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Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
"But if he is innocent?"

"Innocent men have been hanged before now, Mr. Saon. No, sir, you
let me manage the matter in my own way. When I have in my hands
sufficient evidence to save Lancaster--the son, of course--from being
hanged out of hand, you will step in."

"Well"--Saon scratched his chin--"I am not prepared to say but what

that may not be the wiser course. And you wish to get some
information from us to bring about this state of things?"

"I do. You receive a sum of money monthly from 'Frisco."

"From San Francisco," corrected the heavy man. "We do."

"Does Mr. Lancaster the father send it?"

"That I can't tell you. Our agents there are very respectable, as you
may guess, and for many years they have sent us this sum monthly.
We pay it to Miss Drake--our esteemed client--at the request of that
unfortunate young gentleman. But it is understood that the money
really goes to him."

"Is Mr. Lancaster the father alive?"

"We cannot say."

"Have you ever asked your respectable San Francisco firm?"

"No, certainly not. There is no need to. We receive the money and
we pay it over. That is all that concerns us."

"Do you know anything about the father?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing. Twenty-three years ago he sent home

the son to Miss Drake--our esteemed client--and arranged with our
San Francisco agents to pay a monthly sum of twenty pounds for the
child's keep. The child is now the unfortunate young man in
question, but the money is still paid. I know nothing more."

"Would you mind making inquiries of your agents?"

Saon shook his stupid head. "I don't think it would do, Mr. Jarman;
no, I really don't think it would do. So long as the money arrives, we
have no right to pry into private business."

"But to save Frank Lancaster?"

"Not even for that. We have our own high position to think of."
Jarman could have thrown a book at the head of this dignified ass,
who would have let a man die to preserve what he called his
position. But it was no use getting angry, lest the man should refuse
to say more, therefore Jarman swallowed his temper and continued
his questions.

"Do you think the father is still alive?"

Saon did not reply for a moment. Then he looked up. "I said just
now that I did not know," he said in a more reasonable tone; "but
the fact is I do. Do you think that such information would really be
of service to the son?"

"I am sure of it."

"Then I can tell you that Mr. Lancaster, senior, is dead."

"Dead! And when did he die?"

"That I can't say. It was a negro who told us."

"A negro!" Jarman looked astonished, and wondered what was

coming.

"You may well look surprised, Mr. Jarman. But a negro came to see
us--a grey-haired negro, possessed of great muscular strength
although he was but small. He inquired about Mr. Lancaster the son,
as he had information to impart to him about the death of Mr.
Lancaster the father. He refused to tell us anything beyond what I
have said."

"Why didn't you send him to the son?" asked Jarman, testily.

"Because we did not know where the son was to be found."

"Oh! the negro came after the murder of Starth?"

"Yes; a week later. We told him that our unfortunate client had been
accused of the crime and had escaped justice. The negro then
departed, although we offered to do all we could towards proving
the will."

Jarman pricked up his ears. "Is there a will?"

"I suspect there is, Mr. Jarman, and I suspect that the negro is the
bearer of it. Had Mr. Lancaster the father made his will in San
Francisco he would have executed it in the office of our esteemed
agents. As it is, we have not heard from them. But, strange to say,"
added Saon, "the twenty pounds has been paid this month as usual.
I really don't know what to make of it."

"Nor I. I suppose there must be a will?"

"I think so, since the late Mr. Lancaster is dead and was a man of
means. If you can find this negro--"

"What is his name?" interrupted Eustace.

"We cannot tell you that. He refused to inform us. In fact," added
Mr. Saon, drawing himself up, "for an African he was impertinent."

"Why didn't you kick him?" said Eustace, rising. "H'm! Is this all you
can tell me?"
"All. And if you will let us know where Mr. Lancaster the son is to be
found, we shall have much pleasure in proving the will."

"The will has to be found first, and the negro," said Eustace, coolly;
"and also Frank Lancaster has to get his neck out of the noose
before he can let himself be arrested."

"Quite so. I admire your caution, Mr. Jarman. Still, if Mr. Lancaster
the son will only place himself in our hands--"

Jarman's patience with this old ass was exhausted. "He would be
hanged within the month. Good-day." And he hurried away, leaving
Saon a frozen statue of indignation.

But he was not so indignant as Eustace returning to his hotel. "Silly

fools!" he said, wrathfully, to himself. "They'd juggle with a man's life
just to get their costs. Frank sha'n't show up, to be slaughtered by
them, if I can help it. That negro! H'm! And Balkis is a negress. I
wonder if the man was a spy of Berry's trying to find out the
whereabouts of Frank? I must think this over. Upon my word!"
lamented Eustace, hailing a hansom, "the more I go into this case
the more mysterious it seems. Well, there's one comfort, the sealed
letter may give us a clue to the mystery. I'll go down by the six train,
and may know all about it before retiring to rest."

At his hotel he alighted and went in. Then he suddenly recollected

that he had not sent a wire to Frank. To be on the safe side,
although he was sending it to O'Neil, he went to the telegraph-office
himself. On his way hither he, knowing the neighbourhood well, took
a short cut through some by-streets. As he was turning a corner he
heard a fresh young voice singing some song, the burden of which
was "Tamaroo! Tamaroo!" Hardly believing his ears, Eustace dashed
round the corner to hear who was repeating the last word which
poor murdered Anchor had uttered. He came nearly on top of a
ragged urchin, a true guttersnipe, who was dancing gaily in the
gutter to the music of his own minstrelsy:
 "Oh, he gits a 'eavy screw,
Tamaroo! Tamaroo!
An' 'is father is a Jew,
Tamaroo! Tamaroo!"

