French as English. Hortense spoke the language like a native. She was a
Parisienne to her finger-tips. That is why she called herself Hortense
and passed herself off as a Frenchwoman. French maids are much more
sought after than English ones and get much more money."
"No doubt. Now, how long had your unfortunate sister been in Mrs.
Charlock's employ before she met with her accident?"
"I suppose about two years," Bark explained. "But why?"
"Oh, we shall come to that presently. Perhaps you can tell me who put
it into your sister's head to steal her mistress's jewels? That is the
point I want cleared up."
Bark looked at the speaker with open-mouthed admiration.
"No use trying to keep anything from you," he said. "But, as a matter
of fact, I don't know. I am telling you the truth. Indeed, I would
have nothing to gain by lying to such a clever gentleman as yourself.
But my sister is dead, and anything I say can't do her any harm. She
wanted to return to Paris. She was finding things very slow with Mrs.
Charlock, and I suppose the idea of taking her mistress's jewels was her
own. They were a pretty fine lot, I understand, but the trouble was to
get them away without arousing suspicion. My sister wrote to me about
it and told me what she was going to do. I don't mind admitting that I
gave her the best advice I could, because I am sure you won't use this
evidence against me. I came over to see my sister and Mr. Rent at the
same time. I had had a bit of bad luck lately, and I knew that Rent
would help me out. I had only got to mention a little thing that
occurred in Paris some years ago and he was good for a hundred pounds at
least."
"Blackmail," Tanza suggested.
"Oh, blackmail be hanged!" Bark said vigorously. "I was never properly
paid for my share in the job, and Rent knows it perfectly well. He has
been keeping out of my way lately. But it's only putting off the evil
day. It is a small world, and I wasn't surprised to find that my sister
knew Rent as well as I do. I wasn't long in finding out that he was
making love to her for some purpose of his own. And perhaps it is a
good thing for him that Hortense is out of the way. She was a fine
hater when she chose."
"We are getting wide of the point," Tanza suggested. "What I want to
know is where your sister put those jewels."
Bark protested by all his gods that he hadn't the faintest idea. Tanza
did not press the point, though, from his view, Bark was lying
strenuously. But there was nothing to be gained for the moment, and
Tanza changed the conversation. It was perhaps an hour later that Bark
left the yacht, on the whole not displeased with his visit. He was
palpably afraid of Tanza. He had expected to find himself closely
cross-examined as to certain dark passages in his life, and he was only
too thankful to get off so easily. He thought he had parted with no
information of the slightest value to himself; indeed, he flattered
himself that so far as the missing jewels were concerned he had led
Tanza astray.
He might have been less easy in his mind if he could have lingered
behind and listened to what took place as soon as he had left the yacht.
Grey turned to his companion.
"You are a most extraordinary man," he said. "You don't seem to have
learnt anything from that scamp, and yet you appear to be absolutely
satisfied. Tell me what you are driving at."
"No, no," Tanza said good-humouredly. "Let us keep to our bargain. We
are both working from different points, though we both have the same
object in view. A little time ago it was your opinion that Hortense,
Mrs. Charlock's maid, had died from an accident. On the other hand, I
was convinced that she was the victim of foul play. If you have not
changed your mind----"
"I have," Grey said curtly. "But go on."
"Perhaps I have changed my mind, too," Tanza continued. "I begin to see
the possibilities of suicide. It was only to-day that Fortune placed in
my hand a clue to this conclusion. But perhaps I had better show you
what I mean. Wait here a moment till I go and fetch it.... Now what do
you think of that? Isn't it strange that I should gain possession of
it?"
*CHAPTER XXVI*
*THE JEWEL CASKET*
As Tanza spoke he laid on the table a small, brass-bound, mahogany box,
the patent lock of which had been forced; indeed, the whole thing
appeared to have been so badly used that even the neatly made hinges
were out of place. Inside were drawers and trays lined with crimson
velvet, all wet and saturated as if they had been soaked in water for
some time.
