CUPID'S BARGAIN
While Jarman was receiving Miss Starth at the door, Miss Cork had
brought in the lamp and pulled down the blinds. In the yellow light
Mildred could see that his face was pearly white. As Eustace was not
usually emotional, she guessed that the paper she had given him must
be interesting enough to surprise him out of his ordinary self.
"What is it?" she asked nervously. "Oh! what is it?" Her nerves were
slack, poor girl, from the anxieties of the last week.
Jarman did not answer directly. That he should have stumbled on the
word "Tamaroo" in this unexpected manner, immediately after telling
his story to Frank, surprised him not a little. The coincidence was
extraordinary, and, he suspected, providential. He could not see what
connection there could be between the murder of Anchor in San
Francisco and that of Walter Starth in Sand Lane, but the mysterious
word "Tamaroo" seemed to link the two. Perhaps it might prove the clue
to the mystery of the last crime. Jarman sat down to hurriedly arrange
his thoughts, but he was unable to answer Mildred for a time. After
her exclamation she remained quiet, clasping and unclasping her hands,
shaken to the core of her soul by the disturbed looks of this
ordinarily phlegmatic man.
"I don't know what it means," confessed Jarman finally, and looked
again at the paper. "This is written by an uneducated person, and by
one who knows Lancaster well enough to address him by his Christian
name. Who slipped it into your hand?"
"I don't know," said Mildred again. "I was passing out with the crowd
after the verdict had been given, and I felt this being pushed into my
hand. My fingers closed on it mechanically. For the moment I never
thought to look round for the person. When I examined it outside it
was, of course, too late."
"H'm! That's a pity. If we could only find who wrote it there might be
some chance of clearing up the mystery."
"Then you think there _is_ a mystery, Mr. Jarman?"
"About your brother's death? Certainly I do. I know Lancaster very
well. Indeed, it was I who introduced him to your brother, and I am
absolutely certain that he is not the man to commit so brutal a
crime."
"But his threats on the previous night?" objected Mildred.
"Mere foolish speaking. And, far from proving his guilt, they, to my
mind, hint at his innocence. Had he intended to kill your brother he
would have been more circumspect in his language."
"But if Mr. Lancaster is innocent, why did he run away?"
Jarman shrugged his shoulders. "You can't expect a man to have all his
wits about him at such a moment. He was"--here Jarman was about to
explain the drugging, but on second thoughts he did not think it wise
to appear to know too much--"he was in the house alone with your
brother, whom he had threatened," he continued, "and when the murder
took place saw that there was every chance of his being accused. To
avoid being arrested on circumstantial evidence, he fled."
"Have you any idea where he is?" asked Miss Starth, quickly.
"No," replied Jarman, deliberately. "I have not seen Frank Lancaster
for some months. He was always in town, and, as you know, I rarely go
up. You believe him to be guilty?"
"Everything seems to point to his guilt."
"I admit that. But I am convinced from what I know of him that he is
perfectly innocent."
"If so," said Mildred, shrewdly, "he must at least know who killed my
brother, seeing that he left the house _after_ the death."
"I don't profess to explain," said Eustace, who was unwilling to lie
more than was necessary to shield Lancaster. "Did your brother ask
Lancaster to call on him?"
"No!" replied Mildred, decisively. "Walter was rather afraid of Mr.
Lancaster. They were bad friends for some reason, and Mr. Lancaster
threatened to give Walter a thrashing."
"Did he threaten to kill him?"
Mildred hesitated. "Well, Walter said that Mr. Lancaster would shoot
him if he got the chance, as he always carried a revolver."
"Lancaster only carried a revolver when he went slumming."
"He wasn't slumming when he visited at Sand Lane."
"No! I can't explain that. All I can say is that, from what I know of
Lancaster, he might have thrashed your brother, but he certainly would
not murder him."
"But Mr. Darrel tells me that Mr. Lancaster was very bitter against my
brother."
"When did he tell you that?" said Jarman, who knew Darrel, and,
regarding him as a possible rival, did not approve of him overmuch.
"To-day, when I got up. Mr. Darrel is staying at the Rectory for a few
days. You know, he is a friend of the rector's."
"Yes, I know," replied Eustace, thinking he must put Frank on his
guard, since Darrel might recognise him. "Why did Darrel come down?"
"On a visit to the rector. But he also said that he came to see if he
could help me in any way."
"I can do all the help that is necessary," said Jarman, jealously.
"I told him so, and, then, Captain Berry is anxious to assist."
"H'm!" said Eustace, pulling his big moustache. "Mrs. Perth told me
that he had offered a reward. Very good of him."
