A PLEASANT SURPRISE
The Rectory was like a bee-hive. Mr. Arrow was the happy father of ten
healthy children, and his wife was pretty well worn out looking after
them. One of the boys was at Sandhurst, a couple were at school, but
the majority of the children remained to make the old house lively.
Why Darrel, who loved his comforts, should come to such a noisy
establishment, Arrow could not conjecture, although he was glad to
welcome him. Darrel himself declared that he came to see his old
tutor, and Arrow accepted the flattering compliment. But when he found
that his guest paid three visits to Rose Cottage in as many days, the
rector began to mistrust the excuse. However, he said nothing to
Darrel, as the Rhodesian was rich, and might be trusted to do
something towards launching the young Arrows into the bleak world.
Darrel was a big man, as huge as Jarman, but black and sulky in his
looks. His manners were soft, and he resembled a large tom-cat more
than anything else, particularly when speaking, as he positively
purred. With the children he was a favourite, as he always presented
them with gifts; but it was understood that on condition of this
largess, they were to leave him alone. Consequently, he had all his
time to himself, and spent it dodging about Rose Cottage, or filling
the little parlour with his gigantic person.
Mrs. Perth rather liked him, as he was always deferential to her, and
she was not averse to his courtship of Mildred, for that was what his
continual, and not always welcome, presence amounted to. But the girl
herself thought Darrel possessed a violent temper, and always declared
that she would not marry him if he were as rich as Vanderbilt.
However, as the Rhodesian came ostentatiously to condole with her on
account of her trouble, she could not very well express herself as she
wished. Moreover, in a measure, she was now engaged to Jarman, but she
told no one of the agreement she had made with him, not even Mrs.
Perth. It was now over a fortnight since the death of Starth, and as
he was buried, Mildred was recovering her spirits. She had never cared
particularly for her brother, who was something of a bully, and had
seen so little of him that his death made scarcely any difference in
her life. Consequently, beyond that she was in mourning, she showed
little sign of the catastrophe. And Walter had only himself to thank
for the calmness with which she accepted his decease.
One afternoon Mrs. Perth was out, and Darrel sat with Mildred drinking
tea in the parlour. It was a small room filled with chintz-covered
furniture, and looked extremely cool. The window was open, and Darrel,
who felt the heat, sat near it cup in hand. He was dressed in spotless
flannels, and looked better-looking and less black than usual.
Mildred, in her sombre dress, was fanning herself vigorously.
"I wish I could feel as cool as you do," she said, enviously.
"It's more looks than anything else," replied Darrel in his heavy way.
"I'm warm enough--quite. How I'll stand town I don't know."
"When are you returning?" asked Miss Starth, indifferently.
"To-morrow--if you don't want me to stay."
"I have no control over your movements, Mr. Darrel."
But the coldness of the tone had no effect. "I mean, that there may be
something I can do for you. Now that your brother is dead--"
"Mr. Jarman is looking after things for me, thank you," said Mildred,
stiffly. "The only thing you can do is to find out who killed Walter."
Darrel raised his bushy eyebrows. "There's no difficulty about that,
Miss Starth. The verdict of the jury--"
"Was wrong. I can't believe that this Mr. Lancaster committed so
horrible and apparently purposeless a crime."
"Have you any reason to believe him innocent?"
Mildred, for obvious reasons, did not answer this question directly.
"I can't see his motive," she said, looking down pensively.
"The evidence of that lady at the inquest--"
"I know nothing about any lady," retorted the girl, flushing. Then, to
change the conversation and mark her sense of Darrel's bad manners,
she asked a question. "Did you know Mr. Lancaster?"
Darrel nodded. "I thought I told you," he said. "He was sitting next
to me on that night I saw you in the theatre."
"The night before the tragedy," said Mildred, shuddering. "What is he
like to look at?"
"Fair chap, blue eyes, and--"
"Wait!" Miss Starth recollected the man who had stared at her. "Do you
mean to say that he was the gentleman who sat next to you?"
"Yes. I said so. Fair hair, and--"
"I know," she broke in hurriedly. "He was looking at me; our eyes met,
and he--oh he didn't look like a man who would commit murder."
"I shouldn't have thought it of him myself," said Darrel; "but if he
didn't, who did? That's the point."
