WHAT MILDRED KNEW
Eustace looked at her much surprised. "If you don't know of those
things, I don't," he said.
"Do you mean to say you didn't get them out?"
"Certainly. I saw one, and was very much surprised."
"Do you know what the Scarlet Bat means?" she asked.
"Perhaps I do," he said, enigmatically.
"And the name Tamaroo?"
"Oh, it's a name, is it!" said Jarman. "Thank you for the information,
Mrs. Anchor."
"Don't call me by that name," said Fan, frowning.
"Why not? You were married to the man, and the name Tamaroo was the
last word he said to me."
The woman changed colour. "What did he mean?" she asked softly.
"You can explain that best," answered Eustace. "See here, Mrs. Anchor,
or Miss Berry, or whatever you choose to call yourself, I want to know
what your game is."
"There is no game," she insisted.
"Yes there is, else you would not have put Starth and Lancaster
against one another, nor would you come down to see me and ask
questions. There's some scheme in your mind, and in the mind of your
so-called uncle--"
"He _is_ my uncle!" she flashed out, tapping her foot.
"Bah! Do you think I believe that? Accomplice, if you like."
Fan started to her feet like a small fury. "You dare to insult me, do
you?" she said. "Better take care, you low-down cad!"
"Ah!" said Eustace, calmly, "now the mask is being dropped."
With an effort she controlled herself, seeing she had gone too far.
"It's enough to make a woman angry," she said panting, "to be talked
to in that way. I am perfectly honest."
"I never called your honesty into question."
"Yes, you did, and I'll never forgive you for having done so. I know
you are my enemy now. I thought you were a fool."
"So I was in San Francisco, but I have learnt sense since. And I am
your enemy, Mrs. Anchor, and the enemy of that man Berry."
"You'd better not threaten him."
"Indeed! Do you think I am afraid of him?" sneered Eustace. "I also
have been in the Wild West, and I can handle my weapon as neatly as
Berry did--when he shot Starth."
"It's a lie--it's a lie! He did not."
"Don't lose your temper; you'll gain nothing by it. I am on the side
of Frank Lancaster, and I intend to prove his innocence."
"You can't," said Mrs. Anchor, with a pale face. "He is guilty."
"It's your scheme to make him appear so," retorted Jarman; "but I know
better, and so do you. Who told you he was here?"
"That's my business," she said doggedly.
"And a very shady business it is. Do you wish to murder Frank as you
murdered your husband?"
With a spasm of fury Fan snatched up a knife and flung it at him. It
flew over his head. "Don't do that again," said he, "or I'll forget
that you are a woman."
"The woman you loved," she said again, weeping.
Eustace grew tired of thus running in a circle.
"Don't you think you'd better try something new, Mrs. Anchor? We have
had cajoling, tears, violence, temper--I'm growing weary!"
"I also," said Fan, drying her tears, and speaking in a much more
business-like manner. "It's not worth while losing one's temper."
"Not with me, I assure you."
"You're a brute!" she said violently.
"Possibly. Did you come to tell me that?"
"I came to see Frank, not you. But as he is not here--and I don't
think you are clever enough to deceive me--please send him my
message."
"I don't know where he is, Mrs. Anchor." Jarman used the name because
he could see that it annoyed her. "But the message?"
"Tell him that if he will promise to marry me I will save his neck.
But I must have the promise in writing."
"I'll convey the message if I can," said Eustace, without making any
comment, "on one condition."
"What is that?" asked Mrs. Anchor, turning from the mirror, before
which she was adjusting her veil.
"You must write a letter to Miss Starth, deploring the death of her
brother, and stating that you loved him so much that you wished to
marry him."
Fan grew crimson, and her eyes sparkled. "I shall not write such a
tissue of lies," she said with a stamp.
Jarman laughed, but not pleasantly. "You have become wonderfully
scrupulous all of a sudden," he sneered. "But you intended to marry
either Starth or Denham."
"Denham!" she said contemptuously. "I wouldn't marry him if he asked
me. Why do you want me to write such a letter?"
"For your own sake," responded the big man, coolly. "Miss Starth
believes that you are concerned in the death of her brother. Such a
letter will convince her that you were well disposed towards him."
"Bah! She won't believe it."
"She may, or she may not. However, I want it written."
Mrs. Anchor sat down, and leaning her cheek on her hand stared
musingly at the floor. After a few minutes she looked up. "You're on
some game or another," she said calmly, "and for some reason you wish
me to join in. Well, I don't mind. The letter shall be sent."
