"I can't say as I do," he said. "You see, I haven't been on duty in

these parts very long, and anyway, I don't suppose your friend would

care to be knocked up at this time in the morning."

"Naturally enough," Wilfrid said coolly, "But, you see, I was not

disposed to do that. If I can only find the house it will be easy to

walk about till daylight."

Once more the policeman hesitated. His suspicions were not altogether

lulled.

"You had better come with me and speak to my sergeant," he said. "I

have got to meet him in five minutes at the top of Torrington Place. He

will tell you about this Mr. Flower."

There was no help for it, so Mercer strode along carelessly by the side

of the constable until the sergeant made his appearance. He seemed to

be just as cold and suspicious as his colleague, but at the same time

Wilfrid had the satisfaction of knowing that he had not drawn a bow at a

venture altogether in vain, for at the mention of Samuel Flower's name

the sergeant's face changed.

"Oh, yes, I know Mr. Flower well enough," he said. "He lives at number

twenty-three on the other side of the square. For the most part he

spends his time in the country. But the family is in town to-night,

because I was passing the house when they came home from a party. But

what do you want with Mr. Samuel Flower, young fellow? You don't look

like the sort of company he generally keeps."

"Very likely not," Wilfrid said coldly. "But the fact remains that I

was once in Mr. Flower's service as doctor on one of his boats. I am

much obliged to you for your information, which will save me a great

deal of trouble in the morning."

Wilfrid strolled away quite naturally and easily; indeed, he was so cool

and collected that the sergeant allowed him to depart with a curt

good-night. There was just the chance that the officer might change his

mind, so that Mercer sped on rapidly back to Gower Street, nor did he

breathe freely till he stood once more outside the gate over which he

had helped Uzali to climb. It struck Wilfrid as being a good idea that

he should climb the gate himself and stay till the square keeper came in

the morning to unlock the gates. No sooner had this idea occurred to

him than he proceeded to put it into operation. He dropped quietly on to

the path on the other side and settled himself down to wait in patience

for Uzali to reappear. Twice did he walk the circuit of the garden.

Twice did he pass Samuel Flower's house; the brass numbers on the door

shone so steadily under the street lamp that there was no mistaking it.

The house appeared to be in darkness save one light in an upper room,

which flickered every now and again as if a window had been opened and

the draught had caused the gas to flare unsteadily. There was nothing

for it but to wait with what patience he possessed, although Wilfrid was

getting tired of his adventure. He was wondering if it would be safe to

light a cigarette to pass the time away. He looked around him and saw in

the centre of the garden a dense mass of bushes where he might conceal

himself and smoke without the faintest chance of detection.

He made his way across the grass, and as he reached the shelter of the

thicket he seemed to hear some one breathing stertorously. Shading the

vesta in his hand he swept the shining blue flame over the grass. There

was the outline of a figure lying on its back with a pale face turned up

to the sky.

"Good Heavens!" Mercer cried, "why, it's Uzali!"

At the mention of his name the Malay opened his eyes and looked drearily

about him. There was a nasty cut on the side of his head and a big

black bruise under the left eye. It did not take Mercer long to

discover that his companion was suffering from loss of blood, but so far

as he could see no very great harm had come to him. A minute or two

later Uzali staggered to his feet.

"How did it happen?" Wilfrid exclaimed.

Uzali put the question aside impatiently.

"Don't ask me now," he whispered. "Get me home as soon as you can. I

will tell you about it in the morning. No, you are not to come home

with me. You will put me in a cab and send me straight round to my

flat. I can summon my own doctor by telephone and no one will be any

the wiser. Now do you think you could manage to get me over that gate?"

There was something so imperious in Uzali's manner that Wilfrid asked no

questions. By the great exertion of strength he managed to lift Uzali

over the gate and deposit him on the coping-stones outside. A sleepy

driver of a hansom cab came plodding along and Mercer summoned him

without delay.

"My friend has had an accident," he said. "Here is his card and address.

I want you to get him home as soon as possible and see him into his

flat. You will have nothing more to do after that except to mind your

own business and ask no questions. Come, my good man, I don't suppose

you will mind earning a five-pound note like that. It isn't much for

the money."

"I'll do it," the cabman said hoarsely. "I haven't earned ten shillings

to-night. Now come on, sir."

Uzali was lifted bodily into the cab and as the driver reached the box

the wounded man whispered a few, terse peremptory words to Wilfrid. A

moment later the cab was out of sight. Wilfrid wondered what was going

to happen next. He made his way back into the square again to the

thicket of evergreens where he had dropped his cigarette case. He could

see the houses opposite now. He could see that a flare of light had

flashed upon the second floor in Samuel Flower's residence; quite

plainly against the blinds were the shadows of two men struggling

together. It was only for a moment, then all was thick darkness again.

Wilfrid stood there rubbing his eyes in bewilderment.

*CHAPTER XXIV*

*THE LONG DARK HOUR*

Even had Wilfrid Mercer had a stronger head and a steadier nerve, he

might still have been pardoned for a feeling of dread at that moment.

He had been on the rack nearly an hour and was, besides, more worn out

than he was aware. As the first faint glow of the dawn filled the

eastern sky it was impossible to piece together the tangled puzzle. In

the first place it was idle to imagine what had happened to Uzali, and

who was responsible for the murderous attack upon him. And it seemed

purposeless now to conjecture why he had been in such a hurry to get

away without at least trying to explain the drift of events to Mercer.

He wondered if those strange kinsmen of Uzali's had had anything to do

with it, but so far as they were concerned the victim had been so

confident, so absolutely sure of them, that this theory appeared

unlikely. There was nothing for it but to turn his attention to Samuel

Flower's house and attempt to discover what had been going on there.

Anything was better than standing still in the chilly dawn trying to

solve a problem which was seemingly beyond human skill.

He must be up and doing. Mechanically he grabbed for the cigarette case

and placed it in his pocket; then he crossed the grass and made his way

over the railings of the square close to Samuel Flower's residence. The

house was in pitch darkness. There was no sign of any trouble within.

Wilfrid's first impulse had been to alarm the inhabitants and let them

know what he had seen, but in cooler blood he dismissed this notion.

He stood in the uncertain shadow of the trees making up his mind what to

do and letting precious moments slip, though, for all he knew, some

terrible catastrophe might have taken place under his very nose. As he

watched, doubting and hesitating, a figure crept along the other side of

the square and entered Flower's house. The handle of the door was

turned boldly and resolutely. It closed as firmly, but Wilfrid's ear

caught not the slightest sound. Then he noticed that the light in the

hall sprang up, followed by another light in one of the bedrooms at the

top of the house.

"They are clever as they are daring," Wilfrid murmured. "Anybody

passing would think the servants were up and about. I wonder what time

it is."

At that moment an obliging clock struck the hour of five.

"Too early for town servants," Wilfrid muttered. "I have a good mind to

try my own luck."

Wilfrid was by no means a timid man. He had gone through too many

privations and dangers for that. With determined step, therefore, he

crossed the road and laid his hand on the latch. He was not surprised to

find that the catch was not down and that the door yielded to his

pressure. A moment later and he was in the hall.

All the lights had been turned up. The place was flooded with a soft

tender glow; pictures and flowers and statuary stood out and delighted

the eye and pleased the senses. So far, whoever the intruders were,

they had made hardly any attempt to disguise their presence. There was

a festive air about the house, too, for the atmosphere was heavy with

the smell of cigar smoke and the half-opened dining-room door showed

that a snug supper party had recently met. It must have been within a

few hours, for the dregs of the champagne still sparkled in the glasses.

Wilfrid pressed on curious. He buttoned his overcoat about his throat

in case of a surprise, and caught up an old-fashioned life-preserver

from the hall table and slipped it into his pocket.

Yet nothing broke the silence; nothing indicated anything out of the

common. No doubt, he surmised, there must be scores of similar scenes

in the west end of London to-night, where people had come home and

partaken of a hasty supper after the servants had gone to bed and then

retired themselves, carelessly leaving the lights burning.

But in this particular case Wilfrid knew the lights had not been left

burning. He had seen that sudden, mysterious gleam in the upper windows

and the quick flash of the electrics as the whole turned to a sea of

light. It was his plain duty to investigate the premises from top to

bottom.

Wilfrid chose the basement, but nothing rewarded his search. All the

rooms there were empty, as they were on the dining-room floor. Nor were

there any strange coats or hats in the vestibule, excepting Flower's big

fur wrap and soft hat, and some cloudy-looking material which Beatrice

doubtless had discarded when she came in. He must look further afield

and see what the next landing might reveal.

It was dangerous and difficult, but Wilfrid resolved to go through with

it. He found the switches of the drawing-room lights and just turned

them on long enough to enable him to see that the room was empty. He

dared not try any strong illumination, for fear of arousing the

suspicions of the police, who would know a great deal more about the

servants' habits than he could. There appeared to be a large bedroom

behind the drawing-room, looking out on the back of the house, and this

Wilfrid tried cautiously. He felt sure some one was there because a

long slit of light showed from under the door. The door was locked on

the inside and no sound proceeded from the room save a gentle purring

noise such as machinery will make when heard a long way off. Wilfrid

likened it to the singing of a kettle rather than anything else. As he

bent down and listened more intently he seemed to hear the murmur of

voices and occasionally a suppressed groan as if from some one in pain,

who was being quieted by the application of a powerful drug. A minute

or two later Wilfrid knew that he was not mistaken, for from behind the

locked door came a sound which was unmistakably a smothered laugh.

It was no business of his, of course, and he hesitated before he went

farther. He might have paused until it was too late, had not his

quickened hearing caught a sound overhead as if somebody had left the

room on the next landing and was coming leisurely downstairs. Wilfrid

crept back into the deep shadow of the drawing-room door and waited. It

was somewhat difficult to see, for he had only the gleams of the light

coming from the hall to guide him. Presently, as his eyes became more

accustomed to the gloom, he saw that he was not mistaken. A man drew

near with step noiseless and agile as a cat's. A peculiar perfume

preceded him, a perfume which Wilfrid had not the least trouble in

recognizing. It was the same strange scent he had smelt during the

eventful night he had spent at Maldon Grange. He saw the stranger try

the door of the bedroom; then suddenly all his restraint deserted him.

His right hand shot out and he caught the little man by the throat.

"Get them to open that door," he said hoarsely. "Get them to open it at

once or I'll choke the life out of you. Do you hear?"

