been poor he would certainly have earned his bread, but he had a good income and did not work. And, after all, he only pursued the way of life in which he had been brought up. But Basil was poor and had his career to make, therefore he certainly should have labored. However, for Juliet's sake, Cuthbert was as polite as possible.
"If I were you, Saxon, I should leave cards alone," said Mallow.
"Nonsense! I don't play high. Besides, I have seen you at Maraquito's also losing a lot."
"I can afford to lose," said Cuthbert dryly, "you can't."
"No, by Jove, you're right there. But don't preach, Mallow, you ain't such a saint yourself."
"Can I help you with a cheque?"
Basil had good breeding enough to color.
"No! I didn't explain myself for that," he said coldly, "and besides, if Juliet comes in for Aunt Selina's money, I'll get some. Juliet and I always share."
This meant that Juliet was to give the money and Basil to spend it. Mallow was disgusted with this candid selfishness. However, he did not wish to quarrel with Basil, as he knew Juliet was fond of him, and moreover, in the present state of affairs, he was anxious to have another friend besides Mr. Octagon in the house. "Perhaps Miss Loach may have left you some money after all," he remarked.
"By Jove, I hope so. I'll be in a hole if she has not. There's a bill—" here he stopped, as though conscious of having said too much. "But that will come into Juliet's possession," he murmured.
"What's that?" asked Cuthbert sharply.
"Nothing—nothing—only a tailor's bill. As to getting money by the will, don't you know I quarrelled with Aunt Selina a week before her death. Yes, she turned me out of the house." Here Basil's face assumed what may be described as an ugly look. "I should like to have got even with the old cat. She insulted me."
"Gently, old fellow," said Mallow, seeing that Basil was losing his temper, and having occasionally seen him in fits of uncontrollable passion, "we're in the public street."
Basil's brow cleared. "All right," he said, "don't bother, I'll be all right when Juliet gets the money. By the way, mother tells me you are not going to marry her."
"Your mother is mistaken," rejoined Mallow gravely. "Juliet and I are still engaged. I do not intend to give her up."
"I told mother you would not give in easily," said Basil, frowning, "but you can't marry Juliet."
"Why not?" asked Cuthbert sharply; "do you know the reason?"
Basil appeared about to say something, then suddenly closed his mouth and shook his head.
Cuthbert pressed him. "If you know the reason, tell me," he said, "and I'll help you out of your difficulties. You know I love Juliet, and your mother does not seem to have any excuse to forbid the marriage."
"I would help you if I could, but I can't. You had better ask Juliet herself. She may tell you the reason."
"How can I find her?"
"Go down to Rose Cottage and ask to see her," suggested Basil.
"Your mother will not admit me."
"That's true enough. Well, I'll tell you what, Mallow, I'll speak to Juliet and get her to make an appointment to see you."
"I could write and ask her for one myself."
"Oh, no, you couldn't. Mother will intercept all letters."
"Upon my word—" began Mallow angrily, then stopped. It was useless to show his wrath before this silly boy, who could do no good and might do a deal of harm. "Very well, then," he said more mildly, "ask Juliet to meet me on the other side of Rexton, under the wall which runs round the unfinished house."
Basil started. "Why that place?" he asked nervously.
"It is as good as any other."
"You can't get inside."
"That's true enough. But we can meet outside. I have been inside though, and I made a mess of myself climbing the wall."
"You were inside," began Basil, then suddenly appeared relieved. "I remember; you were there on the day after Aunt Selina was killed."
"I have been there before that," said Cuthbert, wondering why the young man avoided his eye in so nervous a manner.
"Not at—at night?" murmured Saxon, looking away.
"Once I was there at night. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothing—nothing. I was just thinking it's a wild place in which to find one's self at night. By the way," added Basil, as though anxious to change a disagreeable subject, "do you think Jarvey Hale a nice fellow?"
