'You mean he was her friend?'

'He was? He is--none better. Miss Bewicke has many friends--oh, yes, a
great many; she is so beautiful--is she not beautiful?--but there are
none of them to her like Guy.'

The woman's familiar use of Mr Holland's Christian name stung Miss
Broad into silence. That she lied she knew; to say that, to-day, Mr
Holland was still Miss Bewicke's dearest friend was to attain the
height of the ridiculous. That the young lady knew quite well. She was
also aware that, for some reason which, as yet, she did not fathom,
this foreign creature was making herself intentionally offensive. None
the less, she did not like to hear her lover spoken of in such fashion
by such lips. Still less did she like to see his portrait where it
was. Had she acted on the impulse of the moment, she would have torn
it into shreds. And perhaps she might have gone even as far as that
had she not perceived something else, which she liked, if possible,
still less than the position occupied by the gentleman's photograph.

On a table lay a walking-stick. A second's glance was sufficient to
convince her of the ownership. It was his--a present from herself. She
had had it fitted with a gold band; his initials, which she had had
cut on it, stared her in the face. What was his walking-stick--her
gift--doing there?

The woman's lynx-like eyes were following hers.

'You are looking at the walking-stick? It, also, is Mr Holland's.'

'What is it doing here?'

The woman shrugged her shoulders.

'He left it behind him, I suppose. Perhaps he was in too great a
hurry, or Miss Bewicke. Sometimes, when one is in a great hurry to get
away, one forgets little things which are of no importance.'

She called his walking-stick--her gift to him--a thing of no
importance! What was the creature hinting at? Miss Broad would not
condescend to ask, although she longed to know.

'As I tell you, Miss Bewicke is not at home. She is at the Hotel
Metropole at Brighton. Would you like to take Mr Holland's
walking-stick to--her?' There was an accent on the pronoun which the
visitor did not fail to notice. 'What name shall I give to Miss
Bewicke?'

'I am Miss Broad.'

'Miss Broad--Letty Broad? Oh, yes, I remember. They were talking and
laughing about you--Mr Holland and she. Perhaps, after all, you had
better not go down to Brighton.'

When the young lady was back in the street, her brain was a tumult of
contradictions. That the woman who called herself Miss Bewicke's
companion had, for reasons of her own, been trying to amuse herself at
her expense she had not the slightest doubt. That Mr Holland's
relations with Miss Bewicke were not what were suggested she was
equally certain. None the less she wondered, and she doubted. What was
his portrait doing there? Still more, what was his walking-stick? He
was carrying it when they last met. Under what circumstances, between
this and then, had it found its way to where it was? Where was Mr
Holland? That there was a mystery she was convinced. She was almost
convinced that Miss Bewicke held the key to it.

Should she run down to Brighton and find out? She would never rest
until she knew. She had gone so far; she might as well go farther. She
would be there and back in no time. The cabman was told to drive to
Victoria. At Victoria a train was just on the point of starting. Miss
Broad was travelling Brightonwards before she had quite made up her
mind as to whether she really meant to go. When the train stopped at
Clapham Junction, she half rose from her seat and all but left the
carriage. She might still be able to return home in time for luncheon.
But while she dilly-dallied, the train was off. The next stoppage was
at Croydon. There would be nothing gained by her alighting there; so
she reached Brighton, as she assured herself, without ever having had
the slightest intention of doing it. Therefore, and as a matter of
course, when the train rattled into the terminus she was not in the
best of tempers. She addressed sundry inquiries to herself as she
descended to the platform.

'Now what am I to do? I may as well go to the Metropole as I am here.
I am not bound to see the woman even if I go. And as for speaking to
her'--she curled her lip in a way which was intended to convey a
volume of meaning--'I suppose it is possible to avoid the woman, even
if I have the misfortune to be under the same roof with her. The
hotel's a tolerable size; at anyrate, we'll see.

She did see, and that quickly. As she entered the building, the first
person she beheld coming towards her across the hall was Miss May
Bewicke.

Which proves, if proof be necessary, that a building may be large, and
yet too small.

                             CHAPTER XII

                   THE TENDER MERCIES OF TWO LADIES

By way of a commencement, Miss Broad was conscious of two things--that
Miss Bewicke was looking her best; that she herself was looking her
worst; at least, she was nearly certain she was looking her worst, she
felt so hideous.

Miss Bewicke had a knack of walking--it came by nature, though there
were those who called it a trick--which gave her a curious, and,
indeed, humorous, air of importance altogether beyond anything her
stature seemed to warrant. This enabled her to overwhelm men, and even
women who were much taller than herself, with a grace which was
positively charming. She moved across that spacious hall, looking
straight at Miss Broad, as if there was nothing there; and was walking
past with an apparent unconsciousness of there being anyone within a
mile, though she brushed against the other's skirts as she passed,
which was a little more than Miss Broad could endure. She was not
going all the way to Brighton to be treated by that woman as if she
were a nonentity.

'Miss Bewicke!'

