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Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
His watch and studs and purse had been taken, so it was supposed
that he had been robbed by some scoundrel haunting those very
shady parts. Inspector Moon could find nothing, however, to point
out the criminal, but has always been on the hunt. The other day he
came across the dead man’s watch, which had been pawned by
Mother Slaig. She said that Grison had given it to her instead of
money for his rent and had stated that it was his own watch. Moon
thinks that Mother Slaig is quite innocent of guilty knowledge and
that Grison, being hard up, must have knocked down and robbed the
dead man when they both left Chin-Chow’s opium den. Search was
made in Grison’s room afterwards, and under a loose board the
studs of the victim were discovered. So there is no doubt that Grison
murdered the man for money and was afterwards murdered by his
unknown assassin for the sake of the peacock. It is just as well that
Grison is dead, as he certainly would have been arrested and
hanged for his crime.”
“Destiny gave him a dose of his own gruel,” said Alan thoughtfully.
“He must have been a bad lot, in spite of his sister’s eulogies.”
“Well,” remarked Dick with a shrug, “Sorley’s opinion of the man
seems to be more correct than Miss Grison’s. Poor soul, I wonder
what she will say when she learns that her brother acted in this
way?”
“She will be thankful that his violent death prevented his
appearance on the scaffold,” said Alan dryly. “What is Moon doing
about the matter?”
“Nothing. What can he do? Grison is dead, and the relatives of the
victim, being of good position and well off, are not anxious to have a
fuss made over the matter, since the murder took place in such a
locality. You can well understand that, Alan, my son.”
“Yes, I can well understand that. Well, Grison had to pay very
speedily for his wickedness. You don’t think that a relative of the
dead man killed him out of revenge.”
“Oh, dear me, no! The relatives are most respectable, and never
went near Rotherhithe. The first murder has nothing to do with the
second, I assure you, Alan. However, there is nothing more to be
said about Grison’s crime and we must content ourselves in learning
who killed him.”
“After what you have told me, I don’t think he is worth it.”
“Worth revenging, do you mean? Well, perhaps not; but the
peacock is worth the search for the assassin, since finding him
means finding the means to discover the treasure.”
“And you suspect Sorley, with Bakche as a factor in the case?”
“I suspect no one at present, and only my sixth sense, which is
not invariably to be relied upon, thinks that your Indian friend may
be mixed up with the matter. Go down to Belstone, Alan, and see if
Sorley still talks about cryptograms. If he does, and submits one for
your solution, it will probably have to do with the peacock, if Miss
Inderwick’s tale of her ancestor and Ferrier is to be believed.”
“Of course it is to be believed,” said Alan tartly; “however, I shall
make quite sure by seeing Ferrier’s manuscript for myself.”
“It will be just as well,” said Latimer, ending the conversation, and
so matters were settled for the end of the year. Shortly afterwards
Dick went to Paris to keep his Christmas as a kind of heathen festival
with an artist friend in the Latin Quarter, while Alan packed his kit to
journey to Belstone and enjoy the simpler pleasures of a British
Yuletide.
The great season of the Church was on this occasion quite one of
the old style, such as would have delighted the heart of Dickens.
That is, it had plenty of snow and holly and mistletoe peace-on-
earth, good-will-to-men and such like traditional things which had to
do with the Holy Birth. The undulating hills around Belstone were
clothed in spotless white, and the ancient trees in the park of the
Inderwicks stood up gaunt and bare and black amidst the chilly
waste. Coals and blankets, food and drink were bestowed on the
villagers by the gentry around, who suddenly seemed to recollect
that Belstone existed, so that the poor had what Americans call “the
time of their lives.” Mr. Fuller also behaved philanthropically,
although he was by no means rich, and the sole person who did not
act in the traditionally charitable manner was Mr. Randolph Sorley.
He said bluntly that he had enough to do to look after himself, and
gave his blessing instead of more substantial gifts. As to Marie, she
never had a single penny, which she could call her own, and
lamented that poverty, and Sorley’s niggardly ways as her guardian,
prevented her from obeying the kind dictates of her heart.
“But when I am of age and have my money,” she informed Alan
after church on Christmas Day, “I shall make everyone happy.”
“You have made me happy anyhow,” replied Fuller, enjoying the
stolen moment which they had obtained by evading Sorley, “so
nothing else matters.”
“You greedy boy,” laughed Marie, patting his cheek, “you are not
the only person in the world I have to consider. My uncle is my
uncle.”
“And your uncle is your guardian,” said Fuller grimly. “I wish he
were not, my dearest, for the course of our true love will never run
smooth so long as he has a say in the matter. I don’t like him.”
“You must like him to-night when he comes to dinner at the
vicarage,” said Marie with alarm. “If you aren’t agreeable, Alan, he
will be so unpleasant.”