"No, I don't. I have met him at Maraquito's, and I don't like him. He's a bounder. Moreover, a respectable lawyer has no right to gamble to the extent he does. I wonder Miss Loach trusted him."
"Perhaps she didn't know of his gambling," said Basil, his eyes wandering everywhere but to the face of his companion; "but, should you think Hale would be hard on a fellow?"
"Yes, I should. Do you owe him money?"
"A few pounds. He won't give me time to pay. And I say, Mallow, I suppose all Aunt Selina's affairs will be left in Hale's hands?"
"I can't say. It depends upon the will. If everything is left to Juliet, unconditionally, she may take her affairs out of Hale's hands. I should certainly advise her to do so. He's too intimate with Maraquito and her gambling salon to be a decent lawyer."
"You do seem down on gambling," said Basil, "yet you gamble yourself a lot. But I expect Juliet will change her lawyer. I hope she will."
"Why?" asked Cuthbert sharply.
"Oh," replied Basil, confused, "because I agree with you. A gambler will not make a good lawyer—or a good husband either," he added in an abrupt tone. "Good-day. I'll tell Juliet," and he was off before Mallow could find words to answer his last remark.
Cuthbert, walking back to his rooms, wondered if it was on account of the gambling that Mrs. Octagon objected to the marriage. He really did not gamble much, but occasionally he dropped into Maraquito's house, and there lost or won a few pounds. Here he had often met Basil, and without doubt the young man had told his mother. But he could hardly do this without incriminating himself. All the same, Basil was a thorough liar, and a confirmed tattler. He might have blackened Mallow's character, and yet have told a story to exonerate himself. His friendship appeared feigned, and Cuthbert doubted if he would really tell Juliet of the appointment.
"That young man's in trouble," thought Mallow, "he is anxious about Hale, and I shouldn't wonder if that respectable person had lent him a large sum of money. Probably he counts on getting the money from Juliet, should she inherit the fortune of Miss Loach. Also he seems annoyed that I should have been in Caranby's unfinished house at night. I wonder what he would say if he knew my reason for going there. Humph! I must keep that quiet. The only person I dare tell is Juliet; but I can't speak to her about the matter just yet. And after all, there is no need to mention my visit. It does not concern her in the least. I wonder," here Cuthbert stopped, struck with an idea. "By George! can it be that Basil was near Rose Cottage on the night the crime was committed? Juliet may know that, and so, fearful lest he should be accused of the murder, asked me to stop proceedings. Can Basil Saxon be guilty? No," Mallow shook his head and resumed his walk, "he has not pluck enough to kill a fly."
After this he dismissed the matter from his thoughts and waited expectant of a letter from Juliet. None came, and he was convinced that Basil had not delivered the message. This being the case, Cuthbert determined to act for himself, and one afternoon went down to Rexton. That same evening he had an appointment with Jennings, who was to bring Susan Grant to Mallow's rooms. But the young man quite expected to be back in time to keep the appointment, and meantime he spent an hour wandering round Rexton in the vicinity of Rose Cottage. But afraid lest Mrs. Octagon should see him and keep Juliet within doors, he abstained from passing in front of the house and waited on the path which led to the station.
While watching the cottage, a young woman came along the path. She was neatly dressed and looked like a servant. Cuthbert pressed himself against the quickset hedge to allow her to pass, as there was very little room. The girl started as she murmured her thanks, and grew crimson on seeing his face. Cuthbert, not thinking, gave a passing thought to her looks and wondered why she had blushed. But when he saw her enter the gate of Rose Cottage—she looked back twice—he recalled the description of Jennings.
"By George!" he thought, "that was Susan Grant. I wish I had spoken to her. I wonder why she blushed. She can't be in love with me, as I never saw her before. All the same, it is strange about the portrait."
It was now about four o'clock, and Cuthbert fancied that after all it would be best to boldly ring at the door and ask admission, in spite of Mrs. Octagon.