The lady, who had passed, turned.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Can I speak to you?'

'Speak to me?' She regarded the other with a smile which, if pretty,
was impertinent. 'I'm afraid I haven't the pleasure.'

'I am Miss Broad.'

'Broad?--Broad? I don't seem to remember.'

'Perhaps you remember Mr Holland.'

'Mr Holland?--Guy Holland? Oh, yes, I have good cause for remembering
him.'

'Mr Holland has spoken of me to you?'

'Oh! You are that Miss Broad! I have pleasure in wishing you good
morning.'

Miss Bewicke walked off as if, so far as she was concerned, the matter
was at an end; but so abrupt a termination to the interview the other
would not permit.

'I am sorry to detain you, Miss Bewicke, but, as I have said, I wish
to speak to you.'

'Yes. What do you wish to say?'

'Can I not speak to you in private?'

'By all means.' Miss Bewicke led the way into a sitting-room. As soon
as they were in, and the door closed, before the other had a chance to
open her lips, she herself began the ball. 'Miss Broad, before you
speak, there is something which I wish to say to you. You incited Mr
Guy Holland to commit, last night, a burglary upon my premises.'

If she expected the other to show signs of confusion, or to attempt
denial, she was mistaken. Miss Broad did not flinch.

'I did.'

'You admit it?'

'I do.'

'Are you aware that in so doing you were guilty of a criminal action?'

'As to that I know nothing, and care less.'

'I have only to send for a policeman to have you sentenced to a term
of imprisonment.'

'I understand how it is you have been so successful on the stage. You
really are an excellent actress. You bear yourself as if you were the
injured party, while all the time you know very well that it was
precisely because you had robbed him that I advised him to despoil you
of your booty.'

'You are perfectly aware that that is false.'

'On the contrary, I am perfectly aware that it is true. Where is Mr
Holland? Is he here with you?'

'Miss Broad!'

'Or did you dare to make his doing, what you know he was perfectly
justified in doing, an affair of the police?'

'I came upon Guy Holland, at dead of night, engaged in robbing me, and
I sent him from me with my blessing.'

'Then where is he?'

'I know no more than this chair.'

'Miss Bewicke, I called at your rooms this morning. I saw his
walking-stick upon your table. When I asked how it came there, the
woman who had opened the door said, in effect, that he had left it
behind in his hurry to go away with you.'

'The woman! What woman?'

'She said she was your companion.'

'Casata? Louise Casata never said anything so monstrous.'

'Not in so many words; but that was what she intended me to
understand.'

'You believed it? What a high opinion you appear to have of us! Guy
must be worse even than I imagined, or you, his promised wife, would
not judge him with such hard judgment.'

'I did not believe it; but I did believe that you called in the police
last night.'

'I didn't; I called in no one. I simply told him to go, and he went.'

'You are laughing. You know where he is. I can see it in your face.'

'Then you are indeed a seer.'

'This morning, when he did not come, as he promised he would, and
always has done, someone gave me this. What am I to think?'

Miss Broad handed Miss Bewicke the two typewritten lines, which that
lady carefully regarded.

'Someone? Who was someone?'

'A little boy. I thought it was a message from Guy. By the time I
found it wasn't, he was gone. I don't know who he was, nor from whom
he came, if it wasn't from you.'

It certainly did not come from me. Miss Broad, I begin to find you
amusing. I also begin to understand what it is Guy Holland perceives
in you to like. You are more of a woman than I am; that is, there is
in you more of the natural savage, which, to a man of his temperament,
goes to make a woman.'

'I want none of your praises.'

'I'm not going to give you any, or compliments either. I doubt if
you're in a frame of mind to properly appreciate any sort of
sleight-of-hand. Let me finish. I had an engagement for luncheon; as
you have made me late for it, perhaps you will do me the honour of
lunching with me here.'

'No, thank you.'

'Pardon me, you will.'

'Excuse me, I won't.'

'We shall see.'

Miss Bewicke touched the bell button. Miss Broad eyed her with flaming
cheeks.

'It's no use your ordering anything to eat for me, because I sha'n't
touch it. You treat me as if I were a child. I'm not a child.'

'My dear Miss Broad, we are both of us women--both of us; and there
are senses in which women and children are synonyms. Mr Holland was
once in love with me--he was, I assure you. He is now in love with
you, which fact creates between us a bond of sympathy.'

'I don't see it.'

'No? I do. You will. He appears to have got himself into, we will put
it, a rather equivocal position. It is our bounden duty, as joint
sympathisers, to get him out of it. We will discuss our bounden duty;
but I never can discuss anything when I'm starving, which I am.'

To the waiter who appeared Miss Bewicke gave orders for an immediate
lunch for two. Miss Broad kept silence. The truth was, she was not
finding Miss Bewicke altogether the sort of person she expected. That
little lady went on,--

'I'm free to confess, my dear Miss Broad; by the way, may I call you
Letty?'

'No; you may not.'