"Oh and don't you want to know what the game is?"
"Not at all. Whatever you are doing can't concern me. This letter will
do no harm, and as I wish the message taken to Frank I am willing to
buy it on those terms."
Jarman looked at her distrustfully. He wondered why she yielded so
suddenly, and knowing her tricky ways, he felt sure that she had some
card to play. However, for reasons of his own, he wanted the letter,
and, so long as he got it, was not particular how it came into his
possession. It was useless to act honourably towards a pair of
sharpers like Fan and her so-called uncle. Having thus arranged
matters, the little woman held out her hand.
"I have a carriage waiting to take me to Mardon," she said. "We
understand one another, I hope?"
"I think we do. But I am in the dark regarding your schemes."
"I can say the same thing about this letter. I don't know why you want
it written."
"Tell me who told you of Lancaster's whereabouts, and I'll explain."
"No, thanks," she rejoined, with a shrug. "Writing such a letter won't
hurt me in any way, and telling you too much, might."
"As you please. Let me see you to the carriage."
She accepted his offer, and together they walked across the fields to
where a fly from Mardon was waiting. Mrs. Anchor hopped into this as
lightly as a bird, and again held out her hand. "Goodbye," she smiled.
"You won't forget to deliver my message?"
"I will if I can, on condition--"
"Yes, I know the condition. The letter shall be sent to Miss Starth."
When the fly drove away, Eustace stood in a brown study for a few
minutes. He wondered why Mrs. Anchor had so readily accepted his
assurance that Frank was not in the house. Certainly he was not, but
Jarman fancied that so suspicious a woman would have made sure. Yet
she did not even avail herself of his offer to let her inspect the
house. "I wonder what stake those two are playing for?" mused Jarman,
walking down the road. "It's that million, I suppose."
But he could not be sure until he gained more explicit information.
Jarman had conceived a plot, with which the letter to Mildred was
concerned. By it he hoped to learn the secrets of Berry, who certainly
appeared to be the head of the whole business. As to the Scarlet Bat,
the opening of the sealed letter might reveal what that meant. But the
letter could only be opened by Frank, and Frank was nowhere to be
found. Jarman decided to tell Mildred the whole story, and then to
consult her about opening the letter in Frank's absence. It seemed
foolish to wait, and to leave the man in such peril. And he was in the
greatest peril, now that Fan knew he had been hiding at Wargrove.
Eustace felt thankful that for obvious reasons she could not take the
police into her councils, else he might have got into trouble for
compounding a felony.
While thus thinking a man had approached him softly, and Jarman was
startled by a touch on his shoulder. He wheeled round sharply to
behold Darrel. The man looked sulky as usual, and purred like a cat
when he addressed Jarman.
"So your friend Lancaster has gone away?" he said quietly.
"Yes," replied Eustace, thinking it best to save time by admitting so
obvious a fact; "you frightened him away."
"Ah! then he left a letter behind him?"
"He did, Mr. Darrel, in which he stated that you knew him, and that
you threatened to denounce him."
"Only if he interfered between me and Mildred," said Darrel.
Jarman flushed, and his face grew angry. "What do you mean by speaking
of Miss Starth in so familiar a fashion?"
"I speak as I like, and being in love with Miss Starth--since you want
me to be punctilious--I call her by the name I like best."
Jarman could have struck him to the earth, as he stood there like the
Man-mountain of Gulliver. There was something insolent about Darrel
which inspired the meekest of men to kick him, and Eustace was by no
means a Moses. For the moment Eustace was inclined to take him up on
the question of loving Mildred, but remembering that he was not
officially engaged to the girl, and that should he not discover the
assassin of her brother he might never be her husband, he thought it
best to pass over the matter. However, he remarked on the conjunction
of the girl's name with Frank's. "Lancaster was not likely to
interfere between you," he said.
"Oh, yes, he was," said Darrel, in his slow, heavy voice. "Lancaster
is in love with her."
Jarman felt a jealous pang. "Impossible!"
"Not a bit of it. Lancaster saw her that night in the theatre, and
even then admired her more than I liked. Down here I saw them
together, and he loves her. I'm in love myself, and I know. And I'm
not certain," added Darrel, viciously, "that she doesn't love him."
"I tell you she can't," cried Jarman, agitated.