"Where did you hear that song?" interrupted Eustace, seizing the
boy.

"Garn away with y'. It's m'own words an' music. 'Ow Tamaroo!'"

"Where did you hear the word?"

"That's my business. Tie it up, cocky," said the brat.

"See here, my lad, you tell me where you got the word Tamaroo and
I'll give you a shilling."

"Wot! a whole bob? Right y'are, gov'ner. 'Twas 'Melia told it me.
'Melia kin read an' she got it orf a wall a hour ago. It 'ull be all over
Londing soon. 'Ow Tamaroo! Tamaroo!' Ain't it a prime word?"

"Show me where Amelia got it?" Eustace saw that the melody of the
word had caught the boy's ear, but he could not understand what he
meant.

The boy conducted him down one street and up another, till he
brought him up against a huge hoarding before some houses in the
course of erection. There appeared the huge placard of a Scarlet Bat
with outspread wings, as on Frank's arm. Beneath, was printed in
gigantic red letters the mysterious word "Tamaroo!"
 CHAPTER XV

A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE

Jarman returned fuming to Wargrove. He was a clear-headed man,

who liked to foresee what was coming, so that he might arrange his
plans. But at the present moment he could not see an inch before
his nose, and rather lost his temper in consequence. The unexpected
appearance of the Scarlet Bat, and of the mysterious word
"Tamaroo" on London hoardings perplexed him extremely. At first he
thought that this might be a new move on the part of the astute
Berry, but on consideration dismissed this idea.

"Berry is not anxious for publicity," argued Eustace, when in the

train, "as it would attract attention to his underhand schemes to get
this money. Again, I don't believe Denham knows anything, not even
the meaning of the tattooing on his left arm. He would want to be
told why the Bat appeared on posters, if it was Berry's work, and the
Captain might not be disposed to furnish an explanation. No, there is
some other person taking a hand in this game, and with that person
I must come into contact. If the person is an enemy of Berry's we
may work together to thwart him. On the other hand, the person
who has plastered London with these posters may want the fortune
himself, in which case he will be equally an enemy to Frank. He may
want him hanged also. But it may be a woman," conjectured.
Jarman. "That Balkis seems to be mixed up in the matter, not to
mention the negro who called on the lawyers. H'm! I wonder what
the barbaric element is doing in this galley?"

He turned and twisted and argued the matter in every way, but by
the time he arrived at Wargrove he was as much in the dark as ever.
His only chance of making any discovery likely to elucidate the
mystery lay in the contents of the sealed letter. Anxious to see Frank
and to tell him all his adventures, Jarman walked rapidly to the
Shanty. When he reached it, he was surprised to find that it was
shut up. Windows and doors were barred, and, not having a key,
Eustace could not obtain entrance into his own home. There was no
sign of Miss Cork or of his friend.

"What does this mean?" Jarman asked himself. "Can Frank have
been arrested? But in that case Miss Cork would still be here."

The situation was puzzling, so Jarman set to work to learn details

and make discoveries. He sought out an old gardener who lived in a
cottage adjacent to his own house. This ancient, Bowles by name,
was a bent, wheezy old creature, very garrulous. Jarman could not
have hit upon a better man for information, as Jacob Bowles had the
key of the Shanty.

"That dark gentleman, he guv it to me," said Bowles, surrendering

the key to its owner. "T'other day he guv it to me--you might call it
the day afore yesterday--yes, you might, Muster Jarman. The dark
gent, he guv it me sayin' as you'd be back, Muster Jarman, and
would be wishful to get into your house like."

"Did he leave any message?" asked Eustace, still perplexed. Bowles

scratched his head. "I can't say rightly as he did, Muster Jarman."

"Do you know what has become of Miss Cork?"

"No, Muster Jarman, I can't rightly say as I do. But my missus, she
did say as Mrs. Baker saw Miss Cork gitting to the station three days
back. Aye, Muster Jarman, you might say three days."

Eustace remembered that this was the day of his departure, and
questioned the female Bowles. But she simply repeated the
information given by her husband, adding that Miss Cork had been
seen by the ubiquitous Mrs. Baker walking rapidly towards Mardon
railway station. "Across the Common, as you might say," said Mrs.
Bowles, cautiously.
Considerably perplexed Eustace returned to his deserted house. It
was plausible to think that Frank might have taken fright and have
fled. But the disappearance of Miss Cork was remarkable. So far as
Jarman knew, she had always expressed herself pleased with the
situation, and certainly never stated that she was going. He hurried
into the house, hoping to find some message from Frank. In this he
was not disappointed, for on the writing-table lay a letter addressed
to Jarman. The big man wrinkled his brows, and opening it read it at
once in the waning light.

"Dear Eustace," wrote the missing man,--"I have to go. Darrel,

who is stopping at the Rectory, recognised me, and for reasons
which need not here be set forth it is probable he may denounce
me. I think it best to go away, but will let you know as soon as I can
what I am doing. I left a photograph of Balkis lying about, and after
seeing it Miss Cork ran away. I believe she knows something about
the negress, and is in league with the gang we know of."

