Under the rule of Miss Bull--for Margery was a mere figure-head--the house in Amelia Square was much more lively. Most of the old boarders had departed, as their nerves would not permit them to stop in a dwelling wherein a crime had been committed. Mrs. Taine carried her knitting to her sister's house at Clapham, Mr. Granger took the "Death of Nelson" to a boarding-house on Highgate Hill, and Harmer went to rejuvenate his antiquity at some German baths. In place of these ancient creatures came bright young men and girls who were up to date in every way. None of them minded about the crime. The house was cheap, it was now bright, and in a few months the tragedy was almost forgotten. No one would have recognized the changed atmosphere of the place, save for Miss Bull, who still sat nightly playing Patience in her favorite corner.
So little did she mind the horror of the murder that she took up her abode in Madame's sitting-room, where it had happened. She still retained her own bedroom, and Margery kept hers; but the sitting-room Miss Bull found very pleasant, for she could ask her friends into it for afternoon tea without having to mix with the too-lively boarders in the drawing-room. And the majority of them were extremely lively; so much so that Miss Bull sent several away and checked the exuberant spirits of the others. The girls played ping-pong, the men sang music-hall ditties, and in conjunction they tried to gamble. But Miss Bull soon put a stop to that. She had no notion that the house should get a bad name after her difficulty in obtaining the lease from Lord Derrington.
Of course, in spite of the fast air which certainly pervaded the house, all things were very proper. Miss Bull was a lady and saw that things were kept decent. The boarders feared her bright black eyes and her sharp tongue, and were always glad when she retired to her sitting-room. When they waxed too noisy, the little old maid would appear like an unquiet ghost, and the clamor would die away. But Miss Bull was also liked, as she was a very affable hostess.
She was thoroughly happy now, as she had what she most desired--power; and thought, like Satan, that it was better to rule in a certain place than to serve in the higher spheres. Margery was now, as ever, her docile slave, and Miss Bull governed with a rod of iron. She dismissed some of the servants, among them Jarvey, who had bettered himself by becoming a page-boy in a West-End mansion.
Among the new boarders Miss Bull took most notice of Bawdsey, who occupied the rooms formerly inhabited by Train. On his arrival he had asked particularly for these rooms, saying that he had once lived in them when he stopped with Mrs. Jersey many years before. After some thought Miss Bull remembered the man. He had boarded in the house, and had been a great favorite with Madame, but had later gone to America, and for some time had remained away. He expressed the greatest sorrow for the death of the old lady, but declared that he was very pleased with the house as managed by Miss Bull. The little woman liked him, as his conversation was amusing and he was most polite. But had she known that he was a private inquiry agent she might not have approved of him so much. Miss Bull was a lady and drew the line at spies.
What Bawdsey was she never inquired, as she was the least curious of women. His habits were certainly eccentric, for sometimes he would remain away for a week, and at other times would stop constantly in the house. He often remained in bed for the day and had his meals brought to him. This he called his bed-cure, and stated that he suffered from nerves. He told Miss Bull quite gratuitously that he had a small income and supplemented it by taking photographs of scenery and selling them to London firms. But he declared that he was not a professional photographer. He simply traveled here and there, and photographed any scenery which struck him as pretty. The London photographers gave him good prices for these, but he stated that he merely did such artistic work for the sake of an occupation. "I am simple in my tastes," said Mr. Bawdsey, "and what I have keeps me in luxury. But a man, even of my age, must be up and doing. Better to wear out than rust out."
Miss Bull assented. For the greater part of her life she had been rusting, and now that she had taken command of the house found that wearing out gave her an interest in things and prevented her from being bored. She liked to hear Bawdsey tell of his travels, and frequently asked him into her sitting-room for that purpose. He seemed to have been everywhere and to have seen everything. It appeared from his own confession that he began his travels at the early age of seventeen, when he went to Milan. And the man talked freely about himself--so freely that Miss Bull, in spite of her suspicious nature, never dreamed that all this chatter was for the purpose of throwing dust in her sharp eyes.
A week after the little dinner at Mrs. Ward's, Bawdsey sent a note to Brendon asking him to call on a certain afternoon, and when George, anxious to continue the acquaintance, and curious to know how Bawdsey had procured his address, arrived, he was shown up to the well-known room. Bawdsey welcomed him with enthusiasm, and much in the same style as Lola did, but in a less theatrical manner.
"My preserver," said Bawdsey, shaking hands vigorously, and George laughed.
"You put me in mind of a lady I know," he said; "she uses the same term--quite unnecessarily, as it happens."
"I don't agree with you," answered Bawdsey, to the astonishment of his visitor. "When a woman is rescued from starvation she has a right to call her good Samaritan the best of names."
"Oh," said Brendon, taking a seat, "so Lola has told you."
Bawdsey nodded. "I guess so," said he, with a pronounced American twang--somewhat too pronounced, George thought. "She told me all about your visit the other night."
"Did she never speak of me before?"
"Why, of course she spoke. I tell you, sir, that the girl is just bubbling over with gratitude. And you're a good man, Mr. Brendon. Yes, sir, some. You saved her and you saved me, and I sha'n't forget, and neither will she."
