THE SECRET OF THE TOWER

 BY ANTHONY HOPE

 1919

 AUTHOR OF "THE PRISONER OF ZENDA, " "RUPERT OF HENTZAU, " ETC. 

CONTENTS

 I. DOCTOR MARY'S PAYING GUEST

 II. THE GENERAL REMEMBERS

 III. MR. SAFFRON AT HOME

 IV. PROFESSIONAL ETIQUETTE

 V. A FAMILIAR IMPLEMENT

 VI. ODD STORY OF CAPTAIN DUGGLE!

 VII. A GENTLEMANLY STRANGER

 VIII. CAPTAIN ALEC RAISES HIS VOICE

 IX. DOCTOR MARY'S ULTIMATUM

 X. THAT MAGICAL WORD MOROCCO!

 XI. THE CAR BEHIND THE TREES

 XII. THE SECRET OF THE TOWER

 XIII. RIGHT OF CONQUEST

 XIV. THE SCEPTER IN THE GRAVE

 XV. A NORMAL CASE

 XVI. DEAD MAJESTY

 XVII. THE CHIEF MOURNERS

 XVIII. THE GOLD AND THE TREASURE

CHAPTER I

DOCTOR MARY'S PAYING GUEST

"Just in time, wasn't it?" asked Mary Arkroyd. 

"Two days before the--the ceremony! Mercifully it had all been kept veryquiet, because it was only three months since poor Gilly was killed. Iforget whether you ever met Gilly? My half-brother, you know?"

"Only once--in Collingham Gardens. He had an _exeat_, and dashed in oneSaturday morning when we were just finishing our work. Don't youremember?"

"Yes, I think I do. But since my engagement I'd gone into colors. Oh, ofcourse I've gone back into mourning now! And everything wasready--settlements and so on, you know. And rooms taken at Bournemouth. And then it all came out!"

"How?"

"Well, Eustace--Captain Cranster, I mean. Oh, I think he really must havehad shell-shock, as he said, even though the doctor seemed to doubt it!He gave the Colonel as a reference in some shop, and--and the bankwouldn't pay the check. Other checks turned up, too, and in the end thepolice went through his papers, and found letters from--well, from her, you know. From Bogota. South America, isn't it? He'd lived there tenyears, you know, growing something--beans, or coffee, or coffee-beans, orsomething--I don't know what. He tried to say the marriage wasn'tbinding, but the Colonel--wasn't it providential that the Colonel washome on leave? Mamma could never have grappled with it! The Colonel wassure it was, and so were the lawyers. "

"What happened then?"

"The great thing was to keep it quiet. Now, wasn't it? And there was theshell-shock--or so Eustace--Captain Cranster, I mean--said, anyhow. So, on the Colonel's advice, Mamma squared the check business and--and theygave him twenty-four hours to clear out. Papa--I call the Colonel Papa, you know, though he's really my stepfather--used a little influence, Ithink. Anyhow it was managed. I never saw him again, Mary. "

"Poor dear! Was it very bad?"

"Yes! But--suppose we had been married! Mary, where should I have been?"

Mary Arkroyd left that problem alone. "Were you very fond of him?"she asked. 

"Awfully!" Cynthia turned up to her friend pretty blue eyes suffused intears. "It was the end of the world to me. That there could be such men!I went to bed. Mamma could do nothing with me. Oh, well, she wrote to youabout all that. "

"She told me you were in a pretty bad way. "

"I was just desperate! Then one day--in bed--the thought of you came. Itseemed an absolute inspiration. I remembered the card you sent on mylast birthday--you've never forgotten my birthdays, though it's yearssince we met--with your new address here--and your 'Doctor, ' and all theletters after your name! I thought it rather funny. " A faint smile, thefirst since Miss Walford's arrival at Inkston, probably the first sinceCaptain Eustace Cranster's shell-shock had wrought catastrophe--appearedon her lips. "How I waited for your answer! You don't mind having me, doyou, dear? Mamma insisted on suggesting the P. G. Arrangement. I wasafraid you'd shy at it. "

"Not a bit! I should have liked to have you anyhow, but I can make youmuch more comfortable with the P. G. Money. And your maid too--she looksas if she was accustomed to the best! By the way, need she be quite sotearful? She's more tearful than you are yourself. "

"Jeanne's very, very fond of me, " Cynthia murmured reproachfully. 

"Oh, well get her out of that, " said Mary briskly. "The tears, I mean, not the fondness. I'm very fond of you myself. Six years ago you were acharming kitten, and I used to enjoy being your 'visiting governess'--tosay nothing of finding the guineas very handy while I was waiting toqualify. You're rather like a kitten still, one of those blue-eyedones--Siamese, aren't they?--with close fur and a wondering look. But youmustn't mew down here, and you must have lots of milk and cream. Even ifrations go on, I can certify all the extras for you. That's the good ofbeing a doctor!" She laughed cheerfully as she took a cigarette from themantelpiece and lit it. 

Cynthia, on the other hand, began to sob prettily and not in a noisyfashion, yet evidently heading towards a bout of grief. Moreover, nosooner had the first sound of lamentation escaped from her lips, than thedoor was opened smartly and a buxom girl, in lady's maid uniform, rushedin, darted across the room, and knelt by Cynthia, sobbing also andexclaiming, "Oh, my poor Mees Cynthia!"

Mary smiled in a humorous contempt. 

"Stop this!" she commanded rather brusquely. "You've not been deceivedtoo, have you, Jeanne?"

"Me, madame? No. My poor Mees--"

"Leave your poor Mees to me. " She took a paper bag from the mantelpiece. "Go and eat chocolates. "

Fixed with a firm and decidedly professional glance, Jeanne stoppedsobbing and rose slowly to her feet. 

"Don't listen outside the door. You must have been listening. Wait tillyou're rung for. Miss Cynthia will be all right with me. We're going fora walk. Take her upstairs and put her hat on her, and a thick coat; it'scold and going to rain, I think. "

"A walk, Mary?" Cynthia's sobs stopped, to make way for this protest. Thedescription of the weather did not sound attractive. 

"Yes, yes. Now off with both of you! Here, take the chocolates, Jeanne, and try to remember that it might have been worse. "

Jeanne's brown eyes were eloquent of reproach. 

"Captain Cranster might have been found out too late--after the wedding, "Mary explained with a smile. "Try to look at it like that. Five minutesto get ready, Cynthia!" She was ready for the weather herself, in thestout coat and skirt and weather-proof hat in which she had driven thetwo-seater on her round that morning. 

The disconsolate pair drifted ruefully from the room, though Jeanne didrecollect to take the chocolates. Doctor Mary stood looking down at thefire, her lips still shaped in that firm, wise, and philosophical smilewith which doctors and nurses--and indeed, sometimes, anybody who happensto be feeling pretty well himself--console, or exasperate, sufferinghumanity. "A very good thing the poor silly child did come to me!" Thatwas the form her thoughts took. For although Dr. Mary Arkroyd was, andknew herself to be, no dazzling genius at her profession--in moments ofcandor she would speak of having "scraped through" her qualifyingexaminations--she had a high opinion of her own common sense and herpower of guiding weaker mortals. 

For all that Jeanne's cheek bulged with a chocolate, there was openresentment on her full, pouting lips, and a hint of the same feeling inCynthia's still liquid eyes, when mistress and maid came downstairsagain. Without heeding these signs, Mary drew on her gauntlets, took herwalking-stick, and flung the hall door open. A rush of cold wind filledthe little hall. Jeanne shivered ostentatiously; Cynthia sighed andmuffled herself deeper in her fur collar. "A good walking day!" said Marydecisively. 

Up to now, Inkston had not impressed Cynthia Walford very favorably. Itwas indeed a mixed kind of a place. Like many villages which lie near toLondon and have been made, by modern developments, more accessible thanonce they were, it showed chronological strata in its buildings. Down bythe station all was new, red, suburban. Mounting the tarred road, thewayfarer bore slightly to the right along the original village street;bating the aggressive "fronts" of one or two commercial innovators, thiswas old, calm, serene, gray in tone and restful, ornamented by three orfour good class Georgian houses, one quite fine, with well wrought irongates (this was Dr. Irechester's); turning to the right again, but moresharply, the wayfarer found himself once more in villadom, but avilladom more ornate, more costly, with gardens to be measured inacres--or nearly. This was Hinton Avenue (Hinton because it was themaiden name of the builder's wife; Avenue because avenue is genteel). Here Mary dwelt, but by good luck her predecessor, Dr. Christian Evans, had seized upon a surviving old cottage at the end of the avenue, and, indeed, of Inkston village itself. Beyond it stretched meadows, whilethe road, turning again, ran across an open heath, and pursued its wayto Sprotsfield, four miles distant, a place of greater size where allamenities could be found. 

It was along this road that the friends now walked, Mary setting a briskpace. "When once you've turned your back on the Avenue, it's heapsbetter, " she said. "Might be real country, looking this way, mightn't it?Except the Naylors' place--Oh, and Tower Cottage--there are no housesbetween this and Sprotsfield. "

The wind blew shrewdly, with an occasional spatter of rain; the witheredbracken lay like a vast carpet of dull copper-color under the cloudy sky;scattered fir-trees made fantastic shapes in the early gloom of aDecember day. A somber scene, yet wanting only sunshine to make it flashin a richness of color; even to-day its quiet and spaciousness, itsmelancholy and monotony, seemed to bid a sympathetic and soothing welcometo aching and fretted hearts. 

"It really is rather nice out here, " Cynthia admitted. 

"I come almost every afternoon. Oh, I've plenty of time! My round in themorning generally sees me through--except for emergencies, births anddeaths, and so on. You see, my predecessor, poor Christian Evans, neverhad more than the leavings, and that's all I've got. I believe the realdoctor, the old-established one, Dr. Irechester, was angry at first withDr. Evans for coming; he didn't want a rival. But Christian was such ameek, mild, simple little Welshman, not the least pushing or ambitious;and very soon Dr. Irechester, who's quite well off, was glad to leave himthe dirty work, I mean (she explained, smiling) the cottages, and thepanel work, National Insurance, you know, and so on. Well, as you know, Icame down as _locum_ for Christian, he was a fellow-student of mine, andwhen the dear little man was killed in France, Dr. Irechester himselfsuggested that I should stay on. He was rather nice. He said, 'We allstarted to laugh at you, at first, but we don't laugh now, anyhow, onlymy wife does! So, if you stay on, I don't doubt we shall work very welltogether, my dear colleague, ' Wasn't that rather nice of him, Cynthia?"

"Yes, dear, " said Cynthia, in a voice that sounded a good manymiles away. 

Mary laughed. "I'm bound to be interested in you, but I supposeyou're not bound to be interested in me, " she observed resignedly. "All the same, I made a sensation at Inkston just at first. And theywere even more astonished when it turned out that I could dance andplay lawn tennis. "

"That's a funny little place, " said Cynthia, pointing to the left sideof the road. 

"Tower Cottage, that's called. "

"But what a funny place!" Cynthia insisted. "A round tower, like aMartello tower, only smaller, of course; and what looks just like anordinary cottage or small farm-house joined on to it. What could thetower have been for?"

"I'm sure I don't know. Origin lost in the mists of antiquity! An oldgentleman named Saffron lives there now. "

"A patient of yours, Mary?"

"Oh, no! He's well off, rich, I believe. So he belongs to Dr. Irechester. But I often meet him along the road. Lately there's always been a youngerman with him, a companion, or secretary, or something of that sort, Ihear he is. "

"There are two men coming along the road now. "

"Yes, that's them, the old man, and his friend. He's rather strikingto look at. "

"Which of them?"

"The old man, of course. I haven't looked at the secretary. Cynthia, Ibelieve you're beginning to feel a little better!"

"Oh, no, I'm not! I'm afraid I'm not, really!" But there had been acheerfully roguish little smile on her face. It vanished very promptlywhen observed. 

The two men approached them, on their way, no doubt, to Tower Cottage. The old man was not above middle height, indeed, scarcely reached it; buthe made the most of his inches carrying himself very upright, with an airof high dignity. Close-cut white hair showed under an old-fashionedpeaked cap; he wore a plaid shawl swathed round him, his left arm beingenveloped in its folds; his right rested in the arm of his companion, whowas taller than he, lean and loose-built, clad in an almost white (andvery unseasonable looking) suit of some homespun material. He wore nocovering on his head, a thick crop of curly hair (of a colorindistinguishable in the dim light) presumably affording such protectionas he needed. His face was turned down towards the old man, who waslooking up at him and apparently talking to him, though in so low a tonethat no sound reached Mary and Cynthia as they passed by. Neither mangave any sign of noticing their presence. 

"Mr. Saffron, you said? Rather a queer name, but he looks a nice old man;patriarchal, you know. What's the name of the other one?"

"I did hear; somebody mentioned him at the Naylors'--somebody who hadheard something about him in France. What was the name? It was somethingqueer too, I think. "

"They've got queer names, and they live in a queer house!" Cynthiaactually gave a little laugh. "But are you going to walk all night, Mary dear?"

"Oh, poor thing! I forgot you! You're tired? We'll turn back. "

They retraced their steps, again passing Tower Cottage, into which itsoccupants must have gone, for they were no longer to be seen. 

"That name's on the tip of my tongue, " said Mary in amused vexation. "Ishall get it in a moment!"

Cynthia had relapsed into gloom. "It doesn't matter in the least, "she murmured. 

"It's Beaumaroy!" said Mary in triumph. 

"I don't wonder you couldn't remember that!"

CHAPTER II

THE GENERAL REMEMBERS

Amongst other various, and no doubt useful, functions, Miss Delia Wallperformed that of gossip and news agent-general to the village ofInkston. A hard-featured, swarthy spinster of forty, with a roving, inquisitive, yet not unkindly eye, she perambulated--or ratherpercycled--the district, taking stock of every incident. Not a cat couldkitten or a dog have the mange without her privity; critics of her mentalactivity went near to insinuating connivance. Naturally, therefore, shewas well acquainted with the new development at Tower Cottage, althoughthe isolated position of that dwelling made thorough observationpiquantly difficult. She laid her information before an attentive, if notvery respectful, audience gathered round the tea-table at Old Place, theNaylors' handsome house on the outskirts of Sprotsfield and on the farside of the heath from Inkston. She was enjoying herself, although shewas, as usual, a trifle distrustful of the quality of Mr. Naylor's smile;it smacked of the satiric. "He looks at you as if you were a specimen, "she had once been heard to complain; and, when she said "specimen, " itwas obviously beetles that she had in mind. 

"Everybody knows old Mr. Saffron--by sight, I mean--and the woman whodoes for him, " she said. "There's never been anything remarkable about_them_. He took his walk as regular as clockwork every afternoon, and shebought just the same things every week; her books must have talliedalmost to a penny every month, Mrs. Naylor! I know it! And it was a veryrare thing indeed for Mr. Saffron to go to London--though I have knownhim to be away once or twice. But very, very rarely!" She paused andadded dramatically, "Until the armistice!"

"Full of ramifications, that event, Miss Wall. It affects even mybusiness. " Mr. Naylor, though now withdrawn from an active share in itsconduct, was still interested in the large shipping firm from which hehad drawn his comfortable fortune. 

She looked at him suspiciously, as he put the ends of the slender whitefingers of his two hands together, and leant forward to listen with thatsmile of his and eyes faintly twinkling. But the problem was seething inher brain; she had to go on. 

"A week after the armistice Mr. Saffron went to London by the 9. 50. Hetraveled first, Anna. "

"Did he, dear?" Mrs. Naylor, a stout and placid dame, was not yet stirredto excitement. 

"He came down by the 4. 11, and those two men with him. And they've beenthere ever since!"

"Two men, Delia! I've only seen one. "

"Oh yes, there's another! Sergeant Hooper they call him; a short thicksetman with a black mustache. He buys two bottles of rum every week at the_Green Man_. And--one minute, please, Mr. Naylor--"

"I was only going to say that it looks to me as if this man Hooper were, or had been, a soldier. What do you think?"

"Never mind, Papa! Go on, Miss Wall. I'm interested. " This encouragementcame from Gertie Naylor, a pretty girl of seventeen who was consumingmuch tea, bread, and honey. 

"And since then the old gentleman and this Mr. Beaumaroy go to townregularly every week on Wednesdays! Now who are they, how did Mr. Saffronget hold of them, and what are they doing here? I'm at a loss, Anna. "

Apparently an _impasse_! And Mr. Naylor did not seem to assist matters byasking whether Miss Wall had kept a constant eye on the Agony Column. Mrs. Naylor took up her knitting and switched off to another topic. 

"Dr. Arkroyd's friend, Delia dear! What a charming girl she looks!"

"Friend, Anna? I didn't know that! A patient, I understand, anyhow. She'staking Valentine's beef juice. Of course they _do_ give that in drinkcases, but I should be sorry to think--"

"Drugs, more likely, " Mr. Naylor suavely interposed. Then he rose fromhis chair and began to pace slowly up and down the long room, looking athis beautiful pictures, his beautiful china, his beautiful chairs, allthe beautiful things that were his. His family took no notice of thisroving up and down; it was a habit, and was tacitly accepted as meaningthat he had, for the moment, had enough of the company, and even of hisown sallies at its expense. 

"I've asked Dr. Arkroyd to bring her over, Miss Walford, I mean, thefirst day it's fine enough for tennis, " Mrs. Naylor pursued. There was ahard court at Old Place, so that winter did not stop the game entirely. 

"What a name, too!"

"Walford? It's quite a good name, Delia. "

"No, no, Anna! Beaumaroy, of course. " Miss Wall was back at thelarger problem. 

"There's Alec's voice. He and the General are back from their golf. Ringfor another teapot, Gertie dear!"

The door opened, not Alec, but the General came in, and closed the doorcarefully behind him; it was obviously an act of precaution and notmerely a normal exercise of good manners. Then he walked up to hishostess and said, "It's not my fault, Anna. Alec would do it, though Ishook my head at him, behind the fellow's back. "

"What do you mean, General?" cried the hostess. Mr. Naylor, for his part, stopped roving. 

The door again! "Come in, Mr. Beaumaroy--here's tea. "

Mr. Beaumaroy obediently entered, in the wake of Captain Alec Naylor, whoduly presented him to Mrs. Naylor, adding that Beaumaroy had been kindenough to make the fourth in a game with the General, the Rector ofSprotsfield, and himself. "And he and the parson were too tough a nut forus, weren't they, sir?" he added to the General. 

Besides being an excellent officer and a capital fellow, Alec Naylor wasalso reputed to be one of the handsomest men in the Service; six footthree, very straight, very fair, with features as regular as any romantichero of them all, and eyes as blue. The honorable limp that at presentmarked his movements would, it was hoped, pass away. Even his own familywere often surprised into a new admiration of his physical perfections, remarking, one to the other, how Alec took the shine out of every otherman in the room. 

There was no shine, no external obvious shine, to take out of Mr. Beaumaroy, Miss Wall's puzzling, unaccounted-for Mr. Beaumaroy. The lightshowed him now more clearly than when Mary Arkroyd met him on the heathroad, but perhaps thereby did him no service. His features, thoughirregular, were not ugly or insignificant, but he wore a rather batteredaspect; there were deep lines running from the corners of his mouth, andcrowsfeet had started under the gray eyes which, in their turn, lookedmore skeptical than ardent, rather mocking than eager. Yet when hesmiled, his face became not merely pleasant, but confidentially pleasant;he seemed to smile especially to and for the person to whom he wastalking; and his voice was notably agreeable, soft and clear--the voiceof a high-bred man, but not exactly of a high-bred Englishman. There wasno accent definite enough to be called foreign, certainly not to beassigned to any particular race, but there was an exotic touch about hismanner of speech suggesting that, even if not that of a foreigner, it wasshaped and colored by the inflexions of foreign tongues. The hue of hisplentiful and curly hair, indistinguishable to Mary and Cynthia, nowstood revealed as neither black, nor red, nor auburn, nor brown, norgolden, but just, and rather surprisingly, a plain yellow, the color of acowslip or thereabouts. Altogether rather a rum-looking fellow! This hadbeen Alec Naylor's first remark when the Rector of Sprotsfield pointedhim out, as a possible fourth, at the golf club, and the rough justice ofthe description could not be denied. He, like Alec, bore his scars; thelittle finger of his right hand was amputated down to the knuckle. 

Yet, after all this description, in particularity if not otherwise worthyof a classic novelist, the thing yet remains that most struck observers. Mr. Hector Beaumaroy had an adorable candor of manner. He answeredquestions with innocent readiness and pellucid sincerity. It would beimpossible to think him guilty of a lie; ungenerous to suspect so much asa suppression of the truth. Even Mr. Naylor, hardened by five-and-thirtyyears' experience of what sailors will blandly swear to in collisioncases, was struck with the open candor of his bearing. 

"Yes, " he said. "Yes, Miss Wall, that's right, we go to town everyWednesday. No particular reason why it should be Wednesday, but oldgentlemen somehow do better--don't you think so?--with method andregular habits. "

"I'm sure you know what's best for Mr. Saffron, " said Delia. "You'veknown him a long time, haven't you?"

Mr. Naylor drew a little nearer and listened. The General had puthimself into the corner, a remote corner of the room, and sat there withan uneasy and rather glowering aspect. 

"Oh no, no!" answered Beaumaroy. "A matter of weeks only. But the dearold fellow seemed to take to me--a friend put us in touch originally. Iseem to be able to do just what he wants. "

"I hope your friend is not really ill, not seriously?" This time thequestion was Mrs. Naylor's, not Miss Delia's. 

"His health is really not so bad, but, " he gave a glance round thecompany, as though inviting their understanding, "he insists that he'snot the man he was. "

"Absurd!" smiled Naylor. "Not much older than I am, is he?"

"Only just turned seventy, I believe. But the idea's very persistent. "

"Hypochondria!" snapped Miss Delia. 

"Not altogether. I'm afraid there is a little real heart trouble. Dr. Irechester--"

"Oh, with Dr. Irechester, dear Mr. Beaumaroy, you're all right!"

Again Beaumaroy's glance--that glance of innocent appeal--ranged over thecompany (except the General, out of its reach). He seemed troubled andembarrassed. 

"A most accomplished man, evidently, and a friend of yours, of course. But, well, there it is, a mere fancy, of course, but unhappily my oldfriend doesn't take to him. He, he thinks that he's rather inquisitorial. A doctor's duty, I suppose--"

"Irechester's a sound man, a very sound man, " said Mr. Naylor. "And, after all one can ask almost any question if one does it tactfully, can'tone, Miss Wall?"

"As a matter of fact, he's only seen Mr. Saffron twice--he had a littlechill. But his manner, unfortunately, rather, er--alarmed--"

Gertie Naylor, with the directness of youth, propounded a solution of thedifficulty. "If you don't like Dr. Irechester--"

"Oh, it's not I who--"

"Why not have Mary?" Gertie made her suggestion eagerly. She was veryfond of Mary, who, from the height of age, wisdom and professionaldignity, had stooped to offer her an equal friendship. 

"She means Dr. Mary Arkroyd, " Mrs. Naylor explained. 

"Yes, I know, Mrs. Naylor, I know about Dr. Arkroyd. In fact, I know herby sight. But--"

"Perhaps you don't believe in women doctors?" Alec suggested. 

"It's not that. I've no prejudices. But the responsibility is on me, andI know very little of her; and, well to change one's doctor, it's ratherinvidious--"

"Oh, as to that, Irechester's a sensible man; he's got as much work as hewants, and as much money too. He won't resent an old man's fancy. "

"Well, I'd never thought of a change, but if you all suggest it--"Somehow it did seem as if they all, and not merely youthful Gertie hadsuggested it. "But I should rather like to know Dr. Arkroyd first. "

"Come and meet her here; that's very simple. She often comes to tennisand tea. We'll let you know the first time she's coming. "

Beaumaroy most cordially accepted the idea and the invitation. "Anyafternoon I shall be delighted, except Wednesdays. Wednesdays are sacred, aren't they, Miss Wall? London on Wednesdays for Mr. Saffron and me, andthe old brown bag!" He laughed in a quiet merriment. "That old bag's beenin a lot of places with me and has carried some queer cargoes. Now itjust goes to and fro, between here and town, with Mudie books. Must havebooks, living so much alone as we do!" He had risen as he spoke, andapproached Mrs. Naylor to take leave. 

She gave him her hand very cordially. "I don't suppose Mr. Saffron caresto meet people; but any spare time you have, Mr. Beaumaroy, we shall bedelighted to see you. "

Beaumaroy bowed as he thanked her, adding, "And I'm promised a chance ofmeeting Dr. Arkroyd before long?"

The promise was renewed and the visitor took his leave, declining Alec'soffer to "run him home" in the car. "The car might startle my oldfriend, " he pleaded. Alec saw him off, and returned to find the General, who had contrived to avoid more than a distant bow of farewell toBeaumaroy, standing on the hearthrug apparently in a state of someagitation. 

The envious years had refused to Major-General Punnit, C. B. --he was adistant cousin of Mrs. Naylor's--the privilege of serving his country inthe Great War. His career had lain mainly in India and was mostly behindhim even at the date of the South African War, in which, however, he haddone valuable work in one of the supply services. He as short, stout, honest, brave, shrewd, obstinate, and as full of prejudices, religious, political and personal as an egg is of meat. And all this time he hadbeen slowly and painfully recalling what his young friend Colonel Merman(the Colonel was young only relatively to the General) had told himabout Hector Beaumaroy. The name had struck on his memory the moment theRector pronounced it, but it had taken him a long while to "place it"accurately. However, now he had it pat; the conversation in the club cameback. He retailed it now to the company at Old Place. 

A pleasant fellow, Beaumaroy; socially a very agreeable fellow. And asfor courage, as brave as you like. Indeed he might have had letters afterhis name save for the fact that he--the Colonel--would never recommend aman unless his discipline was as good as his leading, and his conduct atthe base as praiseworthy as at the front. (Alec Naylor nodded hishandsome head in grave approval; his father looked a little discontented, as though he were swallowing unpalatable, though wholesome, food). Hiswhole idea--Beaumaroy's, that is--was to shield offenders, to preventthe punishment fitting the crime, even to console and countenance thewrongdoer. No sense of discipline, no moral sense, the Colonel had goneas far as that. Impossible to promote or to recommend for reward, almostimpossible to keep. Of course, if he had been caught young and putthrough the mill, it might have been different. "It _might_" the Colonelheavily underlined the possibility, but he came from Heaven knew where, after a life spent Heaven knew how. "And he seemed to know it himself, "the Colonel had said, thoughtfully rolling his port round in the glass. "Whenever I wigged him, he offered to go; said he'd chuck his commissionand enlist; said he'd be happier in the ranks. But I was weak, I couldn'tbear to do it. " After thus quoting his friend, the General added: "He wasweak, damned weak, and I told him so. "

"Of course he ought to have got rid of him, " said Alec. "Still, sir, there's nothing, er, disgraceful. "

"It seems hardly to have come to that, " the General admitted reluctantly. 

"It all rather makes me like him, " Gertie affirmed courageously. 

"I think that, on the whole, we may venture to know him in times ofpeace, " Mr. Naylor summed up. 

"That's your look out, " remarked the General. "I've warned you. You cando as you like. "

Delia Wall had sat silent through the story. Now she spoke up, and gotback to the real point:

"There's nothing in all that to show how he comes to be at Mr. Saffron's. "

The General shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, Saffron be hanged! He's not theBritish Army, " he said. 

CHAPTER III

MR. SAFFRON AT HOME

To put it plainly, Sergeant Hooper--he had been a Sergeant for a briefand precarious three weeks, but he used the title in civil life wheneverhe safely could, and he could at Inkston--Sergeant Hooper was avillainous-looking dog. Beaumaroy, fresh from the comely presences of OldPlace, unconscious of how the General had ripped up his character andrecord, pleasantly nursing a little project concerning Dr. Mary Arkroyd, had never been more forcibly struck with his protege's ill-favorednessthan when he arrived home on this same evening, and the Sergeant met himat the door. 

"By gad, Sergeant, " he observed pleasantly, "I don't think anybody couldbe such a rascal as you look. It's that faith that carries me through. "

The Sergeant helped him off with his coat. "It's some people'sstock-in-trade, " he remarked, "not to look a rascal like they really are, sir. " The "sir" stuck out of pure habit; it carried no real implicationof respect. 

"Meaning me!" laughed Beaumaroy. "How's the old man to-night?"

"Quiet enough. He's in the Tower there--been there an hour or more. "

The cottage door opened on to a narrow passage, with a staircase on oneside, and on the other a door leading to a small square parlor, cheerfully if cheaply furnished, and well lit by an oil lamp. A fireblazed on the hearth, and Beaumaroy sank into a "saddle-bag" armchairbeside it, with a sigh of comfort. The Sergeant had jerked his headtowards another door, on the right of the fireplace; it led to the Tower. Beaumaroy's eyes settled on it. 

"An hour or more, has he? Have you heard anything?"

"He was making a speech a little while back, that's all. "

"No more complaints and palpitations, or anything of that sort?"

"Not as I've heard. But he never says much to me. Mrs. Wiles gets thebenefit of his symptoms mostly. "

"You're not sympathetic, perhaps. "

During the talk Hooper had been to a cupboard and mixed a glass of whiskyand soda. He brought it to Beaumaroy and put it on a small table by him. Beaumaroy regarded his squat paunchy figure, red face, small eyes (asquint in one of them), and bulbous nose with a patient and benigntoleration. 

"Since you can't expect, Sergeant, to prepossess the judge and jury inyour favor, the instant you make your appearance in the box--"

"Here, what are you on to, sir?"

"It's the more important for you to have it clearly in your mind that weare laboring in the cause of humanity, freedom, and justice. Exactly likethe Allies in the late war, you know, Sergeant. Keep that in your mind, clinch it! He hasn't wanted you to do anything particular to-night, orasked for me?"

"No, sir. He's happy with--with what you call his playthings. "

"What are they but playthings?" asked Beaumaroy, tilting his glass to hislips with a smile perhaps a little wry. 

"Only I wish as you wouldn't talk about judges and juries, " the Sergeantcomplained. 

"I really don't know whether it's a civil or a criminal matter, or both, or neither, " Beaumaroy admitted candidly. "But what we do know, Sergeant, is that it provides us with excellent billets and rations. Moreover, athing that you certainly will not appreciate, it gratifies my taste forthe mysterious. "

"I hope there's a bit more coming from it than that, " said the Sergeant. "That is, if we stick together faithful, sir. "

"Oh, we shall! One thing puzzles me about you, Sergeant. I don't thinkI've mentioned it before. Sometimes you speak almost like an educatedman; at others your speech is, well, illiterate. "

"Well, sir, it's a sort of mixture of my mother; she was class, theblighter who come after my father, and the Board School--"

"Of course! What they call the educational ladder! That explains it. Bythe way, I'm thinking of changing our doctor. "

"Good job, too. I 'ate that Irechester. Stares at you, that chap does. "

"Does he stare at your eyes?'" asked Beaumaroy thoughtfully. 

"I don't know that he does at my eyes particularly. Nothing wrong with'em, is there?" The Sergeant sounded rather truculent. 

"Never mind that; but I fancied he stared at Mr. Saffron's. And I've readsomewhere, in some book or other, that doctors can tell, or guess, by theeyes. Well, that's only an idea. How does a lady doctor appeal to you, Sergeant?"

"I should be shy, " said the Sergeant, grinning. 

"Vulgar! vulgar!" Beaumaroy murmured. 

"That Dr. Mary Arkroyd?"