Whether the man heeded or not he gave no sign. Wilfrid's grip was as

tenacious as that of a bulldog, all his fighting instincts aroused. He

felt the exhilarating sense of superior power. For the moment the man

was as clay in his hands.

But only for a moment. Then in some strange way the little man managed

to jerk himself free and two arms of wire and whipcord were around

Wilfrid's throat till he was fain to bend and give under the pressure

lest his neck should break. In all his adventures he had never

encountered such a force as this. Try as he would he could not shake

those arms off. He felt himself gradually being borne backwards until

his head touched the ground and one of those relentless grips was

relaxed for an infinitesimal space of time. The struggle was none the

less tenacious and deadly because it was being fought out almost

entirely in the dark, and Wilfrid temporarily lost his self-possession.

Then he knew that if he could not fling the man off him his end was

near. With a desperate effort he struggled to his knees and grasping

his antagonist by the waist literally threw himself down the stairs.

Over and over they rolled, first one above and then the other, but

making little or no noise as they slid down the velvet pile of carpet.

No sound came from either and the ferocious struggle went on till they

landed at length in the hall and Wilfrid was conscious of the cold

marble under his head.

The time for the final struggle had arrived. Driving his knee upwards

Wilfrid caught his antagonist fairly in the chest with a force that made

him groan again, and as he felt the tense, rigid limbs relax, he knew

that now or never was the time to save his life. A mist swam before his

eyes; he turned faint and unconscious for a second or two; then when he

looked about him again he saw that his assailant was gone and that some

one was bending over him with tender solicitude.

"Beatrice," he murmured. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Hush," the girl whispered, "not a word. Thank goodness I have managed

to get here in time to save your life."

*CHAPTER XXV*

*THE DIAMOND MOTH AGAIN*

Beatrice Galloway's feelings were strangely mixed as she drove along

beside her uncle towards Gower Street. It seemed as if lately the whole

world had gone astray, as if all happiness had ceased to be. For many

months past she had felt the loss of Wilfrid Mercer; indeed, she had

missed him even more than she cared to acknowledge to herself. And yet,

no sooner had he crossed her path again than all this trouble had come

back with him.

Of course, it was absurd to blame Wilfrid, but nevertheless, ever since

he had shown his face at Maldon Grange there had been nothing but misery

and mystery.

And why did Samuel Flower hate the young man so? Beatrice had been half

ashamed to admit it when discussing the matter earlier in the evening

with Wilfrid, but she knew that he spoke no more than the truth when he

said that her guardian was an enemy of his. Beatrice was by no means

suspicious, but this fact had been thrust upon her.

And yet Samuel Flower professed that Wilfrid was a perfect stranger to

him. There was something here that Beatrice would have to get to the

bottom of. Under the shadow of the darkness she could make out nothing

of Samuel Flower's profile except that it was hard and set. She was

glad enough when the drive came to an end and the house in the square

was reached at length.

Cotter stood waiting in the hall. He appeared to be full of eagerness

and the desire to speak, when Flower checked him with a malignant frown

and a flash of his eyes.

"Presently, you fool," he muttered.

"It won't keep, sir, indeed, it won't," Cotter muttered. "Jansen has

been here and must see you to-night. I told him you would not be back

till late, but he went away saying he would call again."

Beatrice, glancing up casually at her guardian saw that once more the

pale grey tinge had crept over his face. The malignant look had died

from his eyes, giving way to a fear almost unspeakable. The girl had

never heard this man's name before, and yet, quite by instinct, she

coupled it with something disgraceful and underhanded. What was this

new terror? She walked quietly into the dining-room and threw her wraps

upon a chair by the side of the fire. As she laid her fan upon the

mantelpiece an object in a small box fell to the floor. Beatrice picked

it up carefully.

"I had almost forgotten," she murmured.

In a spirit of pure curiosity she raised the lid and the diamond moth

flashed into view. Certainly it had been most careless of Uzali to

leave the jewel on the supper-table after he had promised to get it

repaired. Beatrice had taken it almost mechanically from the waiter who

had brought it to her, and almost without thought carried it home. She

took it casually from the box and ranged the two parts close together on

the table so that the light might fall upon it. Really, it was a most

lovely gem, one that any girl might be proud of, though Beatrice shrank

from it as if it had been a thing of evil. In her mind it was

associated with a series of dark tragedies, purple crimes and deeds of

violence with which somehow her uncle was not unconnected. She laid her

finger upon the jewel almost with loathing. She was still contemplating

its sinister beauty when Flower entered the room and closed the door

carefully behind him.

His mood had changed for the moment. He was by way of making himself

agreeable.

"I hope you won't think I was rude to you just now," he said, "but I am

greatly worried by business. Everything seems to have gone wrong

lately, and if things don't mend before long I shall find myself very

awkwardly situated. Like most successful men, I have enemies, and there

is a conspiracy amongst them to drag me to the ground."

Beatrice murmured something sympathetic. Flower was telling her nothing

new. She would have offered her assistance and advice had she thought

it of the slightest use. She hardly heard what Flower was saying. She

did not notice that he had broken off abruptly in his speech and that

his gaze was concentrated upon the diamond moth.

"So that is what you were talking about?" he said. "Upon my word, it is

exceedingly handsome. I should like to know the history of that jewel.

But didn't it strike you as strange that an unknown man should have made

you a present of the missing part of the ornament?"

"I don't know," Beatrice said indifferently. "Nothing strikes me as

strange to-night. To begin with, it was such a remarkable gathering of

people. Everything seemed to be so free and easy that I was bewildered.

You may laugh at me as you like, but when Mr. Uzali produced the missing

half, I was not in the least astonished."

Flower was about to ask a question when he altered his mind. He was

leading up to a point cautiously.

"That being so," he said with assumed carelessness, "the man who made

you this gift ought to have been rather an uncommon person to look at.

What was he like? Did he resemble an adventurer or soldier of fortune?

Was he a foreigner, or an actor, or what? As far as I could judge,

though I was a long way off, he seemed a little insignificant man."

There was a forced gaiety in the speaker's voice which did not deceive

Beatrice.

"You are right," she said. "Mr. Uzali is a little man, and very plain,

with features not unlike those of a good-looking monkey, yellow face and

hands more like a bird's claw than anything else."

"Ah!" Flower exclaimed. "And his speech?"

"His speech told me nothing. His English was as good as yours or mine.

Mr. Uzali is a polished man of the world and as much at home in this

country as in his own. But I thought it odd that his hand should be

exactly like the one which I saw that night in the conservatory trying

to find the latch of the door. But you need not be unduly curious.

Indeed, I understood Mr. Uzali to express a wish to make your

acquaintance."

"He wants to know me?" Flower murmured. "He is anxious to come here--the

thing is preposterous. My dear child, you don't know what you are

talking about."

Flower paused as if conscious that he was saying too much. The dark

mood had come back upon him. He paced up and down the dining-room

muttering. Then once more he realized that he was not alone, for he

turned almost savagely to Beatrice and pointed to the clock on the

mantel.

"I daresay we are making much ado about nothing," he said. "Don't you

think you had better go to bed? I must finish some work before we

return to Maldon Grange to-morrow."

"Are we going back to-morrow?" Beatrice asked.

"I think so," Flower said moodily. "On the whole, it is safer--I mean I

prefer the country to London."

Beatrice gathered up her wraps and departed, the old sense of coming

tragedy stealing upon her again. But she was too tired to think about

anything but bed. She touched her guardian's cheek with her lips, but

he did not seem conscious of her presence. No sooner had she gone than

Cotter came into the room. He stood as if waiting for orders, his teeth

chattering, his whole aspect one of ludicrous terror.

"Well, you blockhead," Flower cried, "why don't you speak? Why stand

there in that ridiculous attitude? Anybody would think you a child

frightened by a bogie. Where is your pluck, man? You used to have

plenty of it."

"Never a man with more," Cotter said half defiantly. "But I have seen

what I have seen and I know what I know, and I will never possess even

the nerve of a rabbit. Oh, why didn't we leave well alone? Why

couldn't we be satisfied with our ill-gotten gains? Surely you had more

than enough. For years I have been dreaming about this danger. For

years I have known that it was coming. Sooner or later it was bound to

find us out. And the worst of it is, you can't fight it. It is miles

away one day and the next it stands grinning at your elbow. It may be

in the house at the present moment for all I know, just as it was at

Maldon Grange."

"Drop that!" said Flower fiercely. "Drop that, you lily-livered coward,

or I will do you a mischief. Is there nothing in the world worth

speaking about except those yellow-faced devils who are after us now?

Isn't it bad enough that Jansen should turn up at this moment?"

Flower paused as an electric bell in the basement purred loudly and a

sort of muffled cry came from Cotter as if he had been listening to his

death-knell. He stood gazing abjectly into Flower's face, his own white

and sweat-bedabbled.

"Wake up, idiot," Flower said savagely. "Go and let him in. It is only

Jansen."

*CHAPTER XXVI*

*DR. JANSEN*

Cotter seemed to feel his way to the door, as if he were blind, or the

room had been suddenly plunged into intense darkness. He hardly dared

to breathe till he had opened the front door and admitted a short,

enormously stout man who beamed on him mildly behind a pair of huge

silver-rimmed spectacles. There was nothing in the stranger to inspire

terror in the heart of Cotter, but his manner was servile to a degree.

"You see, I have come back again," the foreigner said. "Did I not tell

you that I should come back, my friend? And it is no use telling me

that Mr. Flower is not in, because I saw him arrive with his beautiful

niece. In fact, I stood on the pavement on the other side of the road

and watched the carriage come. If it had been all night I had to wait,

I should have remained there. You have told your master I am coming?"

"I have done that," Cotter whined, "and he will see you at once. Will

you come this way, please?"

The Dutchman bustled into the dining-room and threw his hat and coat

carelessly on a chair. Then he proceeded to wipe his spectacles on an

immense red handkerchief which he produced from the tail pocket of his

greasy frock-coat. Without ceremony he hustled Cotter to the door and

closed it.

Flower stood moodily gazing into the fire-place without taking the least

heed of his visitor. Not in the least disconcerted, the Dutchman

wheeled a big armchair to the fire-place and made himself comfortable.

Then from another capacious pocket he produced a villainous cigar with

the fumes of which he began to poison the room. Helping himself

liberally to brandy and soda, he sat down patiently waiting for Flower

to speak. Despite the man's fatness and the jovial twinkle in his eyes,

there was something about him which spoke of a grim and determined

nature. Evidently, too, he was master of the situation and knew it. The

tension grew until Flower could stand it no longer.