"Yet you said, when last we met, that she meant me harm."
"Jealousy, Mr. Brendon, sheer jealousy. I heard her talking of you, and wishing to marry you, so you can guess----"
"That you wish to put me against her."
"Not exactly that," responded Bawdsey, coolly. "I wish to choke you off. You see, Mr. Brendon, I love her."
"So she told me."
"Quite so, and she informed me that she had informed you. Well, I was a trifle jealous, as I'd lay down my life to make that lady Mrs. Bawdsey. But when I learned that you admired and were almost engaged to Miss Ward----"
"How the devil did you find that out?" asked George.
"Without the use of the word devil," said Bawdsey, dryly. "That is a long story, Mr. Brendon."
"You seem to know a great deal about me," said Brendon, nettled.
"I made it my business to find out, sir."
"Don't you think that is rather impertinent?"
"Well," drawled Bawdsey, combing his fingers through his ruddy locks, "you might put it that way if you like. A fortnight ago I should not have minded whether you thought me impertinent or not. But now that you saved my life I don't mind telling you that I wish to gain and retain your good opinion."
"Why?" asked George, more and more puzzled.
"Because I'm that rare animal--a grateful man. You have had a bad time all your life, Mr. Brendon, but now you shall have a good one, and I am the man who is going to help you right along."
George looked at him helplessly. He found it difficult to understand what all this meant. "Of course I know, from what Lola said, that you are a private inquiry agent," he remarked with hesitation.
"Vidocq & Co.," said Bawdsey, briskly, "23 Augusta Street, Strand. That's me Mr. Brendon, but you needn't mention it in this shanty."
"Are you an American, Mr. Bawdsey?"
"I am anything that suits. I can talk all languages, and try to tell the truth in every one. And the best day's work you ever did for yourself, Mr. Brendon, was in dragging me from under the feet of that horse. Yes, sir, I'm in line with you forever."
"This is all amusing, but a trifle confusing," said Brendon, feeling that he must get to the bottom of this chatter. "Will you answer a few questions, Mr. Bawdsey?"
"Yes. Fire ahead. Wait! Will you take whisky?"
"No, thanks. Yes, I'll take a cigar."
"Henry Clay," said Bawdsey, passing along a box; "and the questions?"
"You are a private inquiry agent?" asked George, when the cigar was well alight and Bawdsey had subsided into a chair.
"That's so. Vidocq & Company--an attractive title, I guess."
"And you were employed by Lola to watch me?"
"I was. Love will do anything for the object of its affections."
"Humph! there are different ways of looking at that. But you were also engaged by Lord Derrington to watch me?"
Bawdsey did not display the least surprise. "That's very creditable to your observation, Mr. Brendon. It's true."
"How did Lord Derrington find out that I was passing under the name of George Brendon?"
"Well, sir, if you will shove advertisements into the paper asking about the celebration of the marriage of Percy Vane and Miss Rosina Lockwood you must expect to be dropped upon."
"Oh, that was the way you found out!"
"That was the way," nodded Bawdsey. "You had the answers----"
"I had no answers," said Brendon, quickly.
"I am quite sure of that," replied the detective, coolly. "We should have heard of you in a court of law had you been successful. But what I mean to say is that you asked for the answers to be sent to G. B., Pembroke Square, Kensington. Derrington spotted that, and seeing that the marriage referred to was that of his son to----"
George waved his hand impatiently. "I see! I see! He hired you, and you looked me up."
"Quite so. I have had you under observation for the last six months."
"Confound it," cried Brendon, uncomfortably, "and I never knew."
Bawdsey winked. "I know my business," he said. "You don't find me sending myself up on any occasion. Any more questions, sir?"
"Only one," replied George. "Will you tell me exactly what you are doing in this galley?"
"Certainly. You shall have the whole story, Mr. Brendon. But in the first place I shall ask you a question in my turn. Do you know why I asked you to come and see me to-day?"
Brendon shook his head. "I have not the least idea," he confessed.
"I'll enlighten you," was the other man's reply; "to warn you that you are in danger of arrest."
"I in danger of arrest?" George jumped up. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, my meaning is clear enough. There is a chance that you may be accused of having murdered Mrs. Jersey."
George dropped back into his chair with a white face. "You must be mad to say such a thing. Who accuses me?"
"Lord Derrington."
"On what grounds?"
"On certain information he obtained from Mrs. Ward."
"What? Is she in it, too?"
"Very much in it. She is your bitter enemy. You see, Mr. Brendon, it is not her game that you should marry the daughter. Mrs. Ward knows that you are a clever man with a will of your own, and that she will not be able to twist you around her finger, which is what she wishes to do with any son-in-law who may come her way. That young fool Vane is the man she wants. He will inherit the title and a good income. Mrs. Ward, should he marry the girl, will benefit. If the title and income came your way she would make very little out of the business. Consequently she will stick at nothing to get you out of the way."
"But she doesn't know that I claim to be Lord Derrington's grandson?"
