THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS
Denham took his leave with profuse thanks to Jarman for a pleasant
visit. He departed without the least suspicion that Frank was other
than he was represented to be. Eustace drew a breath of relief when he
dismissed him at the railway station.
"That's all right," he thought, as he took his way homeward. "Denham
will represent me as a kind friend, and will do away with any
suspicion in the Berry mind as to my having a card up my sleeve. Now I
can make another move."
The next move was to see Miss Dorothy Drake and learn all particulars
about the sealed envelope. Also Frank wished to know what had become
of his effects, which had been left behind in his London rooms. As his
nearest relative, it was probable that Miss Drake would lay claim to
them until such time as he should reappear. Eustace therefore decided
to go a few days after Denham's visit, and called on Mildred to
explain his absence. For obvious reasons he did not explain himself
too fully. Not until Frank was proved innocent did Jarman wish her to
know that he was identical with Mr. O'Neil.
"I shall only be away a week, Mildred," said Eustace, taking her hand;
"you won't forget me in that time?"
"I am not likely to forget you at all," replied the girl, wearily.
"Mildred, you are not looking well."
"The weather is so trying," she said hesitatingly, "and Walter's death
has damped my spirits."
"I wish you would not dwell on that, my dear. He was not worth it."
"Still, he was my brother when all is said and done. If he had only
died a natural death, I would not mind so much. But it is terrible to
think of his tragic end. Are you making any attempt to discover the
truth?"
"Yes. My journey is connected with the attempt."
"Where are you going?"
"No," said Jarman, smiling, "don't ask me that. Not until I am
successful shall I reveal my methods. And at present I am groping in
the dark."
"Have you no clue?"
Eustace hesitated. "I can hardly say that I have. There are certain
suspicions in my mind, which may or may not prove correct. But when I
return I may be able to tell you something."
"Do your suspicions still point to the innocence of Mr. Lancaster?"
"Yes," said Jarman, firmly. "I am more convinced every day that he is
the victim of a conspiracy. But his innocence will be hard to prove.
Mildred"--he again took her hand--"when I'm away I want you to be kind
to O'Neil. He has no relatives, poor fellow, and is in sad trouble.
Don't let him feel lonely."
Mildred nodded, but could not trust herself to speak. Had she
consulted her own inclinations she would have seen nothing of the
secretary during the absence of his employer. Daily she grew more and
more interested in the so-called O'Neil. She learnt to watch for his
coming, to hang on his words. He had said nothing to her likely to be
construed into admiration, and was always cold and guarded in his
utterance. But this very coldness increased her liking for him. She
assured herself that it was merely "liking," but in her heart she knew
that love had awakened. The thought of this, coupled with the
remembrance of her half-engagement to Eustace, made her nervous and
confused. She could not meet her lover's eye, and he returned to his
home wondering at the inexplicable change. However, he finally put it
down to grief for the loss of her unworthy brother, and to prevent her
from brooding he asked Frank to see her as frequently as he could
during his absence.
"Certainly," said Frank, with an effort to be cheerful; "if you do not
think she will find me out."
"How can she She has never set eyes on you at close quarters, as you
were."
"No," muttered Lancaster, guiltily, recalling the night in the theatre
and the genesis of his futile passion. "I suppose not." Then, to
change the subject, he asked Eustace to be sure to let him know all
that transpired between himself and Miss Drake. "And give her my
love."
"And tell her you are innocent?"
"Oh, she won't need to be told that," said Frank. "Aunt Dorothy will
never believe that I did such a wicked thing. Heaven bless her! By the
way, you don't think there is any chance of Berry coming down?"
"Not the slightest. Any suspicions he may have entertained about my
knowing your whereabouts will be dissipated by the babble of Natty. I
took the greatest care to load him up with a story likely to satisfy
even the suspicions of Captain Banjo. I shouldn't be surprised," added
Jarman, reflectively, "if Berry approached me with an offer to join
forces."
"What good would that do him?"
"Well, I know about the murder of Anchor, and, moreover, as I was your
friend I might--in his opinion--know something likely to help him in
acquiring this fortune."
"Then you really think there is a fortune?"
"After the talk of Natty about his birthday, I am perfectly sure that
there is a great deal of money knocking about. It ought to come to
you; but Berry's machinations, unless thwarted, will put it into the
pocket of Denham."
"If so, he won't benefit."
"Oh, yes, he will," rejoined Eustace, grimly. "When Denham is in
possession of the fortune, he will die as Starth did. He will follow
poor Anchor to the other world in the same way. Then Fan and Berry
will retire to live happy ever afterwards."
"It's all theory," grumbled Frank.
"Quite so. But that's my reading of the mystery. However, your aunt
may throw some light on the subject. She will probably tell me more of
your father's life than she told you."
But Lancaster was not to be convinced. "I don't think she knows
anything," he said. "Better see those lawyers, White & Saon."
"I'll look them up when I return to town."