Having digested this letter, Jarman sat down to think over the
matter. He had always been afraid lest Darrel should recognise
Frank, and wondered that his friend had not the sense to keep out
of the way of so dangerous an acquaintance. But he could not
conjecture any reason for Darrel's denunciation of the unhappy man.
However, as Darrel was staying at the Rectory, Jarman decided to go
over on the morrow and hear what he had to say. But as regards
Miss Cork?

"H'm!" thought Jarman, while getting a scratch meal together. "I

wonder if there is any truth in Frank's belief? She certainly seemed
startled when she heard the name of Balkis, and pitched that yarn
about her child being called so. I don't believe she has a child of that
name--or, indeed, a child at all. However, she seems to have taken
fright on seeing the photograph. I wonder where Frank got it? Ah! I
remember. Starth had a photograph, and probably it was passed on
to Mildred. Frank could get it from her. But why should Miss Cork run
away, and where has she gone?"

He could not answer this question without further information, and

only Frank could give details. But Frank was gone also, and Jarman
wondered whither the poor persecuted young fellow had fled. He did
not dare to make inquiries, lest he should attract the attention of the
police. The only thing to be done was to remain passive until such
time as Frank chose to write from his new place of concealment.
Then he might see him and learn details about the inexplicable flight
of his housekeeper. Meantime, it would be just as well to see Mildred
and learn if his surmise about the photograph was true. After a
hurried meal, Jarman walked to Rose Cottage.

The maid who answered the door was a fat, red-faced creature, and
was the only domestic employed by the two ladies. She stated that
Miss Starth was lying down with a bad headache--had retired early
to bed, in fact--but that Mrs. Perth was still in the parlour. Jarman
would have walked in, but Mrs. Perth herself appeared, and seemed
indisposed to admit him. Jarman put down this unwillingness to her
prim manners, as nine o'clock at night was certainly not the time to
pay a visit to two single ladies. But on seeing her face in the
moonlight, he noticed that she looked disturbed. However, she
appeared friendly enough--why should she not be?--although
declining to let him in. When the maid retired he had a few minutes'
conversation with her on the doorstep.

"No," said Mrs. Perth in her decisive tones, "I have not seen Mr.
O'Neil lately. He called once after your departure, Mr. Jarman, but
since then has not favoured us with a visit."

"Do you know that he has gone away?" asked Eustace.

"Gone away?" replied Mrs. Perth. "What do you mean?"

"What I say," said Jarman, rather chafed. "He has gone away, and I
thought that you might know where he is?"

Mrs. Perth drew herself up in a prim manner.

"Why should I know, Mr. Jarman?" she said stiffly. "Your friend's
movements have no interest for me. It seems to me that you should
know best where he is. I presume he gave you notice, being your
secretary?"

"He left a letter saying he was going. I never expected him to leave
so suddenly."

"There appears to be a mystery about him."

"Oh, not at all," rejoined the big man, quickly, "but he is an odd
fellow, and doubtless left in a freakish way. I only came to ask, as I
thought he might have called before going."

"He called only the once, when Mr. Darrel was here. He and Mr.
Darrel went away together."

"Have you seen Mr. Darrel since?"

"Oh dear me, yes. He is stopping with Mr. Arrow."

"Does he know that my friend has left?"

"I really do not know," replied Mrs. Perth, with a fatigued air. "He
made no remark."

"Ah! thank you. I shall not keep you any longer. I suppose," added
Eustace, with some hesitation. "I suppose it is impossible for me to
see Miss Starth?"

"Certainly it is impossible. She has retired to bed. You can call to-
morrow. Good evening."
Thus dismissed, there was nothing for it but for Eustace to return to
his house. In spite of Mrs. Perth's calmness he saw that she was
worried, and had something on her mind. He wondered if she really
knew anything of Frank. But that was impossible, unless Darrel had
told Mildred that Lancaster, _alias_ O'Neil, was the murderer of her
brother. That would account for Mrs. Perth's stiffness, as she would
not be too well disposed towards Jarman for having introduced a
criminal--and such a criminal!--to her and Mildred. However, nothing
could be learnt until he saw Darrel on the morrow. "And if he _has_
told," said Eustace, over a final pipe, "why, Mildred will be angry with
me."

That night Jarman got little sleep. It annoyed him that Frank should
be absent at so critical a moment. He wanted the young man to
open the sealed letter, and had half a mind to open it himself. But on
consideration he did not think he was justified in taking such a
course. If Darrel had told Mildred, Eustace determined to explain the
whole of his connection with the matter, and to assure her again of
his firm belief in Frank's innocence. As soon as Lancaster revealed
his new hiding-place he would take him the sealed letter, and from
its contents might be gathered some clue to all these mysteries.
They seemed to increase every day, and to grow darker the more he
endeavoured to throw light on them.

The next morning Eustace, having had a bad night, slept well into
the middle of the day. Then he had a cold bath, and having cooked
his own breakfast sat down to it, somewhere about twelve o'clock.
He was still worried but ate well, as he knew he had a hard day
before him. But just as he was pouring out his second cup of coffee,
he became aware that someone was looking at him through the
window. To his surprise he saw the arch and piquant face of Fairy
Fan. With a sudden start he rose and went to the door. There she
was in the most dainty of costumes, looking amused at his
astonishment.
"You asked me to come, so I have come," she said, stepping into the
house without being asked. "I hope you don't mind my taking you by
surprise in this way?"