"I had thought of her. "

"She ought to be fair easy to kid. You 'ave notions sometimes, sir. "

Beaumaroy stretched out his legs, debonnair, well-rounded legs, to theseducing blaze of oak logs. 

"I haven't really a care in the world, " he said. 

The Sergeant's reply, or comment, had a disconcerting ring. "And you'resure of 'Eaven? That's what the bloke always says to the 'angman. "

"I've no intention of being a murderer, Sergeant. " Beaumaroy's eyebrowswere raised in gentle protest. 

"Once you're in with a job, you never know, " his retainer observeddarkly. 

Beaumaroy laughed. "Oh, go to the devil! and mix me another whisky. " Yeta vague uneasiness showed itself on his face; he looked across the roomat the evil-shaped man handling the bottles in the cupboard. He made onequeer, restless movement of his arms, as though to free himself. Then, in a moment, he sprang from his chair, a glad kindly smile illuminatinghis face; he bowed in a very courtly fashion, exclaiming, "Ah! here youare, sir? And all well, I hope?"

Mr. Saffron had entered from the door leading to the Tower, carefullyclosing it after him. Hooper's hand went up to his forehead in the ghostof a military salute, but a sneering smile persisted on his lips. Theonly notice Mr. Saffron took of him was a jerk of the head towards thepassage, an abrupt and ungracious dismissal, which, however, the Sergeantsilently accepted and stumped out. The greeting reserved for Beaumaroywas vastly different. Beaumaroy's own cordiality was more thanreciprocated. It seemed impossible to doubt that a genuine affectionexisted between the elder and the younger man, though the latter had notthought fit to mention the fact to Sergeant Hooper. 

"A tiring day, my dear Hector, very tiring. I've transacted a lot ofbusiness. But never mind that, it will keep. What of your doings?"

Having sat the old man in the big chair by the fire, Beaumaroy saunteredacross to the door of the Tower, locked it, and put the key in hispocket. Then he returned to the fire and, standing in front of it, gave alively and detailed account of his visit to Old Place. 

"They appear to be pleasant people, very pleasant. I should like to knowthem, if it was not desirable for me to live an entirely secluded life. "Mr. Saffron's speech was very distinct and clean cut, rather rapid, highin tone but not disagreeable. "You make pure fun of this Miss Wall, asyou do of so many things, Hector, but--" he smiled up atBeaumaroy--"inquisitiveness is not our favorite sin just now!"

"She's so indiscriminately inquisitive that it's a thousand to oneagainst her really finding out anything of importance, sir. " Beaumaroysometimes addressed his employer as "Mr. Saffron, " but much more commonlyhe used the respectful "sir. " "I think I'm equal to putting Miss DeliaWall off. "

"Still she noticed our weekly journeys!"

"Half Inkston goes to town every day, sir, and the rest three times, twice, or once a week. I called her particular attention to the bag, andtold her it was for books from Mudie's!"

"Positive statements like that are a mistake. " Mr. Saffron spoke with asudden sharpness, in pointed rebuke. "If I form a right idea of thatwoman, she's quite capable of going to Mudie's to ask about us. "

"By Jove, you're right, sir, and I was wrong. We'd better go and take outa subscription tomorrow; she'll hardly go so far as to ask the date westarted it. "

"Yes, let that be done. And, remember, no unnecessary talk. " His tonegrew milder, as though he were mollified by Beaumaroy's ready submissionto his reproof. "We have some places to call at to-morrow, have we?"

"They said they'd have some useful addresses ready for us, sir. I'mafraid, though, that we're exhausting the most obvious resources. "

"Still, I hope for a few more good consignments. I suppose you remainconfident that the Sergeant has no suspicions as regards that particularaspect of the matter?"

"I'm sure of it, up to the present. Of course there might be an accident, but with him and Mrs. Wiles both off the premises at night, it's hardlylikely; and I never let the bag out of my sight while it's in the roomwith them, hardly out of my hand. "

"I should like to trust him, but it's hardly fair to put such a strain onhis loyalty. "

"Much safer not, sir, as long as we're not driven to it. After allthough, I believe the fellow is out to redeem his character, his isn't anunblemished record. "

"But the work, the physical labor, entailed on you, Hector!"

"Make yourself easy about that, sir. I'm as strong as a horse. The work'sgood for me. Remember I've had four years' service. "

Mr. Saffron smiled pensively. "It would have been funny if we'd met overthere! You and I!"

"It would, sir, " laughed Beaumaroy. "But that could hardly have happenedwithout some very curious accident. "

The old man harked back. "Yes, a few more good consignments, and we canthink in earnest of your start. " He was warming his hands, thin yellowishhands, at the fire now, and his gaze was directed into it. Looking downon him, Beaumaroy allowed a smile to appear on his lips, a queer smile, which seemed to be compounded of affection, pity, and amusement. 

"The difficulties there remain considerable for the present, " heremarked. 

"They must be overcome. " Once again the old man's voice became sharp andeven dictatorial. 

"They shall be, sir, depend on it. " Beaumaroy's air was suddenlyconfident, almost braggart. Mr. Saffron nodded approvingly. "But, anyhow, I can't very well start till favorable news comes from--"

"Hush!" There was a knock on the door. 

"Mrs. Wiles, to lay the table, I suppose. "

"Yes! Come in!" He added hastily to Beaumaroy, in an undertone. "Yes, wemust wait for that. "

Mrs. Wiles entered as he spoke. She was a colorless, negative kind of awoman, fair, fat, flabby, and forty or thereabouts. She had been theill-used slave of a local carpenter, now deceased by reason ofover-drinking; her nature was to be the slave of the nearest malecreature, not from affection (her affections were anemic) but rather, asit seemed, from an instinctive desire to shuffle off from herself anyresponsibility. But, at all events, she was entirely free from Miss DeliaWall's proclivity. 

Mr. Saffron rose. "I'll go and wash my hands. We'll dine just as we are, Hector. " Beaumaroy opened the door for him; he acknowledged the attentionwith a little nod, and passed out to the staircase in the narrow passage. Beaumaroy appeared to consider himself absolved from any preparation, forhe returned to the big chair and, sinking into it, lit another cigarette. Meanwhile Mrs. Wiles laid the table, and presently Sergeant Hooperappeared with a bottle of golden-tinted wine. 

"That, at least, is the real stuff, " thought Beaumaroy as he eyed it inpleasurable anticipation. "Where the dear old man got it, I don't know;but in itself it's almost worth all the racket. "

And really, in its present stages, so far as its present developmentswent, the "racket" pleased him. It amused his active brain, besides (ashe had said to Mr. Saffron) exercising his active body, though certainlyin a rather grotesque and bizarre fashion. The attraction of it wentdeeper than that. It appealed to some of those tendencies and impulses ofhis character which had earned such heavy censure from Major-GeneralPunnit and had produced so grave an expression on Captain Alec's handsomeface without, however, being, even in that officer's exacting judgment, disgraceful. And, finally, there was the lure of unexploredpossibilities, not only material and external, but psychological not onlytouching what others might do or what might happen to them, but raisingalso speculation as to what he might do, or what might happen to him athis own hands; for example, how far he would flout authority, defy theusual, and deny the accepted. The love of rebellion, of making foolishthe wisdom of the wise, of hampering the orderly and inexorable treatmentof people just as, according to the best modern lights, they ought to betreated, this lawless love was strong in Beaumaroy. Not as a principle;it was the stronger for being an instinct, a wayward instinct that mightcarry him, he scarce knew where. 

Mr. Saffron came back, greeted again by Beaumaroy's courtly bow andHooper's vaguely reminiscent but slovenly military salute. The pair satdown to a homely beefsteak; but the golden tinted wine gurgled into theirglasses. But, before they fell to, there was a little incident. A sudden, but fierce, anger seized old Mr. Saffron. In his harshest tones he rappedout at the Sergeant, "My knife! You careless scoundrel, you haven't givenme my knife!"

Beaumaroy sprang to his feet with a muttered exclamation: "It's all myfault, sir. I forgot to give it to Hooper. I always lock it up when I goout. " He went to a little oak sideboard and unlocked a drawer, then cameback to Mr. Saffron's side. "Here it is, and I humbly apologize. "

"Very good! very good!" said the old man testily, as he took theimplement. 

"Ain't anybody going to apologize to me?" asked Hooper, scowling. 

"Oh, get out, Sergeant!" said Beaumaroy good-naturedly. "We can't botherabout your finer feelings. " He glanced anxiously at Mr. Saffron. "Allright now, aren't you, sir?" he inquired. 

Mr. Saffron drank his glass of wine. "I am perhaps too sensitive toany kind of inattention; but it's not wholly unnatural in myposition, Hector. "

"We both desire to be attentive and respectful, sir. Don't we, Hooper?"

"Oh my, yes!" grinned the Sergeant, showing his very ugly teeth. "It'sonly owing that we 'aven't quite been brought up in royal palaces. "

CHAPTER IV

PROFESSIONAL ETIQUETTE

Dr. Irechester was a man of considerable attainments and an active, though not very persevering, intellect. He was widely read both inprofessional and general literature, but had shrunk from the arduous pathof specialization. And he shrank even more from the drudgery of hiscalling. He had private means, inherited in middle life; his wife had arespectable portion; there was, then, nothing in his circumstances tothwart his tastes and tendencies. He had soon come to see in the late Dr. Evans a means of relief rather than a threat of rivalry; even more easilyhe slipped into the same way of regarding Mary Arkroyd, helped thereto bya lingering feeling that, after all and in spite of all, when it came toreally serious cases, a woman could not, at best, play more than secondfiddle. So, as has been seen, he patronized and encouraged Mary; he toldhimself that, when she had thoroughly proved her capacity--within thelimits which he ascribed to it--to take her into partnership would not bea bad arrangement. True, he could pretty well choose his patients now;but as senior partner he would be able to do it completely. It waswell-nigh inconceivable that, for example, the Naylors--greatfriends--should ever leave him; but he would like to be quite secure ofthe pick of new patients, some of whom might, through ignorance or whim, call in Mary. There was old Saffron, for instance. He was, inIrechester's private opinion, or, perhaps it should be said in hisprivate suspicions, an interesting case; yet, just for that reason, unreliable, and evidently ready to take offense. It was because of casesof that kind that he contemplated offering partnership to Mary; he wouldboth be sure of keeping them and able to devote himself to them. 

But his wife laughed at Mary, or at that development of the feministmovement which had produced her and so many other more startlingphenomena. The Doctor was fond of his wife, a sprightly, would-befashionable, still very pretty woman. But her laughter, and the opinionit represented, were to him the merest crackling of thorns under a pot. 

The fine afternoon had come, a few days before Christmas, and he sat, side by side with Mr. Naylor, both warmly wrapped in coats and rugs, watching the lawn tennis at Old Place. Doctor Mary and Beaumaroy wereplaying together, the latter accustoming himself to a finger short ingripping his racquet, against Cynthia and Captain Alec. The Captain couldnot yet cover the court in his old fashion, but his height and reach madehim formidable at the net, and Cynthia was very active. Ten days ofInkston air had made a vast difference to Cynthia. And something else washelping. It required no common loyalty to lost causes and ruinedideals--it is surely not harsh to indicate Captain Cranster by theseterms?--to resist Alec Naylor. In fact he had almost taken Cynthia'sbreath away at their first meeting; she thought that she had never seenanything quite so magnificent, or--all round and from all points of view, so romantic; his stature, handsomeness, limp, renown. Who can besurprised at it? Moreover, he was modest and simple, and no fool withinthe bounds of his experience. 

"She seems a nice little girl, that, and uncommon pretty, " Naylorremarked. 

"Yes, but he's a queer fish, I fancy, " the Doctor answered, also ratherabsently. Their minds were not running on parallel lines. 

"My boy a queer fish?" Naylor expostulated humorously. 

Irechester smiled; his lips shut close and tight, his smile was quick butnarrow. "You're matchmaking. I was diagnosing, " he said. 

Naylor apologized. "I've a desperate instinct to fit all these youngfellows up with mates as soon as possible. Isn't it only fair?"

"And also extremely expedient. But it's the sort of thing you can leaveto them, can't you?"

"As to Beaumaroy--I suppose you meant him, not Alec--I think you musthave been talking to old Tom Punnit--or, rather, hearing him talk. "

"Punnit's general view is sound enough, I think, as to the man'scharacteristics; but he doesn't appreciate his cunning. "

"Cunning?" Naylor was openly astonished. "He doesn't strike me as acunning man, not in the least. "

"Possibly, possibly, I say--not in his ends, but in his means andexpedients. That's my view. I just put it on record, Naylor. I never liketalking too much about my cases. "

"Beaumaroy's not your patient, is he?"

"His employer, I suppose he's his employer, Saffron is. Well, I thoughtit advisable to see Saffron alone. I tried to. Saffron was reluctant, this man here openly against it. Next time I shall insist. Because Ithink, mind you, at present I no more than think, that there's more inSaffron's case than meets the eye. "

Naylor glanced at him, smiling. "You fellows are always startinghares, " he said. 

"Game and set!" cried Captain Alec, and--to his partner--"Thank you verymuch for carrying a cripple. "

But Irechester's attention remained fixed on Beaumaroy, and consequentlyon Doctor Mary, for the partners did not separate at the end of theirgame, but, after putting on their coats, began to walk up and downtogether on the other side of the court, in animated conversation, thoughBeaumaroy did most of the talking, Mary listening in her usual grave andcomposed manner. Now and then a word or two reached Irechester's ears, old Naylor seemed to have fallen into a reverie over his cigar, and itmust be confessed that he took no pains not to overhear. Once at least heplainly heard "Saffron" from Beaumaroy; he thought that the same lipsspoke his own name, and he was sure that Doctor Mary's did. Beaumaroy wasspeaking rather urgently, and making gestures with his hands; it seemedas though he were appealing to his companion in some difficulty orperplexity. Irechester's mouth was severely compressed and his glancesuspicious as he watched. 

The scene was ended by Gertie Naylor calling these laggards in to tea, towhich meal the rest of the company had already betaken itself. 

At the tea table they found General Punnit discoursing on war, and giving"idealists" what idealists usually get. The General believed in war; hepressed the biological argument, did not flinch when Mr. Naylor dubbedhim the "British Bernhardi, " and invoked the support of "these medicalgentleman" (this with a smile at Doctor Mary's expense) for his point ofview. War tested, proved, braced, hardened; it was nature's crucible; itwas the antidote to softness and sentimentality; it was the vindicationof the strong, the elimination of the weak. 

"I suppose there's a lot in all that, sir, " said Alec Naylor, "but Idon't think the effect on one's character is always what you say. I thinkI've come out of this awful business a good deal softer than I went in. "He laughed in an apologetic way. "More, more sentimental, if you like, with more feeling, don't you know, for human life, and suffering, and soon. I've seen a great many men killed, but the sight hasn't made me anymore ready to kill men. In fact, quite the reverse. " He smiled again. "Really sometimes, for a row of pins, I'd have turned conscientiousobjector. "

Mrs. Naylor looked apprehensively at the General: would he explode? No, he took it quite quietly. "You're a man who can afford to say it, Alec, "he remarked, with a nod that was almost approving. 

Naylor looked affectionately at his son and turned to Beaumaroy. "Andwhat's the war done to you?" he asked. And this question did draw fromthe General, if not an explosion, at least a rather contemptuous smile:Beaumaroy had earned no right to express opinions!

But express one he did, and with his habitual air of candor. "I believeit's destroyed every, scruple I ever had!"

"Mr. Beaumaroy!" exclaimed his hostess, scandalized; while the twogirls, Cynthia and Gertie, laughed. 

"I mean it. Can you see human life treated as dirt, absolutely as cheapas dirt, for three years, and come out thinking it worth anything? Canyou fight for your own hand, right or wrong? Oh, yes, right or wrong, inthe end, and it's no good blinking it. Can you do that for three years inwar, and then hesitate to fight for your own hand, right or wrong, inpeace? Who really cares for right or wrong, anyhow?"

A pause ensued--rather an uncomfortable pause. There was a raw sincerityin Beaumaroy's utterance that made it a challenge. 

"I honestly think we did care about the rights and wrongs--we inEngland, " said Naylor. 

"That was certainly so at the beginning, " Irechester agreed. 

Beaumaroy took him up smartly. "Aye, at the beginning. But what aboutwhen our blood got up? What then? Would we, in our hearts, rather havebeen right and got a licking, or wrong and given one?"

"A searching question!" mused old Naylor. "What say you, Tom Punnit?"

"It never occurred to me to put the question, " the General answeredbrusquely. 

"May I ask why not, sir?" said Beaumaroy respectfully. 

"Because I believed in God. I knew that we were right, and I knew that weshould win. "

"Are we in theology now, or still in biology?" asked Irechester, rather acidly. 

"You're getting out of my 'depth anyhow, " smiled Mrs. Naylor. "And I'msure the girls must be bewildered. "

"Mamma, I've done biology!"

"And many people think they've done theology!" chuckled Naylor. "Done itcompletely!"

"I've raised a pretty argument!" said Beaumaroy, smiling. "I'm sorry! Ionly meant to answer your question about the effect the whole thing hashad on myself. "

"Even your answer to that was pretty startling, Mr. Beaumaroy, " saidDoctor Mary, smiling too. "You gave us to understand that it hadobliterated for you all distinctions of right and wrong, didn't you?"

"Did I go as far as that?" he laughed. "Then I'm open to the remark thatthey can't have been very strong at first. "

"Now don't destroy the general interest of your thesis, " Naylor implored. "It's quite likely that yours is a case as common as Alec's, or evencommoner. 'A brutal and licentious soldiery, ' isn't that a classic phrasein our histories? All the same, I fancy Mr. Beaumaroy does himself lessthan justice. " He laughed. "We shall be able to judge of that when weknow him better. "

"At all events, Miss Gertie, look out that I don't fake the score attennis!" said Beaumaroy. 

"A man might be capable of murder, but not capable of that, " said Alec. 

"A truly British sentiment!" cried his father. "Tom, we have got back tothe national ideals. "

The discussion ended in laughter, and the talk turned to lighter matters;but, as Mary Arkroyd drove Cynthia home across the heath, her thoughtsreturned to it. The two men, the two soldiers, seemed to have given anauthentic account of what their experience had done to them. Both, as shesaw the case, had been moved to pity, horror, and indignation that suchthings should be done, or should have to be done, in the world. Afterthat point came the divergence. The higher nature had been raised, thelower debased; Alec Naylor's sympathies had been sharpened andsensitized; Beaumaroy's blunted. Where the one had found ideals andincentives, the other found despair--a despair that issued in excuses anddenied high standards. And the finer mind belonged to the finer soldier;that she knew, for Gertie had told her General Punnit's story, and, however much she might discount it as the tale of an elderly martinet, yet it stood for something, for something that could never be attributedto Alec Naylor. 

And yet, for her mind traveled back to her earlier talk by the tenniscourt, Beaumaroy had a conscience, had feelings. He was fond of old Mr. Saffron; he felt a responsibility for him, felt it, indeed, keenly. Orwas he, under all that seeming openness, a consummate hypocrite? Did hevalue Mr. Saffron only as a milk cow, the doting giver of a largesalary? Was his only desire to humor him, keep him in good health andtemper, and use him to his own profit? A puzzling man, but, at allevents, cutting a poor figure beside Alec Naylor, about whom there couldcircle no clouds of doubt. Doctor Mary's learning and gravity did notprevent her from drawing a very heroic and rather romantic figure ofCaptain Alec--notwithstanding that she sometimes found him rather hardto talk to. 

She felt Cynthia's arm steal around her waist, and Cynthia said softly, "I did enjoy my afternoon. Can we go again soon, Mary?"

Mary glanced at her. Cynthia laughed and blushed. "Isn't he splendid?"Cynthia murmured. "But I don't like Mr. Beaumaroy, do you?"

"I say yes to the first question, but I'm not quite ready to answer thesecond, " said Mary with a laugh. 

Three days later, on Christmas Eve, one whom Jeanne, who caught sight ofhim in the hall, described as being all there was possible of ugliness, delivered (with a request for an immediate answer) the following note forMary Arkroyd:

DEAR DR. ARKROYD:

Mr. Saffron is unwell, and I have insisted that he must see a doctor. Somuch he has yielded, after a fight! But nothing will induce him to seeDr. Irechester again. On this point I tried to reason with him, but invain. He is obstinate and resolved. I am afraid that I am putting you ina difficult and disagreeable position, but it seems to me that I have noalternative but to ask you to call on him professionally. I hope that Dr. Irechester will not be hurt by a whim which is, no doubt, itself merely asymptom of disordered nerves, for Dr. Irechester has been most attentiveand very successful hitherto in dealing with the dear old gentleman. Butmy first duty is to Mr. Saffron. If it will ease matters at all, prayhold yourself at liberty to show this note to Dr. Irechester. May I begyou to be kind enough to call at your earliest convenience, though it is, alas, a rough evening to ask you to come out?

Yours very faithfully, HECTOR BEAUMAROY. 

"How very awkward!" exclaimed Mary. She had prided herself on arigorous abstention from "poaching"; she fancied that men were veryready to accuse women of not "playing the game" and had been resolvedto give no color to such an accusation. "Mr. Saffron has sent forme--professionally. He's ill, it seems, " she said to Cynthia. 

"Why shouldn't he?"

"Because he is a patient of Dr. Irechester, not a patient of mine. "

"But people often change their doctors, don't they? He thinks you'recleverer, I suppose, and I expect you are really. "

There was no use in expounding professional etiquette to Cynthia. Maryhad to decide the point for herself, and quickly; the old man might beseriously ill. Beaumaroy had said at the Naylors' that his attacks weresometimes alarming. 

Suddenly she recollected that he had also seemed to hint that they weremore alarming than Irechester appeared to appreciate; she had not takenmuch notice of that hint at the time, but now it recurred to her verydistinctly. There was no suggestion of the sort in Beaumaroy's letter. Beaumaroy had written a letter that could be shown to Irechester! Wasthat dishonesty, or only a pardonable diplomacy?

"I suppose I must go, and explain to Dr. Irechester afterwards. " She rangthe bell, to recall the maid, and gave her answer. "Say I will be roundas soon as possible. Is the messenger walking?"

"He's got a bicycle, Miss. "

"All right. I shall be there almost as soon as he is. "

She seemed to have no alternative, just as Beaumaroy had none. Yet whileshe put on her mackintosh, it was very wet and misty, got out her car, and lit her lamps, her face was still fretful and her mind disturbed. Fornow, as she looked back on it, Beaumaroy's conversation with her at OldPlace seemed just a prelude to this summons, and meant to prepare her forit. Perhaps that too was pardonable diplomacy, and no reference to itcould be expected in a letter which she was at liberty to show to Dr. Irechester. She wondered, uncomfortably, how Irechester would take it. 

CHAPTER V

A FAMILIAR IMPLEMENT

As Mary brought her car to a stand at the gate of the little front gardenof Tower Cottage, she saw, through the mist, Beaumaroy's corrugated face;he was standing in the doorway, and the light in the passage revealed it. It seemed to her to wear a triumphant impish look, but this vanished ashe advanced to meet her, relieved her of the neat black handbag which shealways carried with her on her visits, and suggested gravely that sheshould at once go upstairs and see her patient. 

"He's quieter now, " he said. "The mere news that you were coming had asoothing effect. Let me show you the way. " He led her upstairs and into asmall room on the first floor, nakedly furnished with necessities, butwith a cheery fire blazing in the grate. 

Old Mr. Saffron lay in bed, propped up by pillows. His silver hairstrayed from under a nightcap; he wore a light blue bedroom jacket; itscolor matched that of his restless eyes; his arms were under the clothesfrom the elbows down. He was rather flushed, but did not look seriouslyill, and greeted Doctor Mary with dignified composure. 

"I'll see Dr. Arkroyd alone, Hector. " Beaumaroy gave the slightest littlejerk of his head, and the old man added quickly, "I am sure of myself, quite sure. "

The phrase sounded rather an odd one to Mary, but Beaumaroy accepted theassurance with a nod: "All right, I'll wait downstairs, sir. I hopeyou'll bring me a good account of him, Doctor. " So he left Mary to makeher examination; going downstairs, he shook his head once, pursed up hislips, and then smiled doubtfully, as a man may do when he has made up hismind to take a chance. 

When Mary rejoined him, she asked for pen and paper, wrote aprescription, and requested that Beaumaroy's man should take it to thechemist's. He went out, to give it to the Sergeant, and, when he cameback, found her seated in the big chair by the fire. 

"The present little attack is nothing, Mr. Beaumaroy, " she said. "Stomachic--with a little fever; if he takes what I've prescribed, heought to be all right in the morning. But I suppose you know that thereis valvular disease--quite definite? Didn't Dr. Irechester tell you?"

"Yes; but he said there was no particular--no immediate danger. "

"If he's kept quiet and free from worry. Didn't he advise that?"

"Yes, " Beaumaroy admitted, "he did. That's the only thing you find wrongwith him, Doctor?"

Beaumaroy was standing on the far side of the table, his finger-tipsresting lightly on it. He looked across at Mary with eyes candidlyinquiring. 

"I've found nothing else so far. I suppose he's got nothing toworry him?"

"Not really, I think. He fusses a bit about his affairs. " He smiled. "Wego to London every week to fuss about his affairs; he's always changinghis investments, taking his money out of one thing and putting it inanother, you know. Old people get like that sometimes, don't they? I'm anovice at that kind of thing, never having had any money to play with;but I'm bound to say that he seems to know very well what he's about. "

"Do you know anything of his history or his people? Has he anyrelations?"

"I know very little. I don't think he has any, any real relations, so tospeak. There are, I believe, some cousins, distant cousins, whom hehates. In fact, a lonely old bachelor, Dr. Arkroyd. "

Mary gave a little laugh and became less professional. "He's rather anold dear! He uses funny stately phrases. He said I might speak quiteopenly to you, as you were closely attached to his person!"

"Sounds rather like a newspaper, doesn't it? He does talk like thatsometimes. " Beaumaroy moved round the table, came close to the fire, andstood there, smiling down at Mary. 

"He's very fond of you, I think, " she went on. 

"He reposes entire confidence in me, " said Beaumaroy, with a touch ofassumed pompousness. 

"Those were his very words!" cried Mary, laughing again. "And he said itjust in that way! How clever of you to guess!"

"Not so very. He says it to me six times a week. "

Mary had risen, about to take her leave, but to her surprise Beaumaroywent on quickly, with one of his confidential smiles, "And now I'm goingto show you that I have the utmost confidence in you. Please sit downagain, Dr. Arkroyd. The matter concerns your patient just as much asmyself, or I wouldn't trouble you with it, at any rate I shouldn'tventure to so early in our acquaintance. I want you to consider yourselfas Mr. Saffron's medical adviser, and, also, to try to imagine yourselfmy friend. "

"I've every inclination to be your friend, but I hardly know you, Mr. Beaumaroy. "

"And feel a few doubts about me? From what you've heard from myself, andperhaps from others?"

The wind swished outside; save for that, the little room seemed verystill. The professional character of the interview did not save it, forMary Arkroyd, from a sudden and rather unwelcome sense of intimacy, of anintimacy thrust upon her, though not so much by her companion as bycircumstances. She answered rather stiffly, "Perhaps I have some doubts. "

"You detect, very acutely, that I have a great influence over Mr. Saffron. You ask, very properly, whether he has relations. I think youthrew out a feeler about his money affairs, whether he had anything toworry about was your phrase, wasn't it? Am I misinterpreting what was inyour mind?"

As he spoke, he offered her a cigarette from a box on the mantelpiece. She took one and lit it at the top of the lamp-chimney; then she satdown again in the big chair; she had not accepted his earlier invitationto resume her seat. 

"It was proper for me to put those questions, Mr. Beaumaroy. Mr. Saffronis not a sound man, and he's old. In normal conditions his relationsshould at least be warned of the position. "

"Exactly, " Beaumaroy assented with an appearance of eagerness. "But hehates them. Any suggestion that they have any sort of claim on himraises strong resentment in him. I've known old men, old moneyed men, like that before, and no doubt you have. Well now, you'll begin to seethe difficulty of my position. I'll put the case to you quite bluntly. Suppose Mr. Saffron, having this liking for me, this confidence in me, living here with me alone, except for servants; being, as one might say, exposed to my influence; suppose he took it into his head to make a willin my favor, to leave me all his money. It's quite a considerable sum, so far as our Wednesday doings enable me to judge. Suppose thathappened, how should I stand in your opinion, Dr. Arkroyd? But wait amoment still. Suppose that my career has not been very, well, resplendent; that my army record is only so-so; that I've devoted myselfto him with remarkable assiduity, as in fact I have; that I might becalled, quite plausibly, an adventurer. Well, propounding that will, howshould I stand before the world and, if necessary (he shrugged hisshoulders), the Court?"

Mary sat silent for a moment or two. Beaumaroy knelt down by the fire, rearranged the logs of wood which were smouldering there, and put on acouple more. From that position, looking into the grate, he added, "And the change of doctors? It was he, of course, who insisted on it, but I can see a clever lawyer using that against me too. Can't you, Dr. Arkroyd?"

"I'm sure I wish you hadn't had to make the change!" exclaimed Mary. 

"So do I; though, mind you, I'm not pretending that Irechester is afavorite of mine, any more than he is of my old friend's. Still, there itis. I've no right, perhaps, to press my question, but your opinion wouldbe of real value to me. "

"I see no reason to think that he's not quite competent to make a will, "said Doctor Mary. "And no real reason why he shouldn't prefer you todistant relations whom he dislikes. "

"Ah, no real reason; that's what you say! You mean that people wouldimpute--"

Mary Arkroyd had her limitations--of experience, of knowledge, ofintuition. But she did not lack courage. 

"I have given you my professional opinion. It is that, so far as I see, Mr. Saffron is of perfectly sound understanding, and capable of making avalid will. You did me the honor--"

"No, no!" he interrupted in a low but rather strangely vehement protest. "I begged the favor--"

"As you like! The favor then, of asking me to give you my opinion as yourfriend, as well as my view as Mr. Saffron's doctor. "

Beaumaroy did not rise from his knees, but turned his face towards her;the logs had blazed up, and his eyes looked curiously bright in theglare, themselves, as it were, afire. 

"In my opinion a man of sensitive honor would prefer that that willshould not be made, Mr. Beaumaroy, " said Mary steadily. 

Beaumaroy appeared to consider. "I'm a bit posed by that point of view, Dr. Arkroyd, " he said at last, "Either the old man's sane--_composmentis, _ don't you call it?--or he isn't. If he is--"

"I know. But I feel that way about it. "

"You'd have to give evidence for me!" He raised his brows andsmiled at her. 

"There can be undue influence without actual want of mentalcompetence, I think. "

"I don't know whether my influence is undue. I believe I'm the onlycreature alive who cares twopence for the poor old gentleman. "

"I know! I know! Mr. Beaumaroy, your position is very difficult. I seethat. It really is. But, would you take the money for yourself? Aren'tyou--well, rather in the position of a trustee?"

"Who for? The hated cousins? What's the reason in that?"

"They may be very good people really. Old men take fancies, as you saidyourself. And they may have built on--"

"Stepping into a dead man's shoes? I dare say. Why mayn't I build on ittoo? Why not my hand against the other fellow's?"

"That's what you learnt from the war! You said so--at Old Place. CaptainNaylor said something different. "

"Suppose Alec Naylor and I, a hero and a damaged article, " he smiled atMary, and she smiled back with a sudden enjoyment of the humorous yetbitter tang in his voice, "loved the same woman, and I had a chance ofher. Am I to give it up?"