"Well, what the devil do you want?" he broke out passionately. "What

are you doing here just at this time? Haven't I got worry enough

without you turning up to blackmail me?"

The Dutchman waved the suggestion aside.

"There, my friend," he said coolly, "you are entirely wrong. I did not

come here to blackmail you at all. You treated me very badly some years

ago, and I have bided my time till I could get even with you. I don't

know whether you are aware of it or not, but the time has come. I

should like to know what you are going to do about it."

"Nothing," Flower said moodily. "I am going to let matters take their

course. I am not afraid of you and the sooner you know it the better,

and if you want money, well, you can't have it. For the last two years

everything has gone wrong. People fight shy of me and only the smaller

firms in the City will have any dealings with my firm. I am supposed to

be rich and prosperous, to have made money in my own peculiar way, but I

tell you I am a ruined, almost desperate man. Two years ago----"

"Ah, I know what you are going to say," the Dutchman chuckled. "You are

going to tell me that everything has gone wrong with you since that

trouble over the _Guelder Rose_. There was the _Japonica_, too, and the

time has gone by when you could make money in coffin wood. Well, on the

whole, you have been a lucky man. If I choose to find where young Dr.

Mercer is, and if we put our heads together, we could tell a story about

the _Guelder Rose_ which would land Mr. Samuel Flower within the four

walls of a gaol. Oh, you needn't look at me like that. I am not likely

to do you any harm so long as I can make money out of you. I have

waited long enough for this opportunity, knowing that you would find

yourself in a corner sooner or later, and I have come here to-night to

make a proposal. Why should you talk about being a ruined and desperate

man when you have only to put out your hand and fill your pockets with

treasure?"

Flower abandoned his place by the fire and began to walk up and down the

room again. He was agitated.

"I will not be fool enough to pretend to misunderstand you," he said

hoarsely. "I know what you are alluding to. You are speaking about

that treasure which awaits us in North Borneo. I tell you I dare not. I

cannot steel myself to go through that again. As for you, your case is

different. Though you took a prominent part in that expedition you were

wily enough to keep yourself in the background. Nobody could identify

you with any of the men who fired that mine and washed a whole city to

destruction. I used to marvel at your cunning----"

"I hope you admired it," Jansen chuckled. "Did you think that I was such

a fool as to embark upon an enterprise like that without taking proper

precautions? Did you suppose I didn't expect to be murdered on my way

down to the coast? And didn't your native servants do their best, at

your instigation, to put me away? Not that I bear you any malice. I

daresay if things had been otherwise I should have tried to wipe you

out, as they say in America. When the time came I discreetly

disappeared, and it was generally imagined that I had perished miserably

in the jungle. My dear, respected partner, I did nothing of the kind.

I kept my head and by and by went back to the scene of the destruction

to see what I could pick up for myself."

"You found nothing," Flower snarled.

"Absolutely nothing," the Dutchman said good-naturedly. "You had taken

good care of that. But the stuff is there, and you know where it is to

be found. That is why I am here to-night; why I want you to accompany

me on a final voyage, after which neither of us will ever need to work

again. The whole thing has blown over. There are no natives left to

tell the tale, and we shall be rich men with a _minimum_ expenditure of

trouble. The key of the situation lies with us. You can do nothing

without me and I am powerless without you. Let us make an offensive and

defensive alliance and take out our own staff. What do you say?"

Jansen spread his hands cheerfully out to the blaze, his little eyes

beaming with good-nature. He was not in the least like a man in the

close proximity of his would-be murderer. He seemed to take everything

for granted. Flower came to an abrupt halt by the fire and looked down

at his companion.

"A very pretty programme," he sneered. "Quite an excellent programme.

We are to fit out an expedition to North Borneo together. We are to

recover all that priceless treasure--why, the marvellous china and

engraved glass alone would be worth a fortune--then come home rich

beyond the dream of avarice and live happily for ever afterwards. It

sounds delightful, but there is one flaw. You are under the impression

that the clan was destroyed root and branch when the city was washed

away. You are mistaken. There were survivors, and at least two of them

to my certain knowledge are in England at the present moment. Do you

know that my life is not worth a moment's purchase? Do you know that

one attempt has already been made upon it? The next may be successful.

And when I am got rid of, that treasure will never be seen again by

mortal eye. Besides, how do you know you are safe yourself? You took

extraordinary precautions, I know. But we had men to deal with whose

cunning and foresight were far greater than our own. Now, in view of

what I tell you, are you still bent on going?"

The twinkle had died out of the Dutchman's eyes and his rubicund face

had grown solemn. He sat for a long time gazing into the fire before he

spoke.

"You are sure of this?" he asked. "You are certain there has been no

mistake."

By way of response Flower took an envelope from his pocket and produced

a five-knotted piece of string. He handed it gravely to his companion.

"Look at that," he said. "You know what it means. Now, that came to me

in a registered letter posted by my agent Slater, in Borneo. Mind you,

though Slater knows nothing about this trouble, my correspondence with

him is always conducted in cypher. The letter was so private and

confidential that it was written by Slater himself and posted by his own

hand. And yet, when I come to open the letter, I find this inside. You

are an easy-going sort, but I ask you, would not your flesh creep and

your hair stand on end if you found a message like that inside of a

confidential letter, written, sealed and posted by another person? I

tell you the play is finished, the game is up, and I am doomed just as

irrevocably as if I were the victim of some incurable malignant disease.

Come, you are a clever man, Dr. Jansen, can you show me any way out of

this?"

Jansen played thoughtfully with the string, but no words crossed his

lips. He was baffled.

*CHAPTER XXVII*

*NO FOE OF HERS*

The house was quiet enough now. The whole place was plunged in

darkness; even Cotter had forgotten his terror and was dreaming

uneasily. As for Beatrice, she had thrown herself upon her bed, worn

out with fatigue and anxiety and for some time she slept. Her room and

the dressing-room beyond were not dark, seeing that they faced the front

of the house and the street lamps shone upon the windows. She lay at

first unconscious of her surroundings, but by and by she grew

uncomfortable and awoke with a start. She could hear and see nothing

beyond the dim shadows of the various objects in the room, until

gradually her eyes began to grow accustomed to the gloom and she could

distinguish her dressing-table in the small room beyond. She

recollected hazily that she had placed her diamond moth with the rest of

the jewelry on the table. In a drowsy sort of way she was chiding

herself for her carelessness when she seemed to see a hand moving

noiselessly over the toilet articles. For a moment Beatrice put the

impression aside as a mere fancy, but kept her eyes fixed on the spot

till she knew that she was no longer mistaken. Somebody was in the room

and bending curiously over the diamond moth. A moment later a shadowy

arm waved and a second figure joined the first. The two dim outlines

stood with clasped hands gazing rapturously at the moth, much as some

heathen might regard a precious idol. Beatrice could see the intruder's

lips moving as if in prayer. Evidently they had found some talisman

which was engrossing their attention and probably keeping them from more

serious work.

The girl lay still and rigid, too terrified to move, and incapable of

uttering a syllable. For the life of her she could not have screamed,

she was so overcome with dread. How long this scene lasted it was

impossible for Beatrice to say. She knew that danger sharp and horrible

was here. Then it flashed into her mind that the peril was not for her.

The thought nerved her to exertion. She dragged herself from her bed

and threw a wrap over her shoulders.

A new wild courage was burning in her veins. Action was better than

lying quaking and fearing the worst. With a firm step she crossed the

floor and walked into the dressing-room. Then, before she had time to

speak or move, unseen hands were laid upon her shoulders and she was

dragged backwards, not with violence, not with anger, but with a

considerate firmness that would brook no denial. An instant later and a

small blue light flickered on the floor, throwing up a sweet fragrant

incense which Beatrice found infinitely soothing to the senses. She

seemed to rock and sway. She felt herself lifted from the floor, and

then she dropped into a deep sleep and knew no more.

When she came to herself again her mind was wonderfully fresh and clear.

Like a flash she saw everything that had happened. Like a flash it came

to her that these intruders were no other than the strange visitors who

had made themselves so much at home at Maldon Grange. Beatrice was not

in the least afraid; at least, she had no fear for herself. Whatever

those uncanny creatures were searching for, they had no quarrel with

her; indeed, they had gone out of their way to save her from the

consequences of her interference. But if the danger were not for her,

for whom was it intended? The answer was obvious. Samuel Flower was

the enemy. Samuel Flower was the victim whom these little men were

tracking down in their relentless fashion. How long had she been

asleep?

She looked at her watch, but there was nothing to learn from that. She

partly dressed herself with a view to arousing the household. As she

opened the door leading to the landing she heard sounds of a struggle

outside. With unsteady hand she turned up the lights, and, locked in a

deadly grip, almost at her feet, were one of the strangers and another

man whom she did not recognize at the moment. As the two rolled

headlong down the steps, Beatrice gave a sharp cry, for she had seen the

white, set face of Wilfrid Mercer. The thing was all over almost before

she realized that it was begun. One assailant had vanished, goodness

only knew where, and Wilfrid lay on his back bruised, battered, and all

but unconscious. Thoughts for his safety uppermost in her mind,

Beatrice flung prudence to the winds. She flew downstairs and raised her

lover's head just as he was opening his eyes. Nothing seemed to matter

so that he were safe, and with unfeigned thankfulness Beatrice heard

Wilfrid mutter her name.

"You are not hurt?" she asked anxiously.

"Not so very much, I think," Mercer said as he struggled to his feet.

"But the man nearly choked the life out of me all the same."

"What has happened?" Beatrice asked. "How did you get here? What

brings you in the house at this time in the morning?"

Wilfrid pressed his hands to his head. He was too dazed to reply

coherently. Then as his mind cleared, events began to adjust

themselves, and the strange panorama of the night unfolded itself

slowly.

"I will tell you," he said. "I am here because I happen to know that

your uncle is in imminent danger. How I got into the house doesn't much

matter. I came here without ceremony, and I was making my way upstairs

when I interrupted that man and had to fight for my life. But hadn't we

better ascertain that your uncle is safe?"

"Oh, yes," Beatrice said eagerly. "I am afraid we shall not be able to

get into his room. He always locks himself in and the door of his

bedroom is lined with steel, as a precaution against burglars or

something of that kind, so he said."

Wilfrid waited to hear no more. He was quite himself by this time.

Followed by Beatrice he went quietly up the stairs until he came to the

door of her uncle's room. He tried the lock, but it resisted all his

efforts. It did not seem prudent to call out in case something terrible

might be going on inside.