"Indeed, she does," replied Bawdsey, quickly. "Derrington told her all about it."
"Why?"
"Now that," said Bawdsey, shaking his head and looking puzzled, "is one of the things I can't make out."
George thought for a moment. "I was at Mrs. Ward's the other evening," he said slowly. "Lord Derrington was there. Did he know then that I was his grandson?"
"He did. He has known ever since you put the advertisement in the paper and I looked you up."
"Humph! Then he was putting me through my paces," said Brendon to himself. "What a clever man he is in concealing his thoughts. And Mrs. Ward knew also who I was?"
Bawdsey nodded. "Yes. And after that evening she came to see Lord Derrington to suggest how you should be got rid of."
"Ah!" George was now perfectly cool as he saw that Bawdsey, being so frank, was ready to be his friend. "And how did she propose to do that, Mr. Bawdsey? By having me arrested----"
"With the alternative that you should give up all attempts to prove your birth and go to Australia."
"And surrender my claim to Miss Ward's hand, I suppose?"
"Of course. But that would go without speaking if you went to Australia. It's a case of threatening, Mr. Brendon."
"Was Lord Derrington agreeable to this suggestion?"
"Yes. He hates you, and told me to see you and put the matter to you. You have a week to think over it, and at the end of that time, Mr. Brendon, if you don't leave England you will be arrested."
"No," replied Brendon, calmly, "I will not be arrested. Setting aside the fact that there is no evidence which implicates me in the crime, Lord Derrington, for his own sake, will not have his grandson arrested and his dirty linen washed in public. Whether there was a marriage or not I am his flesh and blood. Why does he hate me?"
"I can't say, sir. He never explained. But he does hate you."
"Humph! I see no reason--a man can't help his birth, and I am quite as presentable as Walter Vane."
"Much more so," said Bawdsey, quickly. "He is a fool and a miserable little beast. He sent a bracelet to Miss Velez."
"Oh! and naturally you think the worst of him. Well, it is no use my conjecturing the reason of Lord Derrington's dislike. But I can well understand why Mrs. Ward wishes me out of the way. On what grounds does she accuse me of being concerned in this crime?"
"On the strength of a story related by a friend of yours, who----"
"I knew it," interrupted Brendon, starting up and beginning to pace the room. "That was why she asked Leonard Train to dinner."
"That's the man," said Bawdsey, coolly. "He occupied these rooms, I believe, and on the night of the murder you stopped with him."
"I did. In yonder bedroom. So he betrayed me?"
"My dear sir, I don't think he could help himself. Mrs. Ward is as clever as the devil, and as unscrupulous. She got out of him that you had been in the sitting-room of Mrs. Jersey at midnight."
"That is untrue----" began George, violently, when Bawdsey stopped him.
"So it is, to Mrs. Ward, to Lord Derrington, and to the public. But so far as I am concerned, Mr. Brendon, it is a fact. You were in Mrs. Jersey's room about the time she was murdered."
"How can you prove that?" asked George, quickly and very pale.
"Oh, I can prove it easily enough, and I will soon. But confess."
"That I killed the woman? No, I never laid a finger on her."
"I believe that," said Bawdsey. "If I thought you were guilty I should--no--not even then. You saved my life, and I'm grateful."
"I believe you are my friend," said George, gloomily, sitting down.
"You would have been arrested by now were I not, Mr. Brendon."
"No. I tell you neither Mrs. Ward nor Lord Derrington will go so far. They will try and intimidate me. But they won't succeed."
"You'll fight them?"
George set his face. "While there is breath in my body."
"I knew you were a plucky 'un," said Bawdsey, admiringly, "but you must be aware that your position is perilous."
"How so? Mr. Train can prove that he locked the sitting-room door--that one there," and George pointed. "The key was under his pillow, and in the morning the door was still fast. How could I have got out to visit Mrs. Jersey's room without his knowledge?"
"That is what puzzles Train and Mrs. Ward and Lord Derrington," was Bawdsey's reply. "They asked me what I thought. Well----"
"One moment," interrupted Brendon. "Why does Train believe that I was in Mrs. Jersey's room?"
"He found beside the table a yellow holly berry, and you wore----"
George started. "I did--I did," he muttered; "it must have been brushed off the sprig when I stooped to touch her."
"Ah!" said Bawdsey, in a voice of triumph, "then you admit you were in the room?"
"Yes, to you, but to no one else."
"I'm glad you trust me so far," said Bawdsey, genuinely pleased; "your confidence is not misplaced, Mr. Brendon. And you saw Mrs. Jersey?"
"I saw her body. She was dead."
"At what time was that?"
"About twelve o'clock."
"Why did you not give the alarm?"
"What?" George smiled derisively. "You think I should have put the rope round my neck?"
"No. But--well, no matter. We can talk of that later. But as to getting out of this room When the door was locked?"
"I didn't get out of this room, Mr. Bawdsey. I----"
"Wait a bit. Come into the room you slept in," said the detective, leading the way. "I have made a discovery."