“I am always agreeable, in my father’s house,” said Alan stiffly,
and then he kissed away her fears. “There, dear, don’t worry; I am a
most diplomatic person, I assure you.”
Marie agreed, for everything that Alan did was right in her eyes,
and afterwards ran away across the snow to join her uncle, who was
looking for her. Alan returned to the vicarage to find his mother
much exercised in her mind over the Christmas dinner, and had to
console her as usual. Every year Mrs. Fuller doubted the success of
the meal, and every year it proved to be all that could be desired.
Alan reminded her of this.
“My dear mother, you have never had a failure yet. To-night we
shall have a very jolly meal.”
“I hope so,” sighed the vicar’s wife, “but I confess that I am not
quite at rest in my mind about the pudding.”
 “And there may be something wrong with the mince pies?”
“It’s very likely there will be, since the oven doesn’t heat properly.”
“And the roast beef will not be up to the mark?”
“Now, Alan, you are making fun of me. You don’t know what it is
to be a housewife, my dear.”
“I don’t, mother. Dick and I are very rough and ready in our
domestic arrangements. You have asked Sorley to dinner as usual, I
hear from Marie.”
“Yes, dear,” replied Mrs. Fuller complacently, “your father knows he
is not well off, and wishes to show him this yearly attention. Besides,
since you love Marie, who is a sweet girl, you should be pleased.”
“I am pleased,” said her son gravely, “although Sorley doesn’t
approve of my attentions to his niece.”
Mrs. Fuller bristled. “What better match does the man want for the
girl,” she demanded, all her maternal feathers on end; “you have
good blood in your veins, Alan, and good prospects, besides being
very handsome and——”
“I’m a paragon, mother, there’s no doubt of that. All the same,
Sorley, as you observed when I was last here, wants a title and
wealth for Marie.”
“He’ll never find either in this back-water of life’s river,” retorted
Mrs. Fuller rather crossly, “and since Marie loves you there is no
more to be said, in my opinion.”
“There’s a good deal more to be said in Sorley’s,” said Alan dryly.
“He should remember his own love romance, dear, and be more
sympathetic with Marie’s desire to become your wife.”
“I never knew that Sorley had a love romance, mother. I thought
he was wrapped up body and soul in his book on precious stones.”
“Oh, he has always been writing that, Alan,” said Mrs. Fuller, with
a shrug to hint that she did not think much of the man’s literary
abilities, “but he was courting Miss Marchmont over twenty years
ago—that was shortly after Squire Inderwick’s death, and before
Marie was born. You know, dear, her father died almost immediately
after the sweet girl’s birth, and appointed Mr. Sorley to be her
guardian. He settled at The Monastery with his sister. Mr. Inderwick
and that miserable man Grison were with them for a time. His sister
also stayed as Mrs. Inderwick’s companion, but when her brother
was dismissed, she went to London and started that boarding-house
in Thimble Square, Bloomsbury. Marie was brought up by old Granny
Trent, who was the housekeeper. When she grew too old, and Marie
went to school at Brighton, her granddaughters, Jane and Henrietta,
came to look after the house, and do the active work, although
Granny superintends still, I believe. Then Marie returned from
school, and——”
“Mother, mother, you are repeating history,” interrupted Alan,
vexed by this prolix narrative. “I know all this. What about Sorley’s
love affair?”
“He loved Miss Marchmont, and she died.”
“Was she one of the Marchmonts of Augar Place, near Lewes?”
“Yes; the only daughter and heiress. Mr. Sorley would have got a
lot of money and property had he married her. But she died, and the
Manor, along with the income, passed to distant cousins after the
death of old Mr. Marchmont some ten years ago.”
“What did Miss Marchmont die of?”
“A chill contracted by getting wet in the hunting-field, dear. Mr.
Sorley was very fond of her, and greatly lamented her death.”
“Or the loss of her money,” said the solicitor doubtfully.
“No, dear. He really and truly loved her. I sometimes think, Alan,
that you are not quite fair to Mr. Sorley. He has had his troubles.”
“I don’t like him personally,” said Fuller roundly, “there is an
insincere air about him.”
“I am not particularly fond of him myself,” confessed Mrs. Fuller in
an apologetic way, “but he is always agreeable to me. And, although
he has lived here for quite five and twenty years, if not more, there
has never been a word said against his character save that he is not
generous. And his poverty excuses that, Alan. So try and be
agreeable to him this evening, dear,” finished Mrs. Fuller, making the
same request as Marie had done.
“Of course I shall be agreeable. I wish to be very friendly with
him.”