"You see what it is, then?" Tanza observed. "This is a jewel box. On
the lid you will notice a little glass frame behind which is a sheet of
paper inscribed with a list of the articles which at one time formed the
contents of the box. When this casket was brought to me it was empty as
you see it now; indeed, one of my men found it at low tide not very far
away from the landing-stage, half imbedded in the sand. It is easy to
guess whom it belongs to, seeing that the owner's monogram is on the
outside, together with an address. Beyond question this once belonged
to Mrs. Charlock. Mind you, I haven't heard that Mrs. Charlock was
robbed of her jewels. I am simply deducing the thing from the condition
this casket is in at present. In the first place, you see the casket has
been forced open. Now, nobody but a thief would do that. In the second
place, the casket was thrown into the sea, which is also what a thief
would do. Now, who would be the most likely person to commit a crime of
this sort? Who would be in a position to do so? But you know that my
deductions are correct, because that rascal Bark told us who the thief
was. Where the stones are is another matter. That will be something
for us to find out when the mystery of the woman's death is cleared up.
Meanwhile, we had better stick to the original mystery and do one thing
at a time. I am bound to confess that I have slightly changed my mind,
and should not be surprised to find that this lady's maid committed
suicide. It is possible that Mrs. Charlock discovered her loss and
traced it home to the thief. On the spur of the moment the latter goes
off and drowns herself in the fountain by the sundial."
"And there," Grey said emphatically, "you are wrong. I shall be able to
prove that to you before long. I, on my part, have not been altogether
idle. Still, we will keep to our bargain, as you say, and each go his
own way. Clever as you are, and much as I respect your opinion, I am
prepared to back myself to get to the bottom of this mystery before you
do. Within a week I promise not only to solve the mystery of Hortense's
death, but also to produce the missing jewels."
"Ah, that's all right," Tanza exclaimed. "You are a pupil after my own
heart. Do you mean to say you suspect the place where the jewels are
hidden?"
"I don't suspect anything," Grey said quietly. "I know. I could put my
hands upon the jewels within four-and-twenty hours."
Tanza nodded approvingly. It was characteristic of the man that he
displayed no curiosity and asked no further questions. Nor had it
occurred to him that Grey was speaking in a boastful spirit. He made no
effort to move when Grey rose from his chair, saying he had important
business on shore which might detain him to a late hour.
"All right," he said. "I presume you are on the same business still.
You will be able to tell me what has happened in the morning. Well,
good-night and good luck to you."
It was very late when at length Grey skirted the town and proceeded
along the shore to the small block of buildings where Rent was carrying
on his experiments. The buildings were in darkness. But that did not
seem to trouble Grey, who threw himself down upon a bed of sea pinks and
proceeded to light a cigarette. He had barely finished two before a
tiny speck of light appeared in one of the windows, followed by a
brilliant illumination behind the blinds as if some one was turning on
the gas. As a fact, it was electric light, as Grey very well knew. He
moved forward almost immediately until he stood under the shadow of the
buildings. The main door was slightly open, and Grey hesitated whether
he should enter or not. There was no one about, so far as he could see,
though he could hear voices in the room where the light had been turned
on. There was nothing to gain by timidity, so he pushed his way into
the building and felt cautiously along the corridor. The door of the
room where the light was stood ajar, and the intruder could see Swift
standing on one side of the table and Bark opposite.
"And now you have got me here," Swift was saying, "what do you want?
Why all this mystery? Why couldn't you have come to my lodgings like
any other man? Instead, you drag me here as if I were a thief or
something to be ashamed of."
"What else are you?" Bark said brutally. "And what else is that
employer of yours, for that matter, either? Look here, my friend, I
know too much about both of you to stand any nonsense. I don't want to
put the cat among the pigeons, but unless I have this money by midday
to-morrow somebody is going to get into trouble. That is all I have to
say."
"But I haven't got it," Swift said passionately. "I haven't got a tenth
part of it. Mr. Rent will be here to-morrow and you had better see him
for yourself. I am sick of all this business. I begin to wish I had
never come here at all. And now the sooner you clear out the better."