"Oh! then she knows Lancaster killed her brother?"
"She knows nothing. I only speak from my knowledge of her character.
She would not love a man she knew so little of as Lancaster."
"According to you, she did not know him by that name. But she is just
the kind of romantic girl to fall in love with that Irish secretary of
yours. He made up well for the part," sneered Darrel.
Jarman straightened his shoulders. "I don't think it is good taste to
discuss Miss Starth," he said, "but I can safely assure you that she
does not love the man."
"You seem very sure." Darrel scanned Eustace in his usual insolent
way. "I believe you are in love yourself," he said with a short laugh.
"Well, I give you the same warning as I gave Lancaster."
"I'm not disposed to take any warning," rejoined Jarman, hotly, "and
if you denounce Lancaster as having been here I shall deny it."
"Oh, now that he has cut, there's no necessity for me to say a word.
But don't you interfere."
"See here, Darrel," said Jarman, controlling his temper with an
effort, "no man shall speak to me like this. I forbid you to mention
Miss Starth's name to me again. She will choose for herself."
"I know she will. She will choose me," said Darrel, complacently.
"There's always two to a bargain," said Eustace, drily. "However, as
Lancaster has gone, there was no need for you to tell Miss Berry."
Darrel looked up in genuine surprise. "I did not tell Miss Berry."
"She was down here an hour ago, and stated--"
"That I had told her? She's a liar!"
"She did not say that you had told her. But she knew that Lancaster
had been here. And you were the only person who spotted him."
"What fools the others must be," said the genial Darrel. "However,
that's neither here nor there. I assure you, on my honour, that I kept
Lancaster's secret. He may, or he may not, have killed Starth, but so
long as he leaves Miss Starth alone he is in no danger from me. I hope
you will understand that."
"I understand," said Jarman, coldly. "And now we will part."
"On an understanding, however," said Darrel, striding after
Eustace--"that you don't interfere with my affairs. If you do,
I'll--" He stopped, and looking at Eustace with an evil face walked
on. "You are warned!" he said over his shoulder.
For a moment Eustace was inclined to follow, and dash his insolent
words down his throat. But such an act might have jeopardised the
safety of Frank. Jarman, therefore, was compelled to swallow his
anger, and greatly he disliked doing so, but under the circumstances
he could do nothing else.
All that day he wondered what amount of truth there was in the
assertion of Darrel that Frank was in love with Mildred. Eustace could
not bring himself to believe that Frank would act basely towards him,
and make love during his absence. "He knows that I adore Mildred,"
soliloquised Eustace as he paced his rough lawn, "and to try to get
her to himself would be a base thing to do. I have helped him. He
certainly would not betray me. I swear by Frank."
Nevertheless, in spite of these brave words, he caught himself
frowning at the thought, and finally made up his mind to see
Mildred and learn the worst. He was aware that she liked him, but
that into their bargain no love had entered. If she really loved
Frank, and the young man had acted honourably, why then-- "But it's
impossible--impossible!" groaned Jarman, clenching his hand. "He would
not treat me in such a way."
Troubled in this fashion he presented himself at Rose Cottage, looking
unlike his usual self. Mildred was in the garden watching the sunset,
and was walking towards the summer-house when she heard him call her
name. Turning with a cry of alarm, she came swiftly towards him,
holding out both hands.
"Eustace, I'm so glad you have come! I was sorry that I could not see
you last night. Why did you not come earlier?"
"I was busy," he said, evasively, and looked into her eyes. "Mildred,
why were you alarmed when I called you?"
She faltered. "I thought it might be Darrel," she said faintly. "But
he would not call you by your Christian name?"
Mildred blazed up. "I'd like to see him dare!" she said. "But he has
insolence enough for anything. He persecutes me!"
"Oh, does he!" cried Jarman, angrily. "Then I'll made short work of
him. You see if I don't. I'll--"
"Do nothing--do nothing!" she panted, catching his hands. "He is a
dangerous man. He knows too much."
"About what I don't understand." She turned red, and her hands
dropped. "Mr. O'Neil," she said, in a low voice, then covered her
face.
"He has gone away. I don't know where he is," said Jarman, "but--"
"No, no! Say nothing." She dried her tears and drew him into a
sheltered part of the lawn. "He is here," she whispered. "I have
concealed him, and he has told me his story."
Jarman looked at her, astonished. "You know then that he is
Lancaster?"
She nodded with a smile.