The bedroom was in the same condition as when Brendon had last seen it, with the exception that the wardrobe was moved to one side. The wall at the back, which divided the room from the passage, appeared a blank, but on touching a spring a masked door opened. Shelves were revealed and it was evident that this door formed the back of a cupboard that was in the passage--a cupboard used by the housemaid, as was apparent from the dust-shovel and brooms lying within it. For a moment Bawdsey left the door open and looked at Brendon with quiet triumph. Then he snapped the door to and the wall appeared in its former blank condition. No one, without making a close examination, would have suspected the presence of that secret door. "A housemaid might open the cupboard door in the passage at any time," explained Mr. Bawdsey, accounting for his action, "and it would never do for her to look through the back of the shelves into this room. She might talk, Mr. Brendon, and then there would be trouble. Yes," Bawdsey rubbed his nose and looked at the astonished George, "I am sure there would be great trouble."
"I congratulate you on your cleverness, Mr. Bawdsey," said Brendon when he had somewhat recovered. "You have discovered my secret. I should like to know how you discovered it."
"Well," said Bawdsey, pushing the wardrobe back to its place with an effort, "you see when I learned through the advertisement that George Brendon was the grandson of Lord Derrington I told him of it. He related your history."
"Including the murder of my father?"
"Yes, including that," replied Bawdsey with a queer expression; "but that has nothing to do with the matter in hand, Mr. Brendon."
"I'm not so sure," retorted George. "I should not be at all surprised to find that Mrs. Jersey was murdered to keep her quiet on that point."
"How do you make that out?"
"Well, she was in San Remo at the time my father was murdered. She loved him, and I dare say, in spite of having been discharged, watched him. She might know who the lady in blue--but I forgot, you are ignorant of all these things."
"Not at all. Don't I tell you that Lord Derrington told me the whole story? I see what you mean. You think that Mrs. Jersey might know who killed your father, and for the sake of shutting her up the assassin committed the second murder."
"That is my idea," said George, coolly.
"It's ingenious, but it won't hold water. However, we can talk of that on another occasion. In the mean time I wish to tell you how I discovered the secret door."
"There's no need to. Derrington told you that I knew this house, as my grandfather had brought me up in it. When you knew through Mrs. Ward that I had passed a night here, and learned through her, by means of Train, that the yellow holly berry had been found in the woman's sitting-room, you set to work to find out how I escaped from this room. You knew that Train had locked the door."
"Yes," answered Bawdsey, "he told Mrs. Ward that."
"He seems to have told her everything. However, to make a long story short, you hunted for an exit and you found it."
"That's so," replied Bawdsey, quietly, "and now we had better return to the sitting-room and talk over the matter quietly."
"One moment," said George. "Have you told Lord Derrington or Mrs. Ward of this discovery?"
"No, and I won't tell them, either. I wish to get you out of trouble, Mr. Brendon. They haven't the least idea that you could leave the room, and the impression with them is that Train is screening you." Bawdsey shrugged his shoulders with contempt and passed George another cigar. "Just as though the man would incriminate himself if that were so."
George did not light his cigar. "Well, as you have told me so much, Mr. Bawdsey, I may as well confess."
"If I am to help you I must know all."
"Then you shall know--whatever I can tell you." George hesitated, and Bawdsey guessed that he was not going to be so frank as was necessary. However, he made no remark, and Brendon continued: "I came to this house to see Mrs. Jersey and get the truth out of her. It was my intention to speak to her the next morning. However, in the drawing-room she stated that she wished the company to disperse at ten o'clock as she had business to attend to. Also she came up to this room to see if I and my friend were in bed at eleven. I guessed that she intended to see some one, and wondering if the expected person had anything to do with my business I determined to see her on that night. When Train was asleep I locked my bedroom door and made use of the cupboard."
"How did you know of its existence?"
"I lived here, as you know. This is a queer old house, full of these sort of things. I expect that door was made by some scamp so that he might be able to lead a double life."
Bawdsey nodded. "I know. Fair to the world and black to the heart."
"As a boy I discovered the cupboard," replied Brendon, not taking notice of this interruption, "and I am ashamed to say that I sometimes made use of it in my teens to go to the theater unbeknown to my grandfather. On that night I used it again, and went to the sitting-room of Mrs. Jersey. It was about twelve o'clock. The door of the room was closed. I opened it, and saw her sitting at the table, dead, as she was discovered in the morning. In stooping over her to see if she still breathed, the berry must have fallen. It says a great deal for Train's acuteness that he suspected me on such evidence. I now see why he was so different to me when we parted, and why he has been so stiff of late."
"What did you do after you found that the woman was dead?"
"I returned to my bedroom and said nothing about it. You see, since I wanted something from Mrs. Jersey, and that desire might have come out in the evidence, there was every chance that I would be accused of having murdered her. There was certainly motive enough."
"I don't agree with you," replied Bawdsey; "however, I quite understand that under the circumstances you lost your nerve. You returned to your room, and expressed suitable surprise the next morning."