“That is natural, dear, since you desire to gain his consent to your
marriage with Marie. But, dear me, I am quite forgetting the dinner,”
and Mrs. Fuller hastened to the kitchen with her mind full of the
pudding, the mince pies, and the roast beef.
Alan’s reason for being friendly with Sorley was not entirely due to
the cause mentioned by his mother, although he was anxious
enough to gain the man’s consent to his wooing. But he felt
confident that—unless for a purpose—Sorley would never give that
same consent, since he did not think that the vicar’s son was a good
match for his pretty and long-descended niece. In a year when Marie
was of age, the consent of the guardian could be dispensed with; so
that particular matter did not trouble the young man overmuch. He
really desired to establish friendly relations with Sorley in order to
learn if he had the peacock of jewels in his possession, as it was
Marie’s property and should be given to her. Since the uncle loved
jewels, and probably knew that the peacock, besides being covered
with precious stones, could indicate the whereabouts of a box filled
with similar gems, it was probable that he would seek to keep the
ornament to himself. Always provided that he possessed it, of which
Alan was not quite sure. But if he did have it, then the supposition
would be that he had murdered Baldwin Grison for its possession. It
was difficult for Fuller to see what he would say in the way of excuse
for owning it.
“But, of course,” thought the young man, when he went to dress
for dinner, and threshed out the matter in his own mind, “if he has it
he won’t make any fuss about my seeing it, should he desire me to
solve the riddle since at present there has been no public mention
that Grison was murdered for its sake.
“But if he does show it to me——” here he paused, greatly
perplexed, as he foresaw how difficult it would be to know how to
act. Even if the possession of the Peacock proved Sorley to be a
criminal, for the sake of Marie, Alan was unwilling to bring him to
justice. And yet, on the face of it, the man should pay for his crime.
“It’s confoundedly difficult to know what to do,” was Fuller’s natural
conclusion.
The Christmas dinner was a great success in spite of the doubts
expressed by the hostess, and the five people who sat down to
enjoy it, passed a very agreeable hour. Marie had a healthy appetite,
and had no reluctance in satisfying it on fare, which was much more
dainty than that prepared by Henny Trent, who acted as cook at The
Monastery. The girl in a simple white dress and without any
ornaments, save a childish necklace of red coral, looked very pretty,
and behaved very charmingly. By the end of the quiet evening Alan
was more in love with her than ever, and wondered if the earth
contained a more delightful little lady. Sorley also made himself most
agreeable, being soothed by the excellent dinner, and showed no
disposition to frown on the young couple. As to Mrs. Fuller, now that
the dinner was off her mind, she beamed on everyone, including her
rosy-faced sturdy little husband, who overflowed with Christian
charity, which did not need the season of Yuletide to enhance its
ready generosity.
Mr. Sorley was perfectly dressed as usual, and looked wonderfully
well in his young-old way, which was so deceptive. He was well-
informed too, and talked on this subject and that, in a most
exhaustive manner, arguing with the vicar and agreeing with Mrs.
Fuller, and giving an occasional word to Alan. Afterwards in the
quaint old drawing-room the conversation turned on the death of
Grison, although Mr. Fuller did his best to taboo the subject, on the
plea that it upset his wife.
“Mrs. Fuller always liked the poor man,” said the vicar finally.
“He was agreeable and clever, but woefully weak,” confessed the
old lady. “If he had only stayed here, he would never have met with
such a death.”
 “I would willingly have kept him at The Monastery,” explained
Sorley in a frank manner, “but he was rude to my sister, and, owing
to his drunken habits, kept the house in a constant state of turmoil.
I had to dismiss him although I gave him every chance to reform.
And you heard, Alan,” he added, turning to the young man, who was
listening intently, “how his sister blamed me for his death.
“What’s that?” asked the vicar sharply.
“Not directly,” said the guest calmly. “She could scarcely do that
seeing I was fifty miles away at The Monastery when Grison was
murdered in Rotherhithe. But his sister said that my dismissal made
him take more than ever to opium smoking, and that drove him to
the slum where he met with this tragic end.”
“Pooh! pooh! Louisa Grison talks rubbish,” said Mr. Fuller sturdily.
“She was always crazy about Baldwin, although he certainly had his
good points, foolish as he was. Don’t let us talk any more about the
matter. It upsets my wife, and is not a topic for Christmas Day.”
“Oh, I don’t mind hearing of his death,” protested Mrs. Fuller, “I
am only too anxious to know who killed him, poor creature.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that he killed himself,” remarked
Sorley in an abrupt way.
“Oh, that’s impossible,” said Alan quickly; “the medical evidence
proved conclusively that he was murdered, stabbed to the heart.”
“Well, my boy, a man can stab himself to the heart, can’t he?”
“Yes,” replied the young man dryly, “but he could scarcely hide the
instrument with which he killed himself after his death, and that, as
we know, is missing.”