"I'm going when I like," Bark said sullenly. "And, mind you, I won't be
played with any more. I can say too much and I can prove too much to be
treated as if I were some tramp trying to beg a copper or two. If you
take my advice you will leave Arnold Rent to his own resources. No man
ever yet trusted him without repenting it afterwards. Poor as I am, I
wouldn't be under a favour to that man unless I was obliged to, and it
is possible that I may not have to come here to-morrow, after all. I
have a scheme on, and if it turns out trumps you can tell your employer
that he isn't likely to see me for a bit. What are you up to here?
What's the little game?"
"We came here on a purely scientific errand," Swift said coldly. "And,
in any case, our experiments will not be of the least interest to you.
And now, as I am busy----"
"Oh, I'm off," Bark laughed. "I don't want to pry into your secrets;
I've plenty of my own to worry about. Good-night."
Bark turned away and swaggered down the passage, so close that Grey
could have touched him as he passed. He emerged into the road and went
off towards the town with the air of a man who has much to do before he
seeks his bed. Grey followed him at a respectful distance until he came
to the lodge gate leading to the house recently occupied by John
Charlock. Bark pushed through the gate and made his way along the grass
towards the lawn at the back of the house. Here he stopped and produced
a box of matches from his pocket. There was little or no wind, so that
the match flamed out clearly, so clearly that the watcher could see
Bark's evil face carefully examining a piece of paper which he had in
his hand. So still was it that Grey could hear Bark's muttered comments.
"Hang me if I can make it out. What an awful fist she wrote, to be
sure. Now, is it on this side or the other? And what does she mean by
a hundred and fifty to the right? And where the dickens is the right
supposed to begin? I wish I had a tape measure. Not that it would be
much use on a dark night like this. Still, it won't do to work with a
lantern."
The match went out and Bark's musings came to an end. Grey had been
gazing so steadfastly at the match that when it was extinguished
suddenly he could not see anything for the moment. Then, when his eyes
became accustomed again to the gloom, he found that Bark had vanished,
leaving not the slightest trace behind.
The incident was annoying as it was unexpected. There were trees all
about the lawn standing back in dense shadow, so that it was almost
impossible to make out in which direction Bark had gone. Grey could do
nothing but go back to the road and wait till Bark came back again.
There was, of course, a chance that his time might be wasted. But he had
gone so far now that he did not care to abandon his search. He went
slowly and cautiously back to the road and stood by the lodge gate for
the best part of an hour. He was thinking of giving up the adventure
when Bark came down the avenue muttering to himself and groaning as if
he were in considerable pain. He did not appear to think it
extraordinary that Grey should be there. On the contrary, he grinned
knowingly and inquired affectionately after Tanza's welfare.
"You are wasting your time to-night, anyway," he said. "So am I, for
the matter of that. There is something wrong with this place. Never
mind why I am here. I stumbled over a fountain arrangement in the
garden and fell with one hand in the water. It was only for a second,
and now look at my fingers. Painful! Well, rather. But what the devil
is it? Strike a match and look for yourself."
Bark held up a shaking hand in the light of the match. His fingers were
shrivelled and blue, as if they had been badly scalded. There were
blisters here and there, and Bark writhed with the pain he made no
effort to conceal.
"What do you make of it?" he groaned. "Tell me what you make of it."
*CHAPTER XXVII*
*KATE COMES BACK*
Grey was startled, but Bark was in too great pain to notice that. It
was some time before the former trusted himself to speak. When he did
so, his tones were clear and distinct.
"I shouldn't like to say," he remarked. "Probably you are suffering
from some irritant poisoning which the water has excited. This is
rather out of my line, and you had better go into the town at once and
see the doctor. You really ought not to delay. My studies of medicine
did not go far enough to enable me to deal with a case like this. But I
should like to know how you get on. And I hope you will come aboard the
yacht to-morrow afternoon."
"I might just as well," Bark growled. "It is evident you don't intend
to lose sight of me. I suppose that is why you followed me to-night."