But while hesitating to risk all his chances of seeing Juliet on one throw of fortune's dice, the matter was decided for him by the appearance of Juliet herself. She came out of the gate and walked directly towards the path. It would seem as though she expected to find Cuthbert, for she walked straight up to him and caught his hand. There was no one about to see their meeting, but Juliet was not disposed to behave tenderly.
"Why are you here?" she asked. "Susan Grant told me you—"
"Susan Grant!" echoed Cuthbert, resolved not to know too much in the presence of Juliet. "I saw her name in the papers. How does she know me?"
"I can't say," said Juliet quickly; "come along this way." She hurried along the narrow path, talking all the time. "She came in just now and said you were waiting in the by-path. I came out at once. I don't want my mother to see you."
"Really!" cried Cuthbert, rather nettled. "I don't see that I have any reason to avoid Mrs. Octagon."
"She will not allow me to see you. If she knew I was meeting you she would be very angry. We are here only till to-morrow. Now that Aunt Selina is buried and the will read, we return to Kensington at once. Come this way. Let us get into the open. I don't wish my mother to follow and find me speaking to you."
They emerged into a waste piece of land, distant a stone-throw from the railway station, but secluded by reason of many trees and shrubs. These, belonging to the old Rexton estate, had not yet been rooted up by the builder, and there ran a path through the heart of the miniature wood leading to the station. When quite screened from observation by the friendly leafage, Juliet turned quickly. She was pale and ill in looks, and there were dark circles under her eyes which told of sleepless nights. But she was dressed with her usual care and behaved in a composed manner.
"I wish you had not come, Cuthbert," she said, again taking his hand, "at least not at present. Later on—"
"I wanted to see you at once," said Mallow, determinedly. "Did not Basil tell you so?"
Juliet shook her head. "He said he met you the other day, but gave me no message."
"Then he is not the friend I took him to be," said Mallow angrily.
"Don't be angry with Basil," said Juliet, gently. "The poor boy has quite enough trouble."
"Of his own making," finished Cuthbert, thoroughly annoyed. "See here, Juliet, this sort of thing can't go on. I have done nothing to warrant my being treated like this. Your mother is mad to behave as she is doing. I insist on an explanation."
Juliet did not pay attention to this hasty speech. "How do you know Basil has troubles?" she asked hurriedly.
"Because I know he's a dissipated young ass," returned Mallow roughly; "and I daresay you know it also."
"Do you allude to his playing cards?" she asked quickly.
"Yes. He has no right to tell you these things. But I know he is in debt to Hale—he hinted as much the other day. I would say nothing of this to you, but that I know he counts on your paying his debts. I tell you, Juliet, it is wrong for you to do so."
"How do you know I can?" she asked.
"I know nothing," said Cuthbert doggedly, "not even if you have inherited the money of Miss Loach."
"I have inherited it. She left everything to me, save legacies to Thomas her servant, and to Emily Pill, the cook. It is a large fortune. The will was read on the day of the funeral. I have now six thousand a year."
"So much as that? How did your aunt make such a lot of money?"
"Mr. Hale speculated a great deal on her account, and, he is very lucky. At least so he told me. But the money is well invested and there are no restrictions. I can easily pay the few debts Basil owes, poor boy. You are too hard on him."
"Perhaps I am. But he is so foolish, and he doesn't like me. I believe he puts you against me, Juliet."
The girl threw her arms round his neck. "Nothing in the world would ever put me against you, Cuthbert," she whispered vehemently. "I love you—I love you—with all my heart and soul, with every fibre of my being do I love you. I don't care what mother says, I love you."
"Well, then," said Cuthbert, between kisses, "since you are now rich and your own mistress—not that I care about the money—why not marry me at once?"
Juliet drew back, and her eyes dilated with fear. "I dare not—I dare not," she whispered. "You don't know what you ask."
"Yes I do. Juliet, what is all this mystery about? I could not understand the meaning of your letter."