"Is there no other way?" Wilfrid whispered. "Is there no balcony at the

back of the house, no creepers, or rain-pipes, or anything of that kind?

Have no fear--forewarned, forearmed."

"There is a balcony running all the way along," Beatrice explained. "My

uncle talks of having it removed, but he has not done so yet. I can

help you through a bedroom window and you can creep along and see for

yourself. But I implore you not to run into any danger."

"It is a case of life or death," Wilfrid said gravely. "I will be as

prudent as I can. But we must not lose time."

Beatrice led the way into one of the back bedrooms and opened the

window. Mercer crept along in the darkness cautiously until he came to

a room both windows of which were lighted. One of the blinds was partly

pulled up and one of the sashes raised a few inches. From beneath came

a sweet, sickly scent which caused Mercer to reel as if a desire to

sleep had suddenly seized him. It was only by holding his handkerchief

to his mouth and nose that he was able to lie down on the balcony and

peep under the blind. He could see Flower lying on his bed, apparently

unconscious, with a white bandage around his forehead. He could see two

figures flitting about the room, like doctors during an operation. For

a moment Flower's two hands were raised above his head, then fell

helplessly again by his side.

What infernal thing was going on? What black art was being practised by

these miscreants? Flesh and blood could stand it no longer. Wilfrid

forced the sash to its utmost capacity and dashed into the room.

Seizing a chair he whirled it round his head and made a wild lunge at

one of the would-be assassins. At the same time he cried out for others

to follow him as if he had assistance at hand. Almost immediately the

light was extinguished; there was a rustle of figures in the darkness

and Wilfrid knew that he was alone. The sweat was pouring off his face

with the horror of it all. He groped round the walls until he found the

switch and flooded the place once more with the welcome rays. He could

see the key was inside the door. He opened it widely and called for

Beatrice. Then he turned to the figure on the bed. The white bandage

was gone from Flower's head and he lay still and motionless. So far as

Mercer could see he did not breathe. Beatrice entered full of anxiety.

"What is it?" she whispered. "Is he dead?"

"I don't know," Wilfrid said. "It is impossible to say. You must rouse

the household at once and send for the nearest doctor or the nearest

half-dozen for that matter. I want a brain specialist if he can be got.

Will you go at once, please. Every moment is priceless."

*CHAPTER XXVIII*

*BEYOND SURGERY*

Wilfrid had to repeat his command more than once before Beatrice seemed

to understand what he was saying. The girl was dazed with the horror of

the thing. She stood looking at the white, still figure on the bed,

marvelling what was going to happen next. And yet, at the back of her

mind there was a glimmering of the truth. This was a vendetta and these

relentless foes would never slack their efforts until Samuel Flower had

paid the debt to the last penny. Many of these things Beatrice had read

about in the pages of fiction. She had forgotten, perhaps, that there

are stranger things in every-day life.

As for Wilfrid he was calm enough. His professional instincts came to

his aid. Laying his hand gently upon Beatrice's shoulder he led her

from the room.

"I want you to be brave and silent," he whispered. "I want you to help

me all you can. It is possibly a selfish reflection, but your life is

safe. If you would save your uncle, you must do what I tell you."

"I will try," Beatrice murmured. "What do you want me to do? Oh, I

remember."

She departed without another word, leaving Wilfrid to do what he could

with her uncle. This second attack was much more serious than the

first, for Samuel Flower lay to all appearance dead. It was not

difficult for Wilfrid to make an examination, for Flower had undressed

and gone to bed before the attack. He lay on his back with his arms

inert by his side, the deep purple of his cheeks had given way to a

ghastly whiteness. Wilfrid could detect not the slightest trace of

violence anywhere, nothing but one or two small indentations on the

forehead and at the back of the head. Try as he would Wilfrid could

make nothing of the case. And if he could trust to his trained

knowledge, he felt sure that no explanation would ever come from

Flower's lips, for surely the man was dead.

He could hear no murmur from the heart. By laying the glass of his

watch on the murdered man's lips he could distinguish no moisture. He

could only wait patiently until assistance came, and then tell the story

as best he could. With almost a sensation of shame Wilfrid realized

that Flower was harmless to do him further injury. He tried to put the

matter out of his mind, but it recurred more than once, until he was

fain to walk up and down the room in the growing light. He pulled up the

blinds by and by and let in the flood of day. Even in the strong light

he could detect no motion and no change in that awful figure on the bed.

Inured as he was to these kind of tragedies, it was with a thrill of

thankfulness that he heard steps coming up the stairs and saw a stranger

enter the room. There was no reason for Wilfrid to ask if the new-comer

were a doctor, for he carried his profession in every crease of his

well-fitting frock-coat, in every line of his well-groomed hair.

"My name is Dr. Shelton," he said. "I am sorry to be so late, but I

have only just got back to town. So this is your patient? What do you

think he is suffering from? You have made an examination?"

"I haven't the remotest idea," Wilfrid said frankly. "I have never seen

a case like it before. Mr. Flower lies there to all appearances dead. He

does not breathe. There is not the slightest motion of the heart, and

yet, _rigor mortis_ has not set in. I should say it is some brain

trouble."

Dr. Shelton stripped off his coat and turned up his shirt sleeves. For

a long time he bent over the bed, but at last he stood upright drawing a

long breath.

"Most extraordinary," he murmured. "Everything points to severe

concussion of the brain, and yet there is not the slightest trace of

violence; there is no suggestion of a blow, or fall, or anything of that

kind. We must wait till the patient comes to himself as he will before

long."

"He is not dead, then?" Wilfrid asked.

"No. It is a case of suspended animation. That the brain is seriously

injured the congestion of the eyes proves beyond demonstration. But,

surely, you can throw some light on this mystery. How came you to be

called in?"

Wilfrid had been dreading the question for some time. He hardly knew

how to explain matters to this polished man of the world whose lines had

probably always fallen in conventional places.

"Well, it was like this," he began. "I have lately started a practice

in Oldborough and Mr. Flower has a country house close by. I was called

in to attend him for a trifling injury, and when I got to the house I

discovered that Miss Galloway, Mr. Flower's niece, was an old friend; in

fact, we had met in London some months ago. Miss Galloway had been under

the impression that some one was trying to get into the house, but

perhaps I had better tell you at length what really happened."

Wilfrid proceeded with his statement, purposely, however, saying nothing

as to the mysteriously-knotted string, or the strange incantations which

he had watched on the part of the Malays. These matters seemed to have

nothing to do with the case, nor could they influence the opinion of Dr.

Shelton. He told his story straightforwardly, how he had got into this

house and what sort of reception had met him. Shelton raised his

eyebrows incredulously.

"So you think this is a case of burglary?" he asked. "Mr. Flower has

something in the house which these villains were after. You say you saw

them in this room when you entered by the balcony?"

"I did," Wilfrid replied. He was feeling on safer ground now. "I

suppose my presence frightened them and, you see, I had other things to

think of. It is very singular that these fellows did Mr. Flower no

violence."

"No violence whatever," Shelton said emphatically. "They hadn't gone as

far as that, though their intentions might have been murderous. It

seems to me, Dr. Mercer, that this is a case as much for the police as

for the medical man. At any rate, I frankly own that I am as puzzled as

yourself. It will be a great favour to me if you will remain here while

I go to Harley Street, as I should like another opinion besides my own.

If you stay in the house it will be sufficient. It will be some time

before Mr. Flower regains consciousness."

Wilfrid expressed his willingness to do whatever was necessary and Dr.

Shelton bustled away. The servants were moving about the house now.

Wilfrid heard the clock strike the hour of eight, then; presently, an

appetizing odour of cooking stole over the room. It was nearly an hour

later before Beatrice came and asked the latest news. There was no

change, for Flower lay as he had done three hours before.

"I have told the servants nothing," Beatrice whispered. "They have

merely been informed that my uncle has had a slight seizure and that the

house must be kept very quiet. But won't you come downstairs and have

breakfast? It is ready in the dining-room. And if you could manage to

stay here till Dr. Shelton returns----"

Wilfrid explained that he had already promised to do so. Despite the

thrilling adventure of the night before, he was hungry and did ample

justice to his meal. At the same time he could not forget his own

affairs. It might be a security to feel that Flower lay upstairs beyond

the reach of mischief, but Flower was not alone in this business. Beyond

doubt the man Cotter had received his instructions. Beyond doubt the

law was already in motion which was to deprive Wilfrid of his good name

and his means of living. It was hard he should have to stay there doing

nothing and keep watch and ward over a man who was intending to ruin him

through another; but of this he could say nothing to Beatrice.

She sat at the foot of the table playing with a cup of tea and some

toast; recent events had shaken her terribly. For some time she kept

silent.

"I must speak to you, Wilfrid," she said presently. "I want to know if

you have found out anything. I want to know if you have discovered

anything that has been hidden from me. Tell me truthfully, is this the

first attack of the kind which has been made upon my uncle? Didn't a

very similar thing happen the night you were at Maldon Grange?"

"I am sorry you asked me that," Wilfrid said quietly, "because I cannot

look you in the face and tell you a lie. Of course I can't say yet

whether I was successful last night, but under Providence I most

assuredly saved Samuel Flower's life on the occasion you speak of.

Please don't ask me more. Try to be brave and patient, and all will be

well."

Beatrice said no more, but it was evident she was putting a great strain

upon her curiosity.

*CHAPTER XXIX*

*A MESSAGE*

The morning dragged slowly and Wilfrid began to think that Shelton had

forgotten about his patient. It was maddening to wander about the house

wasting precious time, when perhaps the blow had already fallen at

Oldborough. More than once Wilfrid was tempted to make his way to the

City where he could discuss his affairs with Russell and Uzali.

And what had happened to the latter? How was he getting on after his

cruel treatment of the previous evening? And what was Russell doing all

this time? Wilfrid was debating the matter seriously when, about

midday, a motor car drove up and Dr. Shelton, accompanied by a

colleague, got out. Shelton raised his brows interrogatively at

Wilfrid, who shook his head.

"No change," the latter murmured. "He is just as you left him, hovering

between life and death. I don't wish to be inconvenient but I shall be

very glad if you will release me as soon as possible. I have urgent

business in the City which is going to rack and ruin without me."

"Give us half an hour," Shelton said. "We are going to try an

experiment--a desperate one I admit--but there seems nothing else to do

in the circumstances. But, if you can get back by two o'clock to keep

an eye upon things till the nurse I have written for arrives, I shall be

greatly obliged."