"Oh, not at all," said Eustace, mechanically, and led the way to his
sitting-room, wondering what ill wind had blown her hither. "But I
wish you had given me notice of your coming."

Miss Berry--as she chose to be called--plumped into a seat, and cast

an eye over the untidy table. "You didn't want to be found at
breakfast so late," she said smiling. "I thought you were an early
riser."

"I had a bad night," said Eustace, shortly.

Fan selected a cigarette from a box near at hand, and lighted it. "I
don't wonder at that," she said through a cloud of blue smoke. "If
you will shelter criminals, what can you expect?"

Jarman started uneasily. "What do you mean?" he demanded

frowning.

"Why," said she, waving a daintily gloved hand, "it seems that Frank
Lancaster's been with you. What a cunning fellow you are, Eustace. I
guess you gave Uncle Banjo and me the outside running."

"I don't know why you want the inside."

"No. And nobody else does," she replied, smartly.

"Not even Balkis?" hinted Jarman, and could have bitten out his
tongue for making a remark so calculated to place her on her guard.

As it was, she coloured and looked keenly at him. "I guess you know
more about the matter than you'll give away."
"Perhaps I do," he replied, determined not to let her know the
extent of his knowledge. "But if you came here to see Lancaster, he's
gone."

"That's a lie," said Miss Berry, coolly.

"Search the house then," retorted Eustace, serenely, meeting her

with her own weapons. "I give you full permission."

She looked at him again. "No," she said, after a close scrutiny. "I
guess I believe you."

"I am flattered."

"Not a bit. You feel angry. Where is Frank?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, yes, you do," she rejoined persuasively; "and see here, there's
five hundred pounds to be earned."

"So I believe," said Eustace, coolly, "and your uncle is playing the
part of a philanthropist."

"You can put it that way if you like, Eustace. Come, tell me where
the boy is. I wish him well."

"I doubt it, seeing that your relative offers this reward for his
capture. However, I can reply with an honest heart that I don't know
where he is."

Fairy Fan threw away her cigarette with an important air. "I wish you
did," said she, "I want to save him from being lynched."

"Why do you wish to save him after bringing him into this state."

"I didn't," she said fiercely. "Yes, you did. For some reason best
known to yourself you induced Starth and Lancaster to quarrel.
Having been successful up to the point of putting a rope round
Frank's neck, you come to me to ask if I will help you to adjust it."

The woman clasped and unclasped her hands nervously, and rose to
pace the room. "Believe me, I come to save him," she said earnestly.
"He's in great danger, and I alone can help him."

"Ah! then you know who killed Starth."

"I don't--I don't! I swear I don't!" she cried vehemently. "So far as I
know it was Frank. My uncle believes in his guilt also."

"I know. It is to his interest to believe," snapped Jarman. "How

much money is involved in this business, Miss Berry?"

She turned pale, and looked down. "There is no money," she said.

"Oh, yes. We'll say about a million. Your uncle doesn't offer this
reward for nothing. It's a small sprat to catch a large mackerel."

Fan threw herself down and burst into tears. "I wish I were dead!"

"Or you wish Frank were dead. Which?" asked Jarman, mercilessly.

"No, I don't. Oh! do tell me where he is. I can save him."

"From being hanged?"

"I--I--think so. Where is he?" She stamped her foot imperiously.

Eustace smiled as he saw she was trying all her arts to make him
reveal what he was determined to conceal. "I tell you I don't know,"
he said quietly. "Now that you have learnt that I sheltered the man,
I don't mind admitting that he was here. But he has gone away, and
has left no address."

"What frightened him away from this hiding-place?"

"You had better ask Darrel, who told you where to find him."

"Darrel?" Fan seemed genuinely surprised. "He never told me."

"Then who did?" asked Eustace, bluntly. Fan thought for a moment,
then looked up with a winning smile. "I'll tell you that if you'll answer
me a question."

"What is the question?"

"Why have you placarded London from end to end with those
posters?"
 CHAPTER XVI

WHAT MILDRED KNEW

Eustace looked at her much surprised. "If you don't know of those
things, I don't," he said.

"Do you mean to say you didn't get them out?"

"Certainly. I saw one, and was very much surprised."

"Do you know what the Scarlet Bat means?" she asked.

"Perhaps I do," he said, enigmatically.

"And the name Tamaroo?"

"Oh, it's a name, is it!" said Jarman. "Thank you for the information,
Mrs. Anchor."

"Don't call me by that name," said Fan, frowning.

"Why not? You were married to the man, and the name Tamaroo
was the last word he said to me."

The woman changed colour. "What did he mean?" she asked softly.

"You can explain that best," answered Eustace. "See here, Mrs.
Anchor, or Miss Berry, or whatever you choose to call yourself, I want
to know what your game is."
"There is no game," she insisted.

"Yes there is, else you would not have put Starth and Lancaster
against one another, nor would you come down to see me and ask
questions. There's some scheme in your mind, and in the mind of
your so-called uncle--"

"He _is_ my uncle!" she flashed out, tapping her foot.