“What sort of instrument was it, Alan?” asked Mrs. Fuller.
“A stiletto, it is thought, mother.”
“That sounds as though an Italian had a hand in the crime,”
remarked the vicar; “they generally use the stiletto!”
“I can’t say who killed him, or of what nationality the assassin
was, father, since nothing can be learned likely to cast light on the
subject. But I am sure of one thing from what Latimer has told me,
which is that Grison did not stab himself. He had no reason to.”
“Mad people never do have any reason,” remarked Mr. Sorley
pointedly.
“But Grison was not mad.”
“Indeed I have every reason to believe that he was,” insisted the
other; “the father was an eccentric doctor who practised in
Canterbury, and the mother of Louisa and Baldwin died in a lunatic
asylum.”
Mrs. Fuller nodded sadly. “Yes, Louisa told me as much,” she said,
“and for that reason I excused her oddities and those of her brother.
They certainly had queer ways, hadn’t they, John?”
“Yes! yes! yes! But no worse than other people,” rejoined Fuller
senior, in his vigorous fashion, “but Louisa certainly manages her
boarding-house in a sane enough manner, as I found when I stayed
there.”
“Did you stay there, father?” asked Alan.
“Twice or thrice when I went to town years and years ago,
although I have not stayed there lately. I wanted to help Louisa,
poor soul. But now she is doing so well that there is no need for me
to assist her by becoming a few days’ boarder. Baldwin may have
been a trifle mad,” added the vicar, addressing Sorley, “since he sank
so low and displayed such weakness; but his sister is sane enough, I
am sure of that.”
“She did not speak very sanely the other day when attacking me,
as Alan heard,” said Mr. Sorley significantly. “We were quietly having
afternoon tea when Miss Grison rose and suddenly denounced me.
She is mad.”
“I don’t agree with you,” retorted the vicar.
“What do you say, Alan?”
The young man shook his head with an embarrassed laugh. “I
have not seen sufficient of Miss Grison to pronounce an opinion,” he
said, and turned to Marie, who was feeling rather neglected. “This is
rather dull for you.”
“And the subject, as I said before, is not a suitable one for
Christmas Day,” observed Mr. Fuller. “Marie, my dear, give us some
music.”
The girl obeyed with alacrity, as she had been yawning during the
dreary talk of her elders. In a very musicianly style she played two
or three classical pieces, and then with Alan sang some of
Mendelssohn’s duets, in which their voices blended far more
agreeably than Mr. Sorley approved of. The late conversation
seemed to have upset his nerves, for he wandered in a restless
manner round the room and betrayed a disposition to come between
the young people, in strange contrast to his earlier demeanor. When
Mrs. Fuller was playing an old-fashioned selection of melodies, called
“Irish Diamonds,” which her husband loved, Sorley came to sit
beside Alan and engage him in quiet conversation, while Marie and
the vicar remained near the piano, listening to the variations on
Garry Owen.
“You must come over to The Monastery during this week, Alan,”
said Mr. Sorley in a discreet whisper. “I should like to show you my
collection of jewels, which will belong to Marie after I am gone.”
“Oh, you will live for a long time yet,” said Alan affably.
“I doubt it. I have my enemies like other men, and you need not
be surprised if I meet with Grison’s fate, poor wretch.”
“Whatever do you mean?” demanded the other sharply.
“I mean that in the midst of life we are in death,” rejoined Sorley
tartly, and in a somewhat enigmatic manner, “What else should I
mean?”
“I’m hanged if I know,” said Alan frankly, and spoke from his
heart. He really could not understand the man’s strange reference to
a violent end.
“Well! well! well!” remarked his companion with affected
cheerfulness, “it may be all imagination on my part. But when one
has such a collection of gems as I have in the house, it is not
improbable that an attempt may be made to get them on the part of
some thief.”
“Have you any idea that such an attempt will be made?”
“Oh dear no. I speak generally. For my collection is valuable, Alan,
although perhaps not worth so much money as those gems which
were given to George Inderwick over one hundred years ago, by the
Begum of Kam. Why do you start?” he asked in surprise. “Marie told
me that she related the story of the jewels to you.”
“Yes—that is—she did say something about the matter,”
stammered Alan, “only I did not know that Kam was the place where
George Inderwick went on behalf of the H.E.I.C. to serve as a native
drill sergeant.”
“Oh yes. The Rajah of Kam’s town and state in the Madras
Presidency. You can see the manuscript to-morrow when you come
over. Hush, the music is stopping; don’t say anything more. Let us
keep these matters to ourselves,” and having thus forced Fuller, as it
were, to be his confidant, Sorley strolled across the room to
congratulate Mrs. Fuller on her still brilliant touch.