Grey deemed it prudent to make no reply. Without further words, Bark
turned sullenly away and walked down the road. Grey went back to the
yacht as soon as possible. He felt that he had not wasted his time,
though, on the whole, the events of the evening had not turned out quite
so successfully as he had hoped. For the best part of the next day he
waited on the yacht in expectation of seeing Bark, but the latter did
not put in an appearance. Another day of almost enforced idleness
followed, and it was not until after dinner on the next evening that
Grey received a letter from John Charlock asking him to call at the
house and favour him with a few minutes' conversation. He handed the
letter to Tanza, who had been out all day and had only come back in time
for dinner. The little Italian chuckled as he read.
"Now what is the meaning of this?" he said. "In the course of my
investigations I have made a few inquiries, and was under the impression
that Charlock had gone into Devonshire. I thought Arnold Rent was in
Devonshire, too, but was surprised to see him this evening going off
towards that laboratory of his. To make the matter even more
complicated, I had a telephone message to call at the Queen's Hotel and
see Shiplake. Imagine my astonishment when the first person I saw was
Mrs. Charlock. Now there is a nice problem for you. What do you make
of it?"
"I think I understand," Grey replied. "I believe Rent has been playing
the chivalrous fool over Mrs. Charlock. I don't believe he was thinking
about himself at all. He was going to take her down to stay with his
mother till some arrangement could be made. Now I happen to know a good
deal about Mrs. Rent. She is a splendid woman in many respects and a
rigid Puritan at heart. You may depend upon it that she told Rent
pretty plainly not to look to her for anything until he had got out of
the scrape he had walked into with his eyes open. Rent, not being a
fool, had to explain to the lady, and she, not being a fool, saw the
difficulty at once. I shouldn't mind betting that Mrs. John Charlock
has resolved to return to her husband. At any rate, that is the only
logical explanation I can offer."
"It sounds plausible," Tanza said. "But you will know better when you
have seen Charlock. He may want you to be present when he meets his
wife. If he has a friend, you are probably that remarkable person."
"He is a queer man," Grey said, as he turned the letter over in his
hand, "but not to blame. However, I'll let you know what happens."
Half an hour later Grey was walking up the drive to the deserted house.
Lights were burning in one of the windows, and behind the curtainless
casement Grey could see two candles standing on a table. There was a
litter of papers on the table and a chair on each side. As Grey rang
the bell the clang of the metal sounded hollow in the empty house.
Charlock came to the door.
"I am glad you have come," he said. "I take it very kindly of you. I
daresay you wonder why I am here and why I wrote to you. Perhaps this
letter from my wife will explain matters. Yes, I want you to read it.
There is no reason why you shouldn't."
With some reluctance, Grey took the letter and read it. It was from
Mrs. Charlock, in her own neat handwriting, written as carefully and
regularly as if it had been a serious business communication. There was
no sign that it had been written in a hurry, or that it had been
inspired in a moment of anxiety and emotion. There was no heading to it
and nothing at the foot but the writer's signature. As to the body of
the letter, it might have been read by anybody. It pointed out that
there had been a difference between husband and wife, and that perhaps
there had been faults on both sides. The writer regretted that in a
rash moment she had been so foolish as to take a step which might have
compromised her in the eyes of the world. But she pleaded in
extenuation that her husband's harsh conduct had driven her to
retaliate. On thinking the matter over, she had decided it to be her
duty to return home and place herself in her husband's hands, only
stipulating that residence in the cottage should be restricted to a
definite period. The writer concluded by asking an interview and
stating that she had returned to the neighbourhood for that purpose.
Grey laid the letter down with a murmur to the effect that it seemed to
him to be right and proper.
"You think so?" Charlock said, with a hoarse laugh. "You are more
confiding than I am. Do you know what has happened? That woman
bewitched Rent. For the time she made him forget his own selfish
schemes. She wanted to pose as an injured woman, though that was not a
new _role_. She wanted to get rid of me. She wanted to force me to
some crowning folly, so that the law might release her, and then she
would have every claim to marry Arnold Rent. Doubtless it struck her as
a fine thing to become a county lady of unlimited income. But, then,
you see, she reckoned without another woman in the person of Rent's
mother. Mrs. Rent displayed a firmness which upset her calculations
altogether. And Mrs. Rent played exactly the right card. She told
these two platonic fools that her son had nothing to expect from her.
Perhaps in five years' time she might hold out her hand to help them.