"Really we're getting a long way from medicine, Mr. Beaumaroy!"

"Oh, you're a general practitioner! Wise on all subjects under heaven!Conceive yourself hesitating between him and me--"

Mary laughed frankly. "How absurd you are! If you must go on talking, talk seriously. "

"But why am I absurd?"

"Because, if I were a marrying woman, which I'm not, I shouldn't hesitatebetween you and Captain Naylor, not for a minute. "

"You'd jump at me?"

Laughing again, his eyes had now a schoolboy merriment in them, Mary rosefrom the big chair. "At him, if I'm not being impolite, Mr. Beaumaroy. "

They stood face to face. For the first time for several years--Mary'sgirlhood had not been altogether empty of sentimental episodes--sheblushed under a man's glance, because it was a man's. At this event, ofwhich she was acutely conscious and at which she was intensely irritated, she drew herself up, with an attempt to return to her strictlyprofessional manner. 

"I don't find you the least impolite, Dr. Arkroyd, " said Beaumaroy. 

It was impudent, yet gay, dexterous, and elusive enough to avoid reproof. With no more than a little shake of her head and a light yet embarrassedlaugh, Mary moved toward the door, her way lying between the table and anold oak sideboard, which stood against the wall. Some plates, knives, andother articles of the table lay strewn, none too tidily, about it. Beaumaroy followed her, smiling complacently, his hands in his pockets. 

Suddenly Mary came to a stop and pointed with her finger at thesideboard, turning her face towards her companion. At the same instantBeaumaroy's right hand shot out from his pocket towards the sideboard, asthough to snatch up something from it. Then he drew the hand as swiftlyback again; but his eyes watched Mary's with an alert and suspiciousgaze. That was for a second only; then his face resumed its amused andnonchalant expression. But the movement of the hand and the look of theeyes had not escaped Mary's attention; her voice betrayed some surpriseas she said:

"It's only that I just happened to notice that combination knife-and-forklying there, and I wondered who--"

The article in question lay among some half-dozen ordinary knives andforks. It was of a kind quite familiar to Doctor Mary from her hospitalexperience, a fork on one side, a knife-blade on the other; an implementmade for people who could command the use of only one hand. 

"Surely you've noticed my hand?" He drew his right hand again from thepocket to which he had so quickly returned it. "I used to use that inhospital, when I was bandaged up. But that's a long while ago now, and Ican't think why Hooper's left it lying there. "

The account was plausible, and entirely the same might now be said of hisface and manner. But Mary had seen the dart of his hand and the suddenalertness in his eyes. Her own rested on him for a moment with inquiry, for the first time with a hint of distrust. "I see!" she murmuredvaguely, and, turning away from him, pursued her way to the door. Beaumaroy followed her with a queer smile on his lips; he shrugged hisshoulders once, very slightly. 

A constraint had fallen on Mary. She allowed herself to be escorted tothe car and helped into it in silence. Beaumaroy made no effort to forcethe talk, possibly by reason of the presence of Sergeant Hooper, who hadarrived back from the chemist's with the medicine for Mr. Saffron just asMary and Beaumaroy came out of the hall door. He stood by his bicycle, drawing just a little aside to let them pass, but not far enough toprevent the light from the passage showing up his ill-favoredcountenance. 

"Well, good-bye, Dr. Arkroyd. I'll see how he is to-morrow, and askyou to be kind enough to call again, if it seems advisable. And athousand thanks. "

"Good-night, Mr. Beaumaroy. "

She started the car. Beaumaroy walked back to the hall door. Mary glancedbehind her once, and saw him standing by it, again framed by the lightbehind him, as she had seen him on her arrival. But, this time, withinthe four corners of the same frame was included the forbidding visage ofSergeant Hooper. 

Beaumaroy returned to the fire in the parlor; Hooper, leaving his bicyclein the passage, followed him into the room and put the medicine bottleon the table. Smiling at him, Beaumaroy pointed at the combinationknife-and-fork. 

"Is it your fault or mine that that damned thing's lying there?" heasked. 

"Yours, " answered the Sergeant without hesitation and with his habitualsurliness. "I cleaned it and put it out for you to lock away, as usual. Suppose you went and forgot it, sir!"

Beaumaroy shook his head in self-condemnation and a humorous dismay. "That's it! I went and forgot it, Sergeant. And I think, I rather think, that Doctor Mary smells a rat, though she is, at present, far fromguessing the color of the animal!"

The words sounded scornful; they were spoken for the Sergeant as well asfor himself. He was looking amused and kindly, even rather tenderlyamused; as though liking and pity were the emotions which most activelysurvived his first private conversation with Doctor Mary, in spite ofthat mishap of the combination knife-and-fork. 

CHAPTER VI

ODD STORY OF CAPTAIN DUGGLE

Christmas Day of 1918 was a merry feast, and nowhere merrier than at OldPlace. There was a house-party and, for dinner on the day itself, a localcontingent as well: Miss Wall, the Irechesters, Mr. Penrose, and DoctorMary. Mr. Beaumaroy also had been invited by Mrs. Naylor; she consideredhim an interesting man and felt pity for the obvious _ennui_ of hissituation; but he had not felt able to leave his old friend. DoctorMary's Paying Guest was of the house-party, not merely a dinner guest. She was asked over to spend three days and went, accompanied by Jeanne, who by this time was crying much less; crying was no longer the cue; hermistress, and not merely stern Doctor Mary, had plainly shown her that. Gertie Naylor had invited Cynthia to help her in entertaining thesubalterns, though Gertie was really quite equal to that task herself;there were only three of them, and if a pretty girl is not equal to threesubalterns, well, what are we coming to in England? And, as it turnedout, Miss Gertie had to deal with them all, sometimes collectively, sometimes one by one, practically unassisted. Cynthia was otherwiseengaged. Gertie complained neither of the cause nor of its consequence. 

The drink, or drugs, hypothesis was exploded, and Miss Wall'sspeculations set at rest, with a quite comforting solatium of romanticand unhappy interest, "a nice tit-bit for the old cat, " as Mr. Naylorunkindly put it. Cynthia had told her story; she wanted a richer sympathythan Doctor Mary's common-sense afforded; out of this need the revelationcame to Gertie in innocent confidence, and, with the narrator's tacitapproval, ran through the family and its intimate friends. If Cynthia hadbeen as calculating as she was guileless, she could not have done betterfor herself. Mrs. Naylor's motherliness, old Naylor's courtliness, Gertie's breathless concern and avid appetite for the fullest detail, everybody's desire to console and cheer, all these were at her service, all enlisted in the effort to make her forget, and live and laugh again. Her heart responded; she found herself becoming happy at a rate whichmade her positively ashamed. No wonder tactful Jeanne discovered that thecue was changed!

Fastidious old Naylor regarded his wife with the affection of habit andwith a little disdain for the ordinariness of her virtues--not to say ofthe mind which they adorned. His daughter was to him a precious toy, onwhich he tried jokes, played tricks, and lavished gifts, for the joy ofseeing the prettiness of her reactions to his treatment. It neveroccurred to him to think that his toy might be broken; fond as he was, his feeling for her lacked the apprehensiveness of the deepest love. Buthe idolized his son, and in this case neither without fear nor withoutunderstanding. For four years now he had feared for him bitterly: forhis body, for his life. At every waking hour his inner cry had beeneven as David's, "Would God I had died for thee, my son, my son!" For atevery moment of those four years it might be that his son was even thendead. That terror, endured under a cool and almost off-hand demeanor, was past; but he feared for his son still. Of all who went to the war asCrusaders, none had the temperament more ardently than Alec. As he went, so, obviously, he had come back, not disillusioned, nay, with all hisillusions, or delusions, about this wicked world and its possibilities, about the people who dwell in it and their lamentable limitations, stronger in his mind than ever. How could he get through life withoutbeing too sorely hurt and wounded, without being cut to the very quickby his inevitable discoveries? Old Naylor did not see how it was to bedone, or even hoped for; but the right kind of wife was unquestionablythe best chance. 

He had cast a speculative eye on Cynthia Walford, Irechester had caughthim at it, but, as he observed her more, she did not altogether satisfyhim. Alec needed someone more stable, stronger, someone in a senseprotective; somebody more like Mary Arkroyd; that idea passed through histhoughts; if only Mary would take the trouble to dress herself, rememberthat she was, or might be made, an attractive young woman; and, yes, throw her mortar and pestle out of the window without, however, discarding with them the sturdy, sane, balanced qualities of mind whichenabled her to handle them with such admirable competence. But he soonhad to put this idea from him. His son's own impulse was to give, not toseek, protection and support. 

Of Cynthia's woeful experience Alec had spoken to his father onceonly: "It makes me mad to think the fellow who did that wore aBritish uniform!"

How unreasonable! Since by all the laws of average, when millions of menare wearing a uniform, there must be some rogues in it. But it was Alec'sway to hold himself responsible for the whole of His Majesty's Forces. Their honor was his; for their misdeeds he must in his own person makereparation. "That fellow Beaumaroy may have lost his conscience, but myboy seems to have acquired five million, " the old man grumbled tohimself--a grumble full of pride. 

The father might analyze; with Alec it was all impulse, the impulse tosoothe, to obliterate, to atone. The girl had been sorely hurt; withthe acuteness of sympathy he divined that she felt herself in a waysoiled and stained by contact with unworthiness and by a too easyacceptance of it. All that must be swept out of her heart, out of hermemory, if it could be. 

Doctor Mary saw what was happening, and with a little pang to which shewould not have liked to own. She had set love affairs, and all thenotions connected therewith, behind her; but she had idealized AlecNaylor a little; and she thought Cynthia, in homely phrase, "hardly goodenough. " Was it not rather perverse that the very fact of having been alittle goose should help her to win so rare a swan?

"You're taking my patient out of my hands, Captain Alec!" she said tohim jokingly. "And you're devoting great attention to the case. "

He flushed. "She seems to like to talk to me, " he answered simply. "Sheseems to me to have rather a remarkable mind, Doctor Mary. " (She was"Doctor Mary" to all the Old Place party now, in affection, with a touchof chaff. )

_O sancta simplicitas_! Mary longed to say; that Cynthia was a veryordinary child. Like to talk to him, indeed! Of course she did; and touse her girl's weapons on him; and to wonder, in an almost awestruckdelight, at their effect on this dazzling hero. Well, the guilelessnessof heroes!

So mused Mary, on the unprofessional side of her mind, as she watched, that Christmastide, Captain Alec's delicate, sensitively indirect, anddelayed approach toward the ripe fruit that hung so ready to his hand. "Part of his chivalry to assume she can't think of him yet!" Mary washalf-impatient, half-reluctantly admiring; not an uncommon mixture offeeling for the extreme forms of virtue to produce. In the net result, however, her marked image of Alec lost something of its heroicproportions. 

But professionally (the distinction must not be pushed too far, she wasnot built in watertight compartments) Tower Cottage remained obstinatelyin the center of her thoughts; and, connected with it, there arose apuzzle over Dr. Irechester's demeanor. She had taken advantage ofBeaumaroy's permission, though rather doubtful whether she was doingright, for she was still inexperienced in niceties of etiquette, and senton the letter, with a frank note explaining her own feelings and thereason which had caused her to pay her visit to Mr. Saffron. But thoughIrechester was quite friendly when they met at Old Place before dinner, and talked freely to her during a rather prolonged period of waiting(Captain Alec and Cynthia, Gertie and two subalterns were very late, having apparently forgotten dinner in more refined delights), he made noreference to the letters, nor to Tower Cottage or its inmates. Maryherself was too shy to break the ice, but wondered at his silence, andthe more because the matter evidently had not gone out of his mind. Forafter dinner, when the port had gone round once and the proper healthsbeen honored, he said across the table to Mr. Penrose:

"We were talking the other day of the Tower, on the heath, you know, byold Saffron's cottage, and none of us knew its history. You know allabout Inkston from time out o' mind. Have you got any story about it?"

Mr. Penrose practiced as a solicitor in London, but lived in a little oldhouse near the Irechesters' in the village street, and devoted hisleisure to the antiquities and topography of the neighborhood; his lorewas plentiful and curious, if not important. He was a small, neat oldfellow, with white whiskers of the antique cut, a thin voice, and a drycackling laugh. 

"There was a story about it, and one quite fit for Christmas evening, ifyou're in the mood to hear it. "

The thin voice was penetrating. At the promise of a story silence fell onthe company, and Mr. Penrose told his tale, vouching as his authority anerstwhile "oldest inhabitant, " now gathered to his fathers; for the taledated back some eighty years, to the date of the ancient's early manhood. 

A seafaring man had suddenly appeared, out of space, as it were, atInkston, and taken the cottage. He carried with him a strong smell of rumand tobacco, and gave it to be understood that his name was CaptainDuggle. He was no beauty, and his behavior was worse than his looks. Tothat quiet village, in those quiet strait-laced times, he was a horrorand a portent. He not only drank prodigiously--that, being in characterand also a source of local profit, might have passed with mildcensure--but he swore and blasphemed horribly, spurning the parson, mocking at Revelation, even at the Deity Himself. The Devil was hisfriend, he said. A most terrible fellow, this Captain Duggle. Inkston'shair stood on end, and no wonder!

"No doubt they shivered with delight over it all, " commented Mr. Naylor. 

Captain Duggle lived all by himself--well, what God-fearing Christian, male or female, would be found to live with him--came and wentmysteriously and capriciously, always full of money, and at least equallyfull of drink! What he did with himself nobody knew, but evil legendsgathered about him. Terrified wayfarers, passing the cottage by night, took oath that they had heard more than one voice!

"This is proper Christmas!" a subaltern interjected into Gertie's ear. 

Mr. Penrose, with an air of gratification, continued his narrative. 

"The story goes on to tell, " he said, "of a final interview with thevillage clergyman, in which that reverend man, as in duty bound, solemnlytold Captain Duggle that however much he might curse, and blaspheme, anddrink, and, er, do all the other things that the Captain did (obviouslyhere Mr. Penrose felt hampered by the presence of ladies), yet Death, Judgment, and Churchyard wait for him at last. Whereupon the Captain, emitting an inconceivably terrific imprecation, which no one ever daredto repeat and which consequently is lost to tradition, declared that thefirst he'd never feared, the second was parson's gabble, and as to thethird, never should his dead toes be nearer any church than for the lastforty years his living feet had been! If so be as he wasn't drowned atsea, he'd make a grave for himself!"

Mr. Penrose paused, sipped port wine, and resumed. 

"And so, no doubt, he did, building the Tower for that purpose. By bribesand threats he got two men to work for him. One was the uncle of myinformant. But though he built that Tower, and inside it dug his grave, he never lay there, being, as things turned out, carried off by theDevil. Oh, yes, there was no doubt! He went home one night, a Saturday, very drunk, as usual. On the Sunday night a belated wayfarer, possiblyalso drunk, heard wild shrieks and saw a strange red glow through thewindow of the Tower, now, by the way, boarded up. And no doubt he'd havesmelt brimstone if the wind hadn't set the wrong way! Anyhow CaptainDuggle was never seen again by mortal eyes, at Inkston, at all events. After a time the landlord of the cottage screwed up his courage to resumepossession; the Captain had only a lease of it, though he built the Towerat his own charges, and, I believe, without any permission, the landlordbeing much too frightened to interfere with him. He found everything in asad mess in the house, while in the Tower itself every blessed stick hadbeen burnt up. So the story looks pretty plausible. "

"And the grave?" This question came eagerly from at least three ofthe company. 

"In front of the fireplace there was a big oblong hole--six feet bythree, by four--planks at the bottom, the sides roughly lined with brick. Captain Duggle's grave; but he wasn't in it!"

"But what really became of him, Mr. Penrose?" cried Cynthia. 

"The Rising Generation is very skeptical, " said old Naylor. "You, ofcourse, Penrose, believe the story?"

"I do, " said Mr. Penrose composedly. "I believe that a devil carried himoff, and that its name was _delirium tremens_. We can guess, can't we, Irechester, why he smashed or burnt everything, and fled in mad terrorinto the darkness? Where to? Was he drowned at sea, or did he take hislife, or did he rot to death in some filthy hole? Nobody knows. But thegrave he dug is there in the Tower, unless it's been filled up since oldSaffron has lived there. "

"Why in the world wasn't it filled up before?" asked Alec Naylor with alaugh. "People lived in the cottage, didn't they?"

"I've visited the cottage often, " Irechester interposed, "when variouspeople had it, but I never saw any signs of the Tower being used. "

"It never was, I'm sure; and as for the grave, well, Alec, in countryparts, to this day, you'd be thought a bold man if you filled up a gravethat your neighbor had dug for himself, and such a neighbor as CaptainDuggle! He might take it into his head some night to visit it, and if hefound it filled up there'd be trouble, nasty trouble!" His laugh cackledout rather uncomfortably. Gertie shivered, and one of the subalternsgulped down his port. 

"Old Saffron's a man of education, I believe. No doubt he pays no heed tosuch nonsense, and has had the thing covered up, " said Naylor. 

"As to that I don't know. Perhaps you do, Irechester? He's your patient, isn't he?"

Dr. Irechester sat four places from Mary. Before he replied to thequestion he cast a glance at her, smiling rather mockingly. "I'veattended him on one or two occasions, but I've never seen the inside ofthe Tower. So I don't know either. "

"Oh, but I'm curious! I shall ask Mr. Beaumaroy, " cried Cynthia. 

The ironical character of Irechester's smile grew more pronounced, andhis voice was at its driest: "Certainly you can ask Beaumaroy, MissWalford. As far as asking goes, there's no difficulty. "

A pause followed this pointed remark, on which nobody seemed disposed tocomment. Mrs. Naylor ended the session by rising from her chair. 

But Mary Arkroyd was disquieted, worried as to how she stood withIrechester, vaguely but insistently worried over the whole TowerCottage business. Well, the first point she could soon settle, or tryto settle, anyhow. 

With the directness which marked her action when once her mind was madeup, she waylaid Irechester as he came into the drawing-room; her resoluteapproach sufficed to detach Naylor from him; he found himself for themoment isolated from everybody except Mary. 

"You got my letter, Dr. Irechester? I--I rather expected an answer. "

"Your conduct was so obviously and punctiliously correct, " he repliedsuavely, "that I thought my answer could wait till I met you here to-day, as I knew that I was to have the pleasure of doing. " He looked her fullin the eyes. "You were placed, my dear colleague, in a position in whichyou had no alternative. "

"I thought so, Dr. Irechester, but--"

"Oh yes, clearly! I'm far from making any complaint. " He gave her acourteous little bow, but it was one which plainly closed the subject. Indeed he passed by her and joined a group that had gathered on thehearthrug, leaving her alone. 

So she stood for a minute, oppressed by a growing uneasiness. Irechester said nothing, but surely meant something of import? Hemocked her, but not idly or out of wantonness. He seemed almost to warnher. What could there be to warn her about? He had laid an odd emphasison the word "placed"; he had repeated it. Who had "placed" her there?Mr. Saffron? Or--

Alec Naylor broke in on her uneasy meditation. "It's a clinking night, Doctor Mary, " he observed. "Do you mind if I walk Miss Walford home, instead of her going with you in your car, you know? It's only a coupleof miles and--"

"Do you think your leg can stand it?"

He laughed. "I'll cut the thing off, if it dares to make any objection!"

CHAPTER VII

A GENTLEMANLY STRANGER

On this same Christmas Day Sergeant Hooper was feeling morose anddiscontented; not because he was alone in the world (a situationcomprising many advantages), nor on the score of his wages, which wereextremely liberal; nor on account of the "old blighter's"--that is, Mr. Saffron's--occasional outbursts of temper, these being in the nature ofthe case and within the terms of the contract; nor, finally, by reason ofBeaumaroy's airy insolence, since from his youth up the Sergeant washardened to unfavorable comments on his personal appearance, triflingvulgarities which a man of sense could afford to ignore. 

No; the winter of his discontent--a bitter winter--was due to theconviction, which had been growing in his mind for some time, that hewas only in half the secret, and that not the more profitable half. Heknew that the old blighter had to be humored in certain small ways, as, for example, in regard to the combination knife-and-fork--and the reasonfor it. But, first, he did not know what happened inside the Tower; hehad never seen the inside of it; the door was always locked; he was neverinvited to accompany his masters when they repaired thither by day, andhe was not on the premises by night. And, secondly, he did not understandthe Wednesday journeys to London, and he had never seen the inside ofBeaumaroy's brown bag--that, like the Tower door, was always locked. Hehad handled it once, just before the pair set out for London oneWednesday. Beaumaroy, a careless man sometimes, in spite of the cunningwhich Dr. Irechester attributed to him, had left it on the parlor tablewhile he helped Mr. Saffron on with his coat in the passage, and theSergeant had swiftly and surreptitiously lifted it up. It was very light, obviously empty, or, at all events, holding only featherweight contents. He had never got near it when it came back from town; then it always wentstraight into the Tower and had the key turned on it forthwith. 

But the Sergeant, although slow-witted as well as ugly, had had hisexperiences; he had carried weights both in the army and in otherinstitutions which are officially described as His Majesty's, and hadseen other men carry them too. From the set of Beaumaroy's figure as hearrived home on at least two occasions with the brown bag, and from theway in which he handled it, the Sergeant confidently drew the conclusionthat it was of a considerable, almost a grievous, weight. What was theheavy thing in it? What became of that thing after it was taken into theTower? To whose use or profit did it, or was it, to inure? Certainly itwas plain, even to the meanest capacity, that the contents of the bag hada value in the eyes of the two men who went to London for them and whoshepherded them from London to the custody of the Tower. 

These thoughts filled and racked his brain as he sat drinking rum andwater in the bar of the _Green Man_ on Christmas evening; a solitary man, mixing little with the people of the village, he sat apart at a smalltable in the corner, musing within himself, yet idly watching thecompany--villagers, a few friends from London and elsewhere, somesoldiers and their ladies. Besides these, a tall slim man stood leaningagainst the bar, at the far end of it, talking to Bill Smithers, thelandlord, and sipping whisky-and-soda between pulls at his cigar. He worea neat dark overcoat, brown shoes, and a bowler hat rather on one side;his appearance was, in fact, genteel, though his air was a trifleraffish. In age he seemed about forty. The Sergeant had never seen himbefore, and therefore favored him with a glance of special attention. 

Oddly enough, the gentlemanly stranger seemed to reciprocate theSergeant's interest; he gave him quite a long glance. Then he finishedhis whisky-and-soda, spoke a word to Bill Smithers, and lounged acrossthe room to where the Sergeant sat. 

"It's poor work drinking alone on Christmas night, " he observed. "May Ijoin you? I've ordered a little something, and, well, we needn't botherabout offering a gentleman a glass tonight. "

The Sergeant eyed him with apparent disfavor--as, indeed, he dideverybody who approached him--but a nod of his head accorded the desiredpermission. Smithers came across with a bottle of brandy and glasses. "Good stuff!" said the stranger, as he sat down, filled the glasses, anddrank his off. "The best thing to top up with, believe me!"

The Sergeant, in turn, drained his glass, maintaining, however, hisaloofness of demeanor. "What's up?" he growled. 

"What's in the brown bag?" asked the stranger lightly and urbanely. 

The Sergeant did not start; he was too old a hand for that; but hissmall gimlet eyes searched his new acquaintance's face very keenly. "You know a lot!"

"More than you do in some directions, less in others, perhaps. Shall Ibegin? Because we've got to confide in one another, Sergeant. A littlestory of what two gentlemen do in London on Wednesdays, and of what theycarry home in a brown leather bag? Would that interest you? Oh, thatstuff in the brown leather bag! Hard to come by now, isn't it? But theyknow where there's still some, and so do I, to remark it incidentally. There were actually some people, Sergeant Hooper, who distrusted therighteousness of the British Cause, which is to say (the stranger smiledcynically) the certainty of our licking the Germans, and they hoarded it, the villains!"

Sergeant Hooper stretched out his hand towards the bottle. "Allow me!"said the stranger politely. "I observe that your hand trembles a little. "

It did. The Sergeant was excited. The stranger seemed to be touching on asubject which always excited the Sergeant--to the point of handstrembling, twitching, and itching. 

"Have to pay for it, too! Thirty bob in curl-twisters for every ruddydisc; that's the figure now, or thereabouts. What do they want to doit for? What's your governor's game? Who, in short, is going to getoff with it?"

"What is it they does, the old blighter and Boomery (thus he pronouncedthe name Beaumaroy), in London?"

"First to the stockbroker's, then to a bank or two, I've known it threeeven; then a taxi down East, and a call at certain addresses. The bag'swith 'em, Sergeant, and at each call it gets heavier. I've seen it swell, so to speak. "

"Who in hell are you?" the Sergeant grunted huskily. 

"Names later--after the usual guarantees of good faith. "

The whole conversation, carried on in low tones, had passed under coverof noisy mirth, snatches of song, banter, and gigglings; nobody paid heedto the two men talking in a corner. Yet the stranger lowered his voiceto a whisper, as he added:

"From me to you fifty quid on account; from you to me just a sight of theplace where they put it. "

Sergeant Hooper drank, smoked, and pondered. The stranger showed the edgeof a roll of notes, protruding it from his breast-pocket. The Sergeantnodded, he understood that part. But there was much that he did notunderstand. "It fair beats me what the blazes they're doing it _for_, " hebroke out. 

"Whose money would it be?"

"The old blighter's, o' course. Boomery's stony, except for his screw. "He looked hard at the gentlemanly stranger, and a slow smile came on hislips, "That's your idea, is it, mister?"

"Gentleman's old, looks frail, might go off suddenly. What then? Friendsturn up, always do when you're dead, you know. Well, what of it? Lessmoney in the funds than was reckoned; dear old gentleman doesn't cut upas well as they hoped! And meanwhile our friend B----! Does it dawn onyou at all, from our friend B----'s point of view, Sergeant? I may bewrong, but that's my provisional conjecture. The question remains howhe's got the old gent into the game, doesn't it?"

Precisely the point to which the Sergeant's mind also had turned! Theknowledge which he possessed--that half of the secret--and which hiscompanion did not, might be very material to a solution of the problem;the Sergeant did not mean to share it prematurely, without necessity, orfor nothing. But surely it had a bearing on the case? Dull-witted as hewas, the Sergeant seemed to catch a glimmer of light, and mentally gropedtowards it. 

"Well, we can't sit here all night, " said the stranger in good-humoredimpatience. "I've a train to catch. "

"There's no train up from here to-night. "

"There is from Sprotsfield. I shall walk over. "

The Sergeant smiled. "Oh, if you're walking to Sprotsfield, I'll put youon your way. If anybody was to see us, Boomery, for instance, he couldn'tcomplain of my seeing an old pal on his way on Christmas night. No 'armin that; no look of prowling, or spying, or such like! And you are an oldpal, ain't you?"

"Certainly; your old pal--let me see--your old pal Percy Bennett. "

"As it might he, or as it might not. What about the--" He pointed toPercy Bennett's breast-pocket. 

"I'll give it you outside. You don't want me to be seen handing it overin here, do you?"

The Sergeant had one more question to ask. "About 'ow much d'ye reckonthere might be by now?"

"How often have they been to London? Because they don't come to see myfriends every time, I fancy. "

"Must 'ave been six or seven times by now. The game began soon afterBoomery and I came 'ere. "

"Then, quite roughly, quite a shot, from what I know of the deals we--myfriends, I mean--did with them, and reasoning from that, there might be amatter of seven or eight thousand pounds. "

The Sergeant whistled softly, rose, and led the way to the door. Thegentlemanly stranger paused at the bar to pay for the brandy, and afterbidding the landlord a civil good-evening, with the compliments of theseason, followed the Sergeant into the village street. 

Fifteen minutes' brisk walk brought them to Hinton Avenue. At the end ofit they passed Doctor Mary's house; the drawing-room curtains were notdrawn; on the blind they saw reflected the shadows of a man and a girl, standing side by side. "Mistletoe, eh?" remarked the stranger. TheSergeant spat on the road; they resumed their way, pursuing the roadacross the heath. 

It was fine, but overclouded and decidedly dark. Every now and thenBennett, to call the stranger by what was almost confessedly a_nom-de-guerre, _ flashed a powerful electric torch on the roadway. "Don't want to walk into a gorse-bush, " he explained with a laugh. 

"Put it away, you darned fool! We're nearly there. "

The stranger obeyed. In another seven or eight minutes there loomed up, on the left hand, the dim outline of Mr. Saffron's abode--the squarecottage with the odd round tower annexed. 

"There you are!" The Sergeant's voice instinctively kept to a whisper. "That's what you want to see. "

"But I can't see it--not so as to get any clear idea. "

No lights showed from the cottage, nor, of course, from the Tower; itsonly window had been, as Mr. Penrose said, boarded up. The wind--therewas generally a wind on the heath--stirred the fir-trees and the bushesinto a soft movement and a faint murmur of sound. A very acute and alertear might perhaps have caught another sound--footfalls on the road, agood long way behind them. The two spies, or scouts, did not hear them;their attention was elsewhere. 

"Probably they're both in bed; it's quite safe to make our examination, "said the stranger. 

"Yes, I s'pose it is. But look to be ready to douse your glim. Boomery'sa nailer at turning up unexpected. " The Sergeant seemed rather nervous. 

Mr. Bennett was not. He took out his torch, and guided by its light(which, however, he took care not to throw towards the cottage windows)he advanced to the garden gate, the Sergeant following, and took a surveyof the premises. It was remarkable that, as the light of the torch beamedout, the faint sound of footfalls on the road behind died away. 

"Keep an eye on the windows, and touch my elbow if any light shows. Don'tspeak. " The stranger was at business--his business--now, and his voicebecame correspondingly businesslike. "We won't risk going inside thegate. I can see from here. " Indeed he very well could; Tower Cottagestood back no more than twelve or fifteen feet from the road, and thetorch was powerful. 

For four or five minutes the stranger made his examination. Then heturned off his torch. "Looks easy, " he remarked, "but of course there'sthe garrison. " Once more he turned on his light, to look at his watch. "Can't stop now, or I shall miss the train, and I don't want to have toget a bed at Sprotsfield. A strayed reveler on Christmas night might betoo well remembered. Got an address?"

"Care of Mrs. Willnough, Laundress, Inkston. "

"Right. Good-night. " With a quick turn he was off along the road toSprotsfield. The Sergeant saw the gleam of his torch once or twice, receding at quite a surprising pace into the distance. Feeling the wad ofnotes in his pocket--perhaps to make sure that the whole episode had notbeen a dream--the Sergeant turned back towards Inkston. 

After a couple of minutes, a tall figure emerged from the shelter of ahigh and thick gorse bush just opposite Tower Cottage, on the other sideof the road. Captain Alec Naylor had seen the light of the stranger'storch, and, after four years in France, he was well skilled in the art ofnoiseless approach. But he felt that, for the moment at least, his brainwas less agile than his feet. He had been suddenly wrenched out of oneset of thoughts into another profoundly different. It was his shadow, together with Cynthia Walford's, that the Sergeant and the stranger hadseen on Doctor Mary's blind. After "walking her home, " he had--well, justnot proposed to Cynthia, restrained more by those scruples of his than byany ungraciousness on the part of the lady. Even his modesty could notblind him to this fact. He was full of pity, of love, of a man's joyoussense of triumph, half wishing that he had made his proposal, half gladthat he had not, just because it, and its radiant promise, could still bedangled in the bright vision of the future. He was in the seventh heavenof romance, and his heaven was higher than that which most men reach; itwas built on loftier foundations. 