Jarman, having settled his plans, went off, and Frank found himself in
sole possession of the house. Miss Cork waited on him assiduously, and
he noticed that she was not so eccentric as usual. As yet he had not
tried the experiment of letting her see the photograph of Balkis,
which was his true reason for obtaining it from Mildred. Frank did not
believe Miss Cork's story of the lost child, and was certain that her
emotion at the mention of the name was due to some other and less
respectable cause. It might be that she knew Balkis herself, and as
Balkis knew Berry--according to Natty's slip of the tongue--Miss Cork
might be able to throw some light on the mystery of the black woman's
connection with Starth. Frank determined to place the photograph where
Miss Cork could see it, and then when she was moved to terror or
surprise by the sight of the face, to insist on an explanation. What
she said might not lead to the detection of the true assassin, but it
might reveal something about Berry likely to show why he was
conspiring against the life and liberty of an innocent man. But this
again was all theory, as was Jarman's belief that the tattoo mark of
the Scarlet Bat was at the bottom of Berry's rascalities. Still, if
Frank wished to win clear of his difficulties, it behoved him to try
in all directions, on the chance of finding a clue to the mystery.
Frank therefore displayed the photograph of the big negress in a
prominent position, for the startling of Miss Cork, and then took his
way to Rose Cottage. He knew, that, seeing he loved Mildred, he ought
not to go, in spite of the unsuspicious Jarman's direct wish. But
Lancaster, loyal as he wished to act towards his friend, could not
help drinking in the sweet poison. By this time he was convinced that
Mildred liked him more than a little, and he gave himself a kind of
delicious pain in watching this fruit which he could never hope to
pluck. He thought that when she knew his real name her liking would
vanish, to be replaced with loathing for the assassin of her brother,
as she must surely think Lancaster to be. Then she could marry Jarman,
and be happy. Frank argued in this way. All the same, he knew that he
was giving way to weakness in trusting himself in her sweet presence.
This feeling was so strong on him, when he approached the cottage,
that he was minded to retreat, and make some excuse for not calling
again. What made him change his mind was the sight of Darrel in the
garden. But that Frank was in love and knew that Darrel was a suitor
for Mildred's hand, a timely thought of his danger would have made him
retreat. As it was, he went boldly forward, trusting in the perfection
of his disguise. It had not been pierced by Denham, so it was unlikely
he would be unmasked by so slow-thinking a man as Darrel. And it made
the young man furiously jealous to think that Darrel should persecute
Mildred with his attentions. He tried to think that in coming between
he was actuated by friendship for Jarman, but, in his own passionate
heart, he knew well that it was a personal resentment. Mrs. Perth had
brought her everlasting knitting into the garden, and was seated in a
cane chair under the elm. Near her was Mildred, looking in Frank's
helpless eyes more beautiful than ever. And to make him the more
jealous, Mildred was winding a ball of red wool for Mrs. Perth from a
skein held by Darrel. The Rhodesian was, as usual, big and sullen, and
appeared much too gigantic for the little garden. It was a modern
picture of Hercules and Omphale; and Frank, realising his own
helplessness, raged inwardly, as he was smilingly welcomed by Mrs.
Perth. Mildred, after a nod, cast down her eyes with a flush on her
face, and attended assiduously to her work. Hercules scowled.
"I'm so glad to see you," said Mrs. Perth in her precise voice. "Do
you know Mr. Darrel?"
Naturally Frank said that he had not the pleasure, and was introduced
at once. Darrel lifted his heavy eyes with a grunt, and paid no
further attention to the secretary. But he was quite as jealous as
Frank; and Mildred, the cause of this feeling in both breasts, became
aware that the weather was thundery. However, she chatted brightly,
and divided her attentions equally, being helped by Mrs. Perth. That
good lady never suspected what was going on under her nose.
"Your cold is better," said Mrs. Perth, when Frank was seated.
As a matter of fact it was, as Eustace had left off giving Frank the
means to hoarsen his voice after the departure of Denham. "It is
better," said Frank, almost in his usual tones. "Jarman has been
doctoring me. I'll soon be well."
Darrel pricked up his ears and looked at the dark young man. "Have I
ever met you before?" he asked.
Frank kept his countenance, although he felt that he was in an awkward
position. "I think not," he said coldly.
While Darrel's lazy eyes strayed over him slowly, Mrs. Perth put in a
brisk word. "Mr. O'Neil comes from Ireland," she said. "Have you ever
been in Ireland, Mr. Darrel?"
"No," he responded, still eyeing Lancaster, who sustained his scrutiny
unmoved. "I should never have taken Mr. O'Neil for an Irishman."
"That means you have no brogue," said Mildred to Frank, smiling. "But
he had one when he came, Mr. Darrel."
"You have been here a long time to get rid of it, then?" said Darrel.
"Just a few weeks," replied Frank, calmly.
Mrs. Perth, with the best intentions, brought Lancaster under the guns
of the enemy. "You came just when we were in deep grief over that
horrid murder," she said, clicking her needles.
"Yes. I remember you saying something about that," said Frank.
"I have been in Scotland," said Darrel, suddenly, and taking
side-looks at Lancaster's unmoved face, "so I don't know what has
happened. Have they caught the man who did it?"
"Mr. Lancaster?" said the old lady. "No, they have not."