"Captain Berry was a great friend of Walter's. He wrote me the sad
news almost immediately."
"Almost too immediately," replied Jarman. "What time did you get his
letter?"
"By the eleven post."
"Then it must have been posted in London before midnight, and the fact
of the murder was not known to the general public till next morning.
How came Captain Berry to have such early information?"
"I don't know," said Miss Starth, blankly. "Do you think--"
"I think nothing," interposed the big man, quickly. "I have never met
Berry, and I know nothing about him. But Mrs. Perth doesn't seem to
entertain a good opinion of him."
Mildred, in spite of her grief and sadness, could not help smiling.
"You know that Mrs. Perth never approved of Walter's friends. She was
my governess, you remember, and still thinks it's her duty to look
after me."
"And after that Denham man."
"Oh! he is only a boy--" said Mildred, with contempt, "and a very
silly boy. Walter brought him down twice, but I don't suppose he'll
come here again."
"Where did Starth meet him?"
"At Captain Berry's. Mr. Denham came from San Francisco with Captain
Berry. They are great friends."
"And thereby hangs a tale," muttered Jarman, who was intensely
suspicious of the skipper and his associates. "Well, and what are you
going to do now, Miss Starth?"
"I can do nothing," she said, with a helpless gesture. "I have seen
our lawyer about Walter's affairs, and Walter's income comes to me. I
don't know what to do about his death except wait."
"For the capture of Lancaster?"
Miss Starth moved uneasily. "I am not revengeful," she said, "and my
brother was not such a good man as he should have been. But if Mr.
Lancaster is guilty he ought to be punished."
"Yes. _If_ he is guilty. But presuming his innocence--"
"He will have an opportunity of proving that when he is tried."
"Ah!" said Jarman, pulling again at his moustache, "then you
anticipate that he will be captured?"
"Captain Berry says he will never rest until he is captured. We had a
long talk about the matter."
"Has Berry any clue?"
"No. Neither has Inspector Herny. Since that servant saw Mr. Lancaster
leave the house, nothing more has been heard of him. I don't want him
to be captured. His being hanged wont bring poor Walter to life, and
that paper makes me doubt if he is guilty."
"Did you show this to Berry?" asked Jarman, who still held the paper.
"No. I showed it to no one, not even to Mrs. Perth. I wished to
consult you about it."
"I am glad you said nothing, Miss Starth," said Jarman. "May I keep
this paper? I may be able to find out something, you know."
"Certainly. I shall be glad if you will help me."
"I wish to help you in every way. You know that."
Jarman's voice shook a little, and the woman in Mildred took the
alarm. She rose to go, whereupon Jarman insisted on seeing her to Rose
Cottage. "But there is no need," protested Mildred, "the moon is
shining, and I am quite safe. Don't trouble."
"It's a pleasure," insisted Eustace, putting on his cap, and being
thus obstinate Mildred let him have his own way. She was even secretly
pleased, as she liked Eustace extremely.
They stepped out into the moonlight, and took their careful way
between the haycocks. The night was very still. Occasionally there
would float towards them an outburst of song from the copse-hidden
nightingales, diversified by the hoot of an owl, or the whirr of a
distant train steaming towards London. Mildred had simply thrown a
lace shawl over her head to run across to the Shanty, and her face
looked wonderfully pure and white in the ivory radiance of the moon.
Eustace felt his pulses throb with suppressed excitement, and the
blood tingled pleasantly in his veins. He was in love with Mildred, he
was jealous of Darrel, and these passions lifted him somewhat out of
his usual self. The romance of San Francisco appeared the veriest
prose beside this lyrical night. Yet he felt that he could not break
in upon the grief of the girl with his tale of love, and so walked
sedately by her side, holding himself well in hand.
As they passed into the lane, and under the chequered shadows of the
elms, Mildred felt the influence of her companion. She was not in love
with Jarman, or with anyone, but she liked and admired him immensely,
and, granted that the fairy prince did not come along, was not
unprepared to listen should he speak. Still, the feeling of sorrow for
the death of her brother lay heavily upon her, and she sighed as the
cool night wind ruffled her dark hair. After a time, to break the
silence, she asked Jarman about the new secretary.
"Mrs. Perth told me that he was very handsome," she said.
"Oh, he's good-lookin' enough," replied Eustace, "but his spectacles
rather spoil him. Weak eyes, you know."
"I was not aware that you intended to engage a secretary."
"I have so much work to do."
"You might have engaged me," said Miss Starth, reproachfully. "I can
type quite as quickly as you can dictate, and you know I am always
glad to assist you."