Then came the flash of the torch; the high spirits born of one experiencesought an outlet in another. "By Jove, I'll track 'em--like old times!"he murmured, with a low light laugh. And, just for fun, he did it, takingto the heath beside the road, twisting his long body in and out amongstgorse, heather, and bracken, very noiselessly, with wonderful dexterity. The light of the lamp was continuous now; the stranger was making hisexamination. By it Captain Alec guided his steps; and he arrived behindthe tall gorse bush opposite Tower Cottage just in time to hear theSergeant say "Mrs. Willnough, Laundress, Inkston, " and to witness theparting of the two companions. 

There was very little to go upon there. Why should not one friend giveanother an address? But the examination? Beaumaroy should surely know ofthat? It might be nothing, but, on the other hand, it might have ameaning. But the men had gone, had obviously parted for the night. Beaumaroy could be told to-morrow; now he himself could go back to hisvisions--and so homeward, in happiness, to his bed. 

Having reached this sensible conclusion, he was about to turn away fromthe garden gate which he now stood facing, when he heard the house doorsoftly open and as softly shut. The practice of his profession had givenhim keen eyes in the dark; he discovered Beaumaroy's tall figure stealingvery cautiously down the narrow, flagged path. The next instant the lightof another torch flashed out, and this time not in the distance, but fullin his own face. 

"By God, you, Naylor!" Beaumaroy exclaimed in a voice which was low butfull of surprise. "I--I--well, it's rather late--"

Alec Naylor was suddenly struck with the element of humor in thesituation. He had been playing detective; apparently he was now thesuspected!

"Give me time and I'll explain all, " he said, smiling under the dazzlingrays of the torch. 

Beaumaroy glanced round at the house for a second, pursed up his lipsinto one of the odd little contortions which he sometimes allowedhimself, and said: "Well, then, old chap, come in and have a drink, anddo it. For I'm hanged if I see why you should stand staring into thisgarden in the middle of the night! With your opportunities I should bebetter employed on Christmas evening. "

"You really want me to come in?" It was now Captain Alec's voice whichexpressed surprise. 

"Why the devil not?" asked Beaumaroy in a tone of frank but friendlyimpatience. 

He turned and led the way into Tower Cottage. Somehow this invitation toenter was the last thing that Captain Alec had expected. 

CHAPTER VIII

CAPTAIN ALEC RAISES HIS VOICE

Beaumaroy led the way into the parlor, Captain Alec following. "Well, Ithought your old friend didn't care to see strangers, " he said, continuing the conversation. 

"He was tired and fretful to-night, so I got him to bed, and gave him asoothing draught--one that our friend Dr. Arkroyd sent him. He wentoff like a lamb, poor old boy. If we don't talk too loud we sha'n'tdisturb him. "

"I can tell you what I have to tell in a few minutes. "

"Don't hurry. " Beaumaroy was bringing the refreshment he had offered fromthe sideboard. "I'm feeling lonely to-night, so I--" he smiled--"yieldedto the impulse to ask you to come in, Naylor. However, let's have thestory by all means. "

The surprise--it might almost have been taken for alarm--which he hadshown at the first sight of Alec seemed to have given place to a gentleand amiable weariness, which persisted through the recital of theCaptain's experiences--how his errand of courtesy, or gallantry, had ledto his being on the road across the heath so late at night, and of whathe had seen there. 

"You copped them properly!" Beaumaroy remarked at the end, with a lazysmile. "One does learn a trick or two in France. You couldn't see theirfaces, I suppose?"

"No; too dark. I didn't dare show a light, though I had one. Besides, their backs were towards me. One looked tall and thin, the other shortand stumpy. But I should never be able to swear to either. "

"And they went off in different directions, you say?"

"Yes, the tall one towards Sprotsfield, the short one back towardsInkston. "

"Oh, the short stumpy one it was who turned back to Inkston?" Beaumaroyhad seated himself on a low three-legged stool, opposite to the bigchair where Alec sat, and was smoking his pipe, his hands clasped roundhis knees. "It doesn't seem to me to come to much, though I'm muchobliged to you all the same. The short one's probably a local, the othera stranger, and the local was probably seeing his friend part of the wayhome, and incidentally showing him one of the sights of the neighborhood. There are stories about this old den, you know--ancient traditions. It'ssaid to be haunted, and what not. "

"Funnily enough, we had the story to-night at dinner, at our house. "

"Had you now?" Beaumaroy looked up quickly. "What, all about--"

"Captain Duggle, and the Devil, and the grave, and all that. "

"Who told you the story?"

"Old Mr. Penrose. Do you know him? Lives in High Street, near theIrechesters. "

"I think I know him by sight. So he entertained you with that old yarn, did he? And that same old yarn probably accounts for the nocturnalexamination which you saw going on. It was a little excitement for you, to reward you for your politeness to Miss Walford!"

Alec flushed, but answered frankly: "I needed no reward for that. " Hisfeelings got the better of him; he was very full of feelings that night, and wanted to be sympathized with. "Beaumaroy, do you know that girl'sstory?" Beaumaroy shook his head, and listened to it. Captain Alec endedon his old note: "To think of the scoundrel using the King's uniformlike that!"

"Rotten! But, er, don't raise your voice. " He pointed to the ceiling, smiling, and went on without further comment on Cynthia's ill-usage. "Isuppose you intend to stick to the army, Naylor?"

"Yes, certainly I do. "

"I'm discharged. After I came out of hospital they gave me sick leave, and constantly renewed it; and when the armistice came they gave me mydischarge. They put it down to my wound, of course, but--well, I gatheredthe impression that I was considered no great loss. " He had finished hispipe, and was now smiling reflectively. 

Captain Alec did not smile. Indeed he looked rather pained; he wasremembering General Punnit's story: military inefficiency, even militaryimperfection, was for him no smiling matter. Beaumaroy did not appear tonotice his disapproving gravity. 

"So I was at a loose end. I had sold up my business in Spain; I was theresix or seven years, just as Captain--Captain--? Oh, Cranster, yes!--wasin Bogota--when I joined up, and had no particular reason for going backthere--and, incidentally, no money to go back with. So I took on thisjob, which came to me quite accidentally. I went into a Piccadilly barone evening, and found my old man there, rather excited and declaiming agood deal of rot; seemed to have the war a bit on his brain. They startedin to guy him, and I think one or two meant to hustle him, and perhapstake his money off him. I took his part, and there was a bit of ashindy. In the end I saw him home to his lodgings--he had a room inLondon for the night--and, to cut a long story short, we palled up, andhe asked me to come and live with him. So here I am, and with me mySancho Panza, the worthy ex-Sergeant Hooper. Perhaps I may be forgivenfor impliedly comparing myself to Don Quixote, since that gentleman, besides his other characteristics, is generally agreed to have been mad. "

"Your Sancho Panza's no beauty, " remarked the Captain drily. 

"And no saint either. Kicked out of the Service, and done time. Thatbetween ourselves. "

"Then why the devil do you have the fellow about?"

"Beggars mustn't be choosers. Besides, I've a _penchant_ for failures. "

That was what General Punnit had said! Alec Naylor grew impatient. "That's the very spirit we have to fight against!" he exclaimed, rather hotly. 

"Forgive me, but, please, don't raise your voice. "

Alec lowered his voice, for a moment anyhow, but the central articleof his creed was assailed, and he grew vehement. "It's fatal; it's atthe root of all our troubles. Allow for failures in individuals, andyou produce failure all round. It's tenderness to defaulters thatwrecks discipline. I would have strict justice, but no mercy, not ashadow of it!"

"But you said that day at your place that the war had made youtender-hearted. "

"Yes, I did, and it's true. Is it hard-hearted to refuse to let a slackercost good men their lives? Much better take his, if it's got to be one orthe other. "

"A cogent argument. But, my dear Naylor, I wish you wouldn't raiseyour voice. "

"Damn my voice!" said Alec, most vexatiously interrupted just as hehad got into his stride. "You say things that I can't and won't letpass, and--"

"I really wouldn't have asked you in, if I'd thought you'd raiseyour voice. "

Alec recollected himself. "My dear fellow, a thousand pardons! I forgot!The old gentleman!"

"Exactly. But I'm afraid the mischief's done. Listen!" Again he pointedto the ceiling, but his eyes set on Captain Alec with a queer, rueful, humorous expression. "I was an ass to ask you in. But I'm no good at it, that's the fact. I'm always giving the show away!" he grumbled, half tohimself, but not inaudibly. 

Alec stared at him for a moment in puzzle, but the next instant hisattention was diverted. Another voice besides his was raised; the soundof it came through the ceiling from the room above; the words were notaudible; the volubility of the utterance in itself went far to preventthem from being distinguishable; but the high, vibrant, metallic tonesrang through the house. It was a rush of noise, sharp grating noise, without a meaning. The effect was weird, very uncomfortable. Alec Naylorknit his brows, and once gave a little shiver, as he listened. Beaumaroysat quite still, the expression in his eyes unaltered, or, if altered atall, it grew softer, as though with pity or affection. 

"Good God, Beaumaroy, are you keeping a lunatic in this house?" He mightraise his voice as loud as he pleased now, it was drowned by that other. 

"I'm not keeping him, he's keeping me. And, anyhow, his medical advisertells me there is no reason to suppose that my old friend is not_compos mentis_. "

"Irechester says that?"

"Mr. Saffron's medical attendant is Dr. Arkroyd. "

As he spoke the noise from above suddenly ceased. Since neither of themen in the parlor spoke, there ensued a minute of what seemed intensesilence; it was such a change. 

Then came a still small sound, a creaking of wood from overhead. 

"I think you'd better go, Naylor, if you don't mind. After a performanceof that kind he generally comes and tells me about it. And he may be, Idon't know at all for certain, annoyed to find you here. "

Alec Naylor got up from the big chair, but it was not to take hisdeparture. 

"I want to see him, Beaumaroy, " he said brusquely and ratherauthoritatively. 

Beaumaroy raised his brows. "I won't take you to his room, or let you gothere if I can help it. But if he comes down, well, you can stay and seehim. It may get me into a scrape, but that doesn't matter much. "

"My point of view is--"

"My dear fellow, I know your point of view perfectly. It is that you arepersonally responsible for the universe, apparently just because you weara uniform. "

No other sound had come from above or from the stairs, but the door nowopened suddenly, and Mr. Saffron stood on the threshold. He woreslippers, a pair of checked trousers, and his bedroom jacket of paleblue; in addition, the gray shawl, which he wore on his walks, was againswathed closely round him. Only his right arm was free from it; in hishand was a silver bedroom candlestick. From his pale face and under hissnowy hair his blue eyes gleamed brightly. As Alec first caught sight ofhim, he was smiling happily, and he called out triumphantly: "That was agood one! That went well, Hector!"

Then he saw Alec's tall figure by the fire. He grew grave, closed thedoor carefully, and advanced to the table, on which he set down thecandlestick. After a momentary look at Alec, he turned his gazeinquiringly towards Beaumaroy. 

"I'm afraid we're keeping it up rather late, sir, " said the latter in atone of respectful yet easy apology, "but I took an airing in the roadafter you went to bed, and there I found my friend here on his way home;and since it was Christmas--"

Mr. Saffron bowed his head in acquiescence; he showed no sign of anger. "Present your friend to me, Hector, " he requested, or ordered, gravely. 

"Captain Naylor, sir, Distinguished Service Order; Duffshire Fusiliers. "

The Captain was in uniform and, during his talk with Beaumaroy, had notthought of taking off his cap. Thus he came to the salute instinctively. The old man bowed with reserved dignity; in spite of his queer get-up hebore himself well; the tall handsome Captain did not seem to efface oroutclass him. 

"Captain Naylor has distinguished himself highly in the war, sir, "Beaumaroy continued. 

"I am very glad to make the acquaintance of any officer who hasdistinguished himself in the service of his country. " Then his tonebecame easier and more familiar. "Don't let me disturb you, gentlemen. Mybusiness with you, Hector, will wait. I have finished my work, and canrest with a clear conscience. "

"Couldn't we persuade you to stay a few minutes with us, and join us in awhisky-and-soda?"

"Yes, by all means, Hector. But no whisky. Give me a glass of my ownwine; I see a bottle on the sideboard. "

He came round the table and sat down in the big chair. "Pray seatyourself, Captain, " he said, waving his hand towards the stool whichBeaumaroy had lately occupied. 

The Captain obeyed the gesture, but his huge frame looked awkward on thelow seat; he felt aware of it, then aware of the cap on his head; hesnatched it off hastily, and twiddled it between his fingers. Mr. Saffron, high up in the great chair, sitting erect, seemed now actuallyto dominate the scene--Beaumaroy standing by, with an arm on the back ofthe chair, holding a tall glass full of the golden wine ready to Mr. Saffron's command; the old man reached up his thin right hand, took it, and sipped with evident pleasure. 

Alec Naylor was embarrassed; he sat in silence. But Beaumaroy seemedquite at his ease. He began with a statement which was, in its literalform, no falsehood; but that was about all that could be said for it onthe score of veracity. "Before you came in, sir, we were just speaking ofuniforms. Do you remember seeing our blue Air Force uniform when we werein town last week? I remember that you expressed approval of it. "

In any case the topic was very successful. Mr. Saffron embraced it witheagerness; with much animation he discussed the merits, whether practicalor decorative, of various uniforms--field-gray, khaki, horizon blue, AirForce blue, and a dozen others worn by various armies, corps, andservices. Alec was something of an enthusiast in this line too; he soonforgot his embarrassment, and joined in the conversation freely, thoughwith a due respect to the obvious thoroughness of Mr. Saffron'sinformation. Watching the pair with an amused smile, Beaumaroy contentedhimself with putting in, here and there, what may be called a conjunctiveobservation--just enough to give the topic a new start. 

After a quarter of an hour of this pleasant conversation, for such allthree seemed to find it, Mr. Saffron finished his wine, handed the glassto Beaumaroy, and took a cordial leave of Alec Naylor. "It's time for meto be in bed, but don't hurry away, Captain. You won't disturb me, I'm agood sleeper. Good-bye. I sha'n't want you any more to-night, Hector. "

Beaumaroy handed him his candle again, and held the door open for him ashe went out. 

Alec Naylor clapped his cap back on his head. "I'm off too, " hesaid abruptly. 

"Well, you insisted on seeing him, and you've seen him. What about itnow?" asked Beaumaroy. 

Alec eyed him with a puzzled baffled suspicion. "You switched him on tothat subject on purpose, and by means of something uncommon like a lie. "

"A little artifice! I knew it would interest you, and it's quite one ofhis hobbies. I don't know much about his past life, but I think he musthave had something to do with military tailoring. A designer at the WarOffice, perhaps. " Beaumaroy gave a low laugh, rather mocking andmalicious. "Still, that doesn't prove a man mad, does it? Perhaps itought to, but in general opinion it doesn't, any more than recitingpoetry in bed does. "

"Do you mean to tell me that he was reciting poetry when--"

"Well, it couldn't have sounded worse if he had been, could it?"

Now he was openly laughing at the Captain's angry bewilderment. He knewthat Alec Naylor did not believe a word of what he was saying orsuggesting; but yet Alec could not pass his guard, nor wing a shaftbetween the joints of his harness. If he got into difficulties throughheedlessness, at least he made a good shot at getting out of them againby his dexterity. Only, of course, suspicion remains suspicion, eventhough it be, for the moment, baffled. And it could not be denied thatsuspicions were piling up--Captain Alec, Irechester, even, on one littlepoint, Doctor Mary! And possibly those two fellows outside--one of themshort and stumpy--had their suspicions too, though these might bedirected to another point. He gave one of his little shrugs as hefollowed the silent Captain to the garden gate. 

"Good-night. Thanks again. And I hope we shall meet soon, " he saidcheerily. 

Alec gave him a brief "Good-night" and a particularly formalmilitary salute. 

CHAPTER IX

DOCTOR MARY'S ULTIMATUM

Even Captain Alec was not superior to the foibles which beset humanity. If it had been his conception of duty which impelled him to take a highline with Beaumaroy, there was now in his feelings, although he did notrealize the fact, an alloy of less precious metal. He had demanded anordeal, a test--that he should see Mr. Saffron and judge for himself. Thetest had been accepted; he had been worsted in it. His suspicions werenot laid to rest--far from it; but they were left unjustified andunconfirmed. He had nothing to go upon, nothing to show. He had beenbaffled, and, moreover, bantered and almost openly ridiculed. In fact, Beaumaroy had been too many for him, the subtle rogue!

This conception of the case colored his looks and pointed his words whenTower Cottage and its occupants were referred to, and most markedly whenhe spoke of them to Cynthia Walford; for in talking to her he naturallyallowed himself greater freedom than he did with others; talking to herhad become like talking to himself, so completely did she give him backwhat he bestowed on her, and re-echo to his mind its own voice. Suchperfect sympathy induces a free outpouring of inner thoughts, andreinforces the opinions of which it so unreservedly approves. 

Cynthia did more than elicit and reinforce Captain Alec's opinion; shealso disseminated it--at Old Place, at the Irechesters', at DoctorMary's, through all the little circle in which she was now a constant anda favorite figure. In the light of her experience of men, so limited andso sharply contrasted, she made a simple classification of them; theywere Cransters or Alecs; and each class acted after its kind. PlainlyBeaumaroy was not an Alec; therefore he was Cranster, and Cranster-likeactions were to be expected from him, of such special description as hiscircumstances and temptations might dictate. 

She poured this simple philosophy into Doctor Mary's ears, vouchingAlec's authority for its application to Beaumaroy. The theory was toosimple for Mary, whose profession had shown her at all events somethingof the complexity of human nature; and she was no infallibilist; shewould bow unquestioningly to no man's authority, not even to Alec's, muchas she liked and admired him. There was even a streak of contrariness inher; what she might have said to herself she was prone to criticize orcontradict, if it were too confidently or urgently pressed on her byanother; perhaps, too, Cynthia's claim to be the Captain's mouthpiecestirred up in her a latent resentment; it was not to be called ajealousy; it was rather an amused irritation at both the divinity and hisworshiper. His worshipers can sometimes make a divinity look foolish. 

Her own interview with Beaumaroy at the Cottage had left her puzzled, distrustful--and attracted. She suspected him vaguely of wanting to useher for some purpose of his own; in spite of the swift plausibility ofhis explanation, she was nearly certain that he had lied to her about thecombination knife-and-fork. Yet his account of his own position in regardto Mr. Saffron had sounded remarkably candid, and the more so because hemade no pretensions to an exalted attitude. It had been left to her todefine the standard of sensitive honor; his had been rather that ofsafety or, at the best, that of what the world would think, or even ofwhat the hated cousins might attempt to prove. But there again she wasdistrustful, both of him and of her own judgment. He might be--it seemedlikely--one of those men who conceal the good as well as the bad inthemselves, one of the morally shy men. Or again, perhaps, one of themorally diffident, who shrink from arrogating to themselves highstandards because they fear for their own virtue if it be put to thetest, and cling to the power of saying, later on, "Well, I told you notto expect too much from me!" Such various types of men exist, and they donot fall readily into either of Cynthia's two classes; they are neitherCransters nor Alecs; certainly not in thought, probably not in conduct. He had said at Old Place, the first time that she met him, that the warhad destroyed all his scruples. That might be true; but it was hardly theremark of a man naturally unscrupulous. 

She met him one day at Old Place about a week after Christmas. TheCaptain was not there; he was at her own house, with Cynthia. With therest of the family Beaumaroy was at his best; gaily respectful to Mrs. Naylor, merry with Gertie, exchanging cut and thrust with old Mr. Naylor, easy and cordial towards herself. Certainly an attractive humanbeing and a charming companion, pre-eminently natural. "One talks oftaking people as one finds them, " old Naylor said to her when they wereleft alone together for a few minutes by the fire, while the otherschatted by the window. "That fellow takes himself as he finds himself!Not as a pattern, a failure, or a problem, but just as a fact--apsychological fact. "

"That rather shuts out effort, doesn't it? Well, I mean--"

"Strivings?" Mr. Naylor smiled. "Yes, it does. On the other hand, itgives such free play. That's what makes him interesting, makes youthink about him. " He laughed. "Oh, I dare say the surroundings helptoo--we're all rather children--old Saffron, and the Devil, and CaptainDuggle, and the rest of it! The brain isn't overworked down here; welike to find an outlet. "

"That means you think there's nothing in it really?"

"In what?" retorted old Naylor briskly. 

But Mary was equal to him. "My lips are sealed professionally, " shesmiled. "But hasn't your son said anything?"

"Admirable woman! Yes, Alec has said a few things; and the young ladygives it us, too. For my part, I think Beaumaroy's just drifting. He'lltake the gifts of fortune if they come, but I don't think there's muchdeliberate design about it. Ah, now you're smiling in a superior way, Doctor Mary! I charge you with secret knowledge. Or are you puffed up byhaving superseded Irechester?"

"I was never so distressed and--well, embarrassed at anything in mylife. "

"Well, that, if you ask me, does look a bit queer. Sort of fits in withAlec's theory. "

Mary's discretion gave way a little. "Or with Mr. Beaumaroy's? Which isthat I'm a fool, I think. "

"And that Irechester isn't?" His eyes twinkled in good-humored malice. "Talking of what this and that person thinks of himself and of others, Irechester thinks himself something of an alienist. "

Her eyes grew suddenly alert. "He's never talked to me on that subject. "

"Perhaps he doesn't think it's one of yours. Perhaps your studies haven'tlain that way? After all, no medical man can study everything!"

"Don't be naughty, Mr. Naylor" said Doctor Mary. 

"He tells me that, in cases where the condition--the condition I thinkhe called it--is in doubt, he fixes his attention on the eyes and thevoice. He couldn't give me any very clear description of what he found inthe eyes. I couldn't quite make out, anyhow, what he meant, unless it wasa sort of meaninglessness, a want of what you might call intellectualfocus. Do you follow me?"

"Yes, I think I know what you mean. "

"But with regard to the voice I distinctly remember that he used the word'metallic. '"

"Why, that's the word Cynthia used--"

"I dare say it is. It's the word Alec used in describing the voice inwhich old Mr. Saffron recited his poem, or whatever it was, in bed. "

"But I've talked to Mr. Saffron; his voice isn't like that; it's a littlehigh, but full and rather melodious. "

"Oh, well then--" He spread out his hands, as though acknowledging acheck. "Still, the voice described as metallic seems to have been Mr. Saffron's; at a certain moment at least. As a merely medical question ofsome interest, I wonder if such a symptom or sign of--er--irritabilitycould be intermittent, coming and going with the--er--fits! Irechesterdidn't say anything on that point. Have you any opinion?"

"None. I don't know. I should like to ask Dr. Irechester. " Then, with asudden smile, she amended, "No, I shouldn't!"

"And why not, pray? Professional etiquette?"

"No, pride. Dr. Irechester laughed at me. I think I see why now; andperhaps why Mr. Beaumaroy--" She broke off abruptly, the slightestgesture of her hand warning Naylor also to be silent. 

Having said good-bye to his friends by the window, Beaumaroy wassauntering across the room to pay the like courtesy to herself andNaylor. Mary rose to her feet; there was an air of decision about her, and she addressed Beaumaroy almost before he was within speaking distanceas it is generally reckoned in society. 

"If you're going home, Mr. Beaumaroy, shall we walk together? It's time Iwas off, too. "

Beaumaroy looked a little surprised, but undoubtedly pleased. "Well, now, what a delightful way of prolonging a delightful visit. I'm trulygrateful, Dr. Arkroyd. "

"Oh, you needn't be!" said Mary with a little toss of her head. 

Naylor watched them with amusement. "He'll catch it on that walk!" he wasthinking. "She's going to let him have it! I wish I could be there tohear. " He spoke to them openly: "I'm sorry you must both go, but, sinceyou must, go together. Your walk will be much pleasanter. "

Mary understood him well enough, and gave him a flash from her eyes. ButBeaumaroy's face betrayed nothing, as he murmured politely: "To me, atall events, Mr. Naylor. "

Naylor was not wrong as to Mary's mood and purpose. But she did not findit easy to begin. Pretty quick at a retort herself, she could oftenforesee the retorts open to her interlocutor. Beaumaroy had providedhimself with plenty: the old man's whim; the access to the old man sowillingly allowed, not only to her but to Captain Alec; his own candorcarried to the verge of self-betrayal. Oh, he would be full of retorts, supple and dexterous ones! As this hostile accusation passed through hermind, she awoke to the fact that she was, at the same moment, regardinghis profile (he, too, was silent, no doubt lying in wait to trip up heropening!) with interest, even with some approval. He seemed to feel herglance, for he turned towards her quickly--so quickly that she had notime to turn her eyes away. 

"Doctor Mary"--the familiar mode of address habitually used at the housewhich they had just left seemed to slip out without his consciousness ofit--"You've got something against me; I know you have! I'm sensitive thatway, though not, perhaps, in another. Now, out with it!"

"You'd silence me with a clever answer. I think that you sometimes makethe mistake of supposing that to be silenced is the same thing as beingconvinced. You silenced Captain Naylor--oh, I don't mean you've preventedhim from talking!--I mean you confuted him, you put him in the wrong, butyou certainly didn't convince him. "

"Of what?" he asked in a tone of surprise. 

"You know that. Let us suppose his idea was all nonsense; yet yourimmediate object was to put it out of his head. " She suddenly added, "Ithink your last question was a diplomatic blunder, Mr. Beaumaroy. Youmust have known what I meant. What was the good of pretending not to?"

Beaumaroy stopped still in the road for a moment, looking at her with arueful amusement. "You're not so easily silenced, after all!" he said, starting to walk on again. 

"You encourage me. " To tell the truth, Mary was not only encouraged, shewas pleased by the hit she had scored, and flattered by hisacknowledgment of it. "Well, then, I'll put another point. You needn'tanswer if you don't like. "

"I shall answer if I can, depend on it!" He laughed, and Mary, for abrief instant, joined in his laugh. His sudden lapses into candor seemedsomehow to put the serious hostile questioner ridiculously in the wrong. Could a man like that really have anything to conceal?

But she held to her purpose. "You're a friendly sort of man, you offerand accept attentions and kindnesses, you're not stand-offish, orhaughty, or sulky; you make friends easily, especially, perhaps, withwomen; they like you, and like to be pleasant and kind to you. There aremen--patients, I mean--very hard to deal with; men who resent being ill, resent having to have things done to them and for them, who especiallyresent the services of women, even of nurses--I mean in quite indifferentthings, not merely in things where a man may naturally shrink from theirhelp. Well, you don't seem that sort of man in the least. " She looked athim, as she ended this appreciation of him, as though she expected ananswer or a comment. Beaumaroy made neither; he walked on, not evenlooking at her. 

"And you can't have been troubled long with that wound. It evidentlyhealed up quickly and sweetly. "

Beaumaroy looked for an instant at his maimed hand with a critical air;but he was still silent. 

"So that I wonder you didn't do as most patients do--let the nurse, or, if you were still disabled after you came out, a friend or somebody, cutup your food for you without providing yourself with that implement. " Heturned his head quickly towards her. "And if you ask me what implement Imean, I shall answer--the one you tried to snatch from the sideboard atTower Cottage before I could see it. "

It was a direct challenge; she charged him with a lie. Beaumaroy's faceassumed a really troubled expression, a thing rare for it to do. Yet itwas not an ashamed or abashed expression; it just seemed to recognizethat a troublesome difficulty had arisen. He set a slower pace andprodded the road with his stick. Mary pushed her advantage. "Your--yourimprovization didn't satisfy me at the time, and the more I've thoughtover it, the less have I found it convincing. "

He stopped again, turning round to her. He slapped his left hand againstthe side of his leg. "Well, there it is, Doctor Mary! You must make whatyou can of it. "

It was complete surrender as to the combination knife-and-fork. He wasbeaten, on that point at least, and owned it. His lie was found out. "It's dashed difficult always to remember that you're a doctor, " he brokeout the next minute. 

Mary could not help laughing; but her eyes were still keen andchallenging as she said, "Perhaps you'd better change your doctor again, Mr. Beaumaroy. You haven't found one stupid enough!"

Again Beaumaroy had no defense; his nonplussed air confessed thatmaneuver, too. Mary dropped her rallying tone and went on gravely:"Unless I'm treated with confidence and sincerity, I can't continue toattend Mr. Saffron. "

"That's your ultimatum, is it, Doctor Mary?"

She nodded sharply and decisively. Beaumaroy meditated for a fewseconds. Then he shook his head regretfully. "It's no use. I daren'ttrust you, " he said. 

Mary laughed again, this time in amazed resentment of his impudence. "Youcan't trust me! I think it's the other way round. It seems to me that theboot's on the other leg. "

"Not as I see it. " Then he smiled slowly, as it were tentatively. "Orwould you--I wonder if you could--possibly--well, stand in with me?"

"Are you offering me a--a partnership?" she asked indignantly. 

He raised his hand in a seeming protest, and spoke now hastily and insome confusion. "Not as you understand it. I mean, as you probablyunderstand it, from what I said to you that night at the Cottage. Thereare features in the--well, there are things that I admit have--havepassed through my mind, without being what you'd call settled. Oh, yes, without being in the least settled. Well, for the sake of your helpand--er--co-operation, those--those features could be dropped. And thenperhaps--if only your--your rules and etiquette--"

Mary scornfully cut short his embarrassed pleadings. "There's a good dealmore than rules and etiquette involved. It seems to me that it's a matterof common honesty rather than of rules and etiquette--"

"Yes, but you don't understand--"

She cut him short again. "Mr. Beaumaroy, after this, after yoursuggestion and all the rest of it, there must be an end of all relationsbetween us--professionally and, so far as possible, socially too, please. I don't want to be self-righteous, but I feel bound to say that you havemisunderstood my character. "

Her voice quivered at the end, and almost broke. She was full of agrieved indignation. 

They had come opposite the cottage now. Beaumaroy stopped, and stoodfacing her. Though dusk had fallen, it was a clear evening; she could seehis face plainly; obviously he was in deep distress. "I wouldn't haveoffended you for the world. I--I like you far too much, Doctor Mary. "

"You imputed your own standards to me. That's all there is about it, Isuppose, " she said in a scornful sadness. He looked very miserable. Compassion, and the old odd attraction which he had for her, stirred inher mind. Her voice grew soft, and she held out her hand. "I'm sorry too, very sorry, that it should have to be good-bye between us. "

Beaumaroy did not take her proffered hand, or even seem to notice it. Hestood quite still. 

"I'm damned if I know what I'm to do now!"

Close on the heels of his despairing confession of helplessness--for suchit undoubtedly seemed to me--came the noise of an opening door, a lightfrom the inside of the Cottage, a patter of quick-moving feet on theflagged path that led to the garden gate. The next moment Mary saw thefigure of Mr. Saffron, in his old gray shawl, standing at the gate. Hewas waving his right arm in an excited way, and his hand held a largesheet of paper. 

"Hector! Hector, my dear, dear boy! The news has come at last. You can beoff tomorrow!"

Beaumaroy started violently, glanced at his old friend's strange figure, glanced once, too, at Mary; the expression of utter despair which hisface had worn seemed modified into one of humorous bewilderment. 

"Yes, yes, you can start tomorrow for Morocco, my dear boy!" cried oldMr. Saffron. 

Beaumaroy lifted his hat to her, cried, "I'm coming, sir!" turned on hisheel, and strode quickly up to Mr. Saffron. She watched him open the gateand take the old gentleman by the arm; she heard the murmur of his voicespeaking soft accents as the pair walked up the path together. Theypassed into the house, and the door was shut. 