Wilfrid yielded with as good grace as possible. He began to feel

reckless and desperate. He paced up and down outside the house smoking

one cigarette after another until Shelton appeared again.

"I don't think we need detain you any longer," the latter said. "Our

operation has been partially successful and I am leaving Mr. Flower with

my colleague at present. There has been serious brain trouble, and I

very much doubt if my patient will ever be the same again. If you can

manage to return by two o'clock for an hour, I think I shall then be

able to dispense with your services."

Wilfrid waited to hear no more. He had already laid his plans. In the

first place, he would call upon Fowler & Co., who had written regarding

the bill, which threatened destruction to his home and future. He might

perhaps obtain some information from them, though time was growing short

and there remained barely a day and a half in which to satisfy these

blood-suckers and breathe freely once more. A reference to the _Post

Office Directory_ gave Wilfrid the information he was in need of, and a

hansom conveyed him to London Wall where the offices of Fowler & Co.

were situated. The place was dingy, the office small and dirty. For a

moment Wilfrid hesitated whether to go in or not, when he suddenly

paused and looked into a shop-window as if fearful of being seen, for on

the steps of the office stood Cotter in close conversation with a small,

slight man, whose keen dark eyes bespoke a foreign origin. It was plain

enough to Wilfrid now. Cotter had come down on business connected with

the very security which was likely to be Wilfrid's ruin. The two men

parted by and by and Wilfrid crossed the road, his mind fully made up

what to do.

A shabby-looking clerk in the outer office announced the fact that Mr.

Fowler was not engaged. Without waiting for any reply Wilfrid crossed

to the inner office and opened the door. Surely enough, seated at a

desk, was the little man with whom Cotter had been talking so earnestly

a few minutes before.

"My name is Dr. Mercer," Wilfrid said bluntly. "You are Mr. Fowler, I

understand. I came to see you in regard to a security which I gave to a

firm called Darton & Co. for one hundred and seventy-five pounds. This

security will fall due to-morrow and I am anxious to get it renewed."

The man shrugged his shoulders and took up his pen.

"My dear sir, I am very busy this morning," he said. "If you cannot

meet the security, why, there is an end of it. I am sorry, but business

is business, and of course you know the consequences if the bill is not

taken up to-morrow."

"I am aware of that," Wilfrid said impatiently. "But what I want to know

is, where do you come in? What connexion have you with Darton & Co.?

And why should they turn over my liability to you? These are simple

questions."

They _were_ simple but Mr. Fowler had some difficulty in answering them.

He changed colour slightly and his dingy hands fingered a bell on the

table before him.

"Oh, you needn't be afraid," Wilfrid said contemptuously. "I am not

going to do you any harm, but I came here for certain information and I

mean to have it. Is my credit so good that you could afford to

speculate in a bill of mine? But perhaps I had better come to the point.

Where is the security?"

Mr. Fowler laughed somewhat unpleasantly. He was more at his ease. He

pointed over his shoulder to a safe in the wall.

"The security is all right, sir," he said. "The point is, do you want

to take it up? If you have the money with you the thing could be

arranged quite amicably."

There was a sneer underlying these words which brought the blood into

Wilfrid's face. The man was laughing at him. Here was a chance to test

the truth of what Fowler was saying. Wilfrid took a bulky packet of

letters from his pocket and laid them on the table before him.

"I didn't come here to offer you a cheque," he said, "because it

occurred to me you might refuse it. But I suppose you have no objection

to banknotes."

Fowler was taken aback. The grin died away from his cunning features.

"Oh, certainly," he muttered, "certainly."

"Then produce the security and let us have done with it."

Fowler arose reluctantly to his feet and rummaged among a mass of papers

in the safe. But the security was not forthcoming, which was exactly

what Wilfrid had foreseen. With some show of disappointment Fowler

returned to his desk muttering that he had left the security at home.

Wilfrid gravely restored the bundle of papers to his pocket. He was not

displeased at having forced the money-lender to show his hand. His

suspicions had become certainties. Cotter had come down on purpose to

take the security away. He rose carelessly from his seat.

"Very well," he said, "it doesn't in the least matter, but you must

understand I can't call again. You know my address in Oldborough. I

shall be there to-morrow morning, and if you send a representative to

meet me I shall be prepared to pay you off. I don't think I need detain

you longer."

With a curt nod Wilfrid left the office and made his way to Uzali's

flat. He was informed that the Malay was in bed, but had left

instructions that if Dr. Mercer called he was to be shown up at once.

He found Uzali propped up by the bedclothes and looking not much the

worse for his adventure.

"Oh, I shall be right enough to-morrow," he said cheerfully. "It is

very unfortunate that I should have got into trouble last night. I

daresay you wonder what it is all about?"

"My dear sir, I am consumed with curiosity," Wilfrid said. "And when

you have told me all your adventures I will tell you mine, which were

thrilling enough in all conscience."

"That is a bargain," Uzali smiled. "But there is one thing you must

tell me first. Is our friend Samuel Flower still alive? Did anything

happen to him last night?"

"Oh, he is still alive," Wilfrid said dubiously. "But how long he is

likely to last is another matter. And now, if you will promise not to

get unduly excited, I will tell you everything that has happened since I

put you in the cab. You will be interested."

Uzali listened with rapt attention to what Wilfrid had to say. He even

expressed his satisfaction at the knowledge that things were no worse

with Samuel Flower.

"So far, so good," he said. "And now, perhaps, I had better tell you my

story. It is shorter than yours and not so dramatic. In the square I

fell foul of those countrymen of mine, never doubting for a moment but

that they would recognize me and my authority. Perhaps they took me for

some imposter, perhaps they lost their heads in the darkness. Anyway,

they attacked me in a most murderous fashion before I had the slightest

chance of explaining; hence the fact that you found me in the square

nearly done for. Mind you, if this had happened a week ago I would not

have interfered, but have allowed matters to take their own course. But

now things are different. They have changed altogether."

It was a long time before Uzali spoke again. He lay there with his eyes

closed as if asleep or dreaming.

*CHAPTER XXX*

*A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING*

Wilfrid walked slowly back to Bloomsbury, his own affairs uppermost in

his mind. His morning had not been wasted. He had found out several

things likely to be of use to him, but, on the other hand, the time was

so short that it seemed almost impossible to save the situation. There

was an outside chance that his friend Vardon might have been able to

raise the money, but no information had come from him, and in such cases

no news is bad news. The security had undoubtedly found its way into

Cotter's hands and no time would be lost in making use of the weapon.

The mere thought was maddening. Here was a man lying on his death-bed,

yet ready to strike at another man, who, on two occasions had risked his

life for him. It would have been better to allow those poisonous little

Easterns to have their own way and remove a scoundrel like Flower

altogether. Still, there was a chance yet, and Wilfrid meant to take

advantage of it if he had the opportunity. He was not beaten.

Beatrice's pale white face glancing wearily through the drawing-room

window recalled him to himself. There was better news, on the whole,

than Wilfrid had expected. Shelton's operation had been partially

successful, and he and his colleague were waiting for Wilfrid's return.

"You haven't very much to do," Shelton explained. "The nurse I have

chosen will be here at any moment and she will take your place. You will

find certain medicines upstairs which you will know what to do with."

Shelton departed hurriedly, after the manner of his kind, and Wilfrid

made his way to the sick room. Beatrice followed him fearfully with a

whispered request to be permitted to see how the injured man was, and

Wilfrid had not the heart to refuse.

"It must be only a moment, then," he said. "I have no right to have

stayed here so long. I ought to have been back in Oldborough hours ago.

You must promise to be quiet and not speak a single word if I admit you

into the sick room."

Beatrice gave the assurance and they crept into the bedroom silently

together. Flower lay with his eyes wide open, gazing about the room in

a strange, lack-lustre fashion. Evidently he had not the remotest

notion where he was or what was taking place around him. He murmured

from time to time a medley of things in which the shrewdness of a man

and the innocence of a child were curiously mingled. Wilfrid seemed to

hear sounds of some one moving in the dressing-room beyond, and he

looked into the room, where he saw Cotter in the act of placing some

papers in a desk. Flower's confidential clerk looked up guiltily as his

glance met Wilfrid's eye.

"What are you doing here?" Wilfrid asked sternly. "Don't you know that

nobody but the doctor and the nurse are allowed here? And why are you

tampering with those papers?"

"I am not," Cotter stammered. "I swear I am not. I am only putting

away a few documents which my master told me to fetch from the City this

morning. I am very sorry, sir, but I won't come back again. Is he

better?"

Wilfrid turned on his heel without reply. No sooner had Cotter left the

dressing-room than Wilfrid was back in the bedroom intent on getting rid

of Beatrice also. It was useless for the girl to stay, for she could do

nothing except stand there with eyes full of tears of pity and sorrow.

Wilfrid led her out to the landing.

"You must not come here again," he said. "I will leave directly the

nurse arrives. I have to call upon a friend and then I must get back to

Oldborough without delay."

"Is there any hope?" Beatrice asked.

"I cannot say," Wilfrid replied. "It may be days before we are sure of

that, and whatever happens, remember that you are safe. These people

who come and go in this mysterious fashion have no feeling against you.

It is only your uncle who is the object of their vengeance."

"But, surely, the police ought to know," Beatrice protested.

"I am not sure of that," Wilfrid said. "If your uncle were well and we

suggested calling the police, I am certain that he would oppose the idea

strongly."

A little colour crept into Beatrice's face.

"You speak so strangely," she said. "You hint at such dark things. Do

you know that all the years I have lived with my uncle I have never

found him anything but the best of men? It is only latterly that this

cloud has come between us. There was none of it until you came into my

life again."

The words were quietly spoken, yet they stung Wilfrid to the core.

"That is easily remedied," he said bitterly. "I can take myself out of

your life as I brought myself into it. I could school myself to forget

you in time. But do not forget that I have saved your uncle's life

twice, though, in so doing, I have rendered a very doubtful service to

humanity."

"What do you mean?" Beatrice asked hotly.

Wilfrid advanced a step or two closer and took the girl's hands in his.

His face was grave and set.

"Then I will tell you," he said. "Samuel Flower might have been even

more to you than you say he has, but that does not prevent him from

being a great scoundrel. You may bridle and colour, but I ask you to

hear me to the finish. You may say, quite sincerely, you have never

heard anything of this before. But if you could go amongst business men

who knew nothing of your relationship to Samuel Flower, and ask them

what they thought of him and his methods, you would learn some startling

things. Do you know that for over two years I was a servant of your

uncle's on board one of his ships? Have you ever heard him mention a

boat called the _Guelder Rose_?"