Alan remained where he was on the sofa, staring at the carpet,
and wondering what revelations would be forthcoming when he
visited The Monastery the next day, for he was determined to pay
the promised visit as soon as he could, lest Sorley should change his
mind. But what startled him most was to learn that the jewels had
belonged to the Begum of Kam. And that was the very place
mentioned by Morad-Bakche as the former territory of his family.
“Dick was right,” thought Alan. “Bakche is after the gems of the
peacock.”
 CHAPTER VIII
AN EXPLANATION

For the next two or three days Alan enjoyed the rural peace of the
country and gave his parents a great deal of his society. Anxious as
he was to follow up the hint of Sorley with reference to the story of
George Inderwick’s treasure, he did not display undue eagerness,
since it was better to behave in a casual manner, lest suspicion
should be aroused. The young man did not wish Sorley to think that
he knew too much about the matter, or had been making any
inquiries, for it was not improbable that he might take alarm and
decline all assistance. Fuller felt certain that there was a skeleton in
Sorley’s cupboard, safely locked up, but, “as suspicion ever haunts
the guilty mind,” it would require a very slight circumstance to
render the worthy gentleman uneasy. Therefore Alan pretended to
an indifference which he did not feel, and kept away from The
Monastery, until his diplomacy was rewarded about the middle of the
week, by the appearance of Marie with a request that he should
come over.
“This afternoon Uncle Ran wants to see you,” said the girl pouting,
for she was not pleased that Alan had kept clear of her company.
“He has gone this morning to Lewes on his motor bicycle, and will
be back at two o’clock to meet you.”
“In that case,” said Fuller promptly, and glancing at his watch,
“since it is just eleven, we can have three hours all to ourselves.”
“I don’t think you want to pass all that time alone with me.”
“Oh Marie, when you know how I love you.”
 “You don’t; you really and truly don’t;” said Miss Inderwick, who
was looking provokingly pretty in a fur jacket and a fur toque; “if you
loved me you wouldn’t waste your time as you do.”
“Waste my time. Why not, when I am on a holiday?”
“I don’t mean that sort of waste, you horrid boy. But you know
that you are always in town and I am always here, so when you are
down for a few days, you should be with me constantly.”
“I should very much like to, my dearest spitfire, but would it be
wise when your uncle discourages my attentions to you so
pointedly?”
“Oh!” Marie raised her eyebrows and pouted again. “If you are
afraid of Uncle Ran there is no more to be said.”
“There is a great deal more to be said,” retorted Alan, tucking her
arm under his own, “and we can say it on our way to The
Monastery. When the cat’s away at Lewes, we two dear little mice
can play at Belstone. Marie, darling, don’t make faces; we must be
sensible.”
“I am sensible; you have said dozens of times that I am the most
sensible girl in the whole world.”
“So you are. All the same we must be diplomatic in case your
uncle——”
“Bother my uncle.”
“I think you do, my dear,” said Alan dryly, “and just now you are
bothering me by being cross about nothing. Marie, if you don’t smile
in your usual angelic way, I shall kiss you here in the open road,
Smile, smile!”
“I sha’n’t,” said Marie, trying to pucker her small face into a black
frown, and then had to burst out laughing. “You silly boy!” She
hugged his arm. “I spoil you, don’t I?”
“You do, you do, like the angel you are.”
“There’s a want of originality about you, Alan. You are always
calling me an angel. What else am I?”
“A goddess, a gazelle, a Queen of the May——”
 “In December; how ridiculous!” and Miss Inderwick laughed gayly,
her good temper quite restored.
The lovers walked slowly through the village and up to the gates
of the neglected park, chatting much in the same strain. Of course
they talked great nonsense, as lovers do when together, and the
language of Cupid can scarcely be described as instructive. Alan was
a sensible and clever young man, and Marie was by no means
wanting in mother-wit, and yet their conversation was so
characteristic of their several states of mind, which had entirely to
do with the wooing of man and maid, that a common-sense person
past the turtle-dove stage would have doubted their sanity. But then
love is a madness which attacks the young at certain seasons, and
custom has so sanctified the lunacy, that those so crazed are not
locked up. And mercifully when the glamor of love is on them, they
prefer to keep to themselves, so that indifferent people are not
compelled to witness their eccentricities. Only when they were
walking up the avenue, did the conversation become more
reasonable.
“Why does Uncle Ran wish to see you, Alan?” asked Marie
curiously.
“He intends to show me his collection of gems,” replied Fuller, who
did not think it prudent to be too open, until he knew more of
Sorley’s mind. He did not like the man, and suspected him of having
committed a crime; but until he was certain of his guilt, he wished to
keep silence. After all, the girl by his side was the daughter of the
man’s sister, and her guardian, so it was best to say as little as
possible.