George nodded. "Quite so; and then Train's having locked this door made me think that all was safe. Had he not told----"
"Oh, he has told very little," rejoined Bawdsey. "After all, nothing can be done if I hold my tongue."
"Nothing will be done in any case," said George, grimly, "but I thank you for warning me, Mr. Bawdsey. What are your plans?"
"I have none at present. Lord Derrington asked me to watch you."
"That you certainly have done, and if you choose you can go on watching me. But why do you stop in this house?"
"Oh, I knew Mrs. Jersey some years ago, and returned here for old times' sake."
George shrugged his shoulders. He felt convinced that Bawdsey was not speaking openly. But then Brendon, on his part, had held something back. Neither man was sufficiently sure of the other to be perfectly frank. But the main thing was that Bawdsey, being friendly, was content to let matters stand as they were. That is, so far as regarded George himself, for Brendon felt that the detective's presence in that house had something to do with the murder. He rose to go.
"Well, how do we stand?" asked Bawdsey.
"Much as we did before," replied George, "save that I know you will hold your tongue and not get me into trouble."
"I shall certainly do that. But remember Mrs. Ward."
"Lord Derrington can stop her mouth."
"Ah, but will he?" asked Bawdsey, dubiously.
"I shall call on Lord Derrington and see," answered Brendon, and with a nod left the room.
"He's a plucked 'un," said Bawdsey.
Lord Derrington should have been born Emperor of Ancient Rome or of Modern Russia. He would have made an admirable despot, as he was fairly good-humored when all about him were on their knees serving him. Even then his temper was none of the best. Those who held their own he hated, while the many who gave in to his domineering will received unmerited contempt as their reward. Even at seventy-five the old man's temper had not cooled, and the majority of people avoided him as they would the plague.
Originally he had started life with a sufficiently imperious will, and, thanks to his position as a titled and wealthy orphan, he had been enabled to exercise it at a very early age. The habit of seeing every one terrified of his mere glance grew upon him, and he became unbearable, not only to live with, but even to meet. His wife, after presenting him with two sons, had died gladly, seeing no other way of escaping her tyrant, and the report went that he had browbeaten her out of existence. Derrington would have married again for the sake of his boys, but like Henry VIII., whom he greatly resembled, he could find no one willing to endure his yoke. Consequently he became something of a woman-hater, and entered the political world. In this he met with a certain amount of opposition, which did him good, and might have been trained into a moderately decent member of society but that his reformation was cut short by his being appointed ambassador to a prominent European power. Here his temper had full swing, and he bullied everybody for three years. At the end of that time he nearly caused a war and was recalled. There was some talk of his being appointed Viceroy for India, but those in power had sufficient pity on the country not to send him. Derrington, in India, would have been on "his native heath" for tyrannizing.
Failing, from his reputation, to get another appointment, Derrington took to quarreling with his sons. Percy, the elder, had a spice of the paternal temper and refused to submit. Consequently he was forbidden the house, and crowned his iniquities in the old man's eyes by marrying Rosina Lockwood. This was a severe blow to Derrington, who had the pride as well as the temper of Lucifer. He refused to hold any communication with Percy, and thus the son remained abroad, living on an income inherited from his mother until he was murdered at San Remo. As his income ceased on his death (for it reverted to his mother's relatives), George, the boy, was left dependent on the charity of his two grandfathers. Derrington denied the marriage and refused to acknowledge the infant. Lockwood took the child to his home and brought him up. Then the lad disappeared when Lockwood died, and reappeared under the name of Brendon. Derrington had discovered his grandson's identity in the way described by Bawdsey. The younger Vane was a fool, meek as Moses, and completely cowed by his terrible father. He married an equally meek lady, and the two were crushed by the old tyrant. Finally, both died, as gladly as the late Lady Derrington had done, and left Walter Vane to carry on the title. The old lord detested Walter as a milksop, but he refused to acknowledge George, preferring the fool to the clever man, from sheer hatred of Brendon's father.
Derrington House, in St. Giles Square, was an immense palatial mansion which cost no end of money to keep up, and as its lord was not over-rich he would have done better to remove to a more modest residence. But Derrington's pride would not permit him to scrimp his living, and he dwelt alone in the big house. When Walter's parents were alive they had occupied a corner, so that Derrington could bully them at his leisure, and now Walter himself remained as a whipping-boy. But he was cunning enough to keep out of his grandfather's way, and contrived to be more independent than his parents had been. Perhaps Derrington was too old to carry on an active war, but he certainly gave Walter more license than he had ever accorded to any human being. A good deal of contempt for the weak little dandy had to do with this permitting him to act as he pleased. There is no excitement in whipping a sheep.