"Did you do what I asked?" she panted.
"It was too late. I had told Jennings the detective all I knew."
"You were not afraid?"
"Afraid!" echoed Cuthbert, opening his eyes. "What do you mean?"
She looked into his eyes. "No," she said to herself, "he is not afraid."
Cuthbert lost his temper. "I don't understand all this," he declared, "if you would only speak out. But I can guess why you wish me to stop the proceedings—you fear for Basil!"
She stepped back a pace. "For Basil?"
"Yes. From what he hinted the other day I believe he was about this place on the night of the—"
"Where are your proofs?" she gasped, recoiling.
"I have none. I am only speaking on chance. But Basil is in monetary difficulties—he is in debt to Hale—he counted on you inheriting the money of Miss Loach to pay his debts. He—"
"Stop! stop!" cried Juliet, the blood rising to her face, "this is only supposition. You can prove nothing."
"Then why do you wish me to hold my tongue?"
"There is nothing for you to hold your tongue about," she answered evasively. "You know nothing."
Cuthbert caught her hands and looked into her troubled eyes. "Do you, Juliet—do you? Put an end to this mystery and speak out."
She broke from him and fled. "No," she cried, "for your sake I keep silent. For your own sake stop the action of the detective."
When Jennings arrived that evening according to appointment, he found Mallow in a state of desperation. Juliet's conduct perplexed the young man to such an extent that he felt as though on the point of losing his reason. He was quite delighted when he saw Jennings and thus had someone with a clear head in whom to confide.
"What's the matter?" asked Jennings, who at once saw that something was wrong from Cuthbert's anxious face.
"Nothing, save that I am being driven out of my senses. I am glad you have come, Jennings. Things are getting more mysterious every day. I am determined to get to the bottom of this murder case if only for my own peace of mind. I am with you heart and soul. I have the detective fever with a vengeance. You can count on my assistance in every way."
"All right, my dear chap," said the other soothingly, "sit down and let us have a quiet talk before this girl arrives."
"Susan Grant. I saw her to-day."
"Did you speak to her?"
"No. I only guessed that she was the girl you talked about from your description and from the fact that she entered Rose Cottage."
"Ah," said Jennings, taking a seat, "so you have been down there?"
"Yes. I'll tell you all about it. I don't know if I'm sane or insane, Jennings. When does this girl arrive?"
The detective glanced at his watch. "At half-past eight. She'll be here in half an hour. Go on. What's up?"
"Read this," said Cuthbert, and passed along the note from Juliet. "I received that immediately after you went the other night."
Jennings read the note with a thoughtful look, then laid it aside and stared at his friend. "It is strange that she should write in that way," said he. "I should have thought she would wish to learn who killed her aunt. What does she mean?"
"I can't tell you. I met her to-day," and Cuthbert gave details of his visit to Rexton and the interview with Juliet. "Now what does she mean," he added in his turn, "talking as though I had something to do with the matter?"
"Someone's been poisoning her mind. That brother of hers, perhaps."
"What do you know of him?" asked Cuthbert quickly.
"Nothing good. He's an hysterical idiot. Gambles a lot and falls into rages when he loses. At times I don't think he's responsible for his actions."
Mallow threw himself back in his chair biting his moustache. Every word Jennings spoke made him more confident that Basil had something to do with the crime. But why Juliet should hint at his own guilt Cuthbert could not imagine. Had he been calmer he might have hesitated to tell Jennings about Basil. But, exasperated by Juliet's half confidence, and anxious to learn the truth, he gave the detective a full account of his meeting with the young man. "What do you make of that?" he asked.
"Well," said Jennings doubtfully, "there's nothing much to go upon in what he said. He's in difficulties with Hale certainly—"
"And he seemed anxious about my having been in Caranby's grounds at night." "Were you there?"
"Yes. I did not intend to say anything about it, but I must tell you everything so that you can put things straight between me and Juliet. I can't understand her. But I am sure her mother and Basil are trying to influence her against me. I should not be surprised to learn that they accused me of this murder."