“Oh, he has got lovely jewels,” said Marie, readily accepting the
explanation, which certainly was a true one. “I wish he would let me
wear some of them. It seems so stupid to lock up a lot of beautiful
diamonds and emeralds and sapphires. When they come to me—as
Uncle Ran says they will—I sha’n’t leave them in their care, but wear
them.”
“You will look like the Queen of Sheba, my darling.”
 “Or like a rainbow,” replied Miss Inderwick smartly, “all sorts of
colors sparkling like—like—like frosts,” she finished, taking her
illustration from the glittering rime on the bare trees.
It was a perfect December day, and the blue sky arched over a
white expanse of snow untrodden save for the track up the avenue
along which the young couple had travelled. By this time they had
come in sight of the great mansion, and paused to admire its
irregular beauty. Its red roofs were hidden under billowy masses of
dazzling whiteness, as they caught the sunlight, and the darkly-
green garment of ivy which clothed it was flecked everywhere with
snow wreaths. Icicles glittered like jewels hanging from eaves,
porch, windows, and from the carved stonework, discernible through
the greenery, so that the place looked like a fairy palace. Although
Marie, its fortunate possessor, saw the house daily, she could not
forbear an exclamation of delight.
“Isn’t it lovely, dearest?”
“As lovely as you are, my darling,” assented Alan readily. “I think
you might show me over the house, Marie, as I have never explored
it completely.”
“I daresay. Uncle Ran won’t let anyone go over it, although no end
of artists wish to come to it. He wouldn’t even let anyone paint a
picture of the outside. I don’t know why?”
“Nor do I,” murmured Fuller, half to himself, “No more than I know
why he was not angry with Miss Grison for going over it uninvited.”
“That was strange,” replied Miss Inderwick thoughtfully, “but I
think he is a little afraid of Miss Grison, dear. He thinks she is mad.”
“What do you think?”
“I haven’t seen enough of her to say. But Mrs. Millington, her
greatest friend, told me that she thought Miss Grison’s mind was
giving way.”
“It is certainly not apparent in her management of her boarding-
house.”
 “Well, she may be mad on one point and sane on many,” remarked
Marie pertinently, “she seems to hate Uncle Ran dreadfully.”
“That is because she ascribes her brother’s downfall to him. But
don’t let us talk about such dreary matters, darling, but look over
the house, and arrange how we will restore it when we are married.”
“And when we find the treasure,” cried Marie, skipping lightly up
the steps to the open door. “Come in, Alan. We must make the best
of our time before Uncle Ran returns.”
“He won’t be back until two o’clock.”
“So he says, but I don’t trust him. He’s always trying to catch me
in mischief, as if I ever had a chance of doing any. I shouldn’t be
surprised if he pounced down on us unawares.”
“In that case I can excuse myself by saying that I have come, at
his request to see him,” said Alan promptly. “Lead the way, Marie,
and let us look over the place from top to bottom.”
Marie assented very readily to be her lover’s cicerone, and for the
next hour they were passing along corridors, peeping into rooms,
ascending and descending stairs, and searching for secret chambers
and outlets. All the time Marie talked, telling Alan tales about this
room and that, which she had heard from Granny Trent, who had
lived nearly the whole of her long life in the old building. But what
struck Alan most was the absence of furniture. Room after room had
been stripped bare, and the vast house gave him the impression of
being an empty shell. Yet according to the old woman, whom they
looked in to see in her particular den, the place had been crammed
with treasures no later than twenty years ago when Mrs. Inderwick
had died.
“But he’s sold them all,” mourned Granny, who did not seem to
have much love for her master—“tables and chairs and wardrobes
and pictures, and all manner of things, my dears. It’s a shame I say,
for they belong to you, Miss Marie, and he ain’t got no right to get
rid of your property.”
Granny was a lively, active woman, small and shrivelled in her
looks, with twinkling black eyes and an expressive face. Age did not
seem to have dulled her faculties, for she spoke clearly and to the
point, and what is more, intimated that she could see through a
brick wall, meaning in plain English—how easy it was to guess that
the young couple were in love.
“And a very good thing too,” said granny nodding sagely; “you
being handsome and good and kind-hearted, Mr. Alan, or you
wouldn’t be the son of them dears at the vicarage else. Just you
marry my lamb, sir, as soon as you can get your pa to read the
service, if it’s only to look after him.”
“Mr. Sorley?” inquired Fuller pointedly. “You mean him?”
“And who else should I mean, Mr. Alan, if not him? A poor feckless
thing I call him, selling up my lamb’s goods to waste money on bits
of stones. Ah, if the luck of the Inderwicks wasn’t missing there’d be
plenty of them.”
“You mean the peacock?”