"I wish you to find that out if you will."
"Certainly. I'll do my best, on conditions."
"Conditions!" Mildred stared, and looked annoyed.
"Yes," said the Rhodesian, stolidly; "promise to be my wife, and I'll
hunt down Lancaster."
Mildred gasped. This was the same bargain as she had made with
Eustace, so the situation was duplicated. But she more than liked
Jarman, and cared very little for Darrel. Moreover, now that she knew
the suspected man was the one who had stared at her, and to whose face
she had taken a fancy, she was inclined to agree with Eustace that he
was innocent. So refined a man could not possibly have committed so
brutal a crime. And, finally, she was displeased that Darrel should
again broach a subject about which she had asked him to be silent.
"I told you before, and I tell you again, Mr. Darrel, that I cannot
become your wife," she said, with some heat.
"Why not?" asked the man, stolidly.
Mildred grew exasperated. "Because I don't love you."
"Love may come after marriage."
"I prefer it to come before," she declared. "I won't marry you."
"Yes, you will," said Darrel, closing his obstinate mouth; "your
brother was in favour of the match."
"At one time, but not lately."
"I know, and I can't understand why he changed."
"Whether he changed or not doesn't matter," said Miss Starth, sharply;
"the thing is out of the question."
"No, it isn't. I've made up my mind to marry you, and marry you I
shall."
She rose and turned on him indignantly. "Do you threaten me?"
Darrel rose also, but did not reply directly. "I never made up my mind
yet to get a thing that I didn't succeed," he said. "I wanted to be
rich, and I am rich. I want you to be my wife, and I intend to make
you my wife."
"No! No! No!" She stamped her foot three times.
"Oh, yes," said Darrel, calmly. "Think it over. I go to town
to-morrow, but will come back in a month. I'll expect my answer then."
"Take it now," she cried, indignant at his impertinence. "No!"
"That's not the answer I require," he said, collecting his cane and
hat. "You must say yes."
"I won't!"
Darrel took not the slightest notice, but held out his hand. Mildred
declined to take it, and repeated her refusal. The big man turned to
the door. "I'll come in a month for my answer," said he, and went out.
Mildred was very angry at his persistence, but she had quite as strong
a will as Darrel, and determined that nothing would induce her to
become his wife. But she dreaded his return, as she knew he was not
easily shaken off. For the moment she was minded to tell Eustace, but
a reflection that such a confidence might lead to a quarrel, made her
change her mind. "But I'll never marry that Darrel," she declared.
"Never--never--never! I wonder, indeed, if I'll marry Eustace. I like
him, but I don't love him. And one should love when--" here she
blushed and sat down. Her thoughts wandered to the pleasant face of
the young man in the theatre, and she recalled his persistent gaze. He
had evidently been attracted by her, and she-- "No," said Mildred to
herself, "I'll never believe that he murdered Walter!" after which
remark she began regretting that she had made a bargain with Eustace.
Decidedly her conduct was flighty, but late events had unsettled her
mind. She was not usually so vacillating, but at the present moment
she was too bewildered and upset to know her own mind, save that she
would never marry Darrel. "And perhaps not Eustace," she concluded.
Meantime, Eustace was in the seventh heaven. For the last few days he
had gone about singing, and Lancaster was rather exasperated. It
seemed unfair that Jarman should have all the happiness, and he should
have nothing but trouble. Then he blamed himself for being selfish.
Jarman had been, and was, a good friend to him, and Jarman had known
Mildred for many years. He, Frank, had not even spoken to her, so it
was ridiculous and ungrateful of him to be jealous of his best friend
on such slight grounds. He did all he knew to preserve a cheerful
face, but at times grew gloomy. Eustace put his fit of the dismals
down to a too vivid realisation of his danger. He would not allow
Frank to speak more than was necessary about the murder, as he did not
wish him to brood over it. But he was not idle, and one morning
announced that he was going to to town.
"I'll be away for the day," he said, "so you can make yourself
comfortable, Frank. Look out that Darrel doesn't see you."
"Darrel has gone back to town," said Lancaster, "so one of the young
Arrows told me. He returns in a month."
"Mildred will be glad he has gone. He was always hanging round her."