Mary stood where she was for a moment, then moved slowly, hesitatingly, yet as though under a lure which she could not resist. Just outside thegate lay something that gleamed white through the darkness. It was thesheet of paper. Mr. Saffron had dropped it in his excitement, andBeaumaroy had not noticed. 

Mary stole forward and picked it up stealthily; she was incapable ofresisting her curiosity or even of stopping to think about her action. She held it up to what light there was, and strained her eyes to examineit. So far as she could see, it was covered with dots, dashes, lines, queerly drawn geometrical figures--a mass of meaningless hieroglyphics. She dropped it again where she had found it, and made off home withguilty swiftness. 

Yes, there had been, this time, a distinctly metallic ring in old Mr. Saffron's voice. 

CHAPTER X

THE MAGICAL WORD MOROCCO!

When Mary arrived home, she found Cynthia and Captain Alec still inpossession of the drawing-room; their manner accused her legitimate entryinto the room of being an outrageous intrusion. She took no heed of that, and indeed little heed of them. To tell the truth, she was ashamed toconfess, but it was the truth, she felt rather tired of them thatevening. Their affair deserved every laudatory epithet, except that ofinteresting; so she declared peevishly within herself as she tried tojoin in conversation with them. It was no use. They talked on, and injustice to them it may be urged that they were fully as bored with Maryas she was with them; so naturally their talents did not shine theirbrightest. But they had plenty to say to one another, and dutifully threwin a question or a reference to Mary every now and then. Sitting apartat the other end of the long low room--it ran through the whole depth ofher old-fashioned dwelling--she barely heeded and barely answered. Theysmiled at one another and were glad. 

She was very tired; her feelings were wounded, her nerves on edge; shecould not even attempt any cool train of reasoning. The outcome of hertalk with Beaumaroy filled her mind rather than the matter of it; and, more even than that, the figure of the man seemed to be with her, almostto stand before her, with his queer alternations of despair and mirth, ofdefiance and pleading, of derision and alarm. One moment she wasintensely irritated with him; in the next she half forgave the plaintiveimage which the fancy of her mind conjured up before her eyes. 

Her eyes closed--she was so very tired, the fight had taken it out ofher! To have to do things like that was an odious necessity, which hadnever befallen her before. That man had done--well, Captain Alec wasquite right about him! Yet still the shadowy image, though thusreproached, did not depart; it was smiling at her now with its oldmockery--the kindly mockery which his face wore before they quarrelled, and before its light was quenched in that forlorn bewilderment. And itseemed as though the image began to say some words to her, disconnectedwords, not making a sentence, but yet having for the image a pregnantmeaning, and seeming to her--though vaguely and very dimly--to be the keyto what she had to understand. She was stupid not to understand words sofull of meaning--just as stupid as Beaumaroy had thought. 

Then Doctor Mary fell asleep, sound asleep; she had been very near it forthe last ten minutes. 

Captain Alec and Cynthia were in two chairs, close side by side, in frontof the fire. Once Cynthia glanced over her shoulder; the Captain hadglanced over his in the same direction already. One of his hands held oneof Cynthia's. It was well to be sure that Mary was asleep, really asleep. 

She had gone to sleep on the name of Beaumaroy; on it she awoke. It camefrom Captain Alec's lips. He was standing on the hearthrug with his armround Cynthia's waist, and his other hand raising one of hers to hislips. He looked admirably handsome--strong, protecting, devoted. AndCynthia, in her fragile appealing prettiness, was a delicious foil, aperfect complement to the picture. But now, under stress ofemotion--small blame to a man who was making a vow of eternalfidelity!--under stress of emotion, as, on a previous occasion, underthat of indignation, the Captain had raised his voice!

"Yes, against all the scoundrels in the world, whether they're calledCranster or Beaumaroy!" he said. 

Mary's eyes opened. She sat up. "Cranster and Beaumaroy?" They were thewords which her ears had caught. "What in the world has Mr. Beaumaroy todo with--" But she broke off, as she saw the couple by the fire. "Butwhat are you two doing?"

Cynthia broke away from her lover, and ran to her friend withjoyous avowals. 

"I must have been sound asleep, " cried Mary, kissing her. Alec hadfollowed across the room and now stood close by her. She looked up athim. "Oh, I see! She's to be safe now from such people?" On thisparticular occasion Mary's look at the Captain was not admiring; it was alittle scornful. 

"That's the idea, " agreed the happy Alec. "Another idea is that Itrot you both over in the car to Old Place--to break the news andhave dinner. "

"Splendid!" cried Cynthia. "Do come, Mary!"

Mary shook her head. "No; you go, you two, " she said. "I'm tired, and Iwant to think. " She passed her hand across her eyes. She seemed to wipeaway the mists of sleep. Her face suddenly grew animated and exultant. "No, I don't want to think! I know!" she exclaimed emphatically. 

"Mary dear, are you still asleep? Are you talking in your sleep?"

"The keyword! It came to me, somehow, in my sleep. The keyword--Morocco!"

"What the deuce has Morocco--" Captain Alec began, with justifiableimpatience. 

"Ah, you never heard that, and, dear Captain Alec, you wouldn't haveunderstood it if you had. You thought he was reciting poems. What he wasreally doing--"

"Look here, Doctor Mary, I've just been accepted by Cynthia, and I'mgoing to take her to my mother and father. Can you get your mind on tothat?" He looked at her curiously, not at all understanding herexcitement, perhaps resenting the obvious fact that his Cynthia'shappiness was not foremost in her friend's mind. 

With a great effort Mary brought herself down to the earth--to the earthof romantic love from the heaven of professional triumph. True, thelatter was hers, the former somebody else's. "I do beg your pardon. I doindeed. And do let me kiss you again, Cynthia darling--and you, dearCaptain Alec, just once! And then you shall go off to dinner. " Shelaughed excitedly. "Yes, I'm going to push you out. "

"Let's go, Alec, " said Cynthia, not unkindly, yet just a littlepettishly. The great moment of her life--surely as great a moment asthere had ever been in anybody's life--had hardly earned adequaterecognition from Mary. As usual, her feelings and Alec's were at one. Before they passed to other and more important matters, when they droveoff in the car she said to Alec, "It seems to me that Mary's strangelyinterested in that Mr. Beaumaroy. Had she been dreaming of him, Alec?"

"Looks like it! And why the devil Morocco?" His intellect baffled, Captain Alec took refuge in his affections. 

Left alone, and so thankful for it, Doctor Mary did not attempt to sitstill. She walked up and down, she roved here and there, smoking anyquantity of cigarettes; she would certainly have forbidden such excess toa patient. The keyword; its significance had seemed to come to her inher sleep. Something in that subconsciousness theory? The word explained, linked up, gave significance--that magical word Morocco!

Yes, they fell into place now, the things that had been so puzzling, andthat looked now so obviously suggestive. Even one thing which she hadthought nothing about, which had not struck her as having anysignificance, now took on its meaning--the gray shawl which the oldgentleman so constantly wore swathed round his body, enveloping the wholeof it except his right arm. Did he wear the shawl while he took hismeals? Doctor Mary could not tell as to that. Perhaps he did not; at hismeals only Beaumaroy, and perhaps their servant, would be present. But heseemed to wear it whenever he went abroad, whenever he was exposed to thescrutiny of strangers. That indicated secretiveness, perhaps fear, theapprehension of something. The caution bred by that might give way underthe influence of great cerebral excitement. Unquestionably Mr. Saffronhad been very excited when he waved the sheet of hieroglyphics andshouted to Beaumaroy about Morocco. But whether he wore the shawl or notin the safe privacy of Tower Cottage, whatever might be the truth aboutthat--perhaps he varied his practice according to his condition--on onething Doctor Mary would stake her life; he used the combinationknife-and-fork!

For it was over that implement that Beaumaroy had tripped up. It ought tohave been hidden before she was admitted to the cottage. Somebody hadbeen careless, somebody had blundered--whether Beaumaroy himself or hisservant was immaterial. Beaumaroy had lied, readily and ingeniously, butnot quite readily enough. The dart of his hand had betrayed him; that, and a look in his eyes, a tell-tale mirth which had seemed to mock bothher and himself, and had made his ingenious lie even at the momentunconvincing. Yes, whether Mr. Saffron wore the shawl or not, hecertainly used the combination table implement!

And the "poems?" The poems which Mr. Saffron recited to himself in bed, and which he had said, in Captain Alec's hearing, were good and "wentwell. " It was Beaumaroy, of course, who had called them poems; theCaptain had merely repeated the description. But with her newly foundinsight Doctor Mary knew better. What Mr. Saffron declaimed in thatvibrating, metallic voice, were not poems, but--speeches!

And "Morocco" itself! To anybody who remembered history for a few yearsback, even with the general memory of the man in the street, to anybodywho had read the controversies about the war, Morocco brought not puzzle, but enlightenment. For had not Morocco been really the starting point ofthe Years of Crisis--those years intermittent in excitement, but constantin anxiety? Beaumaroy was to start tomorrow for Morocco--on the strengthof the hieroglyphics! Perhaps he was to go on from Morocco to Libya;perhaps he was to raise the Senussi (Mary had followed the history of thewar), to make his appearance at Cairo, Jerusalem, Bagdad! He was to be aforerunner, was Mr. Beaumaroy. Mr. Saffron, his august master, wouldfollow in due course! With a sardonic smile she wondered how theingenious man would get out of starting for Morocco; perhaps he would notsucceed in obtaining a passport, or, that excuse failing, in eluding thevigilance of the British authorities. Or some more hieroglyphics mightcome, carrying another message, postponing his start, saying that thepropitious moment had not yet arrived after all. There were severaldevices open to ingenuity; many ways in which Beaumaroy might protract asituation not so bad for him even as it stood, and quite rich inpossibilities. Her acid smile was turned against herself when sheremembered that she had been fool enough to talk to Beaumaroy aboutsensitive honor!

Well, never mind Mr. Beaumaroy! The case as to Mr. Saffron stood prettyplain. It was queer and pitiful, but by no means unprecedented. She mightbe not much of an alienist, as Dr. Irechester had been kind enough tosuggest to Mr. Naylor, but she had seen such cases herself--evenstranger ones, where even higher Powers suffered impersonation, witheffects still more tragically absurd to onlookers. And she rememberedreading somewhere--was it in Maudslay--that in the days of Napoleon, whenprinces and kings were as ninepins to be set up and knocked down at thetyrant's pleasure, the asylums of France were full of such great folk?Potentates there galore! If she had Mr. Saffron's "record" before her, she would expect to read of a vain ostentatious man, ambitious in his ownsmall way; the little plant of these qualities would, given a morbidphysical condition, develop into the fantastic growth of delusion whichshe had now diagnosed in the case of Mr. Saffron--diagnosed with theassistance of some lucky accidents!

But what was her duty now--the duty of Dr. Mary Arkroyd, a dulyqualified, accredited, responsible medical practitioner? With a slightshock to her self-esteem she was obliged to confess that she had onlythe haziest idea. Had not people who kept a lunatic to be licensed orsomething? Or did that apply only to lunatics in the plural? And didBeaumaroy keep Mr. Saffron within the meaning of whatever the lawmight be? But at any rate she must do something; the state of thingsat Tower Cottage could not go on as it was. The law of theland--whatever it was--must be observed, Beaumaroy must be foiled, andpoor old Mr. Saffron taken proper care of. The course of hermeditations was hardly interrupted by the episode of her light eveningmeal; she was back in her drawing-room by half past eight, her mindengrossed with the matter still. 

It was a little after nine when there was a ring at the hall door. Notthe lovers back so early? She heard a man's voice in the hall. The nextmoment Beaumaroy was shown in, and the door shut behind him. He stoodstill by it, making no motion to advance towards her. He was breathingquickly, and she noticed beads of perspiration on his forehead. She hadsprung to her feet at the sight of him and faced him with indignation. 

"You have no right to come here, Mr. Beaumaroy, after what passedbetween us this afternoon. "

"Besides being, as you saw yourself, very excited, my poor old friendisn't at all well tonight. "

"I'm very sorry; but I'm no longer Mr. Saffron's medical attendant. If Ideclined to be this afternoon, I decline ten times more tonight. "

"For all I know, he's very ill indeed, Dr. Arkroyd. " Beaumaroy's mannerwas very quiet, restrained, and formal. 

"I have come to a clear conclusion about Mr. Saffron's case since Ileft you. "

"I thought you might. I suppose 'Morocco' put you on the scent? And Isuppose, too, that you looked at that wretched bit of paper?"

"I--I thought of it--" Here Mary was slightly embarrassed. 

"You'd have been more than human if you hadn't. I was out again after itin five minutes--as soon as I missed it; you'd gone, but I concludedyou'd seen it. He scribbles dozens like that. "

"You seem to admit my conclusion about his mental condition, " sheobserved stiffly. 

"I always admit when I cease to be able to deny. But don't let's standhere talking. Really, for all I know, he may be dying. His heart seems tome very bad. "

"Go and ask Dr. Irechester. "

"He dreads Irechester. I believe the sight of Irechester might finishhim. You must come. "

"I can't--for the reasons I've told you. "

"Why? My misdeeds? Or your rules and regulations? My God, how I haterules and regulations! Which of them is it that is perhaps to cost theold man his life?"

Mary could not resist the appeal; that could hardly be her duty, andcertainly was not her inclination. Her grievance was not against poor oldMr. Saffron, with his pitiful delusion of greatness, of a greatness, too, which now had suffered an eclipse almost as tragical as that which hadbefallen his own reason. What an irony in his mad aping of it now!

"I will come, Mr. Beaumaroy, on condition that you give me candidly andtruthfully all the information which, as Mr. Saffron's medical attendant, I am entitled to ask. "

"I'll tell you all I know about him, and about myself, too. "

"Your affairs and--er--position matter to me only so far as they bear onMr. Saffron. "

"So be it. Only come quickly; and bring some of your things that may helpa man with a bad heart. "

Mary left him, went to her surgery, and was quickly back with her bag. "I'll get out the car. "

"It'll take a little longer, I know, but do you mind if we walk? Carsalways alarm him. He thinks that they come to take him away. Every carthat passes vexes him; he looks to see if it will stop. And when yoursdoes--" He ended with a shrug. 

For the first time Mary's feelings took on a keen edge of pity. Poor oldgentleman! Fancy his living like that! And cars, military cars, too, hadbeen so common on the road across the heath. 

"I understand. Let us go at once. You walked yourself, I suppose?"

"Ran, " said Beaumaroy, and, with the first sign of a smile, wiped thesweat from his brow with the back of his hand. 

"I'm ready, Mr. Beaumaroy, " said Doctor Mary. 

They walked along together in silence for fully half the way. ThenBeaumaroy spoke. "He was extremely excited--at his worst--when he and Iwent into the cottage. I had to humor him in every way; it was the onlything to do. That was followed by great fatigue, a sort of collapse. Ipersuaded him to go to bed. I hope we shall find him there, but I don'tknow. He would let me go only on condition that I left the door of theTower unlocked, so that he could go in there if he wanted to. If he has, I'm afraid that you may see something--well, something rather bizarre, Dr. Arkroyd. "

"That's all in the course of my profession. "

Silence fell on them again, till the outline of cottage and Tower cameinto view through the darkness. Beaumaroy spoke only once again beforethey reached the garden gate. 

"If he should happen to be calmer now, I hope you will not consider itnecessary to tell him that you suspect anything unusual. "

"He is secretive?"

"He lives in terror. "

"Of what?"

"Of being shut up. May I lead the way in, Dr. Arkroyd?"

They entered the cottage, and Beaumaroy shut the door. A lamp was burningdimly in the passage. He turned it up. "Would you kindly wait here oneminute?" Receiving her nod of acquiescence, he stepped softly up thestairs, and she heard him open a door above; she knew it was that of Mr. Saffron's bedroom, where she had visited the old man. She waited, nowwith a sudden sense of suspense. It was very quiet in the cottage. 

Beaumaroy was down again in a minute. 

"It is as I feared, " he said quietly. "He has got up again, and gone intothe Tower. Shall I try and get him out, or will you--"

"I will go in with you, of course, Mr. Beaumaroy. "

His old mirthful, yet rueful, smile came on his lips--just for a moment. Then he was grave and formal again. "This way, then, if you please, Dr. Arkroyd, " he said deferentially. 

CHAPTER XI

THE CAR BEHIND THE TREES

Mr. Percy Bennett, that gentlemanly stranger, was an enemy to delay; bothconstitutionally and owing to experience, averse from dallying withfortune; to him a bird in his hand was worth a whole aviary on hisneighbor's unrifled premises. He thought that Beaumaroy might levant withthe treasure; at any moment that unwelcome, though not unfamiliar, tap onthe shoulder, with the words (gratifying under quite other circumstancesand from quite different lips) "I want you, " might incapacitate him fromprosecuting his enterprise (he expressed this idea in more homelyidiom--less Latinized was his language, metaphorical indeed, yet terse);finally he had that healthy distrust of his accomplices which isessential to success in a career of crime; he thought that SergeantHooper might not deliver the goods!

Sergeant Hooper demurred; he deprecated inconsiderate haste? let theopportunity be chosen. He had served under Mr. Beaumaroy in France, and(whatever faults Major-General Punnit might find with that officer)preferred that he should be off the premises at the moment when Mr. Bennett and he himself made unauthorized entry thereon. "He's a hot 'unin a scrap, " said the Sergeant, sitting in a public house at Sprotsfieldon Boxing Day evening, Mr. Bennett and sundry other excursionists fromLondon being present. 

"My chauffeur will settle him, " said Mr. Bennett. It may seem odd thatMr. Bennett should have a chauffeur; but he had--or proposed tohave--_pro hac vice_--or _ad hoc_; for this particular job, in fact. Without a car that stuff at Tower Cottage--somewhere at TowerCottage--would be difficult to shift. 

The Sergeant demurred still, by no means for the sake of savingBeaumaroy's skin, but still purely for the reason already given; yet headmitted that he could not name any date on which he could guaranteeBeaumaroy's absence from Tower Cottage. "He never leaves the old blighteralone later than eleven o'clock or so, and rarely as late as that. "

"Then any night's about the same, " said gentleman Bennett; "and now forthe scheme, dear N. C. O. !"

Sergeant Hooper despaired of the doors. The house-door might possibly benegotiated, though at the probable cost of arousing the notice ofBeaumaroy--and of the old blighter himself. But the door from the parlorinto the Tower offered insuperable difficulties. It was always locked;the lock was intricate; he had never so much as seen the key at closequarters and, even had opportunity offered, was quite unpractised in theart of taking impressions of locks--a thing not done with accuracy quiteso easily as seems sometimes to be assumed. 

"For my own part, " said Mr. Bennett with a nod, "I've always inclined tothe window. We can negotiate that without any noise to speak of, and itoughtn't to take us more than a few minutes. Just deal boards, I expect!Perhaps the old gentleman and your pal Beaumaroy--the Sergeant spat--willsleep right through it!"

"If they ain't in the Tower itself, " suggested the Sergeant gloomily. 

"Wherever they may be, " said gentleman Bennett, with a touch ofirritability--he was himself a sanguine man and disliked a mind fertilein objections--"I suppose the stuff's in the Tower, isn't it?"

"It goes in there, and I've never seen it come out, Mr. Bennett. " Here atleast a tone of confidence rang in the Sergeant's voice. 

"But where in the Tower, Sergeant?"

"'Ow should I know? I've never been in the blooming place. "

"It's really rather a queer business, " observed Mr. Bennett, allowing himself for a moment, an outside and critical considerationof the matter. 

"Damned, " said the Sergeant briefly. 

"But, once inside, we're bound to find it! Then--with the car--it's inLondon in forty minutes, and in ten more it's--where it's going to be;where that is needn't worry you, my dear Sergeant. "

"What if we're seen from the road?" urged the pessimistic Sergeant. 

"There's never a job about which you can't put those questions. What ifLudendorff had known just what Foch was going to do, Sergeant? At anyrate anybody who sees us is two miles either way from a policestation--and may be a lot farther if he tries to interfere with us!It's a hundred to one against anybody being on the road at that time ofnight; we'll pray for a dark night and dirty weather--which, so far asI've observed, you generally get in this beastly neighborhood. " Heleant forward and tapped the Sergeant on the shoulder. "Barringaccidents, let's say this day week; meanwhile, Neddy"--he smiled as heinterjected. "Neddy is our chauffeur--Neddy and I will make our littleplan of attack. "

"Don't be too generous! Don't leave all the V. C. Chances to me, " theSergeant implored. 

"Neddy's fair glutton for 'em! Difficulty is to keep him from murder!And he stands six foot four, and weighs seventeen stone. "

"Ill back him up--from be'ind--company in support, " grinned the Sergeant, considerably comforted by this description of his coadjutor. 

"You'll occupy the station assigned to you, my man, " said Mr. Bennett, with an admirable burlesque of the military manner. "The front iswherever a soldier is ordered to be--a fine saying of Lord Kitchener's!Remember it, Sergeant!"

"Yes, sir, " said the Sergeant, grinning still. 

He found Mr. Bennett on the whole amusing company, though occasionallyrather alarming; for instance, there seemed to him to be no particularreason for dragging in Neddy's predilection for murder; though, ofcourse, a man of his inches and weight might commit murder through sometrifling and pardonable miscalculation of force. "Same as if that CaptainNaylor hit you!" the Sergeant reflected, as he finished the ample portionof rum with which the conversation had been lightened. He felt pleasantlymuzzy, and saw Mr. Bennett's cleancut features rather blurred inoutline. However, the sandy wig and red mustache which that gentlemanwore--in his character as a Boxing Day excursionist--were still salientfeatures even to his eyes. Anybody in the room would have been able toswear to them. 

Thus the date of the attack was settled and, if only it had been adheredto, things might have fallen out differently between Doctor Mary and Mr. Beaumaroy. Events would probably have relieved Mary from the necessity ofpresenting her ultimatum, and she might never have heard thatilluminating word "Morocco. " But big Neddy the Shover--as his intimatefriends were wont to call him--was a man of pleasure as well as ofbusiness; he was not a bloke in an office; he liked an ample Christmasvacation and was now taking one with a party of friends at Brighton--alltip-toppers who did the thing in style and spent their money (which wasnot their money) lavishly. From the attraction of this company--notcomposed of gentlemen only--Neddy refused to be separated. Mr. Bennett, who was on thorns at the delay, could take it or leave it at that; inany case the job was, in Neddy's opinion (which he expressed with thatmassive but good-humored scorn which is an appanage of very large men), aleap in the dark, a pig in a poke, blind hookey; for who really knew howmuch of the stuff the old blighter and his pal had contrived to shiftdown to the Cottage in the old brown bag. Sometimes it looked light, sometimes it looked heavy; sometimes perhaps it was full of bricks!

In this mood Neddy had to be humored, even though gentlemanly Mr. Bennettsat on thorns. The Sergeant repined less at the delay; he liked thepickings which the job brought him much better than the job itself, standing in wholesome dread of Beaumaroy. It was rather with resignationthan with joy that he received from Mr. Bennett the news that Neddy hadat last named the day that would suit his High Mightiness--Tuesday the7th of January it was, and, as it chanced, the very day before Beaumaroywas to start for Morocco! More accurately, the attack would be deliveredon the actual day of his departure--if he went. For it was timed for oneo'clock in the morning, an hour at which the road across the heath mightreasonably be expected to be clear of traffic. This was an especiallyimportant point, in view of the fact that the window of the Tower facedtowards the road and was but four or five yards distant from it. 

After a jovial dinner--rather too jovial in Mr. Bennett's opinion, butthat was Neddy's only fault, he would mix pleasure with business--the twoset out in an Overland car. Mr. Bennett--whom, by the way, his big friendNeddy called "Mike, " and not "Percy, " as might have beenexpected--assumed his sandy wig and red mustache as soon as they werewell started; Neddy scorned disguise for the moment, but he had a mask inhis pocket. He also had a very nasty little club in the same pocket, whereas Mr. Bennett carried no weapon of offense--merely the tools of histrade, at which he was singularly expert. The friends had worked togetherbefore; though Neddy reviled Mike for a coward, and Mike averredwith curses, that Neddy would bring them both to the gallows some day, yet they worked well together and had a respect for one another, eachallowing for the other's idiosyncrasies. The true spirit of partnership!On it alone can lasting and honorable success be built. 

"Just match-boarding, the Sergeant says it is, does he?" asked Neddy, breaking a long silence, which indeed had lasted until they were acrossPutney Bridge and climbing the Hill. 

"Yes, and rotten at that. It oughtn't to take two minutes; then there'llbe only the window. Of course we must have a look round first. Then, ifthe coast's clear, I'll nip in and shove something up against the door ofthe place while you're following. The Sergeant's to stay on guard at thedoor of the house, so that we can't be taken in the rear. See?"

"Righto!"

"Then--well, we've got to find the stuff, and when we've found it, you'vegot to carry it, Neddy. Don't mind if it's a bit heavy, do you?"

"I don't want to overstrain myself, " said Neddy jocularly, "but I'll domy best with it, only hope it's there!"

"It must be there. Hasn't got wings, has it? At any rate not till you putit in your pocket, and go out for an evening with the ladies!"

Neddy paid this pleasantry the tribute of a laugh, but he had one morebusiness question to ask:

"Where are we to stow the car? How far off?"

"The Sergeant has picked out a big clump of trees, a hundred yards fromthe cottage on the Sprotsfield side, and about thirty yards from theroad. Pretty clear going to it, bar the bracken--she'll do it easily. There she'll lie, snug as you like. As we go by Sprotsfield, the carwon't have to pass the Cottage at all--that's an advantage--and yet it'snot over far to carry the stuff. "

"Sounds all right, " said Neddy placidly, and with a yawn. "Have a drop?"

"No, I won't--and I wish you wouldn't, Neddy. It makes you bad-tempered, and a man doesn't want to be bad-tempered on these jobs. "

"Take the wheel a second while I have a drop, " said Neddy, just for allthe world as if his friend had not spoken. He unscrewed the top of alarge flask and took a very considerable "drop. " It was only after he haddone this with great deliberation that he observed good-naturedly, "Andyou go to hell, Mike! It's dark, ain't it? That's a bit of all right. "

He did not speak again till they were near Sprotsfield. "ThisBeaumaroy--queer name, ain't it?--he's a big chap, ain't he, Mike?"

"Pretty fair, but, Lord love you, a baby beside yourself. "

"Well, now, you told me something the Sergeant said about a man aswas (Neddy, unlike his friend, occasionally tripped in his English)really big. "

"Oh, that's Naylor--Captain Naylor. But he's not at the cottage; we'renot likely to meet him, praise be!"

"Rather wish we were! I want a little bit of exercise, " said Neddy. 

"Well, I don't know but what Beaumaroy might give you that. TheSergeant's got tales about him at the war. "

"Oh, blast these soldiers--they ain't no good. " In what he himselfregarded as his spare hours, that is to say, the daytime hours whereinthe ordinary man labors, Neddy was a highly skilled craftsman, whose onlyfailing was a tendency to be late in the morning and to fall ill aboutthe festive seasons of the year. He made lenses, and, in spite of thefailing, his work had been deemed to be of national importance, as indeedit was. But that did not excuse his prejudice against soldiers. 

They passed through the outskirts of Sprotsfield; Mike--to use his morefamiliar name--had made a thorough exploration of the place, and hisdirections enabled his chauffeur to avoid the central and populous partsof the town. Then they came out on to the open heath, passed Old Place, and presently--about half a mile from Tower Cottage--found SergeantHooper waiting for them by the roadside. It was then hard on midnight--adark cloudy night, very apt for their purpose. With a nod, but without aword, the Sergeant got into the car, and in cautious whispers directedits course to the shelter of the clump of trees; they reached it after afew hundred yards of smooth road and some thirty of bumping over theheath. It afforded a perfect screen from the road, and on the other sidethere was only untrodden heath, no path or track being visible near it. 

Neddy got out of the car, but he did not forget his faithful flask. Heoffered it to the Sergeant in token of approval. "Good place, Sergeant, "he said; "does credit to you, as a beginner. Here, mate, hold on, though. It's evident you ain't accustomed to liquor glasses!"

"When I sits up so late, I gets a kind of a sinking, " the Sergeantexplained apologetically. 

Mike flashed a torch on him for a minute; there was a very uncomfortablelook in his little squinty eyes. "Sergeant, " he said suavely butgravely, "my friend here relies on you. He's not a safe man todisappoint. " He shifted the light suddenly on to Neddy, whoseproportions seemed to loom out prodigious from the surrounding darkness. "Are you, Neddy?"

"No, I'm a sensitive chap, I am, " said Neddy, smiling. "Don't you go andhurt my pride in you by any sign of weakness, Sergeant. "

The Sergeant shivered a little. "I'm game. I'll stick it, " he protestedvalorously. 

"You'd better!" Neddy advised. 

"All quiet at the Cottage as you came by?" asked Mike. 

"Quiet as the grave, for what I see, " the Sergeant answered. 

"All right. Mike, where are them sandwiches? I feel like a bite. One forthe Sergeant too! But no more flask--no, you don't Sergeant! When'll westart, Mike!"

"In about half-an-hour. "

"Just nice time for a snack--oysters and stout for you, my darling?"said jovial Neddy. Then--with a change of voice--"Just as well thatdidn't pass us!"

For the sound of a car came from the road they had just left. It wasgoing in the direction of the Cottage and of Inkston. Captain Alecwas taking his betrothed home after a joyful evening ofcongratulation and welcome. 

CHAPTER XII

THE SECRET OF THE TOWER

The scene presented by the interior of the Tower, when Beaumaroy softlyopened the door and signed to Doctor Mary to step forward and look, wasindeed a strange one, a ridiculous yet pathetic mockery of grandeur. 

The building was a circular one, rising to a height of some thirty-fivefeet and having a diameter of about ten. Up to about twelve feet from thefloor its walls were draped with red and purple stuffs of coarsematerial; above them the bare bricks and the rafters of the roof showednaked. In the middle of the floor, with their backs to the door at whichMary and her companion stood, were set two small armchairs of plain andcheap make. Facing them, on a rough dais about three feet high and withtwo steps leading up to it, stood a large and deep carved oakenarmchair. It too was upholstered in purple, and above and around it werea canopy and curtains of the same color. This strange erection was setwith its back to the one window--that which Mr. Saffron had caused to beboarded up soon after he entered into occupation. The place was lightedby candles--two tall standards of an ecclesiastical pattern, one oneither side of the great chair or throne, and each holding six largecandles, all of which were now alight and about half-consumed. On thethrone, his spare wasted figure set far back in the recesses of its deepcushioned seat and his feet resting on a high hassock, sat old Mr. Saffron; in his right hand he grasped a scepter, obviously a theatrical"property, " but a handsome one, of black wood with gilt ornamentation;his left arm he held close against his side. His eyes were turned uptowards the room; his lips were moving as though he were talking, but nosound came. 

Such was Doctor Mary's first impression of the scene; but the next momentshe took in another feature of it, not less remarkable. To the left ofthe throne, to her right as she stood in the doorway facing it, there wasa fireplace; an empty grate, though the night was cold. Immediately infront of it was, unmistakably, the excavation in the floor which Mr. Penrose had described at the Christmas dinner-party at Old Place--sixfeet in length by three in breadth, and about four feet deep. Against thewall, close by, stood a sheet of cast iron, which evidently served tocover and conceal the aperture; by it was thrown down, in carelessdisorder, a strip of the same dull red baize as covered the rest of thefloor of the Tower. By the side of the sheet and the piece of carpetthere was an old brown leather bag. 