"Bah! Do you think I believe that? Accomplice, if you like."

Fan started to her feet like a small fury. "You dare to insult me, do
you?" she said. "Better take care, you low-down cad!"

"Ah!" said Eustace, calmly, "now the mask is being dropped."

With an effort she controlled herself, seeing she had gone too far.

"It's enough to make a woman angry," she said panting, "to be

talked to in that way. I am perfectly honest."

"I never called your honesty into question."

"Yes, you did, and I'll never forgive you for having done so. I know
you are my enemy now. I thought you were a fool."

"So I was in San Francisco, but I have learnt sense since. And I am
your enemy, Mrs. Anchor, and the enemy of that man Berry."

"You'd better not threaten him."

"Indeed! Do you think I am afraid of him?" sneered Eustace. "I also

have been in the Wild West, and I can handle my weapon as neatly
as Berry did--when he shot Starth."

"It's a lie--it's a lie! He did not."

"Don't lose your temper; you'll gain nothing by it. I am on the side of
Frank Lancaster, and I intend to prove his innocence."

"You can't," said Mrs. Anchor, with a pale face. "He is guilty."

"It's your scheme to make him appear so," retorted Jarman; "but I
know better, and so do you. Who told you he was here?"

"That's my business," she said doggedly.

"And a very shady business it is. Do you wish to murder Frank as

you murdered your husband?"

With a spasm of fury Fan snatched up a knife and flung it at him. It

flew over his head. "Don't do that again," said he, "or I'll forget that
you are a woman."

"The woman you loved," she said again, weeping.

Eustace grew tired of thus running in a circle.

"Don't you think you'd better try something new, Mrs. Anchor? We
have had cajoling, tears, violence, temper--I'm growing weary!"

"I also," said Fan, drying her tears, and speaking in a much more
business-like manner. "It's not worth while losing one's temper."

"Not with me, I assure you."

"You're a brute!" she said violently.

"Possibly. Did you come to tell me that?"

"I came to see Frank, not you. But as he is not here--and I don't
think you are clever enough to deceive me--please send him my
message."
"I don't know where he is, Mrs. Anchor." Jarman used the name
because he could see that it annoyed her. "But the message?"

"Tell him that if he will promise to marry me I will save his neck. But
I must have the promise in writing."

"I'll convey the message if I can," said Eustace, without making any
comment, "on one condition."

"What is that?" asked Mrs. Anchor, turning from the mirror, before
which she was adjusting her veil.

"You must write a letter to Miss Starth, deploring the death of her
brother, and stating that you loved him so much that you wished to
marry him."

Fan grew crimson, and her eyes sparkled. "I shall not write such a
tissue of lies," she said with a stamp.

Jarman laughed, but not pleasantly. "You have become wonderfully

scrupulous all of a sudden," he sneered. "But you intended to marry
either Starth or Denham."

"Denham!" she said contemptuously. "I wouldn't marry him if he

asked me. Why do you want me to write such a letter?"

"For your own sake," responded the big man, coolly. "Miss Starth
believes that you are concerned in the death of her brother. Such a
letter will convince her that you were well disposed towards him."

"Bah! She won't believe it."

"She may, or she may not. However, I want it written."

Mrs. Anchor sat down, and leaning her cheek on her hand stared
musingly at the floor. After a few minutes she looked up. "You're on
some game or another," she said calmly, "and for some reason you
wish me to join in. Well, I don't mind. The letter shall be sent."

"Oh and don't you want to know what the game is?"

"Not at all. Whatever you are doing can't concern me. This letter will
do no harm, and as I wish the message taken to Frank I am willing
to buy it on those terms."

Jarman looked at her distrustfully. He wondered why she yielded so

suddenly, and knowing her tricky ways, he felt sure that she had
some card to play. However, for reasons of his own, he wanted the
letter, and, so long as he got it, was not particular how it came into
his possession. It was useless to act honourably towards a pair of
sharpers like Fan and her so-called uncle. Having thus arranged
matters, the little woman held out her hand.

"I have a carriage waiting to take me to Mardon," she said. "We

understand one another, I hope?"

"I think we do. But I am in the dark regarding your schemes."

"I can say the same thing about this letter. I don't know why you
want it written."

"Tell me who told you of Lancaster's whereabouts, and I'll explain."

"No, thanks," she rejoined, with a shrug. "Writing such a letter won't
hurt me in any way, and telling you too much, might."

"As you please. Let me see you to the carriage."

She accepted his offer, and together they walked across the fields to
where a fly from Mardon was waiting. Mrs. Anchor hopped into this
as lightly as a bird, and again held out her hand. "Goodbye," she
smiled. "You won't forget to deliver my message?"
"I will if I can, on condition--"

"Yes, I know the condition. The letter shall be sent to Miss Starth."

When the fly drove away, Eustace stood in a brown study for a few
minutes. He wondered why Mrs. Anchor had so readily accepted his
assurance that Frank was not in the house. Certainly he was not, but
Jarman fancied that so suspicious a woman would have made sure.
Yet she did not even avail herself of his offer to let her inspect the
house. "I wonder what stake those two are playing for?" mused
Jarman, walking down the road. "It's that million, I suppose."

But he could not be sure until he gained more explicit information.