"But on what grounds?" asked Jennings quickly.
"We'll come to that presently. But I now see why neither Basil nor his mother want the marriage to take place. By the will of Miss Loach Juliet comes in for six thousand a year, which is completely at her own disposal. Mrs. Octagon and her pet boy want to have the handling of that. They know if Juliet becomes my wife I won't let them prey on her, so immediately Miss Loach died the mother withdrew her consent to the marriage, and now she is being backed up by Basil."
"But I thought Mrs. Octagon was well off?"
"No. Saxon, her late husband, left her very little, and Octagon, for all his meekness, knows how to keep his money. Both mother and son are extravagant, so they hope to make poor Juliet their banker. In some way they have implicated me in the crime, and Juliet thinks that I am in danger of the gallows. That is why she wrote that mysterious note, Jennings. To-day she asked me to stop proceedings for my own sake, which shows that she thinks me guilty. I could not get a further explanation from her, as she ran away. Hang it!" Cuthbert jumped up angrily, "if she'd only tell me the truth and speak straight out. I can't understand this silence on her part."
"I can," said Jennings promptly, "in some way Basil is mixed up in the matter, and his accusing you means his acknowledging that he was near Rose Cottage on the night of the crime. He funks making so damaging an admission."
"Ah, I daresay," said Cuthbert, "particularly as he quarrelled with his aunt a week before the death."
"Did he quarrel with her?"
"Of course. Didn't I tell you what he said to-day. He's in a fine rage with the dead woman. And you know what an uncontrollable temper he has. I've seen him rage at Maraquito's when he lost at baccarat. Silly ass! He can't play decently and lose his money like a gentleman. How Juliet ever came to have such a bounder for a brother I can't imagine. She's the soul of honor, and Basil—bah!"
"He quarrelled with his aunt," murmured Jennings, "and he has a violent temper, as we both knew. Humph! He may have something to do with the matter. Do you know where he was on that night?"
"Yes. Juliet and he went to the Marlow Theatre to see a melodrama by a new playwright."
"Ha!" said Jennings half to himself, "and the Marlow Theatre is not far from Rexton. I'll make a note of that. Had they a box?"
"I believe so. It was sent by the man who wrote the play."
"Who is he?"
"I can't say. One of that lot who play at being poets in Octagon House. A set of idiots. But what do you make of all this, Jennings?"
"I think with you that Mrs. Octagon and her cub of a son are trying to stop the marriage by bringing you into the matter of the crime. Were you down there on that night?"
"Yes," said Cuthbert with hesitation, and to Jennings' surprise, "I did not intend to say anything about it, as my uncle asked me to hold my tongue. But since things have come to this pass, you may as well know that I was there—and about the time of the murder too."
Jennings sat up and stared. "Great heavens! Mallow, why didn't you tell me this the other night?"
"You might have arrested me then and there," retorted Cuthbert. "I promised my uncle to hold my tongue. But now—"
"You will tell me all. My dear fellow, make a clean breast of it."
"Rest easy, you shall learn everything. You know that the house at the back of Rose Cottage has been deserted for something like twenty years more or less."
"Yes. You told me about it the other night."
"Caranby ran a fifteen-feet wall round it and the inside is a regular jungle. Well, the house is supposed to be haunted. Lights have been seen moving about and strange noises have been heard."
"What kind of noises?"
"Oh, moans and clanking chains and all that sort of thing. I heard indirectly about this, through Juliet."
"Where did she hear the report?"
"From Miss Loach's cook. A woman called Pill. The cook asserted that the house was haunted, and described the noises and the lights. I don't believe in spooks myself, and thought some tricks were being played, so one day I went down and had a look."
"That day I was there?" asked Jennings, recalling Cuthbert's presence.