"I have heard of it," Beatrice murmured. "There was a mutiny on board

and a great loss of life. It was a shameful thing altogether, and if my

uncle had cared to bring the mutineers to justice most of them would

have suffered long terms of imprisonment, but he refrained from doing

so----"

"Because he was afraid," Wilfrid said sternly. "He dared not face the

ordeal of a court of justice. I was the doctor on board that ill-fated

boat and could tell you all about it. If I could only put my hand upon

one other survivor, poor and friendless as I am, I would fight your

uncle to the last gasp. I hesitated to come to Maldon Grange the day I

was sent for, because I was afraid I might be recognized and have to pay

the penalty of my interference in that mutiny. And I was recognized--I

realized that almost as soon as I entered the house."

"My uncle said nothing to me," Beatrice protested.

"Oh, no, he would not," Wilfrid said bitterly. "That is not the way in

which he works, but he has lost no time in trying to ruin me. He lost

no time in getting into communication with the people from whom I

borrowed money to buy my practice. He bought the security I gave, and

if the money is not forthcoming to-morrow, I shall be a ruined man

without a house over my head. I daresay you wonder why I tell you this,

but sooner or later you are bound to know, and if it happens that

somebody else----"

What more Wilfrid might have said was cut short by a sudden moan from

the bedroom. Without another word Wilfrid turned and Beatrice crept

silently down the stairs.

It was only for a moment or two, however, and the patient lapsed into

the absent stage again. The minutes were creeping along; the nurse would

be here soon and Wilfrid would be glad to turn his back upon that house

of mystery. His mind was full of his own troubles; he found his

thoughts wandering to the desk in the dressing-room where he had seen

Cotter arranging those papers. Then it suddenly struck him that the

security he was in search of was actually within his grasp. As far as

he could see, Cotter had not even turned the key in the desk.

Overwhelming curiosity drew Wilfrid from his seat and impelled his

lingering footsteps towards the dressing-room.

Here was the desk with the key still in it. There was the heap of papers

in the top drawer. A long, pale blue slip with a red stamp in the corner

caught his eye. There was no occasion for him to ask what it was. He

could see his own bold handwriting across it. Here was the precious

document that meant so much to him, so little for the man in the next

room. He had only to tear it in two and throw the fragments in the fire

and he would be free from all anxiety for ever. It was only for a

moment, but that moment was long enough, for the dressing-room door

stood open and the shadow of Beatrice blocked the light.

"The nurse is here," she said coldly. Her eyes were fixed upon the

paper which Wilfrid held in his hand. "I thought I would bring her this

way. And now, Dr. Mercer, don't you think that we shall be able to

dispense with your services?"

*CHAPTER XXXI*

*A QUESTION OF HONOUR*

The thing was done beyond recall. Wilfrid had only to look into the

face of his companion to see that everything seemed plain to her as an

open book. He had been rummaging amongst her uncle's papers for the

compromising document. He had it in his hand at that moment.

What would he have done with it had Beatrice not appeared? Would he

have yielded to temptation or not? For the life of him Wilfrid could

not say. He tried to think that he would have put the matter behind

him. But he had not done so; he had not even attempted to do so. For a

second or two he had even tried to justify himself in a course of action

which would have been distinctly dishonourable. If he had gone down on

his knees and made a full confession to Beatrice he could have told her

no more than she already knew.

He glanced into her face, eager to see if there was any sympathy in her

eyes. But Beatrice's face was stern and set. There was a compression

of her lips that he had not noticed before. He could not know how

deeply wounded and disappointed she was. She could not add anything to

the humiliation which he was then suffering.

"You wish me to go?" he stammered.

"Would it not be better?" she said scornfully. "Is it not a pity you

ever came at all?"

"Perhaps it was," Wilfrid said, stung to retort. "But if fortune had

never brought us together again Samuel Flower would have been in his

grave by now. Had we not met once more I should have been spared an

enemy whose sole desire it is to ruin me. Then, at the appointed time,

I might have sought you out and, in the language of the fairy

stories----"

Wilfrid paused, conscious that he was going a little too far. He saw

the vivid colour creep into Beatrice's cheeks, but there was no

relaxation of her lips.

"Go on," she said. "You might as well finish."

"And live happily ever afterwards," Wilfrid said defiantly. "You think

I have done a wrong thing to-day, and possibly I have. May you be ever

spared such a temptation as has been placed in my way during the last

half-hour! You cannot understand these things. Brought up as you have

been how could you make allowance for people in dire trouble? Oh, never

mind the nurse; she can wait a few minutes. Since I have gone so far I

must finish. Whether you like it or not, you shall hear all that I have

to say. It is only due to me that you should."

Beatrice hesitated. Wilfrid's voice thrilled with passion, his words

rang with sincerity. It was almost impossible to believe that a man

distinguished for bravery should stoop to common theft. The hesitancy

passed and Beatrice turned away.

"What is the good of it?" she cried. "What do I gain by hearing you?

And, surely, this is a wrong time and place for a confession----"

"A confession!" Wilfrid echoed scornfully. "I was going to make no

confession. But bring in the nurse, so that I may explain what she has

to do; after that I will detain you very little longer. Perhaps you are

right."

There was no sign of heat or passion on Wilfrid's face as he shook hands

with the nurse. She looked white and fragile for so difficult a task,

but that was no business of his. Perhaps the nurse guessed what was

passing through his mind, for she smiled at him unsteadily.

"I shall be all right," she said. "Dr. Shelton is a very good friend of

mine. He knows that I have been ill for some time, and I am sure he

would not send me a troublesome case. I know exactly what to do, thank

you."

Wilfrid had only to take his departure. He had received his dismissal.

He was not likely to see Beatrice again, therefore he could devote all

his energies to the great fight before him. Nevertheless, he lingered in

the hall on the off-chance of a last word with Beatrice, nor was he

disappointed. The dining-room door opened in hesitating fashion and she

stood before him. The hard, proud look had left her face now; her lips

inclined to quiver.

"I cannot part with you like this," she murmured. "I have been thinking

of what you said just now, and perhaps I am disposed to judge other

people harshly."

"Did you ever know any prosperous man or woman who didn't?" Wilfred said

with a bitter smile. "Oh, it maddens me to hear people prating their

honesty when they have everything to make the path of existence smooth.

Does it never strike these smug Pharisees that they would be born fools

to be anything but honest? Why, there are thousands of criminals who

die honourable and respected, either because they have never been found

out or because they have never been under the necessity of knowing

temptation. Take your case. What has your life been--one constant

round of pleasure, a succession of years during which you have had

everything you wanted and have been denied nothing? Do you suppose that

you are any better than I am? Suppose you had somebody wholly dependent

upon you for the mere necessaries of life, would you pry too minutely

into things? But I am forgetting myself."

"Is it as bad as that?" Beatrice whispered.

"I can see no difference," Wilfrid said wearily. "If it were myself

alone it would not matter. My household might be wrecked and everything

taken away from me with impunity, because I have health and strength and

would smile at the scandals of a place like Oldborough. But for the

last four or five years I have promised my mother that I would settle

down on shore and be near her in her old age. But why worry you with

all this? Why should I picture her delight and pleasure in the new home

she has to look after, which she regards merely as the beginning of my

prosperity? And now I must go home to-night and tell her the bitter

truth. I shall have to let her know that I have been deceiving her from

the first, and that my so-called home is really the property of

strangers. A few moments ago I had it in my power to secure that home.

I had only to take a certain piece of paper and drop it in the fire and

there would have been an end of the matter."

"That was when I came in," Beatrice whispered.

She was interested in spite of herself. She began to see there might be

something in Wilfrid's point of view, and it was really dreadful that a

rich man like Samuel Flower should stoop to crush another who was

powerless to help himself. Indignation was warming Beatrice's blood. To

her it almost seemed that Wilfrid would have been justified in his

action. She turned towards him eagerly.

"But, surely, something can be done," she said. "I blame myself for not

having seen your mother. If you will remember I promised to call upon

her, but, really, there has been very little opportunity. Perhaps when

we get back to Oldborough----"

"You forget that there will be no Oldborough for me after to-day,"

Wilfrid said quietly. "I am going to see this thing through to the

bitter end, and your uncle and his tool, Cotter, can do what they

please. Well, what is it?"

Wilfrid turned impatiently as a maid-servant came into the dining-room.

The girl seemed to be distressed.

"Please, sir, it's the nurse," she said. "She doesn't seem at all well.

She asked me to see if you had gone. Perhaps you wouldn't mind going

upstairs again."

Though unwillingly, Wilfrid went back to the bedroom where Flower was

lying. A regular conspiracy of circumstances had combined to keep him

in that dreadful house. He found the nurse standing at the foot of the

bed gazing at her patient with a white face and tearful eyes. Flower

was sitting up now glaring about him and muttering strange things.

"Oh, I am so glad you have come," the nurse said. "I am afraid I shall

not be able to manage this case. I am not as strong as I thought I was.

I don't know what to make of the patient. He has been violent more than

once since you went downstairs. I dare not be left alone."

Wilfrid's ill-nature vanished as he glanced at the pathetic face of the

speaker. He forgot his own pressing affairs. He only knew that a

fellow-creature in trouble was appealing to him for sympathy and help.

"Very well," he said, "I will do what I can. Go downstairs to the

dining-room and tell Miss Galloway I sent you. Ask her to give you a

glass of wine, and then go and telephone at once to Dr. Shelton, letting

him know what has happened. Don't worry. I will see that no harm comes

to the patient till some one more suitable takes your place."

The nurse stole thankfully away, and once again Wilfrid was alone with

his deadliest enemy.

*CHAPTER XXXII*

*NO PLACE LIKE HOME*

Samuel Flower had taken a turn for the worse and, as Wilfrid's practised

eye could tell, this was no case for the average woman nurse. Flower was

sitting up with his hands round his knees glaring at Wilfrid, though

there was no recognition in his eyes.

"Send for Cotter," he muttered. "Why isn't Cotter here? Don't tell me

that that rascal has betrayed me like the rest of them! Not that I

trust him, not that I trust any of them for that matter. But he ought

to have been here an hour ago. Who are you?"

The question was asked with an abruptness that almost startled Wilfrid.

For a moment the cloud hanging over Flower's brain had cleared away and

he knew where he was and in whose presence he was lying.