The meeting with George at Mrs. Ward's had touched the old man nearly. He had never set eyes on Percy's son before, and had no idea that the young fellow was so handsome and clever. Derrington felt that he could take some pride in George, as a man who would not permit himself to be bullied. He had as strong a will as his grandfather, and the older man respected him. Moreover, George's refusal to accept an income when he took a feigned name, and his determined fight for his birthright, pleased the despot. But for his pride and hatred of the father, Derrington might have acknowledged the marriage. He knew in his own mind that such a marriage had taken place, and that George was legitimate, but he did not know where the ceremony had been celebrated. The sole evidence he possessed was a letter, written by Percy from Paris, stating that he had married Rosina Lockwood. Derrington at the time accepted the fact, and had never thought of inquiring about details from his son, and of course when Percy died it was too late. Mrs. Jersey knew, and Mrs. Jersey had made use of her knowledge, but she never told Derrington anything. Had she done so, her hold over him might have waxed feeble, although, owing to her knowledge, and to the old man's determination not to acknowledge George, it could not be done away with altogether.
The library in Derrington House was a vast and splendid apartment with a magnificent collection of books. Its owner, driven back on himself by his misanthropic detestation of his species, and the dislike his fellow-men had for him, read a great deal. Sometimes he wrote articles for the quarterlies, principally on political questions. He went out into society in spite of his age, out of sheer contrariety and not because he enjoyed himself. Like Vespasian, he was determined to die standing, and showed himself at several great houses, at race-meetings, at Hurlingham, and sometimes in the House. His movements were carefully chronicled in theMorning Post, and he took care to let his friends know that he was still alive. For the rest, he sat in his library reading, or writing his memoirs. These he had arranged to have published after his death, and there were many families who would have given much money to have seen them behind the fire. Derrington had known every one worth knowing for the last half-century, and had as bitter a pen as he had a tongue. Also, he knew many secrets of diplomacy. So it may be guessed that many great families did not look forward to the publication of these memoirs with particular pleasure. Derrington knew this, and chuckled grimly, much as Heine did in the like case.
One afternoon he was adding a chapter to the book, when a card was brought to him. Derrington nearly jumped from his seat when he read the name of George Brendon. At first he was inclined to tear up the card and send the pieces out to the insolent young man who thus dared to trespass on his privacy. But on second thoughts he decided to accord him an interview. He knew that by this time Mr. Bawdsey must have informed George that his grandfather knew him as Brendon, and the old autocrat wished to see if George would behave as pluckily at their second interview as he had done at the first. Moreover, he could not forget the good looks and clever conversation of the young man. It would be absurd to say that Derrington's heart yearned over this unacknowledged twig of the family tree, for according to common report he had no heart. But he certainly felt an unwonted emotion when Brendon, tall and handsome, composed and ready for battle, stepped into the room. Derrington knew that the young man was ready for battle, for he saw the light of war in his eyes.
When the door was closed and the two were alone, Derrington took his station on the hearth-rug with an impassive expression of countenance. He waited for George to open the war of words, and after a polite greeting he waited in silence. George was not at all embarrassed. He knew perfectly well that he had a difficult task before him, and did not choose to shirk it. With the family obstinacy he was determined on obtaining his birthright, and if he set all London alight with scandal he was bent upon gaining his end. The two men stared coolly at one another like two fencers, but at the outset the buttons were off the foils.
"I am sure you are not surprised to see me, Lord Derrington," said Brendon with his eyes fixed on the old man's grim face.
"Not half so surprised as you were at seeing Bawdsey," said Derrington, not to be outdone in coolness.
George smiled. "I was not at all surprised at seeing the man," he said calmly. "It was my happy lot to rescue him from an accident, and it was my intention to call on him."
"For what reason?" asked Derrington, who could not help betraying astonishment, in spite of his self-control.
"You must excuse my not answering that question."
"Oh, certainly," replied Lord Derrington, with ironical politeness; "but you are not so diplomatic as I thought."
"Because I decline a reply?"
"Because you allow me to see that you are on good terms with the man I employ. A clever diplomatist would have allowed me to think that Bawdsey was hostile and so have used the man against me."
"There is no need for me to stoop to such crooked ways," said Brendon, with some scorn, "and I always find the truth tells in the long run."
"Ah! You've never been an ambassador."
"When I am, I shall still tell the truth."
Derrington smiled grimly. "Oh, then, it is your intention to enter political life?"
"I think we discussed that fully the other evening."
Derrington sat down and leaned his elbows on the table. His temper was rising, as he was not accustomed to be treated in this off-hand way. "Come, sir, let us understand one another. State the situation so as to clear the ground for a proper argument."
"Certainly," said George, with frigid politeness. "You know who I am, I understand."
"No, I don't. So far as I know you are George Brendon. I met you at Mrs. Ward's, and----"
"And were good enough to hold a long conversation with me," finished George, smartly. "I see, sir, it is necessary for me to be explicit."
"It's the best course," rejoined Derrington, looking at him with hard eyes and secretly admiring his self-control.
"Then I have to state that my name is George Vane, and that I am the son of Percy Vane and Rosina Lockwood."
"Indeed! What proof have you of this?"
"The evidence of my nurse, Jane Fraser, who attended to me when my father, your eldest son, was alive. The testimony of my former guardian, Mr. Ireland, who took charge of me after the death of my mother's father. Finally, my certificate of birth, which I will show you whenever you choose."