"And I hope they never will," said Mildred, flushing. "From what Mr.
Jarman says, I believe Mr. Lancaster is innocent."
"Oh!" said Darrel, turning away his eyes from Frank, "so Jarman takes
up the cudgels on behalf of this murderer. I remember he was a friend
of Lancaster's."
"And is," said Frank, incautiously.
"You should know," said Darrel, quietly, and with a keen glance,
"being his secretary."
"I have heard Jarman speak of this matter," replied Frank. He knew
that Darrel's suspicions were aroused, and tried to keep the colour
from his cheeks. He looked directly at Darrel, and the eyes of the two
men met. It was Darrel who first withdrew his gaze.
"No," he said at length, "you're not a bit like Lancaster, although
you have the same tone of voice."
"Has he indeed?" said Mildred, with interest.
"Lancaster was fair-haired and white-skinned," went on Darrel.
"Whereas I am a dark Celt," said Frank, drawing a long breath, as he
deemed the danger was at an end.
"Well, don't talk any more about the matter," put in Mrs. Perth,
sharply. "You'll upset Mildred, and the affair is too horrible to
discuss."
Upon this hint Darrel turned the conversation into other channels, and
devoted himself to Mrs. Perth. Frank thus had an opportunity of
chatting with Mildred. They talked on the most indifferent subjects,
but all the time each one knew what the other wanted to say. Such
sudden love seems incredible to those who have never loved; but anyone
who has fallen a victim to the great passion knows how suddenly the
devouring flame blazes into a conflagration. The two had seen little
of one another, all things considering, and they had never become
confidential. Yet they loved one another, and it needed only an
unguarded moment of emotion for the truth to be openly acknowledged
between them.
Darrel, with his side-glances, saw their embarrassment, their flushed
cheeks, their efforts to appear easy, and took note of all. But with
great self-control he continued his conversation with Mrs. Perth. For
quite an hour he talked, and then rose to take his leave, at the same
moment as Frank announced his intention of departing.
"I am stopping at the Rectory," said Darrel, when they passed through
the gate. "You come my way, I think?"
"For some little distance," replied Frank, always on his guard, but
suspecting no evil on the part of his companion.
For a time they strolled on in silence, down the lane, and out on to
the dusty white road. Then Darrel commenced to converse on indifferent
matters, and told stories about Africa. Also he stated his experiences
in America. "I was at Los Angeles," he said.
Frank remembered how at the theatre he had said that he met Berry at
Los Angeles, but made no comment on the remark. Darrel still continued
to talk, till they halted in a quiet side road, whence Frank branched
off to the Shanty. There Darrel stopped. "Miss Starth is in love with
you," he said abruptly, his jealous eyes on the young man's face.
"What do you mean?" demanded the secretary, indignantly.
"And you are in love with her," went on the Rhodesian.
"I don't know what right you have to say these things."
"This much right," said Darrel, calmly. "I love Miss Starth, and I
intend to make her my wife. If you clear out and leave her alone, I'll
say nothing; if you don't, I'll have you arrested. You understand me,
Lancaster."
Frank's heart almost stood still. "I am not--"
"Bah!" said Darrel, cutting him short, and pointing to his left hand.
"When you disguise yourself, you should remove your ring. I fancied it
was your voice when you spoke, and I saw that habit you have of
slipping that ring up and down your finger. Also the ring itself, I
remember it quite well."
Frank cursed his folly. The ring was a noticeable one, set with two
black pearls. More of a lady's ring than a man's it was, but he wore
it because it had belonged to his mother. There was no chance of
keeping up his assumed character in the face of such evidence. "But I
assure you, Darrel, I am innocent," he protested.
"I don't care two cents if you are innocent or guilty," said Darrel,
coolly. "Starth was never a friend of mine, and objected to my
marrying his sister. I've set my heart on making her my wife, because
I love her with all my soul. She loves you."
"No, she doesn't!"
"She loves you," persisted Darrel. "Do you think I can't tell. I'm too
deeply in love with her myself to make any mistake. I'm not going to
have you queering my pitch. If you leave her alone and clear out, I'll
hold my tongue."
"And if I don't?"
"I'll write to the London police. Inspector Herny will be glad to get
you into his clutches. Now you know," and without further words Darrel
turned on his heel and lumbered down the road like a heavy, clumsy
steer.
For a few moments Frank stood alone in the shadow, feeling as though
the brightness had died out of his life. He felt that he did not much
care if he were arrested, so wearing was the _rôle_ he was playing,
but the thought that Mildred would be told, that she would look upon
him with loathing, made him shudder. He tried to stifle his thoughts,
and hurried into the house to think what was best to be done. At that
moment he sorely missed the wise head and staunch friendship of
Jarman.
The door of the Shanty was wide open. Wondering at this, for Miss Cork
was of that suspicious nature which always kept windows barred and
doors closed, Frank stepped into the drawing-room. He glanced towards
the mantelpiece where he had placed the photograph of Balkis. It was
gone. A sudden suspicion seized him. He went to the kitchen. It was
empty. Miss Cork had, vanished, and had taken the portrait with her!