"I know that," said Jarman, suppressing a strong inclination to take
her in his arms. "We have done some work together."
"_You_ have. I don't know what I should have done without you to
correct my verses and help me to get them printed. I was only sixteen
when I showed you my first poem."
"Yes. And very shy you were over it. Natural in a schoolgirl."
"I am not a schoolgirl now, Mr. Jarman."
Who knew that better than Eustace? "I wish you were," he muttered.
"Why? You should be glad to see me grow up, Mr.--"
"Why so formal, Miss Starth--Mildred. Call me Eustace."
"I should like to--Eustace," said the girl, frankly--too frankly,
alas! for any feeling of love to lurk in the words. "You know how fond
I am of you," and she squeezed his arm playfully.
"Mildred!" He could stand it no longer, although he felt that this was
not the time to speak of love. But the influence of the hour, of her
words, and the feeling of jealousy inculcated by Darrel's arrival made
him confess his secret. "Mildred?"
"Yes." She detected the change in his voice, and grew nervous.
"I--I--love you!"
"Mr. Jarman--I mean Eustace!"
"I didn't mean to speak," went on the man, rapidly. "I know you have
heavy troubles to face. But I wish to help you. If you would accept me
as your husband, if you would lean upon me through life, I would do
all that I could to save you from being worried."
Under the shadow of the trees, a stone's-throw from the white gate of
Rose Cottage, Mildred stood still, her hands clasped before her. A
shaft of light piercing the leafage shed its radiance on her beautiful
face, and Eustace put a constraint on himself. Under his breath he
quoted the Arabic proverb: "Blessed be Allah who made beautiful
woman."
"Eustace, I never thought of this!"
"And you are angry?"
"No--no. I'm not exactly angry. But--"
"You love me, then--you love me!" She could feel his breath on her
cheek, and shrank away from the passion expressed in his deep voice.
"I am not angry, but I don't love you. Wait!" She flung up her hand as
she heard his sigh. "I like you--oh, yes, I like you more than anyone
I ever met."
"More than Darrel?"
"Mr. Darrel; I don't care a bit for him. I wish you wouldn't talk so."
She stamped her foot. "You know how troubled I am about poor Walter's
death, and we were getting on so nicely."
"You and Walter?"
"No, poor fellow. You and I. We were such companions, and I always
told you everything--and now talking like this!" Miss Starth's eyes
filled with tears. "It's a shame."
"I can't help loving you."
"Well, I love you--in a way. No, don't come any nearer. I--I--looked
on you as a--a--father," sobbed Mildred.
"Oh, Heavens! There's no more to be said after that. Let me remain in
that relationship."
"No. That is"--Mildred dried her tears, and became alarmed because
she thought she was inflicting pain--"that is--you know, I don't
mind--well, if you can't guess."
"Does that mean you will marry me?" asked Jarman, catching his breath.
Mildred rolled her handkerchief up into a ball, and became more of a
woman and less of a schoolgirl. "I will marry you on one condition."
"What is that?" he asked, eagerly.
"That you find out and punish the person who killed Walter."
Jarman's heart leaped. "Do you mean Lancaster?" he asked, alarmed.
"No--if what that paper says is true. I mean the real person. You say
that Mr. Lancaster is innocent, and I know you too well to doubt your
word. Find the real person, and--" she bent forward as though to seal
the bargain with a kiss. But before her face could touch his own she
drew back, and flittered towards the gate.
"Mildred!" he cried. "Mildred!"
"Good-night!" floated back faintly, and he heard the closing of the
door. Alone with the night and with his great happiness, he tried to
realise his good fortune. "She doesn't love me yet," he thought, as he
walked back to the Shanty on tip-toe excitement, "but she will--she
will. Heaven bless her How could I have loved Mrs. Anchor? This is the
real thing, and Mildred--oh! what a boy I am yet." He wiped his face.
"Of course I'll find out who killed her brother, both to win her and
to save Frank. Dear Frank--poor fellow!" Jarman felt immensely sorry
for Lancaster being, as it were, out in the cold. "I must tell him."
And tell him he did, blurting out the news almost before he filled his
pipe. "I say, Frank, I'm going to start in and find out who killed
Starth!" he declared.
"Miss Starth has asked you to do so?" said Frank, trying to suppress
his jealousy.
"Yes. And she is going to reward me, if I am successful, with her
hand."
Lancaster stared. "I--I--hope you'll be happy," he gulped. "She'll get
a good husband."
"And I an angel for a wife."
"An archangel--a Madonna--a saint," said Frank, incoherently. But his
heart ached.