Tradition, and Mr. Penrose, had told the truth. Here without doubt wasCaptain Duggle's grave, the grave he had caused to be dug for himself, but which--be the reason what it might---his body had never occupied. Yetthe tomb was not entirely empty. The floor of it was strewn with gold, towhat depth Mary could not tell, but it was covered with goldensovereigns; there must be thousands of them. They gleamed under the lightof the candles. 

Mary turned, startled, inquiring, apprehensive eyes on Beaumaroy. Hepressed her arm gently, and whispered:

"I'll tell you presently. Come in. He'll notice us, I expect, in aminute. Mind you curtsey when he sees you!" He led her in, pulling thedoor to after him, and placed her and himself in front of the two smallarmchairs opposite Mr. Saffron's throne. 

Beaumaroy removed his hand from her arm, but she caught his wrist in oneof hers and stood there, holding on to him, breathing quickly, her eyesnow set on the figure on the throne. 

The old man's lips had ceased to move; his eyes had closed; he lay backin the deep seat, inert, looking half-dead, very pale and waxen in theface. For what seemed a long time he sat thus, motionless and almostwithout signs of life, while the two stood side by side before him. Maryglanced once at Beaumaroy; his lips were apart in that half humorous, half compassionate smile; there was no hint of impatience in his bearing. 

At last Mr. Saffron opened his eyes, and saw them; there was intelligencein his look, though his body did not move. Mary was conscious of a lowbow from Beaumaroy; she remembered the caution he had given her, andherself made a deep curtsey; the old man made a slight inclination of hishandsome white head. Then, after another long pause, a movement passedover his body--excepting his left arm. She saw that he was trying to risefrom his seat, but that he had barely the strength to achieve hispurpose. But he persisted in his effort, and in the end rose slowly andtremulously to his feet. 

Then, utterly without warning, in a sudden and shocking burst of thathigh, voluble, metallic speech which Captain Alec had heard through theceiling of the parlor, he began to address them, if indeed it were theywhom he addressed, and not some phantom audience of Princes, Marshals, Admirals, or trembling sheep-like re emits. It was difficult to hear thewords, hopeless to make out the sense. It was a farrago of nonsense, partof his own inventing, part (as it seemed) wild and confused reminiscencesof the published speeches of the man he aped, all strung together on someinvisible thread of insane reasoning, delivered with a mad vehemence andintensity that shook and seemed to rend his feeble frame. 

"We must stop him, we must stop him, " Mary suddenly whispered. "He'llkill himself if he goes on like this!"

"I've never been able to stop him, " Beaumaroy whispered back. "Hush! Ifhe hears us speaking he'll be furious, and carry on worse. "

The old man's blue eyes fixed themselves on Beaumaroy--of Mary he took noheed. He pointed at Beaumaroy with his scepter, and from him to thegleaming gold in Captain Duggle's grave. A streak of coherency, a strandof mad logic, now ran through his hurtling words; the money was there, Beaumaroy was to take it--to-day, to-day!--to take it to Morocco, toraise the tribes, to set Africa aflame. He was to scatter it--broadcast, broadcast! There was no end to it--don't spare it! "There's millions, millions of it!" he shouted, and achieved a weird wild majesty in a finalcry, "God with us!"

Then he fell--tumbled back in utter collapse into the recesses of thegreat chair. His scepter fell from his nerveless hand and rolled down thesteps of the dais; the impetus it gathered carried it, rolling still, across the floor to the edge of the open pit; for an instant it laypoised on the edge, and then fell with a jangle of sound on the carpet ofgolden coins that lined Captain Duggle's grave. 

"Quick! Get my bag--I left it in the passage, " whispered Mary, as shestarted forward, up the dais, to the old man's side. "And brandy, ifyou've got it, " she called after Beaumaroy, as he turned to the door todo her bidding. 

Beaumaroy was gone no more than a minute. When he came back, with the baghitched under his arm, a decanter of brandy in one band and a glass inthe other, Mary was leaning over the throne, with her arm round the oldman. His eyes were open, but he was inert and motionless. Beaumaroypoured out some brandy, and gave it into Mary's free hand. But when Mr. Saffron saw Beaumaroy by his side, he gave a sudden twist of his body, wrenched himself away from Mary's arm, and flung himself on his trustedfriend. "Hector, I'm in danger! They're after me! They'll shut me up!"

Beaumaroy put his strong arms about the frail old body. "Oh no, sir, oh, no!" he said in low, comforting, half-bantering tones. "That's the oldfoolishness, sir, if I may so say. You're perfectly safe with me. Youought to trust me by now, sir, really you ought. "

"You swear, you swear it's all right, Hector?"

"Right as rain, sir, " Beaumaroy assured him cheerfully. 

Very feebly the old man moved his right hand towards the open grave. "Plenty--plenty! All yours, Hector! For--for the Cause--God's with us!"His head fell forward on Beaumaroy's breast; for an instant again heraised it, and looked in the face of his friend. A smile came on hislips. "I know I can trust you. I'm safe with you, Hector. " His head fellforward again; his whole body was relaxed; he gave a sigh of peace. Beaumaroy lifted him in his arms and very gently set him back in hisgreat chair, placing his feet again on the high footstool. 

"I think it's all over, " he said, and Mary saw tears in his eyes. 

Then Mary herself collapsed; she sank down on the dais and broke intoweeping. It had all been so pitiful, and somehow so terrible. Her quicktumultuous sobbing sounded through the place which the vibrations of theold man's voice had lately filled. 

She felt Beaumaroy's hand on her shoulder. "You must make sure, " he said, in a low voice. "You must make your examination. "

With trembling hands she did it--she forced herself to it, Beaumaroyaiding her. There was no doubt. Life had left the body which reason hadleft long before. His weakened heart had not endured the last strain ofmad excitement. The old man was dead. 

Her face showed Beaumaroy the result of her examination, if he had everdoubted of it. She looked at him, then made a motion of her hand towardsthe body. "We must--we must--" she stammered, the tears still rollingdown her cheeks. 

"Presently, " he said. "There's plenty of time. You're not fit to do thatnow--and no more am I, to tell the truth. We'll rest for half an hour, and then get him upstairs, and--and do the rest. Come with me!" He puthis hand lightly within her arm. "He will rest quietly on his throne fora little while. He's not afraid any more. He's at rest. "

Still with his arm in Mary's, he bent forward and kissed the old man onthe forehead. "I shall miss you, old friend, " he said. Then, with gentleinsistence, he led Mary away. They left the old man, propped up by thehigh stool on which his feet rested, seated far back in the great chair, hard by Captain Duggle's grave, where the scepter lay on a carpet ofgold. The tall candles burnt on either side of his throne, imparting afar-off semblance of ceremonial state. 

Thus died, unmarried, in the seventy-first year of his age, AloysiusWilliam Saffron, formerly of Exeter, Surveyor and Auctioneer. He had run, on the whole, a creditable course; starting from small beginnings, andbelonging to a family more remarkable for eccentricity than for any solidmerit, he had built up a good practice; he had made money and put it by;he enjoyed a good name for financial probity. But he was held to be avain, fussy, self-important, peacocky fellow; very self-centered also and(as Beaumaroy had indicated) impatient of the family and socialobligations which most men recognize, even though often unwillingly. Asthe years gathered upon his head, these characteristics were intensified. On the occasion of some trifling set-back in business--a rival cut himout in a certain negotiation--He threw up everything and disappeared fromhis native town. Thenceforward nothing was heard of him there, save thathe wrote occasionally to his cousin, Sophia Radbolt, and her husband, both of whom he most cordially hated, whose claims to his notice, regard, or assistance he had, of late years at least, hotly resented. Yet hewrote to them--wrote them vaunting and magniloquent letters, hintingdarkly of great doings and great riches. In spite of their opinion ofhim, the Radbolts came to believe perhaps half of what he said; he wasold and without other ties; their thirst for his money was greedy. Undoubtedly the Radbolts would dearly have loved to get hold of himand--somehow--hold him fast. 

When he came to Tower Cottage--it was in the first year of the war--hewas precariously sane; it was only gradually that his fundamental andconstitutional vices and foibles turned to a morbid growth. First cameintensified hatred and suspicion of the Radbolts--they were after him andhis money! Then, through hidden processes of mental distortion, theregrew the conviction that he was of high importance, a great man, theobject of great conspiracies, in which the odious Radbolts were butinstruments. It was, no doubt, the course of public events, culminatingin the Great War, which gave to his mania its special turn, to hisdelusion its monstrous (but, as Doctor Mary was aware, by no meansunprecedented) character. By the time of his meeting with Beaumaroy thedelusion was complete; through all the second half of 1918 hefollowed--so far as his mind could now follow anything rationally--in hisown person and fortunes the fate of the man whom he believed himself tobe, appropriating the hopes, the fears, the imagined ambitions, thephysical infirmity, of that self-created other self. 

But he wrapped it all in deep secrecy, for, as the conviction of his trueidentity grew complete, his fears were multiplied. Radbolts indeed! Thewhole of Christendom--Principalities and Powers--were on his track. Theywould shut him up, kill him perhaps! Cunningly he hid his secret--savewhat could not be entirely hidden, the physical deformity. But he hid itwith his shawl; he never ate out of his own house; the combinationknife-and-fork was kept sedulously hidden. Only to Beaumaroy did hereveal the hidden thing; and, later, on Beaumaroy's persuasion, he letinto the portentous secret one faithful servant--Beaumaroy's unsavoryretainer, Sergeant Hooper. 

He never accepted Hooper as more than a distasteful necessity--somebodymust wait on him and do him menial service; he was not feared, indeed, for surely such a dog would not dare to be false, but cordially disliked. Beaumaroy won him from the beginning. Whom he conceived him to beBeaumaroy himself never knew, but he opened his heart to himunreservedly. Of him he had no suspicion; to him he looked for safety andfor the realization of his cherished dreams. Beaumaroy soothed histerrors and humored him in all things--what was the good of doinganything else, asked Beaumaroy's philosophy. He loved Beaumaroy far morethan he had loved anybody except himself in all his life. At the end, through the wild tangle of mad imaginings, there ran this golden threadof human affection; it gave the old man hours of peace, sometimes almostof sanity. 

So he came to his death, directly indeed of a long-standing organicdisease, yet veritably self-destroyed. And so he sat now, dead amidst hisshabby parody of splendor. He had done with thrones; he had even donewith Tower Cottage--unless indeed his pale shade were to hold nocturnalconverse with the robust and flamboyant ghost of Captain Duggle; the onevaunting his unreal vanished greatness, mouthing orations and mimickingpomp; the other telling, in language garnished with strange and horribleoaths, of those dark and lurid terrors which once had driven him fromthis very place, leaving it ablaze behind. A strange couple they wouldmake, and strange would be their conversation!

Yet the tenement which had housed the old man's deranged spirit, empty asnow it was--aye, emptier than Duggle's tomb--was still to be witness ofone more earthly scene and unwittingly bear part in it. 

CHAPTER XIII

RIGHT OF CONQUEST

What has been related of Mr. Saffron's life before he ascended the throneon which he still sat in the Tower represented all that Beaumaroy knew ofhis old friend before they met--indeed he knew scarcely as much. He toldthe brief story to Doctor Mary in the parlor. She heard him listlessly;all that was not much to the point on which her thoughts were set, anddid not answer the riddle which the scene in the Tower put to her. Shewas calm now--and ashamed that she had ever lost her calmness. 

"Well, there was the situation as I understood it when I took on thejob--or quite soon afterwards. He thought that he was being pursued; in asense he was. If these Radbolts found out the truth, they certainly wouldpursue him, try to shut him up, and prevent him from making away withhis money or leaving it to anybody else. I didn't at all know at firstwhat a tidy lot he had. He hated the Radbolts; even after he ceased toknow them as cousins, he remained very conscious of them always; theywere enemies, spies, secret service people on his track--poor old boy!Well, why should they have him and his money? I didn't see it. I don'tsee it to this day. "

Mary was in Mr. Saffron's armchair. Beaumaroy stood before the fire. Shelooked up at him. 

"They seem to have more right than anybody else. And you know--youknew--that he was mad. "

"His being mad gives them no right! Oh, well, it's no use arguing. In theend I suppose they had rights--of a kind; a right by law, Isuppose--though I never knew the law and don't want to--to shut the oldman up, and make him damned miserable, and get the money for themselves. That sounds just the sort of right the law does give people over otherpeople--because Aunt Betsy married Uncle John fifty years ago, and wasprobably infernally sorry for it!"

Mary smiled. "A matter of principle with you, was it, Mr. Beaumaroy?"

"No--instinct, I think. It's my instinct to be against the proper thing, the regular thing, the thing that deals hardly with an individual in thename of some highly nebulous general principle. "

"Like discipline?" she put in, with a reminiscence ofMajor-General Punnit. 

He nodded. "Yes, that's one case of it. And then, the situation amusedme. I think that had more to do with it than anything else at first. Itamused me to play up to his delusions. I suggested the shawl as useful onour walks--and thereby got him to take wholesome exercise; that ought toappeal to you, Doctor! I got him the combination knife-and-fork; thatmade him enjoy his meals--also good for him, Doctor! But I didn't dothese things because they were good for him, but because they amused me. They never amused Hooper, he's a dull, surly, and--I'm inclined tobelieve--treacherous dog. "

"Who is he?"

"Sacked from the Army--sent to quod. Just a jail-bird whom I've keptloose. But the things did amuse me, and it was that at first. Butthen--" he paused. 

Looking at him again, Mary saw a whimsical tenderness expressed in hiseyes and smile. "The poor chap was so overwhelmingly grateful. He thoughtme the one indubitably faithful adherent that he had. And so I wastoo--though not in the way he thought. And he trusted me absolutely. Well, was I to give him up--to the law, and the Radbolts, and the jailersof an asylum--a man who trusted me like that?"

"But he was mad, " objected Doctor Mary obstinately. 

"A man has his feelings, or may have, even when he's mad. He trusted meand he loved me, Doctor Mary. Won't you allow that I've my case--so far?"She made no sign of assent. "Well then, I loved him--does that go anybetter with you? If it doesn't, I'm in a bad way; be cause what I'mgiving you now is the strong part of my case. "

"I don't see why you should put what you call your case to me at all, Mr. Beaumaroy. "

He looked at her in a reproachful astonishment. "But you seemed touchedby--by what we saw in the Tower. I thought the old man's death andfaith had appealed to you. It seems to me that people can't go througha thing like that together without feeling--well, some sort ofcomradeship. But if you've no sort of feeling of that kind--well, Idon't want to put my case. "

"Go on with your case, " said Doctor Mary, after a moment's silence. 

"Though it isn't really that I want to put a case for myself at all. ButI don't mind owning that I'd like you to understand about it--before Iclear out. "

She looked at him questioningly, but put no spoken question. Beaumaroysat down on the stool opposite to her, and poked the fire. 

"I can't get away from it, can I? There was something else you saw inthe Tower, wasn't there, and I dare say that you connect it with aconversation that we had together a little while ago? Well, I'll tell youabout that. Oh, well, of course I must, mustn't I?"

"I should like to hear. " Her bitterness was gone; he had come now tothe riddle. 

"He was a King to himself, " Beaumaroy resumed thoughtfully, "but in factI was king over him. I could do anything I liked with him. I had him. Ipossessed him--by right of conquest. The right of conquest seemed a bigthing to me; it was about the only sort of right that I'd seen anythingof for three years and more. Yes, it was--and is--a big thing, a realthing--the one right in the whole world that there's no doubt about. Other rights are theories, views, preachments! Right of conquest is afact. I had it. I could make him do what I liked, say what I liked, signwhat I liked. Do you begin to see where I found myself? I say foundmyself, because really it was a surprise to me. At first I thought he wasin a pretty small way--he only gave me a hundred a year besides my keep. True, he always talked of his money, but I set that down mainly to hisdelusion. But it was true that he had a lot--really a lot. A good bitbesides what you saw in there; he must have speculated cleverly, I think, he couldn't have made it all in his business. Doctor Mary, how much golddo you think there is in the grave in there?"

"I haven't the least idea. Thousands? Where did you get it?"

"Oh yes, thousands--and thousands. We got it mostly from the aliens inthe East End; they'd hoarded it, you know; but they were willing to sellat a premium. The premium rose up to last month; then it dropped alittle--not much, though, because we'd exhausted some of the most obvioussources. I carried every sovereign of that money in the grave down fromLondon in my brown bag. " He smiled reflectively. "Do you know how much athousand sovereigns weigh, Doctor Mary?"

"I haven't the least idea, " said Mary again. She was leaning forwardnow, listening intently, and watching Beaumaroy's face withabsorbed interest. 

"Seventeen and three-quarter pounds avoirdupois--that's the correctweight. The first time or two we didn't get much--they were still shy ofus. But after that we made some heavy; hauls. Twice we brought down closeon two thousand. Once there was three thousand, almost to a sovereign. Even men trained to the work--bullion porters, as they call them at theBank of England--reckon five bags of a thousand, canvas bags not muchshort of a foot long and six inches across, you know--they reckon five ofthem a full load--and wouldn't care to go far with them either. Theequivalent of three of them was quite enough for me to carry from Inkstonstation up to the Cottage--trying to look as if I were carrying nothingof any account! One hasn't got to pretend to be carrying nothing in fullmarching kit--nor to carry it all in one hand. And he'd never trusthimself in a cab--might be kidnapped, you see! I don't know exactly, butfrom what he said I reckon we've brought down, on our Wednesday trips, about two-thirds of all he had. Now you've probably gathered what hisidea was. He knew he was disguised as Saffron--and very proud of the wayhe lived up to the character. As Saffron, he realized the money bydriblets--turned his securities into notes, his notes into gold. But he'dlost all knowledge that the money was his own--made by himself--himselfSaffron. He thought it was saved out of the wreck of his Imperialfortune. It was to be dedicated to restoring the Imperial cause. Hehimself could not attempt, at present, to get out of England, least ofall carrying pots of gold coin. But he believed that I could. I was to goto Morocco and so on, and raise the country for him, taking as much as Icould, and coming back for more! He had no doubt at all of my comingback! In fact it wouldn't have been much easier for me to get out of thecountry with the money than it would have been for the authentic Kaiserhimself. But, Doctor Mary, what would have been possible was for me to gosomewhere else, or even back to the places we knew of, for no questionswere asked there--put that money back into notes, or securities in my ownname, and tell him I had carried out the Morocco programme. He had nosense of time, he would have suspected nothing. "

"That would have been mere and sheer robbery, " said Mary. 

"Oh yes, it would, " Beaumaroy agreed. "And, if I'd done it, and desertedhim, I should have deserved to be hanged. That was hardly my question. Aslong as he lived, I meant to stick by him; but he was turned seventy, frail, with heart-disease, and, as I understand, quite likely to sinkinto general paralysis. Well, if I was to exercise my right of conquestand get the fruits of conquest, two ways seemed open. There could be awill; you'll remember my consulting you on that point and your reply?"

"Did he make a will?" asked Mary quickly. 

"No. A will was open to serious objections. Even supposing yourevidence--which, of course, I wanted in case of need--had beensatisfactory, a fight with the Radbolts would have been unpleasant. Worse than that--as long as I lived I should have been blackmailed bySergeant Hooper, who knew Mr. Saffron's condition, though he didn't knowabout the money here. Even before you found out about my poor oldfriend, I had decided against a will--though, perhaps, I might havesquared the Radbolts by just taking this little place--and itscontents--and letting them take the rest. That too became impossibleafter your discovery. There remained then, the money in the Tower. Icould make quite sure of that, wait for his death, and then enjoy it. And, upon my word, why shouldn't I? He'd have been much gratified by mygoing to Morocco; and he'd certainly much sooner that I had themoney--if it couldn't go to Morocco--than that the Radbolts should getit. That was the way the question presented itself to me; and I'm a poorman, with no obvious career before me. The right of conquest appealed tome strongly, Doctor Mary. "

"I can see that you may have been greatly tempted, " said Mary in a graveand troubled voice. "And the circumstances did enable you to make excusesfor what you thought of doing. "

"Excuses? You won't even go so far as to call it a doubtful case? Onethat a casuist could argue either way?" Beaumaroy was smiling again now. 

"Even if I did, men of--"

"Yes, Doctor Mary--of sensitive honor!"

"Decide doubtful cases against themselves in money matters. "

"Oh, I say, is that doctrine current in business circles? I've been inbusiness myself, and I doubt it. "

"They do--men of real honor, " Mary persisted. 

"So that's how great fortunes are made? That's how individuals--to saynothing of nations--rise to wealth and power! And I never knew it, "Beaumaroy reflected in a gentle voice. His eye caught Mary's, and shegave a little laugh. "By deciding doubtful cases against themselves!Dear me, yes!"

"I didn't say they rose to greatness and power. "

"Then the people who do rise to greatness and power--and thenations--don't they go by right of conquest, Doctor Mary? Don't theydecide cases in their own favor?"

"Did you really mean to--to take the money?"

"I'll tell you as near as I can. I meant to do my best for my old man. Imeant him to live as long as he could, and to live free, unpersecuted, ashappy as he could be made. I meant that, because I loved him, and heloved me. Well, I've lost him; I'm alone in the world. " The last wordswere no appeal to Mary; for the moment he seemed to have forgotten her;he was speaking out of his own heart to himself. Yet the words therebytouched her to a livelier pity; you are very lonely when there is nobodyto whom you have affection's right to complain of loneliness. 

"But after that, if I saw him to his end in peace, if I brought that off, well, then I rather think that I should have stuck to the money. Yes, Irather think so. "

"You've managed to mix things up so!" Mary complained. "Your devotion toMr. Saffron--for that I could forgive you keeping his secret, and foolingme, and all of us. But then you mix that up with the money!"

"It was mixed up with it. I didn't do the mixing. "

"What are you going to do now?" she asked with a sudden curiosity. 

"Oh, now? Now the thing's all different. You've seen, you know, and evenI can't offer you a partnership in the cash, can I? If I weren't aninfernally poor conspirator, I should have covered up the Captain'sgrave, and made everything neat and tidy before I came to fetch you, because I knew he might go back to the Tower. On his bad nights he alwaysmade me open the grave, and spread out the money, make a show of it, youknow. Then it had to be put back in bags--the money bags lived in thebrown leather bag--and the grave had to be fastened down. Altogether itwas a good bit of work. I'd just got it open, and the money spread out, when he turned bad--a sort of collapse like the one you saw; and I was sobusy getting him to bed that I forgot the cursed grave and themoney--just as I forgot to put away the knife-and-fork before you calledthe first time, and you saw through me!"

"If you're not a good conspirator, it's another reason for notconspiring, Mr. Beaumaroy. I know you conspired for him first ofall, but--"

"Well, he's safe, he's at peace. It can all come out now, and it must. You know, and you must tell the truth. I don't know whether they can putme in prison. I should hardly think they'd bother, if they get the moneyall right. In any case I don't care much. Lord, what a lot of people'llsay 'I told you so--bad egg, that Beaumaroy!' No, I don't care. My oldman's safe; I've won my big game after all, Doctor Mary!"

"I don't believe you cared about the money really!" she cried. "Thatreally was a game to you, I think, a trick you liked to play on usrespectables!"

He smiled at her confidentially. "I do like beating the respectables, " headmitted. Then he looked at his watch. "I must do what has to be done forthe old man. But it's late--hard on one o'clock. You must be tired--andit's a sad job. "

"No, I'll help you. I--I've been in hospitals, you know. Only do gofirst, and cover up that horrible place, and hide that wretched moneybefore I go into the Tower. Will you?" She gave a shiver, as herimagination renewed the scene which the Tower held. 

"You needn't come into the Tower at all. He's as light as a feather--I'velifted him into bed often. I can lift him now. If you really wish tohelp, will you go up to his room, and get things ready?" As he spoke, hecrossed to the sideboard, took up a bedroom candlestick, and lighted itfrom one that stood on the table. "And you'll see about the body beingtaken to the mortuary, won't you? I shall communicate with theRadbolts--fully; they'll take charge of the funeral, I suppose. Well, hewon't know anything about that now, thank God!" There was the slightesttremor in his voice as he spoke. 

Mary did not take the candle. "I've said some hard things to you, Mr. Beaumaroy. I dare say I've sounded very self-righteous. " He raised hishand in protest, but she went on: "So I should like to say one differentthing to you, since we're to part after to-night. You've shown yourself agood friend, good and true as a man could have. "

"I loved my old man, " said Beaumaroy. 

It was his only plea. To Mary it seemed a good one. He had loved his poorold madman; and he had served him faithfully. "Yes, the old man found agood friend in you; I hope you will find good friends too. Oh, I do hopeit! Because that's what you want. "

"I should be very glad if I could think that, in spite of everything, Ihad found one here in this place--even although she can be a friend onlyin memory. "

Mary paused for a moment, then gave him her hand. "I know you muchbetter after tonight. My memory of you will be a kind one. Now toour work!"

"Yes--and thank you. I thank you more deeply than you imagine. "

He gave her the candle and followed her to the passage. 

"You know where the room is. I shall put the--the place--straight, andthen bring him up. I sha'n't be many minutes--ten, perhaps. The cover'srather hard to fit. "

Mary nodded from the top of the stairs. Strained by the events of thenight, and by the talk to Beaumaroy, she was again near tears; her eyeswere bright in the light of the candle, and told of nervous excitement. Beaumaroy went back into the parlor, on his way to the Tower. Suddenly hestopped and stood dead still, listening intently. 

Mary busied herself upstairs, making her preparations with practicedskill and readiness. Her agitation did not interfere with her work--there her training told--but of her inner mind it had full possession. She was afraid to be alone--there in that cottage. She longed for anotherclasp of that friendly hand. Well, he would come soon; but he must bringhis burden with him. When she had finished what she had to do, she satdown, and waited. 

Beaumaroy waited too, outside the door leading to the Tower. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE SCEPTER IN THE GRAVE

Sergeant Hooper took up his appointed position on the flagged paththat led up to the cottage door. His primary task was to give warningif anybody should come out of the door; a secondary one was to givethe alarm in case of interruption by passers-by on the road--anunlikely peril this latter, in view of the hour, the darkness of thenight, and the practiced noiselessness with which Mike might be reliedupon to do his work. Here then the Sergeant was left, after beingaccorded another nip from the flask--which, however, Neddy kept in hisown hands this time--and a whispered but vigorously worded exhortationto keep up his courage. 

Neddy, the Shover, and gentlemanly Mike tiptoed off to the window, on theright hand side of the door as one approached the house from the road. The bottom of the window was about seven feet from the ground. Neddy bentdown and offered his broad back as a platform to his companion. Mikemounted thereon and began his work. That, in itself, was child's play tohim; the matchboarding was but lightly nailed on; the fastenings cameaway in a moment under the skillful application of his instrument; thewindow sash behind was not even bolted, for the bolt had perished withtime and had not been replaced. So far, very good! But at this earlypoint Mike received his first surprise. He could not see much of theinterior; a tall curtain stretched across the entire breadth of thewindow, distant about two feet from it; but he could see that the roomwas lighted up. 

Very cautiously he completed his work on the matchboarding, handing downeach plank to Neddy when he had detached it. Then he cut out a pane ofglass--it was all A. B. C. To him--put his hand in and raised the sash alittle; then it was simple to push it up from below. But the sash hadnot been raised for years; it stuck; when it yielded to his efforts, itgave a loud creak. He flung one leg over the window-sill and sat poisedthere, listening. The room was lighted up; but if there were anyone init, he must be asleep, or very hard of hearing, or that creak would havearoused his attention. 

Released from his office as a support, Neddy rose, and hauled himselfup by his arms till he could see in the window. "Lights!" he whispered. Mike nodded and got in--on the dais, behind the curtain. Neddyscrambled up after him, finding some help from a stunted but sturdy oldapple tree that grew against the wall. Now they were both inside, behind the tall curtain. 

"Come on, " Mike whispered. "We must see if there's anybody here, and, if there isn't, put out the light. " For on either side of the curtainthere was room for a streak of light which might by chance be seenfrom the road. 

Mike advanced round the left-side edge of the curtain; he had perceivedby now that it formed the back of some structure, though he could notyet see of what nature the structure was; nor was he now examining. Foras he stepped out on the dais at the side of the canopy, his eyes wereengrossed by another feature of this strange apartment. He stretched backhis hand and caught hold of Neddy's brawny arm, pulling him forward. "Seethat--that hole, Neddy?"

For the moment they forgot the lights; they forgot the possibility of anoccupant of the room--which indeed was, save for their own whispers, absolutely still; they stood looking at the strange hole, and then intoone another's faces, for a few seconds. Then they stole softly nearer toit. "That's a blasted funny 'ole!" breathed Neddy. "Look's like abloke's--"

Mike's fingers squeezed his arm tighter, evidently again claiming hisattention. "My hat, we needn't look far for the stuff!" he whispered. Anuneasy whisper it was; the whole place looked queer, and that hole wasuncanny--it had its contents. 

Yet they approached nearer; they came to the edge and stood looking in. As though he could not believe the mere sight of his eyes, big Neddycrouched down, reached out his hand, and took up Mr. Saffron's scepter. With a look of half-scared amazement he held it up for his companion'sinspection. Mike eyed it uneasily, but his thoughts were getting back tobusiness. He stole softly off to the door, with intent to see whether itwas locked; he stooped down to examine it and perceived that it was not. It would be well, then, to barricade it, and he turned round to look forsome heavy bit of furniture suitable for his purpose, something thatwould delay the entrance of an intruder and give them notice of theinterruption. 

As he turned, his body suddenly stiffened; only his trained instinctprevented him from crying out. There was an occupant of the room--there, in the great chair between the tall candlesticks on the dais. An old mansat--half lay--there; asleep, it seemed; his eyes were shut. The color ofhis face struck Gentleman Mike as being peculiar. But everything in thatplace was peculiar; like a great tomb--a blooming mausoleum--the wholeplace was. Though he had the reputation of being an _esprit fort_, Mikefelt uncomfortable. Cold and clammy too, the beastly place was!

Still--business is business. Letting the matter of the unlocked door waitfor the moment, he began to steal catlike across the floor towards thedais. He had to investigate; also he really ought to put out thosecandles; it was utterly unprofessional to leave them alight. But he couldnot conquer a feeling that the place would seem still more peculiar whenthey were put out. 

Big Neddy's eyes had not followed his comrade to the door; they had beenheld by the queer hole and its queer contents--by the gleaming gold thatstrewed its floor, by the mock symbol of majesty which he had lifted fromit and still held in his hand, by the oddly suggestive shape anddimensions of the hole itself. But now he raised his eyes from thesethings and looked across at Mike, mutely asking what he thought ofmatters. He saw Mike stealing across the floor, looking very, very hardat--something. 

Mute as Neddy's inquiry was, Mike seemed somehow aware of it. He raisedhis hand, as though to enjoin silence, and then pointed it in front ofhim, raised to the level of his head. Neddy turned round to look in thedirection indicated. He saw the throne and its silent occupant--thewaxen-faced old man who sat there, seeming to preside over the scene, whose head was turned towards him, whose closed eyes would open directlyon his face if their lids were lifted. 

Neddy feared no living man; so he was accustomed to boast, and with goodwarrant. But was that man living? How came he up there? And what had heto do with the queer-shaped hole that had all that gold in it? And thething he held in his own hand? Did that belong to the old man up there?Had he flung it into the hole? Or (odd fancies began to assail big Neddy)had he left it behind him when he got out? And would he, by chance, comedown to look for it?