"I am Mercer," Wilfrid said soothingly. "Don't you know me?"

"Oh, I know you," Flower whispered. "I recognize you. Keep those

fellows away, will you? Don't let them come here again. I tell you it

is terrible. I lie fast asleep and then dream, and dream, and dream,

and yet my brain is clear and I know everything that is going on around

you. But that is nothing to what has to come, Mercer. It is pleasure

compared with the awful sensation when they wind that dreadful thing

about the head and you lie helpless, watching those knots coming closer

and closer till the brain sets fire----"

The words trailed off incoherently and Flower closed his eyes for a

moment. The brief interval of sense vanished and he began again to fume

and threaten.

"Keep them away from me!" he cried. "Keep them away from me! What did

you say your name was? It wasn't Cotter. Oh, I remember, it was

Mercer--Mercer, the dog that I am going to crush when the time comes as

if he were an empty eggshell. He saved my life once, but what of that?

The fellow is in the way and he must go. But that isn't what I want you

for. I want you to send for that doctor. Telephone for him at once.

Find him at any cost. I can't stay here. I dare not stay here.

Whatever happens I must get back to Maldon Grange. Now go and find

him."

The last words came in a harsh tone of command, then Flower's sudden

access of strength failed him and he collapsed upon the bed an inert

mass, scarcely moving and hardly breathing. Wilfrid hurried downstairs

into the dining-room. The nurse was seated by the fire sipping at a

glass of port-wine and Beatrice was trying to soothe her.

"It is all right," Beatrice explained. "I have managed to get Dr.

Shelton on the telephone and he may be here at any moment. I suppose he

will tell us what to do."

In a minute or two Shelton's car drove up to the door and the doctor

alighted. He listened gravely to all that Wilfrid had to say and found

time to address a few words to the distressed nurse.

"You are not to blame," he said. "I did not expect complications like

this. I shall have to trespass still farther upon Dr. Mercer's time.

It will take me an hour to find a competent male nurse."

Beatrice glanced imploringly at Wilfrid. In as many words she was

asking him to stay and see her through her trouble. He shrugged his

shoulders more or less carelessly. What did it matter? It was only a

question of a few hours till his house of cards fell about his ears. It

would only mean postponing his explanation to his mother till the

following day.

"I am in your hands," he said. "As Miss Galloway knows, there is

nothing I would not do for her. So long as I get back to Oldborough

some time to-night I shall be satisfied."

Flower still lay unconscious as Wilfrid and his companion reached the

bedroom. Wilfrid gave Shelton a graphic account of what had taken place

during the last half-hour.

"Upon my word, I am half disposed to let the patient have his own way,"

he said. "It is very likely he will do much better at Maldon Grange.

Mr. Flower has something distressing on his mind, and I fancy he has

been the victim of some outrage that has more or less unhinged his

reason. In point of fact, we ought to call in the police. But it may be

wiser to get our man back to Maldon Grange first."

"You are disposed to try it?" Wilfrid asked.

"Assuredly," Shelton replied. "It is not very difficult. If we wait

till evening we can hire a covered motor and take Mr. Flower to his

country house as quietly and comfortably as if he were going out to

dinner. It is repeatedly done, as you know, in cases of infectious

disease. And if you don't mind, I should like you to go down to Maldon

Grange with him. I cannot manage it myself as I have two operations

this afternoon. I know that it is abusing your kindness----"

"Not at all," Wilfrid said. "I will see the thing through. I presume

you will come down to Maldon Grange to-morrow?"

Shelton promised and went his way. He had forgotten almost all about

the case before he reached his motor, and Wilfrid watched him whirling

down the street not without envy. What was almost a matter of life or

death to him was merely an ordinary incident to the distinguished

surgeon.

The afternoon began to drag. Luncheon was a thing of the past and still

there was no male nurse. Not that he was needed, for Flower still lay

comatose, opening his eyes from time to time to take such medicine as

Shelton had prescribed. Wilfrid slipped out presently and despatched a

couple of telegrams by means of the telephone. One was to Swan Russell,

the other to his friend Vardon at Oldborough. He would know the worst

of his position in an hour or two. When the replies came, they were by

no means reassuring. Russell was detained and could hold out no hope of

seeing Wilfrid till to-morrow, whilst Vardon's reply was more

unsatisfactory. He had failed to get the money from his client in

Castlebridge and was awaiting Wilfrid's further instructions. With a

bitter laugh Wilfrid screwed up the telegrams and threw them into the

fire.

The end of another act of the drama, so far as it concerned himself,

could not be delayed more than four-and-twenty hours. And yet, close to

Wilfrid's hands, lay the document which would make him a free man if he

only had the courage to destroy it. But that temptation was past and

gone. He would do nothing dishonourable. Wilfrid beheld the desk in

which the bill lay without the slightest desire to lay hands upon the

paper. In a restless fashion he wandered about the bedroom till dusk

began to fall, waiting patiently to be relieved. It was nearly

dinner-time before the male nurse put in an appearance and Wilfrid was

free to leave the house if he liked. As he came down the stairs he met

Beatrice.

"You are not going yet?" she said. "You must dine with me? Besides, I

understand you promised Dr. Shelton you would come down to Maldon Grange

with us. Everything has been arranged and the car will be here about

nine o'clock. It seems strange my uncle should fancy he will be better

in a great, lonely house like Maldon Grange. But Dr. Shelton thinks it

right to humour him. I would rather stay here."

The girl shuddered as she spoke and her face turned pale.

"You don't want to go home?" Wilfrid asked.

"I am afraid to go," Beatrice confessed. "During the past day or two my

nerves have broken down. The mere thought of returning to that mansion

sets me trembling, but I must go because duty to my uncle bids me."

Wilfrid made no reply. He was watching how Beatrice made a pretence of

eating her dinner. A sudden idea occurred to him.

"Something could be managed," he said. "The nurse will be with your

uncle and I will stay at Maldon Grange to-night if you like. We shall

be there a little after ten, and as soon as your uncle is made

comfortable I can take you into Oldborough and you can stay with my

mother. You will be company for her, and it will also be better for you

to be away from Maldon Grange. Now don't make any objection. You must

see the advantages of the plan."

Beatrice contested the point no farther. She was too unstrung to argue,

but she smiled gratefully.

"Very well," she said. "It shall be as you say, and I hope you will

forget what I said to-day."

*CHAPTER XXXIII*

*BY WHOSE HAND?*

The appointed hour came and with it the huge, smooth-running motor which

Shelton had sent to convey the patient to Maldon Grange. In the skilled

hands of the nurse everything went off without a hitch, and in a few

moments Samuel Flower lay in the car as comfortably as in his own bed.

There was room for others besides Wilfrid and Beatrice, and Cotter, who

had begged a seat, was accommodated. Any seat would do for him, he said

in his simple way. All he asked was two or three minutes' grace to

collect certain papers which Samuel Flower would need when he was able

to attend to business again. Wilfrid smiled grimly as he listened. He

knew one of these papers. He knew that the little man screwed up in one

of the back seats would have no mercy upon him.

It was a silent journey through the night, and the whole party were

relieved when Maldon Grange was reached and Samuel Flower was safely

laid in bed. During the whole run he had never moved once. He accepted

the change of scene without the slightest knowledge that it had taken

place.

"I think that is all," Wilfrid said at length. "You won't want me for

anything else?"

"Well, no, sir," the nurse said. "I have had full instructions from Dr.

Shelton, so that I know what to do."

It was good to be out of the house in the stillness of the night, and

Beatrice breathed a sigh of relief as she walked by Wilfrid's side

towards Oldborough. It was a fine night, very tranquil and restful to

the nerves. The little town was reached at length and Wilfrid turned in

at the gate leading up to his own house. He had sent a telegram from

London so that his mother was prepared for him.

Everything looked bright and cheerful, Beatrice thought, in such strange

contrast to the gilded misery through which she had been passing lately.

She could understand now why Wilfrid was proud of his home and what a

wrench it would be to give it up. She understood the matter still

better when a delightful, grey-haired lady came into the drawing-room

and kissed her affectionately on the lips.

"I am so pleased to see you," Mrs. Mercer said. "What a terrible time

you must have been having to be sure! But you will be safe in my house,

and I will do my best to make you comfortable. Now sit down and be at

home."

Beatrice's eyes were full of tears, and something seemed to rise up in

her throat and choke her. She had many acquaintances, but she could

never remember such a hearty welcome as this. Her eyes wandered round

the tiny drawing-room. She noticed the various treasures and marked the

good taste with which everything was displayed.

"I am afraid it isn't much of a place to you," Mrs. Mercer said. "But,

at any rate, it will be perfectly quiet. You don't know what a change

it is to me after living in lodgings all the years Wilfrid was at sea."

Mercer was out of the room so that his mother could speak freely to

Beatrice.

"Of course, it was a wrench to him," she went on. "He always loved an

adventurous life, and it was for my sake that he settled down, and I am

sure he will do well in time. It has been a struggle till now, but

things are gradually mending and I am becoming quite fond of my new

home. It would be dreadful to go back to those lodgings again. I don't

think I could."

Beatrice murmured something sympathetic. She was beginning to fall under

the charm of this kindly old lady, who seemed to have but one idea and

that to sacrifice herself to other people. A tinge of colour mantled

Beatrice's cheeks as she thought how different this was to the life she

had been leading. The pathetic side of it, too, appealed to her nature.

It seemed a terrible thing that within a few hours this dear old woman

should be deprived of everything that was the pride and joy of her

declining years. And the thing was going to be done in cold blood.

Surely, there must be some way to prevent it.

Wilfrid's return put an end for the moment to Beatrice's troubled

thoughts. He was going back to Maldon Grange, at once, he said, but

would return in the afternoon and take Beatrice to see her uncle. He

kissed his mother affectionately and a moment later he was gone.

Quiet and peaceful as it was, yet Beatrice wished herself miles away.

Indirectly her own hand seemed about to dash the cup of happiness from

the lips of two worthy people. She was no longer blaming Wilfrid for

the terrible temptation which had assailed him earlier in the day; she

was thinking she herself would have fallen into it without the slightest

hesitation. She was tired, too, a fact which did not escape Mrs.

Mercer's attention.

"How thoughtless of me to keep you up!" she said. "Come with me and

I'll show you to your room. You must be quite worn out."