Derrington was confounded by this calm answer. He would have blustered, but George's politeness gave him no chance of losing his temper, and without fuel it would not blaze up. "You seem to be well provided with proofs," said he, grimly. "Let us admit, for the sake of argument, that you are my grandson. But the marriage----"
"Ah, that is the difficult point! And it is unpleasant for me to talk of the subject. In justice to the memory of my mother I hold that there was a marriage."
"And in justice to my family I hold that there was none."
"In that case, Lord Derrington, we join issue."
"You are quite a lawyer, sir," sneered the old man.
"I thought of studying for the bar at one time."
"Indeed, and why did you not?"
"I had no money to pay my fees," said George, coldly.
The old lord winced. He could not but admire his pluck, and, aware that the young fellow was his own flesh and blood, regretted that he should lack any chance of embarking on what promised to be a brilliant career. "You could have had money had you chosen," said he, roughly.
"I know. For that reason I changed my name to Brendon."
"Well," said Derrington, irritably, "let us come to the point. You say you are my grandson. I admit that, as I am aware of what evidence you can bring forward. But I decline to admit that you are my heir. The onus of proof lies with you."
"I am prepared to discover the proof if your lordship will behave in an honorable manner."
"What!" roared Derrington, rising with a fierce look. "Do you mean to say, you jackanapes, that I am behaving dishonorably?"
"Extremely so," said Brendon, coldly. "You have had me watched by a detective; you threaten, through him, to have me arrested for a crime of which I am innocent, if I do not give up my attempts to gain my birthright and--" here George leaned forward--"Dorothy Ward. Do you call these actions honorable?"
"How dare you?--how dare you?" was all that Derrington could say.
"You should know how I dare, sir, considering I am your grandson."
"I'll have you thrown out of the house."
George rose. "I am willing to leave you, sir, if that is the tone you take. But as to being thrown out, that is quite another question."
"Do you know who I am?" questioned the other, blustering.
"Very well. You are the man who is keeping me out of my rights."
"I am not!"
"I say you are."
The two faced one another without blenching. Derrington tried to cow George, and George refused to be cowed. It was the old lord's eyes which fell first. Brendon had youth as well as will on his side, and these dominated Derrington. For the first time in his tyrannical life he gave way.
"There is no need for you to go yet," he grunted, flinging himself into a seat. "I am willing to hear what you have to say."
Brendon sat down also. "I don't think I have any more to say."
"Then why did you come here?"
"To ask you if you consider it honorable to threaten me. I have already done so. There is no more to be said on my part."
Derrington dug a pen viciously into the blotting-pad. He did not know very well what to say. Had George sworn and blustered he might have been able to talk him down and to bully him into giving way. But Brendon was perfectly calm and polite. He was not to be intimidated in any way, and the ordinary methods would not do in this case. Derrington was reduced to reason. "What is it you wish?"
"I wish you to recognize my mother's marriage and to state that I am your heir."
"Anything else?" sneered Derrington.
"Yes. You will publicly recognize me; you will allow me an income sufficient to maintain the dignity of my real name of George Vane, and you will order Mrs. Ward to keep silent."
"Mrs. Ward? What have I to do with her?"
"A great deal, apparently. You told her my story, and as she does not want me to marry her daughter she will move heaven and earth to ruin me by using her knowledge."
"How can she ruin you?"
"I think you understand, sir. The story told by my friend Train----"
"Friend! Judas, rather."
"No. He is only a weak man who is as wax in the hands of a clever and pretty woman. But Mrs. Ward got sufficient out of him to place me in a somewhat perilous position."
"Were you in the room where the woman was murdered? Speak plainly."
"I came on here purposely to speak plainly," rejoined Brendon, dryly, "for your safety as well as for my own."
"Safety, sir!" Derrington grew crimson. "What the devil do you mean?"
"I mean that I can speak freely to you, as I know perfectly well that for the honor of our family----"
"Our family--confound you!"
"Our family," repeated George, "of which some day I hope to be the head. For its honor, I say, you will not take these matters into court. I was in the room of Mrs. Jersey. I saw her dead!"
"And you know who killed her?"
"No. I can't say that for certain." George looked keenly at his grandfather. The old man appeared uneasy. Suddenly Brendon spoke. "I should like to know what you were doing in Mrs. Jersey's house on the night she was murdered?"
Derrington dashed down his pen furiously and rose. "You go too far, sir; you go too far!" he roared.
"Not any further than you intended to go. If you threaten me I have a right to protect myself."
"In what way?"
"By telling you that if I am in a perilous position, you are also."
"Do you mean to say that I murdered the woman?"
"By no means," said Brendon, quickly. "I should not think of doing such a thing. But I do say you were in that house after eleven."
"I was not," panted the old nobleman, savagely, and glared at his grandson with bloodshot eyes.
"You were," insisted Brendon; "there is no need to tell you how I got out of my bedroom unbeknown to Train, but I did. I came downstairs to see Mrs. Jersey at half-past eleven or thereabouts. I crept down the stairs and saw you standing in the light of the hall lamp. You had on a fur coat, and I recognized you by your unusual height. Also by the color of your coat. Some months before you wore that coat--it is a claret-colored one trimmed with sable--at a race-meeting. You were pointed out to me, and it was the first time I had set eyes on you. It was you in the hall."