But they were to understand that meanwhile Arnold Rent was no better off
than any other penniless man of good education. I know all about it,
because I was on the spot. The irony of circumstances took me to the
house. And when those people fully realised what was to happen, their
common sense came back to them. Mind you, I am going on supposition
now. But I don't think events will prove me to be far wrong.
Otherwise, why is my wife here again? Why has she asked me for an
interview? And why has she agreed to listen to my terms? It suited my
mood to grant that interview at this hour of night. It was my whim to
ask you to be present. You will see for yourself that what I have said
is literally correct. And now, will you be good enough to open the
front door for me? She may be here at any moment."
Grey went off obedient to Charlock's request. He stood outside for a
moment in the stillness of the evening until Charlock joined him. They
were quiet for a little while. Then Charlock began to speak in the
bitterness of his heart. But Grey did not appear to be listening. He
raised his hand as if to impose silence.
"Hush," he said. "Didn't I hear a cry?"
Charlock shook his head. He had heard nothing. A moment later the cry
was repeated, so far as Grey could judge, from the bottom of the garden.
It was not a loud cry. It sounded as if from someone in dire pain.
Grey moved hastily forward.
"It is nothing," Charlock said, "nothing but mere fancy. One's nerves
get out of order sometimes."
But Grey was not to be moved. He knew that his imagination had not
played him false. He could hear a stifled moan again. Almost like an
inspiration he traced the sound to its source and raced across the lawn.
"Bring one of the candles," he cried, "and follow me to the sundial. I
am certain that is where the cry came from."
Charlock muttered something in reply, but presently Grey saw the light
twinkling across the lawn. He waited till Charlock came to his side,
then with a trembling hand snatched the candle from Charlock's fingers.
He bent down over the clear water of the fountain and saw something
black and limp, something that seemed in parts to glow and glisten in
the flickering light of the candle. Then, a moment later, the
mysterious something lay motionless on the grass, and Grey was wiping
his fingers as if they stung him. But he was not thinking of the
physical pain.
"There," he said hoarsely, "I told you so. Take the candle and hold it
down so that we can see the poor creature's face. Good heavens! To
think that she should come to this!"
Charlock held the candle low. He appeared to be singularly quiet and
self-contained. He made no sound as the light fell upon the dead white
face.
"My wife!" he said. "What is she doing here? Grey, what does this
mystery mean? What curse lies on this place?"
*CHAPTER XXVIII*
*A STARTLING CONTRAST*
Mrs. Bromley-Martin's rooms were well filled as usual, for she was
giving one of those bridge parties of which she and her set never seemed
to tire. It seemed strange that they had not become weary of their
pursuit. But, then, the element of gambling entered largely into their
calculations, and of this they never tired. It was a perfect night
out-of-doors. The long French windows leading to the lawn were
invitingly open. But probably few of the guests appreciated the beauty
of the night. The rooms were hot and stuffy and there was a cackle of
conversation and high-pitched chatter without which no smart function is
complete. There were a dozen tables going, and from time to time those
whose hands lay on the table were gathered together round the fireplace
discussing choice morsels of scandal. The hostess herself, resplendent
in blue and silver, was being listened to with rapt attention, for she
had something especially fresh and piquant which she was relating to the
motley throng around her. Her shrill voice rang through the room.
"I assure you it is perfectly true," she said. "I saw her myself at the
station. She came back this afternoon and went straight to the Queen's
Hotel."
"Did you speak to her?"
Mrs. Bromley-Martin laughed.
"My dear, of course I did," she screamed. "Did you ever know me do
anything like other people? Did you ever know me care two straws for
what folk said? Oh, I know I ought to have walked by with my head in
the air and my skirts drawn about me as if I feared contamination from
her very touch. But I did nothing of the kind. Behold in me the Good
Samaritan!"
A wild cackle of laughter followed this suggestion.
"Oh, you may laugh," Mrs. Bromley-Martin went on good-temperedly.
"Besides, I was desperately curious. And there she was, looking more
saint-like than ever; indeed, I felt quite a sinner by contrast.
Besides, she is no worse than the rest of us. The only difference is
that she has been found out."