It was pleasant and soothing. No shadow of tragedy hung over the house,

and Beatrice slept as she had not slept for nights. She came down to

breakfast strengthened and refreshed, and yet anxious to be away from

the house when the blow fell. She felt like a traitor in the camp. She

racked her mind again and again for some way to save the situation. She

was glad and yet sorry when the early afternoon came and Wilfrid put in

an appearance.

"Your uncle is no better and no worse," he explained. "He passed a

fairly good night, but he has been very restless all morning. Now and

again he recognizes people, but it is only for a moment. If you are

quite ready we will go back to Maldon Grange and you can stay there till

bed-time. If you like to come back here----"

Wilfrid paused and bit his lip. He had forgotten what the next two

hours were likely to produce for him. The time was past for paying the

money, and Cotter, acting as Flower's agent, could step in at any moment

and claim everything. There was a brief respite, Wilfrid knew, because

Cotter had gone into Castlebridge, no doubt to complete certain legal

formalities, and would not be back much before six.

"I am going to leave you at Maldon Grange," Wilfrid explained when once

they had set out on their journey. "I must be at home when Cotter

returns from Castlebridge. I have had many unpleasant things to face in

my life, but nothing that I shrink from so much as telling my poor dear

mother the truth. I dread to have to tell her."

"But is it necessary?" Beatrice asked eagerly. "The amount is not a

large one. Put your pride in your pocket and let me help you. I have

jewels and ornaments which I could easily turn into money. There are

lots of things at Maldon Grange I could give to you directly we get

there, and you could be in Castlebridge and back on your bicycle before

Mr. Cotter returns. Please do not hesitate to accept this offer."

Beatrice paused and laid her hand on her companion's shoulder. She was

intensely in earnest. Her eyes were fixed upon his. They were passing

through the wood which led to Maldon Grange, so that they were alone and

undisturbed. Very gently Wilfrid removed the girl's hand from his

shoulder and shook his head.

"I have very few possessions left," he said, "but my self-respect is one

of them. Don't you see, Beatrice, how impossible it is that I can allow

you to do this thing? I cannot find sufficient words to thank you, but

I must refuse. I should never forgive myself if I yielded to a

temptation which is far worse than the temptation which was placed in my

way yesterday. Besides, it is just possible that I am alarming myself

unduly, and I may yet find time and opportunity----"

Wilfrid paused and threw up his head. From the back of the wood some

one was shouting in terror; then there rose a wild cry for help, and

there was a crackling of broken twigs as some one bolted in the

distance. It was all over in a moment and the silence fell again, but

Wilfrid seemed dimly to make out the figure of Cotter as he dashed

through the thickets towards the open fields.

Without another word he hurried to the spot where there were

unmistakable signs of a struggle. A hat lay on the grass and by the side

of it a revolver charged in all six chambers. Here, too, were pieces of

torn blue paper tossed in a pile upon the dead leaves. Wilfrid picked

up the fragments and pieced a few of them together. He turned to

Beatrice eagerly.

"Amazing!" he exclaimed. "This is the acceptance itself--the very

document that was to prove my undoing."

*CHAPTER XXXIV*

*A HUMAN DERELICT*

About the time that Wilfrid was being hurried off in the motor towards

Maldon Grange and wondering bitterly if he had a single friend in the

world, Russell was coming to himself with a hazy feeling that all was

not well with him. He was lying on a couch in his sitting-room, fully

dressed. The gas had not been lighted, though it was dark; indeed, as

far as he could make out by the street cries, it was late in the

evening.

His body was aching from head to foot and his head throbbed with

feverish pain. Gradually he began to piece one or two events together.

Slowly he began to have a faint idea of where he was and what had

happened. He managed to stagger to his feet and ring the bell. His

landlady came in, curious. She seemed to be relieved and annoyed at the

same time.

"What on earth is the matter?" Russell groaned. "And how did I manage

to get here? What time of day or night is it?"

"It is not quite half-past nine, sir," the landlady replied. "You came

home this morning about seven o'clock. I didn't see you myself, but

that is what they tell me. However, I suppose young men will be young

men."

There was no mistaking the significance of the last few words, and,

despite his racking head, Russell smiled.

"So you think it is like that, do you?" he said. "Let me assure you that

you are mistaken. I had an adventure last night which very nearly

landed me into serious trouble. But we need not go into that now. If

you can get me something to eat I shall be glad, and please let me have

a large syphon of soda."

Russell dragged himself into his bedroom where he felt all the better

for a bath. Then he swallowed a strong dose of sal volatile, which had

the effect of clearing his head and making him feel almost a man again.

He managed to eat a fairly good meal presently and partake of a strong

whisky and soda, after which he lit his pipe and sat down to review the

events of the previous evening. It was all clear to him now.

"What a fool I was!" he murmured. "And yet I don't see how I could have

helped it. I thought I could have managed a couple of opium pipes

without getting into such a state. And the worst of it is that the

night was wasted. By the way, I wonder if the night really was wasted.

Perhaps I shall recollect something that will put me on the right track.

And, by Jove, I've forgotten all about Mercer. Has he been here to-day,

or has he been busy with his own affairs? It is maddening to cut time

to waste like this. The best thing I can do is to see Uzali."

Russell's naturally strong constitution had asserted itself by now. He

even felt ready to undertake another adventure. And time was pressing,

too, for he had more or less wasted the last few weeks in London, on his

way home from Borneo, and his supply of money was getting very low. He

was thinking of putting on his hat and coat when the landlady came to

the door of the sitting-room with the information that somebody desired

to see him.

"Send him up," Russell said casually.

"I suppose it is all right, sir," the landlady said dubiously. "I

suppose you are capable of taking care of yourself. The person

downstairs is not quite the sort of man one cares about having on the

front door-step. Still, sir----"

Russell waved his hand impatiently and the landlady disappeared.

She came back presently followed by a tall figure in the last stages of

dilapidation. The man had seen better days, for his black frock suit

had been well cut and his boots were not without a reminiscence of Bond

Street. Now he was shiny and seedy to the last degree; a mass of dirty,

greasy hair hung over his shoulders, and the top hat which he held

gingerly between his thumb and forefinger had lost most of its colour

and shape. It was plain what had brought the man to this pass, for the

facts were written in his bleary eyes and shaky fingers. He glanced

uneasily at Russell as if somewhat doubtful as to his reception. The

latter rose and motioned his visitor to a chair. Then he closed the door

carefully.

"I hope I have come at the proper time," the stranger said.

"Oh, that's all right, Goatley," Russell replied. "Let me see, it must

be quite two years since we met. You came to me when I was living at

the other side of London and asked me to buy certain information from

you. As the information was by no means complete I refused the deal. I

am prepared to open it again now if you can tell me anything definite."

The stranger cowered over the fire warming his long blue hands; his lean

frame shivered from time to time as if he and warmth had long been

strangers. He lifted his bleared eyes to Russell and his glance fell

again.

"I think I can help you," he said, "in fact, I am certain of it. I

should have come to you before, only there was one little matter that I

couldn't get to the bottom of anyway. And now I think I have got

everything straight. But perhaps you have changed your mind. You used

to be keen enough on getting even with Samuel Flower----"

"Ah, now you are beginning to talk," Russell exclaimed. "If you can

help me there I am prepared to pay you handsomely. You look as if a few

pounds would do you good."

"It isn't altogether that," Goatley murmured. "Though, Heaven knows, a

sovereign or two will be my salvation. If you ask me how I have spent

the past two years I couldn't tell you. I have been as low down as a

man can get, though I don't mind owning that I have had my bits of luck

occasionally. At present I am down to my last penny and I shall be

turned out of my lodgings this evening if I can't find at least a

sovereign. You wouldn't call them lodgings. They're not fit for a dog.

But they have been a home to me, and I am getting fairly desperate. And

while I have been starving, eager even to snatch a broken crust from the

gutter, that scoundrel has been flourishing on the fat of the land. My

own flesh and blood, too! I should like to know where Samuel Flower

would have been to-day had it not been for me. I gave him his start in

life. I pushed him up the ladder. And when he thought he was safe, he

turned and ruined me as if I had been a deadly enemy. Do you suppose he

would ever have made his money in Borneo if it hadn't been for me? I

tell you when I wake up in the night and think of it I could find it in

my heart to kill him. But I have neither nerve nor pluck left. I

daresay if he were to pass me in the street and throw me a shilling I

should pick it up with gratitude. But if I haven't the courage to

strike for myself, I know those who have. And you are one of them, Mr.

Russell. Oh, I can show you the way to pull him down, to make him the

scorn of his fellow men. I have waited for this opportunity for years,

and by great good luck it has come at last. But you will repay me, Mr.

Russell. You will not allow me to starve when you come into your own."

All this came from Goatley in a vehement stream of concentrated passion

which set him coughing until it was painful to witness his struggles for

breath. With a sudden impulse Russell set food upon the table and

invited his guest to eat and drink. Goatley did not need a second

invitation. He fell upon the cold meat like a wolf. Then, gradually,

the greedy look left his eye, he lay back in his chair and took the

cigarette which Russell offered him. Something like manhood had

returned.

"Whatever you do for me shall be well paid for," Russell said. "Now

tell me what you have discovered. I know you have a great deal of

information. I know that you were well acquainted with North Borneo

before Samuel Flower ever went there. But I seem to know as much about

Samuel Flower as you can teach me. Now if you could only tell me where

one would come upon the track of Jansen----"

Goatley laughed as he puffed at his cigarette.

"We shall come to that in good time," he said. "But perhaps you had

better hear what I have to say as to what happened to me last night. I

was making my way back to Drury Lane, where the place which I call my

home is situated, and was passing on the far side of Gower Street near

the house where Samuel Flower lives in town. It was very late, and just

as I reached the spot I saw a man on the doorstep talking to one of

Flower's servants. I don't know why I stopped, or why I listened. But

I did. My hearing is exceptionally good and I could follow everything

that was said; so I lingered and listened, perhaps as much out of

curiosity as anything. I gathered that the stranger wanted to see

Flower on business, and that my dear friend had not come home yet. There

was something peculiar in the accent of the caller which impelled me to

wait till he had left the house. I followed him to the top of the

street and even farther. Can you guess who he was?"

"I think so," Russell said cheerfully. "You are going to tell me that

you have found Jansen at last. Come, this won't be a bad evening's work

for you."

*CHAPTER XXXV*

*JANSEN AT HOME*

"Is the information worth five pounds?" Goatley asked.

"The information is worth five pounds," Russell said emphatically.

"Especially as I take it that you can put your hand upon our man at any

moment. Now what happened afterwards?"