Jarman had conceived a plot, with which the letter to Mildred was
concerned. By it he hoped to learn the secrets of Berry, who
certainly appeared to be the head of the whole business. As to the
Scarlet Bat, the opening of the sealed letter might reveal what that
meant. But the letter could only be opened by Frank, and Frank was
nowhere to be found. Jarman decided to tell Mildred the whole story,
and then to consult her about opening the letter in Frank's absence.
It seemed foolish to wait, and to leave the man in such peril. And he
was in the greatest peril, now that Fan knew he had been hiding at
Wargrove. Eustace felt thankful that for obvious reasons she could
not take the police into her councils, else he might have got into
trouble for compounding a felony.

While thus thinking a man had approached him softly, and Jarman
was startled by a touch on his shoulder. He wheeled round sharply
to behold Darrel. The man looked sulky as usual, and purred like a
cat when he addressed Jarman.

"So your friend Lancaster has gone away?" he said quietly.

"Yes," replied Eustace, thinking it best to save time by admitting so

obvious a fact; "you frightened him away."

"Ah! then he left a letter behind him?"

"He did, Mr. Darrel, in which he stated that you knew him, and that
you threatened to denounce him."

"Only if he interfered between me and Mildred," said Darrel.

Jarman flushed, and his face grew angry. "What do you mean by
speaking of Miss Starth in so familiar a fashion?"

"I speak as I like, and being in love with Miss Starth--since you want
me to be punctilious--I call her by the name I like best."

Jarman could have struck him to the earth, as he stood there like
the Man-mountain of Gulliver. There was something insolent about
Darrel which inspired the meekest of men to kick him, and Eustace
was by no means a Moses. For the moment Eustace was inclined to
take him up on the question of loving Mildred, but remembering that
he was not officially engaged to the girl, and that should he not
discover the assassin of her brother he might never be her husband,
he thought it best to pass over the matter. However, he remarked on
the conjunction of the girl's name with Frank's. "Lancaster was not
likely to interfere between you," he said.

"Oh, yes, he was," said Darrel, in his slow, heavy voice. "Lancaster is
in love with her."

Jarman felt a jealous pang. "Impossible!"

"Not a bit of it. Lancaster saw her that night in the theatre, and even
then admired her more than I liked. Down here I saw them together,
and he loves her. I'm in love myself, and I know. And I'm not
certain," added Darrel, viciously, "that she doesn't love him."

"I tell you she can't," cried Jarman, agitated.

"Oh! then she knows Lancaster killed her brother?"

"She knows nothing. I only speak from my knowledge of her
character. She would not love a man she knew so little of as
Lancaster."

"According to you, she did not know him by that name. But she is
just the kind of romantic girl to fall in love with that Irish secretary
of yours. He made up well for the part," sneered Darrel.

Jarman straightened his shoulders. "I don't think it is good taste to

discuss Miss Starth," he said, "but I can safely assure you that she
does not love the man."

"You seem very sure." Darrel scanned Eustace in his usual insolent
way. "I believe you are in love yourself," he said with a short laugh.
"Well, I give you the same warning as I gave Lancaster."

"I'm not disposed to take any warning," rejoined Jarman, hotly, "and
if you denounce Lancaster as having been here I shall deny it."

"Oh, now that he has cut, there's no necessity for me to say a word.
But don't you interfere."

"See here, Darrel," said Jarman, controlling his temper with an

effort, "no man shall speak to me like this. I forbid you to mention
Miss Starth's name to me again. She will choose for herself."

"I know she will. She will choose me," said Darrel, complacently.

"There's always two to a bargain," said Eustace, drily. "However, as

Lancaster has gone, there was no need for you to tell Miss Berry."

Darrel looked up in genuine surprise. "I did not tell Miss Berry."

"She was down here an hour ago, and stated--"

"That I had told her? She's a liar!"

"She did not say that you had told her. But she knew that Lancaster
had been here. And you were the only person who spotted him."

"What fools the others must be," said the genial Darrel. "However,
that's neither here nor there. I assure you, on my honour, that I kept
Lancaster's secret. He may, or he may not, have killed Starth, but so
long as he leaves Miss Starth alone he is in no danger from me. I
hope you will understand that."

"I understand," said Jarman, coldly. "And now we will part."

"On an understanding, however," said Darrel, striding after Eustace--

"that you don't interfere with my affairs. If you do, I'll--" He stopped,
and looking at Eustace with an evil face walked on. "You are
warned!" he said over his shoulder.

For a moment Eustace was inclined to follow, and dash his insolent
words down his throat. But such an act might have jeopardised the
safety of Frank. Jarman, therefore, was compelled to swallow his
anger, and greatly he disliked doing so, but under the circumstances
he could do nothing else.

All that day he wondered what amount of truth there was in the
assertion of Darrel that Frank was in love with Mildred. Eustace
could not bring himself to believe that Frank would act basely
towards him, and make love during his absence. "He knows that I
adore Mildred," soliloquised Eustace as he paced his rough lawn,
"and to try to get her to himself would be a base thing to do. I have
helped him. He certainly would not betray me. I swear by Frank."