"Before that—a week or two. I saw nothing. The house is rotting and nothing appeared to be disturbed. I examined the park and found no footmarks. In fact, there wasn't a sign of anyone about."
"You should have gone at night when the ghost was larking."
"That's what Caranby said. I told him when he came back to London. He was very annoyed. You know his romance about that house—an absurd thing it is. All the same, Caranby is tender on the point. I advised him to pull the house down and let the land out for building leases. He thought he would, but asked me to go at night and stir up the ghost. I went on the night of the murder, and got into the grounds by climbing the wall. There's no gate, you know."
"At what time?"
"Some time between ten and eleven. I'm not quite sure."
"Good heavens! man, that is the very hour the woman was killed!"
"Yes. And for that reason I held my tongue; particularly as I got over the wall near the cottage."
"Where do you mean?"
"Well, there's a field of corn nearly ready to be cut near the cottage. It's divided from the garden by a fence. I came along the foot-path that leads from the station and jumped the fence."
"Did you enter Miss Loach's grounds?"
"No. I had no right to. I saw a light in the basement, but I did not take much notice. I was too anxious to find the ghost. Well, I ran along the fence—on the field-of-corn side, remember, and got over the wall. Then I dodged through the park, scratching myself a lot. I could find nothing. The house seemed quiet enough, so after a quarter of an hour I had enough of it. I got out over the wall on the other side and came home. I caught a cold which necessitated my wearing a great-coat the next day. So there you have my ghost-hunting, and a fine fool I was to go."
"I wish you had told me this before, Mallow."
"If I had, you would have thought I'd killed the old woman. But I tell you now, as I want this matter sifted to the bottom. I refused to speak before, as I didn't wish to be dragged into the case."
"Did you see anything in the cottage?"
"Not a thing. I saw no one—I heard no sound."
"Not even a scream?"
"Not even a scream," said Mallow; "had I heard anything I should have gone to see what was the matter."
"Strange!" murmured Jennings, "can't you tell the exact time?"
"Not to a minute. It was shortly after ten. I can't say how many minutes. Perhaps a quarter of an hour. But not suspecting anything was going to happen, I didn't look at my watch."
Jennings looked thoughtfully at the carpet. "I wonder if the assassin escaped that way," he murmured.
"Which way?"
"Over the wall and through the park. You see, he could not have gone up the lane or through the railway path without stumbling against that policeman. But he might have slipped out of the front door at half-past ten and climbed as you did over the wall to cross the park and drop over the other. In this way he would elude the police."
"Perhaps," said Cuthbert disbelievingly; "but it was nearly eleven when I left the park. If anyone had been at my heels I would have noticed."
"I am not so sure of that. The park, as you say, is a kind of jungle. The man might have seen you and have taken his precautions. Moreover," added the detective, sitting up alertly, "he might have written to Miss Saxon saying he saw you on that night. And she—"
"Bosh!" interrupted Mallow roughly, "he would give himself away."
"Not if the letter was anonymous."
"Perhaps," said the other again; "but Basil may have been about the place and have accused me."
"In that case he must explain his reason for being in the neighborhood at that hour. But he won't, and you may be sure Miss Saxon, for his sake, will hold her tongue. No, Mallow. Someone accuses you to Miss Saxon—Basil or another. If we could only make her speak—"
Cuthbert shook his head. "I fear it's impossible."
"Why not let me arrest you," suggested Jennings, "and then, if at anytime, she would speak."
"Hang it, no!" cried Mallow in dismay, "that would be too realistic, Jennings. I don't want it known that I was hanging about the place on that night. My explanation might not be believed. In any case, people would throw mud at me, considering I am engaged to the niece of the dead woman."
"Yes! I can see that. Well," Jennings rose and stretched himself. "I must see what Susan has to say"; he glanced at his watch; "she should be here in a few minutes."
A silence ensued which was broken by Jennings. "Oh, by the way," he said, taking some papers out of his pocket, "I looked up the Saul case."