“I do. That blessed bird that means good fortune to my lamb here,
sir. Them Grisons took it I’ll swear when they went away over twenty
years ago, and took the luck along with them, for never will it come
back—it’s the luck of the family I’m talking of, Mr. Alan—until the
peacock is under this roof again.”
“What sort of luck will it bring, Granny?” asked Marie eagerly.
“Marriage to you and Mr. Alan here, a fortune when the riddle is
read as it surely will be, and an outgoing for him, as is your uncle
and don’t look after you, my lamb, as he should, drat him.”
“Oh, he means well, Granny.”
“If he means well, why don’t he do well,” retorted the old woman.
“Never mind, the luck will come your way, my lamb, when you least
expect it. Now go down to the dining-room, my dears, and I’ll tell
Jenny to set out something for you to eat. You can’t live on love,”
chuckled Granny, her eyes twinkling.
The two laughed and took her advice, even to the extent of
making a very excellent luncheon, plain as the fare was. When the
meal ended, Marie carried off Fuller to the library and lighted his
cigarette with her own fair hands. When he was comfortably puffing
clouds of bluish smoke, Miss Inderwick, perched on the arm of his
chair, ruffled his hair and told him that he was the most disagreeable
person in the wide world. This led to amiable contradiction, finally to
kissing and it was when they were in the middle of these
philanderings, that they raised their eyes to see Mr. Sorley standing
at the door. He was stiff with indignation, and looked more like a
haughty unbending aristocrat than ever.
“So this is the way in which you deceive me, Marie?” he said with
an angry look. “How dare you?”
“Why not,” said Fuller, as the girl sprang away from his chair in
alarm. “I love Marie and she loves me. You must have seen that
ages ago, Mr. Sorley.”
“I did, sir, but the position does not meet with my approval.”
“Who cares,” cried his niece defiantly. “I shan’t marry anyone but
Alan.”
“You shall marry the man I select,” said Sorley sternly, “unless
——”
“Unless what?” demanded Fuller coolly. He was perfectly sure that
Marie would remain true to him, and therefore had no fear of her
uncle.
“I shall explain that when we are alone.”
“Explain now,” said Miss Inderwick swiftly, “I have a right to know
why you object to Alan becoming my husband.”
“He has no money and no position.”
“I shall make money and make a position,” said Alan calmly, “all in
good time, Mr. Sorley, all in good time.”
“He will be Lord Chancellor one day,” said Marie boldly.
“You will have gray hairs by that time,” snapped her uncle, “and
until he is Lord Chancellor, you certainly shan’t marry him.”
“I shall. So there.”
“You shall not.”
 “Unless,” observed Alan smoothly, “you said unless, Mr. Sorley.”
“Unless you find the Begum’s treasure.”
“Oh, Uncle Ran,” cried Marie in dismay, “when you know that the
peacock is lost, and without that no one can solve the riddle, or even
know exactly what it is.”
“The peacock is——” began Sorley, and stopped short. “Never
mind. Go away, my dear, and let me talk to Alan.”
He spoke so mildly that Marie began to think better of the
position. He did not appear to be so dead against her marriage with
Fuller, as his earlier words had intimated. Alan, on his part, guessed
from the abrupt stopping of the sentence, that Sorley knew
something about the missing peacock which he did not wish to
reveal while Marie was in the room. Acting on this hint he took the
bull by the horns.
“Look here, sir,” he said, rising to address his host more
impressively, “I know that the discovery of this treasure is connected
with some cryptogram which has to do with the lost peacock. I
accept your terms, as, having experience in secret writings, I am
sure that I can solve the mystery which has baffled everyone for so
long. If I do, and the treasure is found, will you—as you say—
consent to Marie becoming my wife.”
“Yes,” said Sorley tersely and decisively, “but of course part of the
treasure must be given to me.”
“Oh, I shall buy your consent to my marriage with half of it,” said
Marie in a rather contemptuous tone.
Fuller secretly did not endorse this too generous offer, and
determined that if he did solve the riddle, to hand over the gems to
Miss Inderwick. But it was not diplomatic at the moment to insist
upon this too much, particularly as Sorley had practically agreed to
the marriage. “The first thing to do is to find the jewels,” said Alan
easily, “and then things can be better arranged, Mr. Sorley.”
“Very well,” said the old gentleman, taking it for granted that Alan
as well as his niece agreed to the terms, extortionate as they were,
“we understand one another. Marie, you can go away.”
 “But I want to stop and hear everything,” she exclaimed
rebelliously.
“The time is not ripe for you to hear everything. As yet I know
very little, and wish to consult Alan about arriving at the truth. He
can tell you all you wish to know later.”
“Go, dear,” said Fuller in a low voice, and leading the girl to the
door, “I can act for us both.”