Nevertheless, in spite of these brave words, he caught himself

frowning at the thought, and finally made up his mind to see Mildred
and learn the worst. He was aware that she liked him, but that into
their bargain no love had entered. If she really loved Frank, and the
young man had acted honourably, why then-- "But it's impossible--
impossible!" groaned Jarman, clenching his hand. "He would not
treat me in such a way."
Troubled in this fashion he presented himself at Rose Cottage,
looking unlike his usual self. Mildred was in the garden watching the
sunset, and was walking towards the summerhouse when she heard
him call her name. Turning with a cry of alarm, she came swiftly
towards him, holding out both hands.

"Eustace, I'm so glad you have come! I was sorry that I could not
see you last night. Why did you not come earlier?"

"I was busy," he said, evasively, and looked into her eyes. "Mildred,
why were you alarmed when I called you?"

She faltered. "I thought it might be Darrel," she said faintly. "But he
would not call you by your Christian name?"

Mildred blazed up. "I'd like to see him dare!" she said. "But he has
insolence enough for anything. He persecutes me!"

"Oh, does he!" cried Jarman, angrily. "Then I'll made short work of
him. You see if I don't. I'll--"

"Do nothing--do nothing!" she panted, catching his hands. "He is a

dangerous man. He knows too much."

"About what I don't understand." She turned red, and her hands
dropped. "Mr. O'Neil," she said, in a low voice, then covered her
face.

"He has gone away. I don't know where he is," said Jarman, "but--"

"No, no! Say nothing." She dried her tears and drew him into a
sheltered part of the lawn. "He is here," she whispered. "I have
concealed him, and he has told me his story."

Jarman looked at her, astonished. "You know then that he is

Lancaster?"
She nodded with a smile.

CHAPTER XVII

THE SEALED LETTER

Jarman was so astonished at Mildred's communication that he

dropped into a garden-seat which was fortunately close at hand. It
was wonderful enough to hear that Lancaster was concealed in Rose
Cottage, but still more wonderful to hear that she knew who he was.
Eustace would have thought it unlikely that she would have anything
to do with the man suspected of being her brother's murderer. Yet
she admitted the fact boldly, and actually smiled. He recalled the
remarks of Darrel, and wondered if there was an understanding
between her and Lancaster.

"How long have you known his real name?" he asked sternly.

"Since you went away," replied Mildred, sitting beside him. "Don't be
angry, Eustace. I agree with you that he is innocent, and when he
came to me for shelter, what could I do? Even if he were guilty I
could not give him up." And she shuddered.

"Does Mrs. Perth know?"

"Yes. I had to tell her. But we have kept it secret from Jane."

Eustace nodded. "It's just as well. The girl might babble. How was it
Lancaster dared to come here?"
"He did not know what to do, or how to escape. You see, Mr. Darrel-
-"

Jarman interrupted. "I know Darrel recognised him. He told me so

to-day. And he said other things, for which I felt inclined to knock
him down. And I should have done so, but that, as you say, he is too
well aware of the existing state of things."

"What did he say?" asked Mildred, an angry light in her eyes.

"There is no need to repeat his insolence."

"There certainly is not, for I know quite well what he said. He is

determined to make me his wife, and--"

"And he coupled your name with that of Lancaster."

"Oh, he is jealous of everyone," said Mildred, tossing her head. "You

don't believe that, I hope?"

"Believe what?" asked Eustace, wishing for details.

But like a woman, having brought the matter to a point, she

changed the subject hurriedly.

"Nothing, nothing!" she declared, hurriedly. "I am engaged to you,

Eustace, if you find out who killed Walter."

"So I understand," he replied sadly. "But there is no love on your

side, my dear."

"I told you plainly what I thought."

"You did, and I should not have taken advantage of your position. I
think we had better--"

"Stop!" she interrupted, and in the moonlight he could see her

bosom heave. "You had better not say too much. Let us leave the
subject alone until we get out of these troubles."

Eustace was quite willing to do this. He could scarcely tax her with
being in love with Frank on the evidence of Darrel. But he was
resolved to question Lancaster at the first opportunity. Meantime,
seeing that Mildred was disposed to grow angry, he thought it best
to leave the matter alone.

"Where is he?" was his question.

Mildred looked round as though she thought the birds of the air
might overhear.

"He is in the summerhouse," she said. "There is a small room at the

back, which I fitted up as a kind of studio for painting."

"But is that safe, Mildred?"

"Quite safe. No one ever goes there but me. The summerhouse, as
you can see, is quite buried amongst the trees, and I have hung
some Eastern stuffs round the walls to conceal the door into the
studio. Besides," she added, with a little hesitation, "no one would
ever think of looking for him in my house."

"No. That is all right," assented Jarman; "but why did he come?"

"For the very reason I have stated. He was afraid lest Mr. Darrel
should send a message to the police, so he gave the key of your
house to old Bowles, and came in the afternoon--"

"As Desmond O'Neil?"

"Certainly. Then he told me his story. At first I was horrified, but,

remembering how you believed in his innocence, I decided to help
him. As the secretary, he then went for a long walk, and came back
at night. I had the studio ready for him, and he has been in it ever
since."
"Let me see him," said Jarman, rising.

"One moment," said Mildred, catching his hand; "you will find him
different to what you expect. His disguise has been taken off."

"Were you surprised at the change?"

"No." She blushed. "The fact is, Eustace, I saw him in the theatre on
that night, so I knew him again when he became himself."