"Well, what about it?" asked Cuthbert indolently
Jennings referred to his notes. "The Saul family" he said, "seem to have been a bad lot. There was a mother, a brother and a daughter—"
"Emilia!"
"Just so. They were all coiners. Somewhere in Hampstead they had a regular factory. Others were mixed up in the matter also, but Mrs. Saul was the head of the gang. Then Emilia grew tired of the life—I expect it told on her nerves. She went on the concert platform and met Caranby. Then she died, as you know. Afterwards the mother and brother were caught. They bolted. The mother, I believe, died—it was believed she was poisoned for having betrayed secrets. The brother went to jail, got out years afterwards on ticket-of-leave, and then died also. The rest of the gang were put in jail, but I can't say what became of them."
Cuthbert shrugged his shoulders. "This does not help us much."
"No. But it shows you what an escape your uncle had from marrying the woman. I can't understand—"
"No more can Caranby," said Mallow, smiling; "he loved Miss Loach, but Emilia exercised a kind of hypnotic influence over him. However, she is dead, and I can see no connection between her and this crime."
"Well," said Jennings soberly, "it appears that some other person besides the mother gave a clue to the breaking up of the gang and the whereabouts of the factory. Supposing that person was Selina Loach, who hated Emilia for having taken Caranby from her. One of the gang released lately from prison may have killed the old lady out of revenge."
"What! after all these years?"
"Revenge is a passion that grows with years," said Jennings grimly; "at all events, I intend to go on ferreting out evidence about this old coining case, particularly as there are many false coins circulating now. I should not be surprised to learn that the factory had been set up again; Miss Loach may have known and—"
"This is all supposition," cried Mallow. "I can't see the slightest connection between the coiners and this murder. Besides, it does not explain why Juliet hints at my being implicated."
Jennings did not reply. "There's the bell, too," he murmured, his eyes on the ground, "that might be explained." He looked up briskly. "I tell you what, Mallow, this case may turn out to be a bigger thing than either of us suspect."
"It's quite big enough for me as it is," retorted Cuthbert, "although I don't know what you mean. All I desire is to get to the root of the matter and marry Juliet. Find Miss Loach's assassin, Jennings, and don't bother about this dead-and-gone coining case."
"There's a connection between the two," said Jennings, obstinately; "it's impossible to say how the connection comes about, but I feel that a discovery in one case entails a discovery in the other. If I can prove that Miss Loach was killed by one of the old coiners—"
"What will happen then?"
"I may stumble on the factory that is in existence now."
He would have gone on to explain himself more fully, but that Mallow's man entered with the information that a young person was waiting and asked for Mr. Jennings. Mallow ordered the servant to admit her, and shortly Susan Grant, nervous and blushing, entered the room.
"I am glad to see you," said Jennings, placing a chair for her. "This is Mr. Mallow. We wish to ask you a few questions."
"I have seen Mr. Mallow before," said Susan, gasping and flushing.
"At Rose Cottage?" said Mallow inquiringly.
"No. When I was with Senora Gredos as parlor-maid."
"Senora Gredos?" said Jennings, before Cuthbert could speak. "Do you mean Maraquito?"
"I have heard that her name was Maraquito, sir," said Susan calmly. "A lame lady and fond of cards. She lives in—"
"I know where she lives," said Cuthbert, flushing in his turn. "I went there occasionally to play cards. I never saw you."
"But I saw you, sir," said the girl fervently. "Often I have watched you when you thought I wasn't, and—"
"One moment," said Jennings, interrupting. "Let's us get to the pith of the matter at once. Where did you get Mr. Mallow's portrait?"
"I don't want to say," murmured the girl.
"But you must say," said Mallow angrily. "I order you to confess."
"I kept silent for your sake, sir," she said, her eyes filled with tears, "but if you must know, I took the portrait from Senora Gredos' dressing-room when I left her house. And I left it on your account, sir," she finished defiantly.