Mike's hand, stretched out from his body towards his friend, now againenjoined silence. He was at the foot of the dais; he was going up itssteps. He was no good in a scrap, but he had a nerve in some things! Hewas up the steps now, and leaning forward; he was looking hard in the oldman's face; his own was close to it. He laid hold of one of the old man'sarms, it happened to be that left arm of Mr. Saffron's, lifted it, andlet it fall again; it fell back just in the position from which he hadlifted it. Then he straightened himself up, looking a trifle greenperhaps, but reassured, and called out to Mike, in a penetrating whisper, "He's a stiff un all right!"

Yes! But then, what of the grave? Because it was a grave and nothingelse; there was no getting away from it. What of the grave, and whatabout the scepter?

And what was Mike going to do now? He was tiptoeing to the edge of thedais. He was moving towards one of the high candlesticks, the top ofwhich was a little below the level of his head, as he stood raised on thedais beside the throne. He leant forward towards the candles; his intentwas obvious. 

But big Neddy was not minded that he should carry it out, could notsuffer him to do it. With the light of the candles--well, at all eventsyou could see what was happening; you could see where you were, and whereanybody else was. But in the dark--left to torches which illuminated onlybits of the place, and which perhaps you mightn't switch on in time orturn in the right direction; if you were left like that, anybody might beanywhere, and on to you before you knew it!

"Let them lights alone, Mike!" he whispered hoarsely. "I'll smash your'ead in if you put them lights out!"

Mike had conquered his own fit of nerves, not without some exercise ofwill, and had not given any notice to his companion's, which wasconsiderably more acute; perhaps the constant use of that roomy flaskhad contributed to that, though lack of a liberal education (such as Mikehad enjoyed and misused) must also bear its share of responsibility. Hewas amazed at this violent and threatening interruption. He gave a funnylittle skip backwards on the dais; his heel came thereby in contact withthe high hassock on which Mr. Saffron's feet rested. The hassock wasshifted; one foot fell from it on to the dais, and Mr. Saffron's bodyfell a little forward from out of the deep recess of his great chair. Tobig Neddy's perturbed imagination it looked as if Mr. Saffron had set onefoot upon the floor of the dais and was going to rise from his seat, perhaps to come down from the dais, to come nearer to his grave--to askfor his scepter. 

It was too much for Neddy. He shuddered, he could not help it; and thescepter dropped from his hand. It fell from his hand back into the graveagain; under its impact the gold coins in the grave again jangled. 

Beaumaroy had, by this time, been standing close outside the door forabout two minutes; he had lighted a cigarette from the candle on theparlor table. The sounds that he thought he heard were not conclusive;creaks and cracks did sometimes come from the boarded-up window and therafters of the roof. But the sound of the jangling gold was conclusive;it must be due in some way to human agency; and in the circumstanceshuman agency must mean a thief. 

Beaumaroy's mind leapt to the Sergeant. Ten to one it was the Sergeant!He had long been after the secret; he had at last sniffed it out, and washelping himself! It seemed to Beaumaroy a disgusting thing to do, withthe dead man sitting there. But that was sentiment. Sentiment was not tobe expected of the Sergeant, and disgusting things were. 

Then he suddenly recalled Alec Naylor's story of the two men, one talland slight, one short and stumpy, who had reconnoitered Tower Cottage. The Sergeant had an accomplice, no doubt. He listened again. He heard thescrape of metal on metal, as when a man gathers up coins in his hand outof a heap. Yet he stood where he was, smoking still. Thoughts werepassing rapidly through his brain, and they brought a smile to his lips. 

Let them take it! Why not? It was no care to him now! Doctor Mary had totell the truth about it, and so, consequently, had he himself. Itbelonged to the Radbolts. Oh, damn the Radbolts! He would have risked hislife for it if the old man had lived, but he wasn't going to risk hislife for the Radbolts. Let the rascals get off with the stuff, or as muchas they could carry! He was all right. Doctor Mary could testify that hehadn't taken it. Let them carry off the infernal stuff! Incidentally hewould be well rid of the Sergeant, and free from any of hisimportunities, from whines and threats alike; it was not an unimportant, if a minor, consideration. 

Yet it was a disgusting thing to do--it certainly was; and the Sergeantwould think that he had scored a triumph. Over his benefactor too, hisprotector, Beaumaroy reflected with a satiric smile. The Sergeantcertainly deserved a fright--and, if possible, a licking. Theseadministered, he could be kicked out; perhaps--oh, yes, poor brute!--witha handful of the Radbolts' money. They would never miss it, as they didnot know how much there was, and such a diversion of their legal propertyin no way troubled Beaumaroy's conscience. 

And the accomplice? He shrugged his shoulders. The Sergeant was, as hewell knew from his military experience of that worthy man, an arrantcoward. He would show no fight. If the accomplice did, Beaumaroy wasquite in the mood to oblige him. But while he tackled one fellow, theother might get off with the money--with as much as he could carry. Forall that it was merely Radbolt money now; in the end Beaumaroy could notstomach the idea of that--the idea that either of the dirty rogues inthere should get off with the money. And it was foolish to attack them onthe front on which they expected to be attacked. Quickly his mind formedanother plan. He turned, stole softly out of the parlor, and along thepassage towards the front door of the cottage. 

After Neddy had dropped Mr. Saffron's scepter into Captain Duggle's grave(had he known that it was Captain Duggle's, and not been a prey to theridiculous but haunting fancy that it had been destined for, or even--oh, these errant fancies--already occupied by, Mr. Saffron himself, Neddywould have been less agitated) Mike dealt with him roundly. In bitterhissing whispers, and in language suited thereto, he pointed out thefolly of vain superstitions, of childish fears and sick imaginings whichinterfered with business and threatened its success. His eloquentreasoning, combined with a lively desire to get out of the place as soonas possible, so far wrought on Neddy that he produced the sack which hehad brought with him, and held its mouth open, though with tremblinghands, while Mike scraped up handful after handful of gold coins andpoured them into it. They were busily engaged on their joint task asBeaumaroy stole along the passage and, reaching the front door, againstood listening. 

The Sergeant was still keeping his vigil before the door. He had no doubtthat it was locked; did not Beaumaroy see Mrs. Wiles and himself out ofit every evening--the back door to the little house led only on to theheath behind and gave no direct access to the road--and lock it afterthem with a squeaking key? He would have warning enough if anyone turnedthe key now. He was looking towards the road; a surprise was morepossible from that quarter; his back was towards the door and only a verylittle way from it. 

But when Beaumaroy had entered with Doctor Mary, he had not re-locked thedoor; he opened it now very gently and cautiously, and saw the Sergeant'sback--there was no mistaking it. Without letting his surprise--for he hadconfidently supposed the Sergeant to be in the Tower--interfere with theinstant action called for by the circumstances, he flung out his longright arm, caught the Sergeant round the neck with a throttling grip, anddragged him backwards into the house. The man was incapable of cryingout; no sound escaped from him which could reach the Tower. Beaumaroy sethim softly on the floor of the passage. "If you stir or speak, I'llstrangle you!" he whispered. There was enough light from the passage lampto enable the Sergeant to judge, by the expression of his face, that hespoke sincerely. The Sergeant did not dare even to rub his throat, thoughit was feeling very sore and uncomfortable. 

There was a row of pegs on the passage wall, just inside the door. Onthem, among hats, caps, and coats--and also Mr. Saffron's grayshawl--hung two long neck-scarves, comforters that the keen heath windsmade very acceptable on a walk. Beaumaroy took them, and tied hisprisoner hand and foot. He had just completed this operation, in theworkmanlike fashion which he had learnt on service, when he heard afootstep on the stairs. Looking up, he saw Doctor Mary standing there. 

Her waiting in the room above had seemed long to her. Her ears had beenexpecting the sound of Beaumaroy's tread as he mounted the stairs, ladenwith his burden. That sound had not come; instead, there had been thesoft, just audible, plop of the Sergeant's body as it dropped on thefloor of the passage. It occurred to her that Beaumaroy had perhaps hadsome mishap with his burden, or found difficulty with it. She was comingdownstairs to offer her help. Seeing what she saw now, she stood stillin surprise. 

Beaumaroy looked up at her and smiled. "No cause for alarm, " he said, "but I've got to go out for a minute. Keep an eye on this rascal, willyou? Oh, and, Doctor Mary, if he tries to move or untie himself, justtake the parlor poker and hit him over the head! Thanks. You don't mind, de you? And you, Sergeant, remember what I said!"

With these words Beaumaroy slipped out of the door, and softly closed itbehind him. 

CHAPTER XV

A NORMAL CASE

When Captain Alec brought his _fiancée_ home after the dinner of welcomeand congratulation at Old Place, it was nearly twelve o'clock. Jeanne, however--in these days a radiant Jeanne, very different from the mournfulcreature who had accompanied Captain Cranster's victim to Inkston a fewweeks before--was sitting up for her mistress and, since she had toperform this duty--which was sweetened by the hope of receiving excitingconfidences, for surely that affair was "marching?"--it had been agreedbetween her and the other maids that she should sit up for the Doctoralso. She told the lovers that Doctor Mary had been called for by Mr. Beaumaroy, and had gone out with him, presumably to visit his friend Mr. Saffron. It did not occur to either of them to ask when Mary had setout; they contented themselves with exchanging a glance of disapproval. What a pity that Mary should have anything more to do with this Mr. Saffron and his Beaumaroy!

However there was a bright side to it this time. It would be kind ofCynthia to sit up for Mary, and minister to her a cup of tea whichJeanne should prepare; and it would be pleasant--and quitepermissible--for Captain Alec to bear her company. Mary could not belong, surely; it grew late. 

So for a while they thought no more of Mary--as was natural enough. Theyhad so much to talk about, the whole of a new and very wonderful life tospeculate about and to plan, the whole of their past acquaintance toreview; old doubts had to be confessed and laughed at; the inevitabilityof the whole thing from the first beginnings had to be recognized, proved, and exhibited. In this sweet discourse the minutes flew byunmarked, and would have gone on flying, had not Jeanne reappeared of herown accord, to remark that it really was very late now; did mademoisellethink that possibly anything could have happened to Doctor Arkroyd?

"By Jove, it is late!" cried the Captain, looking at his watch. "It'spast one!"

Cynthia was amazed to hear that. 

"He must be very ill, that old gentleman, " Jeanne opined. "And poorDoctor Arkroyd will be very tired. She will find the walk across theheath very fatiguing. "

"Walk, Jeanne? Didn't she take the car?" cried Cynthia, surprised. 

No, the Doctor had not taken the car; she had started to walk with Mr. Beaumaroy; the parlormaid had certainly told Jeanne that. 

"I tell you what, " said the Captain. "I'll just tool along to TowerCottage. I'll look out for Doctor Mary on the road, and give her a liftback if I meet her. If I don't, I can stop at the cottage and getBeaumaroy to tell her that I'm there, and can wait to bring her home assoon as she's ready. You'd better go to bed, Cynthia. "

Jeanne tactfully disappeared, and the lovers said good-night. AfterAlec's departure, Jeanne received the anticipated confidence. 

That departure almost synchronized with two events at Tower Cottage. Thefirst was Beaumaroy's exit from the front door, leaving Mary in chargeof his prisoner who, consequently, was unable to keep any watch on theroad or to warn his principals of approaching danger. The second was bigNeddy's declaration that, in his opinion, the sack now held about asmuch as he could carry. He raised it from the floor in his two hands. "Must weight a 'undred pound or more!" he reckoned. That meant a lot ofmoney, a fat lot of money. His terrors had begun to wear off, sincenothing of a supernatural or even creepy order had actually happened. Hehad, at last, even agreed to the candles being put out. Still he wouldbe glad to be off. "Enough's as good as a feast, as the sayin' goes, Mike, " he chuckled. 

Mike had fitted a new battery into his torch. It shone brightly on Neddyand on the sack, whose mouth Neddy was now tying up, "I might fill mypockets too, " he suggested, eyeing the very respectable amount ofsovereigns which still remained in Captain Duggle's tomb. 

"Don't do it, old lad, " Neddy advised. "If we 'ave to get out, oranything of that kind, you don't want to jingle as if you was a glasschandelier, do you?"

Mike admitted the cogency of the objection, and they agreed to be off. Mike started for the window. "I'll just pick up the Sergeant, " he said, "and signal you 'All clear. ' Then you follow out. "

"No, Mike, " said Neddy slowly, but very decisively. "If you don't mind, it's going to be me as gets out of that window first. I ain't a man ofyour eddication, and--well, blast me if I'm going to be left in thisplace alone with--that there!" He motioned with his head, back over hisshoulder, towards where silent Mr. Saffron sat. 

"You're a blooming ass, Neddy, but have it your own way. Only let me seethe coast's clear first. "

He stole to the window and looked around. He assumed that the Sergeantwas at his post, but all the same he wanted to have a look at the roadhimself. So he had, and the result was satisfactory. It was hardly to beexpected that he should scrutinize the ground immediately under thewindow; at any rate he did not think of that. It was, as Beaumaroy hadconjectured, from another direction, from the parlor, that he anticipateda possible attack. There all was quiet. He came back and reported toNeddy that the moment was favorable. "I'll switch off the torch, though, just in case. You can feel your way; keep to the edge of the steps; don'tknock up against--"

"I'll take damned good care not to!" muttered Neddy, with a littleshiver. 

He made his way to the window, through the darkness, having slung hissack over his shoulder and holding it with his right hand, while with theleft he guided himself up the dais and along its outside edge, giving aswide a berth as possible to the great chair and its encircling canopy. With a sigh of relief he found the window, moved the sack from hisshoulder, and set it on the ledge for a moment. But it was awkward to getdown from the window, holding that heavy sack. He lowered it towards theground, so that it might land gently, and, just as he let it go, heturned his head back and whispered to Mike, "All serene. Get a move on!"

"Half a minute!" answered Mike, as he in his turn set out to grope hisway to the window. 

But he was not so cautious as his friend had been. In his progress hekicked the tall footstool sharply with one of his feet. Neddy leant backfrom the window, asking quickly, and again very nervously, "What thedevil's that?"

Beaumaroy could not resist the opportunity thus offered to him. He wascrouching on the ground, not exactly under the window, but just to theright of it. Neddy's face was turned away; he threw himself on to thebag, rose to his feet, raised it cautiously, and holding it in front ofhim with both his hands--its weight was fully as much as he couldmanage--was round the curve of the Tower and out of sight with it inan instant. 

At the back of the house there was a space of ground where Mrs. Wilesgrew a few vegetables for the household's use. It was a clearing madefrom the heath, but it was not enclosed. Beaumaroy was able to reach theback entrance, by which this patch of ground could be entered from thekitchen. Just by the kitchen door stood that useful thing, a butt forrainwater. It stood some three, or three-and-a-half, feet high; and itwas full to the brim almost. With a fresh effort Beaumaroy raised thesack to the level of his breast. Then he lowered it into the water, notdropping it, for fear of a splash, but immersing both his arms above theelbow. Only when he felt the weight off them, as the sack touchedbottom, did he release his hold. Then with cautious steps he continuedhis progress round the house and, coming to the other side, crouchedclose by the wall again and waited. Where he was now, he could see thefence that separated the front garden from the road, and he was notmore than ten or twelve feet from the front door on his left. As hehuddled down there, he could not repress a smile of amusement, even ofself-congratulation. However, he turned to the practical job ofsqueezing the water out of his sleeves. 

In thus congratulating himself, he was premature. His action had beenbased on a miscalculation. He had heard only Neddy's last exclamation, not the cautious whispers previously exchanged between him and Mike; hethought that the man astride the window-sill himself had kicked somethingand instinctively exclaimed, "What the devil's that?" He thought that thesack was lowered from the window in order to be committed to thetemporary guardianship of the Sergeant, who was doubtless looking out forit and, if he had his ears open, would hear its gentle thud. Perhaps theman in the Tower was collecting a second instalment of booty; heavy asthe sack was, it did not contain all that he knew to be in CaptainDuggle's grave. Be that as it might, the man would climb out of thewindow soon; and he would fail to find his sack. 

What would he do then? He would signal or call to the Sergeant; or, ifthey had a preconcerted rendezvous, he would betake himself there, expecting to find his accomplice. He would neither get an answer from himnor find him, of course. Equally, of course, he would look for him. Butthe last place where he would expect to find him--the last place he wouldsearch--would be where the Sergeant in fact was, the house itself. If, inhis search for Hooper, he found Beaumaroy, it would be man to man, and, now again, Beaumaroy had no objection. 

But, in fact, there were two men in the Tower--one of them big Neddy; andthe function, which Beaumaroy supposed to have been intrusted to theSergeant, had never been assigned to him at all; to guard the door andthe road had been his only tasks. When they found the bag gone, and theSergeant too, they might well think that the Sergeant had betrayed them;that he had gone off on his own account, or that he had, at the lastmoment, under an impulse of fear or a calculation of interest, changedsides and joined the garrison in the house. If he had gone off with thesack, he could not have gone fast or far with it. Failing to overtakehim, they might turn back to the cottage; for they knew themselves to bein superior force. Beaumaroy was in greater danger than he knew--and sowas Doctor Mary in the house. 

Big Neddy let himself down from the window, and put down his hand to liftup the sack; he groped about for it for some seconds, during which timeMike also climbed over the window-sill and dropped on to the groundbelow. Neddy emitted a low but strenuous oath. 

"The sack's gone, Mike!" he added in a whisper. 

"Gone? Rot! Can't be! What do you mean, Neddy?"

"I dropped it straight 'ere. It's gone, " Neddy persisted. "The Sergeantmust 'ave took it. "

"No business of his! Where is the fool?" Mike's voice was already uneasy;thieves themselves seldom believe in there being honor among them. "Youstay here. I'll go to the door and see if he's there. "

He was just about to put this purpose into execution--in which event itwas quite likely that Beaumaroy, hearing his approach or his call to theSergeant, would have sprung out upon him, only to find himself assailedthe next instant by another and far more formidable antagonist in theperson of big Neddy, and thus in sore peril of his life--when the hum ofCaptain Alec's engine became audible in the distance. The next moment, the lights of his car became visible to all the men in the little frontgarden of the cottage. 

"Hist! Wait till that's gone by!" whispered Neddy. 

"Yes, and get round to the back. Get out of sight round here. " He drewNeddy round the curve of the Tower wall till his big frame was hidden byit; then he himself crouched down under the wall, with his headcautiously protruded. The night had grown clearer; it was possible tosee figures at a distance of some yards now. 

Beaumaroy also perceived the car. Whose it was and the explanation of itsappearance even occurred to his mind. But he kept still. He did not wantvisitors; he conceived his hand to be a better one than it really was, and preferred to play it by himself. If the car passed by, well and good. Only if it stopped at the gate would he have to take action. 

It did stop at the gate. Mike saw it stop. Then its engine was shut off, and a man got out of it, and came up to the garden gate. Though thewatching Mike had never seen him before, he had little difficulty inguessing who he was, and he remembered something that the Sergeant hadsaid about him. Of a certainty it was the redoubtable Captain Naylor. Through the darkness he loomed enormous, as tall as big Neddy himself andno whit less broad. A powerful reinforcement for the garrison!

And what would the Sergeant do, if he were still at his post by thedoor--with or without that missing, that all-important, sack?

Another tall figure came into Mike's view--from where he could notdistinctly see; it hardly seemed to be from the door of the cottage, forno light showed, and there was no sound of an opening door. But itappeared from somewhere near there; it was on the path, and it movedalong to the gate in a leisurely unhurried approach. A man with his handsin his pockets--that was what it looked like. This must be the garrison;this must be the Sergeant's friend, master, protector, and _bête noire_, his "Boomery. "

But the Sergeant himself? Where was he? He could hardly be at his post;or Beaumaroy and he must have seen one another, must have taken some heedof one another; something must have passed between them, either friendlyor hostile. Mike turned round and whispered hastily, close into Neddy'sear. Neddy crawled a little forward, and put his own bullet head farenough round the curve of the wall to see the meeting between thegarrison and its unexpected reinforcement. 

Beaumaroy, hands in pockets, lounged nonchalantly down to the gate. Heopened it; the Captain entered. The two shook hands and stood there, apparently in conversation. The words did not reach the ears of thelisteners, but the sound of voices did--voices hushed in tone. OnceBeaumaroy pointed to the house; both Mike and Neddy marked theoutstretched hand. Was Beaumaroy telling his companion about somethingthat had been happening at the house? Were they concocting a plan ofdefense--or of attack? With the disappearance, perhaps the treachery, ofthe Sergeant, and the appearance of this new ally for the garrison, theprospects of a fight took on a very different look. Neddy might tacklethe big stranger with an equal chance. How would Mike fare in anencounter with Beaumaroy? He did not relish the idea of it. 

And, while they fought, the traitor Sergeant might be on their backs!Or--on the other hypothesis--he might be getting off with the swag!Neither alternative was satisfactory. 

"P'r'aps he's gone off to the car with the sack--in a fright, like, thinking we'll guess that!" whispered Neddy. 

Mike did not much think so, though he would much have liked to. Buthe received the suggestion kindly. "We might as well have a look; wecan come back afterwards if--if we like. Perhaps that big brute'llhave gone. "

"The thing as I want to do most is to wring that Sergeant's neck!"

Their whispers were checked by a new development. The cottage door openedfor a moment and then closed again; they could tell that, both by thesound and by the momentary ray of light. Yet a light persisted after thedoor was shut. It came from a candle, which burnt steadily in thestillness of the night. It was carried by a woman, who came down the pathtowards where Beaumaroy and the Captain stood in conversation. Bothturned towards her with eager attention. 

"Now's our time, then! They aren't looking our way now. We can getacross the heath to where the car is. "

They moved off very softly, keeping the Tower between them and the groupon the path. They gained the back of the house, and so the open heath, and made off to their destination. They moved so softly that they escapedunheard--unless Beaumaroy were right in the notion that his ear caught alittle rustle of the bracken. He took no heed of it, unless a passingsmile might be reckoned as such. 

Doctor Mary joined him and the Captain on the path. Beaumaroy's smilegave way to a look of expectant interest. He wondered what she was goingto say to Captain Alec. There was so much that she might say, or--justconceivably--leave unsaid. 

She spoke calmly and quietly. "It's you, Captain Alec! I thought so!Cynthia got anxious? I'm all right. I suppose Mr. Beaumaroy has told you?Poor Mr. Saffron is dead. "

"I've told him, " said Beaumaroy. 

"Of heart disease, " Mary added. "Quite painlessly, I think--and quite anormal case, though, of course, it's distressing. "

"I--I'm sorry, " stammered Captain Alec. 

Beaumaroy's eyes met Mary's in the candle's light with a swift glance ofsurprise and inquiry. 

CHAPTER XVI

DEAD MAJESTY

Mary did not appear to answer Beaumaroy's glance; she continued to lookat, and to address herself to, Captain Alec. "I am tired, and I shouldlove a ride home. But I've still a little to do, and--I know it's awfullylate, but would you mind waiting just a little while? I'm afraid I mightbe as much as half-an-hour. "

"Right you are, Doctor Mary--as long as you like. I'll walk up and down, and smoke a cigar; I want one badly. " Mary made an extremely faint motionof her hand towards the house. "Oh, thanks, but really I--well, I shallfeel more comfortable here, I think. "

Mary smiled; it was always safe to rely on Captain Alec's fine feelings;under the circumstances he would--she had felt pretty sure--prefer tosmoke his cigar outside the house. "I'll be as quick as I can. Come, Mr. Beaumaroy!"

Beaumaroy followed her up the path and into the house. The Sergeant wasstill on the floor of the passage; he rolled apprehensive resentful eyesat them; Mary took no heed of him, but preceded Beaumaroy into the parlorand shut the door. 

"I don't know what your game is, " remarked Beaumaroy in a low voice, "butyou couldn't have played mine better. I don't want him inside the house;but I'm mighty glad to have him extremely visible outside it. "

"It was very quiet inside there"--she pointed to the door of theTower--"just before I came out. Before that, I'd heard odd sounds. Wasthere somebody there--and the Sergeant in league with him?"

"Exactly, " smiled Beaumaroy. "It is all quiet. I think I'll have a look. "

The candle on the table had burnt out. He took another from the sideboardand lit it from the one which Mary still held. 

"Like the poker?" she asked, with a flicker of a smile on her face. 

"No you come and help, if I cry out!" He could not repress a chuckle;Doctor Mary was interesting him extremely. 

Lighted by his candle, he went into the Tower. She heard him moving aboutthere, as she stood thoughtfully by the extinct fire, still with hercandle in her hand. 

Beaumaroy returned. "He's gone--or they've gone. " He exhibited to hergaze two objects--a checked pocket-handkerchief and a tobacco pouch. "Number one found on the edge of the grave--Number two on the floor ofthe dais, just behind the canopy. If the same man had drawn them both outof the same pocket at the same time--wanting to blow the same nose, Doctor Mary--they'd have fallen at the same place, wouldn't they?"

"Wonderful, Holmes!" said Mary. "And now, shall we attend to Mr. Saffron?"

They carried out that office, the course of which they had originallyprepared. Beaumaroy passed with his burden hard by the Sergeant, and Maryfollowed. In a quarter of an hour they came downstairs again, and Maryagain led the way into the parlor. She went to the window, and drew thecurtains aside a little way. The lights of the car were burning; theCaptain's tall figure fell within their rays and was plainly visible, strolling up and down; the ambit of the rays did not, however, embracethe Tower window. The Captain paced and smoked, patient, content, goneback to his own happy memories and anticipations. Mary returned to thetable and set her candle down on it. 

"All right. I think we can keep him a little longer. "

"I vote we do, " said Beaumaroy. "I reckon he's scared the fellows away, and they won't come back so long as they see his lights. "

Rash at conclusions sometimes--as has been seen--Beaumaroy was right inhis opinion of the Captain's value as a sentry, or a scarecrow to keepaway hungry birds. The confederates had stolen back to their base ofoperations--to where their car lay behind the trees. There, too, noSergeant and no sack! Neddy reached for his roomy flask, drank of it, and with hoarse curses consigned the entire course of events, hisaccomplices, even himself, to nethermost perdition. "That placeain't--natural!" he ended in a gloomy conviction. "'Oo pinched that sack?The Sergeant? Well--maybe it was, and maybe it wasn't. " He finished theflask to cure a recurrence of the shudders. 

Mike prevailed with him so far that he consented--reluctantly--to be leftalone on the blasted heath, while his friend went back to reconnoiter. Mike went, and presently returned; the car was still there, the tallfigure was still pacing up and down. 

"And perhaps the other one's gone for the police!" Mike suggesteduneasily. "Guess we've lost the hand, Neddy! Best be moving, eh? It's nogo for to-night. "

"Catch me trying the bloomin' place any other night!" grumbled Neddy. "It's given me the 'orrors, and no mistake. "

Mike--Mr. Percy Bennett, that erstwhile gentlemanly stranger--recognizedone of his failures. Such things are incidental to all professions. "Our best game is to go back; if the Sergeant's on the square, we'llhear from him. " But he spoke without much hope; rationalist as heprofessed himself, still he was affected by the atmosphere of the Tower. With what difficulty do we entirely throw off atavistic notions! Theyboth of them had, at the bottom of their minds, the idea that the deadman on the high seat had defeated them, and that no luck lay in meddlingwith his treasure. 

"I 'ave my doubts whether that ugly Sergeant's 'uman himself, " growledNeddy, as he hoisted his bulk into the car. 

So they went back to whence they came; and the impression that thenight's adventure left upon them was heightened as the days went by. For, strange to say, though they watched all the usual channels ofinformation, as Ministers say; in Parliament, and also tried to open upsome unusual ones, they never heard anything again of the Sergeant, ofthe sack of gold, of the yawning tomb with its golden lining, of itssilent waxen-faced enthroned guardian who had defeated them. It all--thewhole bizarre scene--vanished from their ken, as though it had been oneof those alluring, thwarting dreams which afflict men in sleep. It was anexperience to which they were shy of alluding among their confidentialfriends, even of talking about between themselves. In aword--uncomfortable!

Meanwhile the Sergeant's association with Tower Cottage had also drawn toits close. After his search and his discovery in the Tower, Beaumaroycame out into the passage where the prisoner lay, and proceeded tounfasten his bonds. 

"Stand up and listen to me, Sergeant, " he said. "Your pals have run away;they can't help you, and they wouldn't if they could, because, owing toyou, they haven't got away with any plunder, and so they'll be in a verybad temper with you. In the road, in front of the house, is CaptainNaylor--you know that officer and his dimensions? He's in a very temperwith you too. (Here Beaumaroy was embroidering the situation; theSergeant was not really in Captain Alec's thoughts. ) Finally, I'm in avery bad temper with you myself. If I see your ugly phiz much longer, Imay break out. Don't you think you'd better depart--by the back door--andgo home? And if you're not out of Inkston for good and all by ten o'clockin the morning, and if you ever show yourself there again, look out forsqualls. What you've got out of this business I don't know. You can keepit--and I'll give you a parting present myself as well. "

"I knows a thing or two--" the Sergeant began, but he saw a look thathe had seen only once or twice before on Beaumaroy's face; on eachoccasion it had been followed by the death of the enemy whose act hadelicited it. 

"Oh, try that game, just try it!" Beaumaroy muttered. "Just give me thatexcuse!" He advanced to the Sergeant, who fell suddenly on his knees. "Don't make a noise, you hound, or I'll silence you for good and all--I'ddo it for twopence!" He took hold of the Sergeant's coat-collar, jerkedhim on to his legs, and propelled him to the kitchen and through it tothe back door. Opening it, he dispatched the Sergeant through the doorwaywith an accurate and vigorous kick. He fell, and lay sprawling on theground for a second, then gathered himself up and ran hastily over theheath, soon disappearing in the darkness. The memory of Beaumaroy's lookwas even keener than the sensation caused by Beaumaroy's boot. It senthim in flight back to Inkston, thence to London, thence into the unknown, to some spot chosen for its remoteness from Beaumaroy, from CaptainNaylor, from Mike and from Neddy. He recognized his unpopularity, therebyachieving a triumph in a difficult little branch of wisdom. 

Beaumaroy returned to the parlor hastily; not so much to avoid keepingCaptain Alec waiting--it was quite a useful precaution to have thatsentry on duty a little longer--as because his curiosity and interest hadbeen excited by the description which Doctor Mary had given of Mr. Saffron's death. It was true, probably the precise truth, but it seemedto have been volunteered in a rather remarkable way and worded withcareful purpose. Also it was the bare truth, the truth denuded of all itsattendant circumstances--which had not been normal. 

When he rejoined her, Mary was sitting in the armchair by the fire; sheheard his account of the state of affairs up-to-date with a thoughtfulsmile, smoking a cigarette; her smile broadened over the tale of thewater-butt. She had put on the fur cloak in which she had walked to thecottage--the fire was out and the room cold; framed in the furs, theoutline of her face looked softer. 

"So we stand more or less as we did before the burglars appeared on thescene, " she commented. 

"Except that our personal exertions have saved that money. "

"I suppose you would prefer that all the circumstances shouldn't comeout? There have been irregularities. "

"I should prefer that, not so much on my own account--I don't know anddon't care what they could do to me--as for the old man's sake. "

"If I know you, I think you would rather enjoy being able to keep yoursecret. You like having the laugh of people. I know that myself, Mr. Beaumaroy. " She exchanged a smile with him. "You want a death certificatefrom me, " she added. 

"I suppose I do, " Beaumaroy agreed. 