Jarman felt a jealous pang. He began to think that Mildred loved the
boy, seeing how she blushed when she spoke of him. Also her voice
faltered, and she seemed embarrassed. At first Eustace almost felt
inclined to speak out, and demand if she loved Lancaster; but
remembering the position of the young man, and being afraid of the
wrath of Mildred, he held his tongue. In silence they moved across
the lawn and entered the summerhouse. It was luminous with
moonlight, and Eustace saw a faint sparkle of gold, the threads of
the Eastern stuffs which draped the walls. Mildred gave a little
cough, and repeated it twice. "The signal!" she whispered with her
finger on her lips; and in spite of the gravity of the position she
seemed quite to enjoy its mystery. In many ways Mildred Starth was
still a schoolgirl.

From the other side of the wall came a cough, and this also was
repeated twice. Mildred drew aside the drapery and revealed a door.

"I'll leave you now," she murmured. "You can talk to him alone.
Come in and see me afterwards," and before Eustace could say a
word she was gone. He saw her flit across the lawn in the
moonlight, then knocked softly at the door. A key was turned, the
door opened, and Frank looked out.

"Who is it?" he whispered.

"Your friend Jarman," said that gentleman, and stepped inside.

It was perfectly dark, save where a slender moonbeam stole in
through the high window. Frank gave a gasp of relief, and gripped
Eustace's hand in the gloom. They exchanged a hearty handshake,
and then Frank pushed forward a chair. As he had been long in the
darkness, he was better able to see than Jarman.

"I'm so glad you have come," said Frank, drawing another chair
close to that of his friend, so that he could converse in a whisper. "I
have been longing for you. You got my letter?"

"Yes. And I am much astonished to find you here."

"I thought it was the best thing I could do," said Lancaster. "After
you left, Darrel--"

"I know all about it. But why did he threaten you?"

"Oh!--" Frank hesitated. He could not tell Jarman the reason, and
hardly knew what to say. But Jarman brought things to a point.

"Lancaster," he said, seizing the young man's hand, "I have been a
good friend to you. Have you--are you--I mean, do you treat me as
a man of honour should treat another?"

"Yes. I swear I have said nothing."

"Ah! you know what I speak of?"

"I do. I can hardly make a mistake when you speak to me in such a
tone. Eustace, don't think so basely of me."

"Do you love Mildred?" asked Jarman, sternly.

There was a moment's silence. "Heaven help me, I do!"

"And you have--"

"No, no!" Frank's voice broke out quickly and earnestly. "I have not
said a word to her. I have not even shown that I take any interest in
her. I knew she was engaged to you, and that sealed my lips. I
would not have come here, but that I was driven into a corner.
Darrel knew me under my disguise. I fancied he might put the police
on my track. If I had gone to London, or anywhere in the country as
O'Neil, the police would have caught me from the description Darrel
could give. And if I took off my disguise, the description in the
papers would enable them to recognise me. Eustace, I swear that if
a poor hunted wretch like myself had had any corner to hide in I
should not have come here. But you trust me--say you trust me?"

"Yes, I do trust you," said Jarman, a little sadly. "I know you have
been driven to take up this position. But we will talk no more of the
matter. When you are free from trouble then we can talk. But tell
me, how did Mildred receive you?"

"She was horrified at first, but afterwards, when I confessed all, she
believed me to be innocent. She told Mrs. Perth, who also thinks I
am guiltless. I am safe here. Even Darrel can't find me in this place.
But if you like, Eustace, I can disguise myself in another way and go
abroad. I don't want to remain here longer than I can help."

"You must remain here," said Jarman, decisively. "If you try to
escape you may be captured. Fan knows of your disguise."

"And Berry?" asked Frank, in alarm.

"I can't say that. Fan was down to-day, but she did not tell me if she
had revealed anything to Berry."

"Who told her? But I needn't ask. It was Darrel."

"You are wrong. Both Darrel and Fairy Fan deny that."

"Then who could have told?"

"I can't say. But Fan came down to see you."

"To have me arrested, I suppose?" said Frank, bitterly.

"On the contrary, she wished to make you a proposal of marriage."

Frank sat still for a moment, then, in spite of his troubles, laughed
softly.

"You or she must be crazy, Eustace."

"Then it is she. Her message, which I promised to deliver on

conditions, was that if you would marry her she would save you."

"Then if you see her again you can refuse her offer. I should not
think of marrying her. I have got over my infatuation there."

"And have placed your heart elsewhere?" said Jarman, quietly.

"We agreed not to speak of that," said Lancaster, stiffly. "I am an

honourable man, and in my position--oh! it's ridiculous. Don't hit a
man when he is down, Eustace."

"I'm not so ungenerous, I hope."

"You are the best of good fellows," said Frank, impetuously, "but my
nerves are worn rather thin with all this worry. What are the
conditions on which you delivered the message?"

"I'll tell you later. I have a scheme in my head to counterplot Fan

and the man she calls her uncle."

"Don't you believe that he is her uncle?" asked Frank.

"No," replied Eustace, decidedly, "I don't. She met him in San
Francisco, and he became her accomplice to get Anchor out of the
way. I am sure that Berry--or, as he was then--Sakers, fired the shot
that killed the man. But in some way the two were done out of this
fortune connected with Denham and with you. They brought the boy
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