"Did you see my face?" asked Derrington.
"No. But the coat and the height, and my knowledge that you were connected with Mrs. Jersey----"
"I wasn't connected with the jade," flashed out Derrington. "She came to me years ago and said she could prove the marriage. I tried to get out of her the name of the church where it took place. She refused to give it, and said if I did not pension her off she would go to your guardian, Ireland, and get him to help her to prove that you were legitimate. I hated your father, sir, and as to your mother----"
"No," cried Brendon, rising, "not a word against my mother."
"Only this, that she was not well-born. The daughter of a music-master. Not the wife for my son."
"She was his wife, however. Leave my mother's name out of it and go on, sir. You say that Mrs. Jersey could have proved the marriage."
"Yes," growled Derrington, rather cowed by Brendon's manner. "I did not wish her to do so, for the reasons I have stated."
"Very unworthy reasons," said George, coldly.
"You know nothing about it, sir," flamed out the old man, slapping his hand on the table. "My family is as old as the Conquest."
"As the future head of it I am glad to hear that."
Derrington looked as though he could have struck George, who simply made the remark to punish him for his insolence. "Never mind that," said he, controlling his temper. "I bought that house from your mother's father--the music-master," he sneered, "and gave it to Mrs. Jersey rent free. I also allowed her an annuity. She held her tongue for many years. Then she saw that confounded advertisement in the papers and threatened to tell you the truth on the chance of getting more money out of you when I was dead. I refused, and she then told me that she had written out a confession----"
"I thought as much," interrupted George. "But that has been stolen."
"By whom?"
"By the assassin."
"And who is the assassin?"
"I can't say. But if use is made of that confession either you or I will learn who killed Mrs. Jersey."
"Why you or I?"
"Because we alone can make use of the confession and pay money for it. The thing would be no use to any one else. But I now understand Mrs. Jersey's possession of the house. Were you in it on that night?"
Derrington looked at Brendon and hesitated. Then in strange contradiction to his usual manner, he turned away his face. "I decline to answer that question," he growled.
"But I saw you," insisted George.
"You saw--there is nothing more to be said. Hold your tongue."
"Willingly," said George, politely, "if you will silence Mrs. Ward."
"I have no influence with the woman."
"Oh, I think so. She wishes Dorothy to marry my cousin."
"Your cousin!"
"Can you deny the relationship?"
Derrington shirked the question by assenting to Brendon's request. "I may be able to make Mrs. Ward hold her tongue," he growled.
"I am quite sure she will do anything you tell her, in the hope that you will approve of a match between my cousin and her daughter."
"And you wish me to approve?" sneered the old man.
"As to that, it matters little. Mrs. Ward wishes Dorothy to be Lady Derrington and to have your very excellent income. Whether she marries me or Vane it comes to the same thing. I can't understand Mrs. Ward's dislike and mischief-making since that is the case."
"I can," snapped Derrington. "You are too clever for her, and Walter is a fool."
"Perhaps so. However, as I shall marry Dorothy it doesn't much matter."
"How can you marry her situated as you are?"
"I shall be George Vane some day, sir, and then Dorothy will be my wife."
"I believe she will," muttered Derrington, looking at the firm face of the young man. "Humph! So you intend to look for the certificate of marriage?"
"No, for the confession of Mrs. Jersey; afterward for the church which will be mentioned in that confession. The register will prove the marriage without the necessity of the certificate. I shouldn't wonder, though," added Brendon, "if Mrs. Jersey had stolen that from my mother when she died."
"Mrs. Jersey was jade enough for anything," said Derrington.
"Well, she is dead, and there is no use saying bad about her."
"How will you set to work to get that certificate?"
George wrinkled his brows. "There is only one way, sir. I must find out who killed Mrs. Jersey. If you can help me----"
"I can't. I know no more who murdered the woman than you do."
"Yet you were in the house on that night."
Derrington grew wrathful. "Don't talk rubbish, sir. If I was, I should not mind admitting the fact. As it is----" He broke off, gnawing his lip and avoiding Brendon's eyes.
That the old man knew something vital to the case Brendon was certain; that he would never confess what it was George felt perfectly sure. He abandoned the point, as he did not wish to make Lord Derrington incriminate himself, and he might do so. Brendon was satisfied that he had seen him in the house on the night when Mrs. Jersey was murdered.
"There is no more to be said," he remarked, taking up his hat.
"No. Except that I'll give you a fair chance of finding the church. Bawdsey shall watch you no more."
"Thank you. And Mrs. Ward?"
"She shall be made to hold her tongue."
George bowed. "I am obliged to you, sir. I now see that you intend to fight fairly. Good-day," and he departed.
Derrington stood where he was, in deep thought. Suddenly he struck a mighty blow on the desk. "By Heaven, he's a man after my own heart!" said the old scamp. "He shall be my heir, he shall marry that girl; but to exercise his wits he shall fight every inch of the way to attain his ambition."