"In the sort of terms in which I described Mr. Saffron's death to CaptainAlec? If I gave such a certificate, there would remain nothing--well, nothing peculiar--except the--the appearance of things in the Tower. "

Her eyes were now fixed on his face; he nodded his head with a smile ofunderstanding. There was something new in the tone of Doctor Mary'svoice; not only friendliness, though that was there, but a note ofexcitement, of enjoyment, as though she also were not superior to thepleasure of having the laugh of people. "But it's rather straining apoint to say that--and nothing more. I could do it only if you made mefeel that I could trust you absolutely. "

Beaumaroy made a little grimace, and waited for her to developher subject. 

"Your morality is different from most people's, and from mine. Mine isconventional. "

"Conventual!" Beaumaroy murmured. 

"Yours isn't. It's all personal with you. You recognize no rights inpeople whom you don't like, or who you think aren't deserving, or haven'tearned rights. And you don't judge your own rights by what the law givesyou, either. The right of conquest you called it; you hold yourself freeto exercise that against everybody, except your friends, and againsteverybody in the interest of your friends--like poor Mr. Saffron. Ibelieve you'd do the same for me if I asked you to. "

"I'm glad you believe that, Doctor Mary. "

"But I can't deal with you on that basis. It's even difficult to befriends on that basis--and certainly impossible to be partners. "

"I never suggested that we should be partners over the money, " Beaumaroyput in quickly. 

"No. But I'm suggesting now--as you did before--that we should bepartners--in a secret, in Mr. Saffron's secret. " She smiled again as sheadded, "You can manage it all, I know, if you like. I've unlimitedconfidence in your ingenuity--quite unlimited. "

"But none at all in my honesty?"

"You've got an honesty; but I don't call it a really honest honesty. "

"All this leads up to--the Radbolts!" declared Beaumaroy with & gestureof disgust. 

"It does. I want your word of honor--given to a friend--that all thatmoney--all of it--goes to the Radbolts, if it legally belongs to them. Iwant that in exchange for the certificate. "

"A hard bargain! It isn't so much that I want the money--though I mustremark that in my judgment I have a strong claim to it; I would say amoral claim but for my deference to your views, Doctor Mary. But it isn'tmainly that. I hate the Radbolts getting it, just as much as the old manwould have hated it. "

"I have given you my--my terms, " said Mary. 

Beaumaroy stood looking down at her, his hands in his pockets. His facewas twisted in a humorous disgust. Mary laughed gently. "It is possibleto--to keep the rules without being a prig, you know, though I believeyou think it isn't. "

"Including the sack in the water-butt? My sack, the sack I rescued?"

"Including the sack in the water-butt. Yes, every single sovereign!"Though Mary was pursuing the high moral line, there was now more mischiefthan gravity in her demeanor. 

"Well, I'll do it!" He evidently spoke with a great effort. "I'll do it!But, look here, Doctor Mary, you'll live to be sorry you made me do it. Oh, I don't mean that that conscience of yours will be sorry. That'llapprove, no doubt, being the extremely conventionalized thing it is. Butyou yourself, you'll be sorry, or I'm much mistaken in the Radbolts. "

"It isn't a question of the Radbolts, " she insisted, laughing. 

"Oh yes, it is, and you'll come to feel it so. " Beaumaroy was equallyobstinate. 

Mary rose. "Then that's settled, and we needn't keep Captain Alec waitingany longer. "

"How do you know that I sha'n't cheat you?" he asked. 

"I don't know how I know that, " Mary admitted. "But I do know it. And Iwant to tell you--"

She suddenly felt embarrassed under his gaze; her cheeks flushed, but shewent on resolutely:

"To tell you how glad, how happy, I am that it all ends like this; thatthe poor old man is free of his fancies and his fears, beyond both ourpity and our laughter. "

"Aye, he's earned rest, if there is to be rest for any of us!"

"And you can rest, too. And you can laugh with us, and not at us. Isn'tthat, after all, a more human sort of laughter?"

She was smiling still as she gave him her hand, but he saw that tearsstood in her eyes. The next instant she gave a little sob. 

"Doctor Mary!" he exclaimed in rueful expostulation. 

"No, no, how stupid you are!" She laughed through her sob. "It's notunhappiness!" She pressed his hand tightly for an instant and then walkedquickly out of the house, calling back to him, "Don't come, please don'tcome. I'd rather go to Captain Alec by myself. "

Left alone in the cottage, now so quiet and so peaceful, Beaumaroy museda while as he smoked his pipe. Then he turned to his labors--his finalnight of work in the Tower. There was much to do, very much to do; heachieved his task towards morning. When day dawned, there was nothing butwater in the water-butt, and in the Tower no furnishings were visiblesave three chairs--a high carved one by the fireplace, and two muchsmaller on the little platform under the window. The faded old red carpeton the floor was the only attempt at decoration. And in still one thingmore the Tower was different from what it had been, Beaumaroy contentedhimself with pasting brown paper over the pane on which Mike hadoperated. He did not replace the matchboarding over the window, butstowed it away in the coal-shed. The place was horribly in need ofsunshine and fresh air--and the old gentleman was no longer alive to fearthe draught!

When the undertaker came up to the cottage that afternoon, he glancedfrom the parlor, through the open door, into the Tower. 

"Driving past on business, sir, " he remarked to Beaumaroy, "I've oftenwondered what the old gentleman did with that there Tower. But it looksas if he didn't make no use of it. "

"We sometimes stored things in it, " said Beaumaroy. "But, as you see, there's nothing much there now. "

But then the undertaker, worthy man, could not see through the carpet, orthrough the lid of Captain Duggle's grave. That was full--fuller than ithad been at any period of its history. In it lay the wealth, the scepter, and the trappings of dead Majesty. For wherein did Mr. Saffron's deadMajesty differ from the dead Majesty of other Kings?

CHAPTER XVII

THE CHIEF MOURNERS

The attendance was small at Mr. Saffron's funeral. Besides meek anddepressed Mrs. Wiles, and Beaumaroy himself, Doctor Mary found herself, rather to her surprise, in company with old Mr. Naylor. On comparingnotes she discovered that, like herself, he had come on Beaumaroy'surgent invitation and, moreover, that he was engaged also to come onafterwards to Tower Cottage, where Beaumaroy was to entertain the chiefmourners at a mid-day repast. "Glad enough to show my respect to aneighbor, " said old Naylor. "And I always liked the old man's looks. Butreally I don't see why I should go to lunch. However, Beaumaroy--"

Mary did not see why he should go to lunch--nor, for that matter, whyshe should either, but curiosity about the chief mourners made herglad that she was going. The chief mourners did not look, at firstsight, attractive. Mr. Radbolt was a short plump man, with a weasellyface and cunning eyes; his wife's eyes, of a greeny color, staredstolidly out from her broad red face; she was taller than her mate, andher figure contrived to be at once stout and angular. All through theservice, Beaumaroy's gaze was set on the pair as they sat or stood infront of him, wandering from the one to the other in an apparentlyfascinated study. 

At the Cottage he entertained his party in the parlor with a generoushospitality, and treated the Radbolts with most courteous deference. Theman responded with the best manners that he had--who can do more? Thewoman was much less cordial; she was curt, and treated Beaumaroy ratheras the servant than the friend of her dead cousin; there was a clearsuggestion of suspicion in her bearing towards him. After a broad stareof astonishment on her introduction to "Dr. Arkroyd, " she took verylittle notice of Mary; only to Mr. Naylor was she clumsily civil andeven rather cringing; it was clear that in him she acknowledged thegentleman. He sat by her, and she tried to insinuate herself into aprivate conversation with him, apart from the others, probing him as tohis knowledge of the dead man and his mode of living. Her questionshovered persistently round the point of Mr. Saffron's expenditure. 

"Mr. Saffron was not a friend of mine, " Naylor found it necessary toexplain. "I had few opportunities of observing his way of life, even if Ihad felt any wish to do so. "

"I suppose Beaumaroy knew all about his affairs, " she suggested. 

"As to that, I think you must ask Mr. Beaumaroy himself. "

"From what the lawyers say, the old man seems to have been getting rid ofhis money, somehow or to somebody, " she grumbled, in a positive whisper. 

To Mr. Naylor's intense relief, Beaumaroy interrupted this conversation. "Well, how do you like this little place, Mrs. Radbolt?" he askedcheerfully. "Not a bad little crib, is it? Don't you think so too, Dr. Arkroyd?" Throughout this gathering Beaumaroy was very punctilious withhis "Dr. Arkroyd. " One would have thought that Mary and he were almoststrangers. 

"Yes, I like it, " said Mary. "The Tower makes it rather unusual andpicturesque. " This was not really her sincere opinion; she was playing upto Beaumaroy, convinced that he had opened some conversational maneuver. 

"Don't like it at all, " answered Mrs. Radbolt. "We'll get rid of it assoon as we can, won't we, Radbolt?" She always addressed her husband as"Radbolt. "

"Don't be in a hurry, don't throw it away, " Beaumaroy advised. "It's noteverybody's choice, of course, but there are quarters--yes, more than onequarter--in which you might get a very good offer for this place. " Hiseye caught Mary's for a moment. "Indeed I wish I was in a position tomake you one myself. I should like to take it as it stands--lock, stockand barrel. But I've sunk all I had in another venture--hope it turnsout a satisfactory one! So I'm not in a position to do it. If Mrs. Radbolt wants to sell, what would you think of it, Dr. Arkroyd, as aspeculation?"

Mary shook her head, smiling, glad to be able to smile with plausiblereason. "I'm not as fond of rash speculations as you are, Mr. Beaumaroy. "

"It may be worth more than it looks, " he pursued. "Good neighborhood, healthy air, fruitful soil, very rich soil hereabouts. "

"My dear Beaumaroy, the land about here is abominable, " Naylorexpostulated. 

"Perhaps generally, but some rich pockets--one may call pockets, "corrected Beaumaroy. 

"I'm not an agriculturist, " remarked weaselly Mr. Radbolt, in hisoily tones. 

"And then there's a picturesque old yarn told about it--oh, whether it'strue or not, of course I don't know. It's about a certain CaptainDuggle--not the Army--the Mercantile Marine, Mrs. Radbolt. You know thestory Dr. Arkroyd? And you too, Mr. Naylor? You're the oldest inhabitantof Inkston present, sir. Suppose you tell it to Mr. And Mrs. Radbolt? I'msure it will make them attach a new value to this really very attractivecottage--with, as Dr. Arkroyd says, the additional feature of the Tower. "

"I know the story only as a friend of mine--Mr. Penrose--who takes greatinterest in local records and traditions, told it to me. If our hostdesires, I shall be happy to tell it to Mrs. Radbolt. " Mr. Nayloraccompanied his words with a courtly little bow to that lady, andlaunched upon the legend of Captain Duggle. 

Mr. Radbolt was a religious man. At the end of the story he observedgravely, "The belief in diabolical personalities is not to be lightlydismissed, Mr. Beaumaroy. "

"I'm entirely of your opinion, Mr. Radbolt. " This time Mary felt that hersmile was not so plausible. 

"There seems to have been nothing in the grave, " mused Mrs. Radbolt. 

"Apparently not when Captain Duggle left it--if he was ever init--at all events not when he left the house, in whatever way and bywhatever agency. "

"As to the latter point, I myself incline to Penrose's theory, " said Mr. Naylor. "_Delirium tremens_, you know!"

Beaumaroy puffed at his cigar. "Still, I've often thought that, though itwas empty then, it would have made--supposing it really exists--anexcellent hiding-place for anybody who wanted such a thing. Say, for amiser, or a man who had his reasons for concealing what he was worth! Ionce suggested the idea to Mr. Saffron, and he was a good deal amused. Hepatted me on the shoulder and laughed heartily. He wasn't often so muchamused as that. "

A new look came into Mrs. Radbolt's green eyes. Up to now, distrust ofBeaumaroy had predominated. His frank bearing, his obvious candor andsimplicity, had weakened her suspicions. But his words suggestedsomething else; he might be a fool, not a knave; Mr. Saffron had beenamused, had laughed beyond his wont. That might have seemed the best wayof putting Beaumaroy off the scent. The green eyes were now alert, eager, immensely acquisitive. 

"The grave's in the Tower, if it's anywhere. Would you like to see theTower, Mrs. Radbolt?"

"Yes, I should, " she answered tartly. "Being part of our propertyas it is. "

Mary exchanged a glance with Mr. Naylor, as they followed the others intothe Tower. "What an abominable woman!" her glance said. Naylor smiled adespairing acquiescence. 

The strangers--chief mourners, heirs-at-law, owners now of the placewherein they stood--looked round the bare brick walls of the littlerotunda. Naylor examined it with interest too--the old story was a quaintone. Mary stood at the back of the group, smiling triumphantly. How hadhe disposed of--everything? She had not been wrong in her unlimitedconfidence in his ingenuity. She did not falter in her faith in his wordpledged to her. 

"Safe from burglars, that grave of the Captain's, if you kept itproperly concealed!" Beaumaroy pursued in a sort of humorous meditation. "And in these days some people like to have their money in their ownhands. Confiscatory legislation possible, isn't it, Mr. Naylor? You knowabout those things better than I do. And then the taxes--shocking, Mr. Radbolt! By Jove, I knew a chap the other day who came in for whatsounded like a pretty little inheritance. But by the time he'd paid allthe duties and so on, most of the gilt was off the gingerbread! It'sthere--in front of the hearth--that the story says the grave is. Doesn'tit, Mr. Naylor?" A sudden thought seemed to strike him, "I say, Mrs. Radbolt, would you like us to have a look whether we can find anyindications of it?" His eyes traveled beyond the lady whom he addressed. They met Mary's. She knew their message; he was taking her into hisconfidence about his experiment with the chief mourners. 

The stout angular woman had leapt to her conclusion. Much less money thanhad been expected--no signs of money having been spent and here, not thecunning knave whom she had expected, but a garrulous open fool, givingaway what was perhaps a golden secret! Mammon, the greed ofacquisitiveness, the voracious appetite for getting more, gleamed in hergreen eyes. 

"There? Do you say it's--it's supposed to be there?" she asked eagerly, with a shake in her voice. 

Her husband interposed in a suave and sanctimonious voice: "My dear, ifMr. Beaumaroy and the other gentleman won't mind my saying so, I've beenfeeling that these are rather light and frivolous topics for the day, andthe occasion which brings us here. The whole thing is probably anunfounded story, although there is a sound moral to it. Later on, just asa matter of curiosity, if you like, my dear. But to-day, CousinAloysius's day of burial, is it quite seemly?"

The big woman looked at her smaller mate for just a moment, ascrutinizing look. Then she said with most unexpected meekness, "I waswrong. You always have the proper feelings, Radbolt. "

"The fault was mine, entirely mine, " Beaumaroy hastily interposed. "Idragged in the old yarn, I led Mr. Naylor into telling it, I told youabout what I said to Mr. Saffron and how he took it. All my fault! Iacknowledge the justice of your rebuke. I apologize, Mr. Radbolt! And Ithink that we've exhausted the interest of the Tower. " He looked at hiswatch. "Er, how do you stand for time? Shall Mrs. Wiles make us a cup oftea, or have you a train to catch?"

"That's the woman in charge of the house, isn't it?" asked Mrs. Radbolt. 

"Comes in for the day. She doesn't sleep here. " He smiled pleasantly onMrs. Radbolt. "To tell you the truth, I don't think that she wouldconsent to sleep here by herself. Silly! But--the old story, you know!"

"Don't you sleep here?" the woman persisted, though her husband waslooking at her rather uneasily. 

"Up to now I have, " said Beaumaroy. "But there's nothing to keep mehere now, and Mr. Naylor has kindly offered to put me up as long as Istay at Inkston. "

"Going to leave the place with nobody in it?"

Beaumaroy's manner indicated surprise. "Oh, yes! There's nothing to temptthieves, is there? Just lock the door and put the key in my pocket!"

The woman looked very surly, but flummoxed. Her husband, with his suaveoiliness, came to her rescue. "My wife is always nervous, perhapsfoolishly nervous, about fire, Mr. Beaumaroy. Well, with an old houselike this, there is always the risk. "

"Upon my soul, I hadn't thought of it! And I've packed up all my things, and your car's come and fetched them, Mr. Naylor. Still, of course Icould--"

"Oh, we've no right, no claim, to trouble you, Mr. Beaumaroy. Only mywife is--"

"Fire's an obsession with me, I'm afraid, " said the stout woman, witha rumbling giggle. The sound of her mirth was intolerablydisagreeable to Mary. 

"I really think, my dear, that you'll feel easier if I stay myself, won't you? You can send me what I want to-morrow, and rejoin me whenwe arrange--because we shall have to settle what's to be done withthe place. "

"As you please, Mr. Radbolt. " Beaumaroy's tone was, for the first time, alittle curt. It hinted some slight offense--as though he felt himselfcharged with carelessness, and considered Mrs. Radbolt's obsession merefussiness. "No doubt, if you stay, Mrs. Wiles will agree to stay too, anddo her best to make you comfortable. "

"I shall feel easier that way, Radbolt, " Mrs. Radbolt admitted, withanother rumble of apologetic mirth. 

Beaumaroy motioned his guests back to the parlor. His manner retained itsshade of distance and offense. "Then it really only remains for me towish you good-bye--and all happiness in your new property. Anyinformation in my possession as to Mr. Saffron's affairs I shall, ofcourse, be happy to give you. Is the car coming for you, Mr. Naylor?"

"I thought it would be pleasant to walk back; and I hope Doctor Marywill come with us and have some tea. I'll send you home afterwards, Doctor Mary. "

Farewells were exchanged, but now without even a show of cordiality. Naylor and Doctor Mary felt too much distaste for the chief mourners toattain more than a cold civility. Beaumaroy did not relax into hisearlier friendliness. His apparent dislike to her husband's plan ofstaying at the Cottage roused Mrs. Radbolt's suspicions again; was he arogue after all, but a very plausible, a very deep one? Only Mr. Radbolt's unctuousness--surely it would have smoothed the stormiestwaves--saved the social situation. 

"Intelligent people, I thought, " Beaumaroy observed, as the threefriends pursued their way across the heath towards Old Place. "Didn'tyou, Mr. Naylor?"

Old Naylor grunted. With a twinkle in his eyes, Beaumaroy tried DoctorMary. "What was your impression of them?"

"Oh!" moaned Mary, with a deep and expressive note. "But how did you knowthey'd be like that?"

"Letters, and the old man's description, he had a considerable command oflanguage, and very violent likes and dislikes. I made a picture ofthem--and it's turned out pretty accurate. "

"And those were the nearest kith and kin your poor old man had?" Naylorshook his head sadly. "The woman obviously cared not a straw aboutanything but handling his money--and couldn't even hide it! A gross andhorrible female, Beaumaroy!"

"Were you really hurt about their insisting on staying?" asked Mary. 

"Oh, come, you're sharper than that, Doctor Mary! Still, I think I did itpretty well. I set the old girl thinking again, didn't I?" He broke intolaughter, and Mary joined in heartily. Old Naylor glanced from one to theother with an air of curiosity. 

"You two people look to me--somehow--as if you'd got a secretbetween you. "

"Perhaps we have! Mr. Naylor's a man of honor, Doctor Mary; a man whoappreciates a situation, a man you can trust. " Beaumaroy seemed very gayand happy now, disembarrassed of a load, and buoyant alike in walk and inspirit. "What do you say to letting Mr. Naylor--just him--nobodyelse--into our secret?"

Mary put her arms through old Mr. Naylor's. "I don't mind, if you don't. But nobody else!"

"Then you shall tell him--the entire story--at your leisure. MeanwhileI'll begin at the wrong end. I told you I'd made a picture of the hatedcousins, of the heirs-at-law, those sorrowing chief mourners. Well, having made a picture of them that's proved true, I'll make a prophecyabout them, and I'll bet you it proves just as true. "

"Go on, " said Mary. "Listen, Mr. Naylor, " she added with a squeeze of theold man's arm. 

"You're like a couple of naughty children!" he said, with an affectionatelook and laugh. 

"Well, my prophecy is that they'll swear the poor dear old man's estateat under five thousand. "

"Well, why shouldn't--" old Naylor began; but he stopped as he sawMary's eyes meet Beaumaroy's in a rapture of quick and delightedunderstanding. 

"And then perhaps you'll own to being sorry, Doctor Mary!"

"So that's what you were up to, was it?" said Mary. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE GOLD AND THE TREASURE

Old Mr. Naylor called on Mary two or three days later--at an hour when, as he well knew, Cynthia was at his own house--in order to hear thestory. There were parts of it which she could not describe fully forlack of knowledge--the enterprise of Mike and Big Neddy, for example;but all that she knew she told frankly, and did not scruple to invokeher imagination to paint Beaumaroy's position, with its difficulties, demands, obligations--and temptations. He heard her with closeattention, evidently amused, and watching her animated face with a keenand watchful pleasure. 

"Surprising!" he said at the end, rubbing his hands together. "That's tosay, not in itself particularly surprising. Just a queer littlehappening; one would think nothing of it if one read it in the newspaper!Things are always so much more surprising when they happen down one'sown street, or within a few minutes' walk of one's garden wall--and whenone actually knows the people involved in them. Still I was alwaysinclined to agree with Dr. Irechester that there was something out of thecommon about old Saffron and our friend Beaumaroy. "

"Dr. Irechester never found out what it was, though!" exclaimed Marytriumphantly. 

"No, he didn't; for reasons pretty clearly indicated in your narrative. "He sat back in his chair, his elbows on the arms and his hands claspedbefore him. "If I may say so, the really curious thing is to find you inthe thick of it, Doctor Mary. "

"That wasn't my fault. I couldn't refuse to attend Mr. Saffron. Dr. Irechester himself said so. "

He paid no heed to her protest. "In the thick of it--and enjoying it sotremendously!"

Mary looked thoughtful. "I didn't at first. I was angry, indignant, suspicious. I thought I was being made a fool of. "

"So you were--a fool and a tool, my dear!"

"But that night--because it all really happened in just one night--thechief mourners, as Mr. Beaumaroy always calls them, were more than--"

"Just a rather amusing epilogue--yes, that's all. "

"That night, it did get hold of me. " She laughed a little nervously, alittle uneasily. 

"And now you tell it to me--I must say that your telling made it twicethe story that it really is--now you tell it as if it were the greatestthing that ever happened to you!"

For a moment Mary fenced. "Well, nothing interesting ever has happened inmy humdrum life before. " But old Naylor pursed up his lips in contempt ofher fencing. "It did seem to me a great--a great experience. Not theburglars and all that--though some of the things, like the water-butt, did amuse me very much--but our being apart from all the world, there byourselves, against the whole world in a way, Mr. Naylor. "

"The law on one side, the robbers on the other, and you two alonetogether!"

"Yes, you understand. That was the way I felt it. But we weren'ttogether, not in every way. I mean, we were fighting between ourselvestoo, right up to the very end. " She gave another low laugh. "I supposewe're fighting still; he means to face me with some Radbolt villainy, andmake me sorry for what he calls my legalism--with an epithet!"

"That's his idea, and my own too, I confess. Those chief mourners willfind the money--and some other things that'll make 'em stare. But they'lllie low; they'll sit on the cash till the time comes when it's safe todispose of it; and they'll bilk the Inland Revenue out of the duties. Theremarkable thing is that Beaumaroy seems to want them to do it. "

"That's to make me sorry; that's to prove me wrong, Mr. Naylor. "

"It may make you sorry, it makes me sorry, for that matter; but itdoesn't prove you wrong. You were right. My boy Alec would have takenthe same line as you did. Now you needn't laugh at me, Mary. I own up atonce; that's my highest praise. "

"I know it is; and it implies a contrast?"

Old Naylor unclasped his hands and spread them in a deprecatory gesture. "It must do that, " he acknowledged. 

Mary gave a rebellious little toss of her head. "I don't care if it does, Mr. Naylor! Mr. Beaumaroy is my friend now. "

"And mine. Moreover I have such confidence in his honor and fidelity thatI have offered him a rather important and confidential position in mybusiness--to represent us at one of the foreign ports where we haveconsiderable interests. " He smiled. "It's the sort of place where he willperhaps find himself less trammelled by--er--legalism, and with moreopportunities for his undoubted gift of initiative. "

"Will he accept your offer? Will he go?" she asked rather excitedly. 

"Without doubt, I think. It's really quite a good offer. And whatprospects has he now, or here?"

Mary stretched her hands towards the fire and gazed into it in silence. 

"I think you'll have an offer soon too, and a good one, Doctor Mary. Irechester was over at our place yesterday. He's still of opinion thatthere was something queer at Tower Cottage. Indeed he thinks that Mr. Saffron was queer himself, in his head, and that a clever doctor wouldhave found it out. "

"That he himself would, if he'd gone on attending--"

"Precisely. But he's not surprised that you didn't; you lacked theexperience. Still he thinks none the worse of you for that, and he toldme that he has made up his mind to offer you partnership. Irechester's abit stiff, but a very straight fellow. You could rely on being fairlytreated, and it's a good practice. Besides he's well off, and quitelikely to retire as soon as he sees you fairly in the saddle. "

"It's a great compliment. " Here Mary's voice sounded quitestraightforward and sincere. An odd little note of contempt crept into itas she added, "And it sounds--ideal!"

"Yes, it does, " old Naylor agreed, with a private smile all to himself, whilst Mary still gazed into the fire. "Quite ideal. You're a lucky youngwoman, Mary. " He rose to take his leave. "So, with our young folk happilymarried, and you installed, and friend Beaumaroy suited to hisliking--why, upon my word, we may ring the curtain down on a happyending--of Act I, at all events!"

She seemed to pay no heed to his words. He stood for a moment, admiringher; not as a beauty, but a healthy comely young woman, stout-hearted, and with humanity and a sense of fun in her. And, as he looked, his truefeeling about the situation suddenly burst through all restraint andleapt from his lips. "Though, for my part, under the circumstances, if Iwere you, I'd see old Irechester damned before I accepted thepartnership!"

She turned to him--startled, yet suddenly smiling. He took her hand andraised it to his lips. 

"Hush! Not another word! Good-bye, my dear Mary!"

The next day, as Mary, her morning round finished, sat at lunch withCynthia, listening, or not listening, to her friend's excusably, eager chatter about her approaching wedding, a note was deliveredinto her hands:

The C. M. 's are in a hurry! She's back! The window is boarded up again!Come and see! About 4 o'clock this afternoon. B. 

Mary kept the appointment. She found Beaumaroy strolling up and down onthe road in front of the cottage. The Tower window was boarded up again, but with new strong planks, in a much more solid and workmanlike fashion. If he were to try again, Mike would not find it so easy to negotiate, without making a dangerous noise over the job. 

"Such impatience--such undisguised rapacity--is indecent and revolting, "Beaumaroy remarked. He seemed to be in the highest spirits. "I wonder ifthey've opened it yet!"

"They'll see you prowling about outside, won't they?"

"I hope so. Indeed I've no doubt of it. Mrs. Greeneyes is probablypeering through the parlor window at this minute, and cursing me. I likeit! To those people I represent law and order. If they can rise to theconception of such a thing at all, I probably embody conscience. When youcome to think of it, it's a pleasant turn of events that I should come torepresent law and order and conscience to anybody, even to the Radbolts. "

"It is rather a change, " she agreed. "But let's walk on. I don't reallymuch want to think of them. "

"That's because you feel that you're losing the bet. I can't stop themgetting the money in the end, that's your doing! I can't stop themcheating the Revenue, which is what they certainly mean to do, withoutexposing myself to more inconvenience than I am disposed to undergo inthe cause of the Revenue. Whereas if I had left the bag in thewater-butt--all your doing! Aren't you a little sorry?"

"Of course there is an aspect of the case--" she admitted smiling. 

"That's enough for me! You've lost the bet. Let's see--what were thestakes, Mary?"

"Come, let's walk on. " She put her arm through his. "What about thisberth that Mr. Naylor's offering you? At Bogota, isn't it?"

He looked puzzled for a moment; then his mind worked quickly back toCynthia's almost forgotten tragedy. He laughed in enjoyment of herthrust. "My place isn't Bogota--though I fancy that it's rather in thesame moral latitude. You're confusing me with Captain Cranster!"

"So I was--for a moment, " said Doctor Mary demurely. "But what about theappointment, anyhow?"

"What about your partnership with Dr. Irechester, if you come to that?"

Mary pressed his arm gently, and they walked on in silence for a littlewhile. They were clear of the neighborhood of Tower Cottage now, butstill a considerable distance from Old Place; very much alone together onthe heath, as they had seemed to be that night--that night of nights--atthe cottage. 

"I haven't so much as received the offer yet; only Mr. Naylor hasmentioned it to me. "

"Still, you'd like to be ready with your answer when the offer is made, wouldn't you?" He drew suddenly away from her, and stood still on theroad, opposite to her. His face lost its playfulness; as it set intogravity, the lines upon it deepened, and his eyes looked rather sad. "This is wrong of me, perhaps, but I can't help it. I'm not going to talkto you about myself. Confessions and apologies and excuses, and so on, aren't in my line. I should probably tell lies if I attempted anything ofthe sort. You must take me or leave me on your own judgment, on your ownfeelings about me, as you've seen and known me--not long, but prettyintimately, Mary. " He suddenly reached his hand into his pocket andpulled out the combination knife-and-fork. "That's all I've brought awayof his from Tower Cottage. And I brought it away as much for your sake asfor his. It was during our encounter over this instrument that I firstthought of you as a woman, Mary. And, by Jove, I believe you knew it!"

"Yes, I believe I did, " she answered, her eyes set very steadily on his. 

He slipped the thing back into his pocket. "And now I love you, and Iwant you, Mary. "

She fell into a sudden agitation. "Oh, but this doesn't seem for me! I'dput all that behind me! I--" She could scarcely find words. "I, I'm justDoctor Mary!"

"Lots of people to practice on--bodies and souls too, in the morallatitude I'm going to!"

Her body seemed to shiver a little, as though before a plunge into deepwater. "I'm very safe here, " she whispered. 

"Yes, you're safe here, " he acknowledged gravely, and stood silent, waiting for her choice. 

"What a decision to have to make!" she cried suddenly. "It's all my lifein a moment! Because I don't want you to go away from me!" She drew nearto him, and put her hands on his shoulders. "I'm not a child, likeCynthia. I can't dream dreams and make idols any more. I think I see youas you are, and I don't know whether your love is a good thing. " Shepaused, searching his eyes with hers very earnestly. Then she went on, "But if it isn't, I think there's no good thing left for me at all. "

"Mary, isn't that your answer to me?" "Yes. " Her arms fell from hisshoulders, and she stood opposite to him, in silence again for a moment. Then her troubled face cleared to a calm serenity. "And now I set doubtsand fears behind me. I come to you in faith, and loyalty, and love. I'mnot a missionary to you, or a reformer, God forbid! I'm just the womanwho loves you, Hector. "

"I should have mocked at the missionary, and tricked the reformer. " Hebared his head before her. "But by the woman who loves me and whom Ilove, I will deal faithfully. " He bent and kissed her forehead. 

"And now, let's walk on. No, not to old Place--back home, pastTower Cottage. "

She put her arm through his again, and they set out through the soft duskthat had begun to hover about them. So they came to the cottage, andhere, for a while, instinctively stayed their steps. A light shone in theparlor window; the Tower was dark and still. Mary turned her face toBeaumaroy's with a sudden smile of scornful gladness. 

"Aye, aye, you're right!" His smile answered hers. "Poor devils! I'msorry; for them, upon my soul I am!"

"That really is just like you!" she exclaimed in mirthful exasperation. "Sorry for the Radbolts now, are you?"

"Well, after all, they've only got the gold. We've got thetreasure, Mary!"

THE END.