Marie pouted and tossed her pretty head. “You are horrid,” she
murmured. “I do want to know all about the peacock.”
“You shall know if anything is to be discovered about it.”
“Very well,” she said obediently, “but I think you’re horrid all the
same.”
When she left the library and the door was closed, Sorley, who
had removed his overcoat and gloves and cap, sank into a chair with
a sigh. He was evidently tired out by his ride to Lewes and back
again. Alan waited for him to open the conversation, for having his
suspicions of the man, particularly after his hesitation when Marie
had mentioned the peacock, it behooved him to be cautious. Sorley
thought for a few moments with his eyes on Fuller’s face then spoke
abruptly.
“You know that Miss Grison hates me, and why?” he demanded
shortly.
“Yes. She accuses you of having ruined her brother by having
dismissed him wrongfully.”
“Quite so, and acts like a mad woman in consequence. As if I
could help the man going to the bad. I gave him every chance, and
instead of prosecuting him for forging that check I let him go free. I
don’t see that I could have behaved better. That he sank to the
Rotherhithe slum was purely his own fault.”
“Miss Grison doesn’t think so.”
“She can think what she chooses,” retorted Sorley, coolly. “I need
take no notice of the vagaries of a crazy creature such as she surely
is.” He paused, and looked oddly at his companion. “Do you know
why I dismissed her brother, Alan?”
“You have just explained; because of the forged check.”
“That is not the exact cause. I could have overlooked that, since I
really was sorry for the poor wretch, even though he was rude to my
sister, and a decided nuisance in this house with his drunken habits
and use of opium. My real reason for dismissing him was that Miss
Grison—Louisa as we used to call her—stole the peacock of jewels.”
“Oh,” said Fuller with a non-committal air, for he wished to know
more about the theft before stating that Miss Grison had confessed
to it. And even when he knew all he was not sure if he would be
thus frank.
“Yes! she knew how I valued it, both because of its workmanship
and the gems set in its golden body, and because it is the clue to a
large treasure which was hidden—you know the story—by Simon
Ferrier. I told her that if she did not return it I would dismiss her
brother on account of the forged check. She refused and I did
dismiss him, so she really has only herself to thank for Baldwin’s
downfall, although, like a woman, she blames me in the silly way
she does.”
“But if she took the peacock why didn’t you have her arrested?”
“I should have done so, but that she declared her intention of
destroying the ornament should I act in such a way. She said that
she would drop it into the Thames—she was in London when I found
out about her theft—or would melt it in fire. As the peacock is the
sole clue to the hiding-place of the Begum’s gems, you may guess
that with such a desperate woman I did not dare to act so drastically
as she deserved.”
“I suppose she gave the peacock to her brother,” suggested Alan
artfully, hoping that Sorley would commit himself by confessing the
knowledge that Grison held the ornament at the time of his death.
But the man did nothing of the sort.
“No, she didn’t,” he said sharply, “so far as I know she had it in
her possession all these twenty years. I went again and again to see
her and try for its recovery, but insisting that I had ruined her
brother, she refused to surrender it, and lest she should destroy it, I
could not use the force of the law. Now I am certain that he had it
all the time.”
“Why are you certain?” asked Fuller, who was impressed by the
frank way in which the man spoke. He certainly did not seem to
have anything to conceal, and the solicitor wondered whether he
had misjudged him.
Mr. Sorley waved his hand. “One moment,” he said slowly, “you
may wonder why I am telling you all this, and why I have brought
you into the matter? I do so, because you tell me that you are good
at solving riddles, and also since you are in love with Marie you are
bound to protect her interests. The jewels belong to her, so I am
anxious that you should help me to find them, so that Marie may get
the benefit of their sale. As she will have this house, her own
income, and my collection of gems when I die, I do not think I am
asking too much in requesting a share of the treasure, especially
when that also will go to my niece after my death.”
Alan nodded, since all this was reasonable enough. “I know why
you want me to help,” he remarked, “but without the peacock we
can do nothing.”
Mr. Sorley rose and went to an alcove of the room in which was
set a tall carved cupboard of black oak. Opening this he took out an
object wrapped in chamois leather, and returned to the writing-table
to display to his visitor’s astonished eyes, the missing peacock of
jewels. “On that day when Miss Grison called me names, and by her
own confession wandered over the house uninvited,” said the man
quietly, “she must have brought this back. The day after she
departed I found the peacock in yonder cupboard, a place where I
frequently go, as Miss Grison knew. Why she should restore it in this
stealthy way, or restore it at all, I am not able to say. But I know
that she took it from here twenty years ago—from that cupboard in
fact, where it was always kept—and her unasked-for visit to this
house must have been to replace it.”
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