"Why didn't you put a stop to that?"
"I have not the right as yet. You see, I am not formally engaged to
Mildred, and will not be, until I have discovered the assassin."
"Why not denounce me, and bring about the engagement at once?" said
Frank, with some bitterness.
Jarman stared. "Because in the first place you are innocent, and in
the second I should not like to build up my life's happiness on your
ruin. I thought you knew me better than that, my friend."
"Forgive me. I am a beast," said Lancaster, penitently. "But the fact
is, I--I--"--he gulped down the truth--"I am not myself."
"Don't wonder at it, considering the fix you are in. Cheer up. I may
learn something to-day likely to give me a clue to the truth."
"From whom?"
"From your friend, Fairy Fan."
Lancaster jumped up from the breakfast-table. "What?"
"You look surprised, but it is so. I am going to see her to-day--by
appointment!" and he displayed a perfumed note.
Frank glanced over it, and discovered that Miss Berry would be pleased
to see Mr. Leonard Grant at her rooms in Bloomsbury at one o'clock on
that day.
"Why did you write to her?" asked Frank, handing this back.
"The use of my _nom de plume_ should tell you that," replied Jarman.
"I want to have a quiet chat with that lady, so I wrote as Leonard
Grant--under which name I produce my sketches--and asked her if I
could do one for her. As I have a certain reputation, she seems
inclined to entertain the idea."
"Why didn't you write under your own name?"
"What an ass you are, Frank! Firstly, the _nom de plume_ is required
to intimate who will write the sketch, since Eustace Jarman is unknown
as a dramatist. Secondly, did I write in my own name I might give
myself into the hand of Berry. He must have learnt from Starth that I
am your friend, and thus might seek to know too much."
"You could baffle his inquiries."
"Oh, yes. But if he chose to come down and see me, I could not baffle
his spotting you. It's best to be on the safe side, and even in that
disguise the man is clever enough to recognise you."
"That doesn't say much for my disguise," said Frank, grimly.
"Pooh! The make-up is good enough to baffle a casual observer, but
Captain Berry is exceptionally clever. He might not recognise you,
certainly; on the other hand, he might. No, Frank, as Leonard Grant
I'll see Miss Berry and learn all I can."
"She won't discuss the matter with you."
"Perhaps not, but I'll try and get her on the subject. I may even meet
with Berry, and then we'll see if I can't pump him. So you make
yourself comfortable here, Frank, while I go to town. I think you
might take the newspaper to Mrs. Perth, and meet Mildred."
"I don't know her," said Frank, flushing.
"Mrs. Perth will introduce you," said Jarman, "and I am sure you will
get on well with her."
"Too well," thought Frank. But he said nothing, not even if he would
go over to Rose Cottage.
Jarman bustled about, and finally set off across the heath, which was
the nearest way to the railway station. His plan of action was to seek
Berry and his niece as a complete stranger, and to learn, if he could,
what they were about to do. He had a clever pair to deal with, but
Jarman was smart himself, and not for nothing had rubbed shoulders
with the astute citizens of the great republic. Moreover, apart from
his wish to please Mildred and to save Frank, there was a certain
element of exhilaration about this chase after an unknown criminal
that appealed to his love of adventure.
"I've got detective fever," he thought, as he swung into a third-class
smoking, "and the disease won't be cured till I run the true assassin
to earth."
On arriving at Liverpool Street, shortly after twelve, he walked to
the tube railway at the Mansion House Station, and thereby gained
Oxford Street. From Tottenham Court Road he strolled to Bloomsbury
Crescent, where Miss Berry dwelt with her uncle, and reached the door
of the house a few minutes before one o'clock. A neatly-dressed
maidservant admitted him into a cool drawing-room. While the maid
informed her mistress of Jarman's arrival, or rather that Mr. Leonard
Grant was at hand, Eustace looked curiously round the room. From its
contents he hoped to learn something of the character of Fairy Fan.
But there was no need to read her character in this way. Almost before
he commenced his examination she appeared at the door, and came
forward with a smile. Suddenly she stopped, and the colour ebbed from
her face. Jarman gasped and stared, as well he might.
"Mrs. Anchor!" he said, under his breath. "Mrs. Anchor I might have
guessed."