'Thank you; you are so sweet. As I was about to remark, my
dear--Letty'--the other winced, but was still--'I'm free to confess
that I think it not improbable that something has happened to Mr
Holland.'

'You know that something has happened?'

'I don't know--I surmise. I put two and two together, thus:--To begin
with, I don't think that you were the only person who egged him on to
felony.'

Miss Broad again was speechless. She remembered Mr Holland's tale of
his encounter with Miss Casata.

'There was a preciseness about his proceedings which set me thinking
at the time, and has kept me thinking ever since. I'm pretty shrewd,
you know. Now, I happen to be aware that a certain person of my
acquaintance has been on too good terms with Mr Horace Burton. You
have heard of Mr Horace Burton? I thought so. Such a nice young man!
Now, however, this certain person is on the worst terms with Mr Horace
Burton. For sufficient reasons, I assure you. She has been evolving
fantastic schemes of vengeance on the deceitful wretch; she's just a
little cracked, you know. To ruin Mr Horace Burton by assisting Guy
Holland to deprive him of his fortune would be just the kind of notion
which would commend itself to her. I fancy that that's exactly what
she did do. Didn't she, my dear?'

Miss Broad was breathing a little hard. The other's keen intuition
startled her.

'It was I who told him to take what was his own.'

'Yes, I know; but the first suggestion did not come from you. However,
so long as we understand each other, that's the point. To proceed--Mr
Horace Burton would be cautious that this certain person's sweetness
had turned to gall, and also that she was wishful to pay him out in
his own coin. He might even have a notion of the form that payment was
to take, having learned it from the certain person's own lips. If so,
you may be quite sure that he or his friends saw Guy Holland enter my
premises, if nobody else did. They saw him come out. They were to the
full as anxious to obtain possession of that ruby as ever he could be.
So they took it from him.'

'Took it from him--with violence?'

'Do you think they could take it from him without violence--that he
would hand it over practically upon request? That's not like Guy; not
the Guy I knew. He'd fight for it tooth and nail himself against a
regiment.'

'Do you think then they hurt him?'

'It looks as if they did something to him. He never went home. There
must have been some reason why he didn't. There is at least a
possibility that it was because he couldn't.'

'Do you think they--killed him?'

'Ah, now you ask too much. I should say certainly not. It would be
unintentionally if they did. That would be too big a price even for Mr
Horace Burton to pay. If they attacked him in fair fight, I should say
that he killed someone before they did him; and that when they did it
was because they had to. But the possibility is that they never let
him have a chance; that they stole on him unawares, and had him at
their mercy before he knew that danger threatened.'

'Miss Bewicke, you are so clever--so much cleverer than I--'

'My dear!'

'Come up to town with me and help me look for him, and go with me to
the police, and--'

'Set all London by the ears? I know. We'll do it; but here comes
lunch. You sit down to lunch with me, and we'll talk things over while
we lunch. You see how far talking things over has already brought us;
and after lunch we'll go to town, as you suggest, and find out what's
happened to Guy Holland, and where he is, or we'll know the reason
why. But if you won't lunch with me, then nothing remains but to wish
you good day, and, so far as I'm concerned, there'll be an end of the
matter. I'll have nothing to do with a person who won't eat my bread
and salt.'

So the ladies lunched together. Although Miss Broad declared that she
could not swallow a morsel, Miss Bewicke induced her to dispose of
several. Indeed, she handled her with so much skill that by the time
the meal was through--it was not a long one--one would have thought
that they really were on decent terms with one another, though Miss
Broad was still a trifle scratchy. But then her nerves were out of
order, and when a lady's nerves are out of order, she is apt,
occasionally, to stray from those well-defined paths which etiquette
and good breeding require her to tread; in short, she does not know
what she is doing, or what anybody else is doing either, which Miss
Bewicke quite understood, so that her guest's eccentricities,
apparently, simply amused her.

And the two young ladies went up together in the same compartment to
London to look for Mr Holland, and to call down, if necessary,
vengeance on his enemies and those who had despitefully used him.

                             CHAPTER XIII

                       VISITORS FOR MISS CASATA

Miss Casata had a razor in her hand--an open razor. She examined its
edge.

'It is very sharp. Oh, yes, how sharp! One cut; it will all be over.
Will it be over with one cut--that is it--or shall I have to hack, and
hack, and hack? That would not be agreeable.'

She stood in front of a looking-glass, regarding her own reflection.

'I am not bad looking; no, I am not. I have a certain attractiveness,
which is my own. To use the razor would be to make a mess. I should be
a horrible sight. Would he care? He would not see me. If he did, he
would laugh, I know. He has what he calls a taste for the horrible. It
would amuse him to behold me all covered with blood.'

She turned her attention to some articles which were on a table.

'Here is a revolver. The six barrels are all loaded. It would not need
them all to blow out my brains--that is, if I have any to blow. Here
is a bottle of hydrocyanic acid. What lies I had to tell to get it;
what tricks I had to play! There is enough in this little bottle to
kill the whole street. I have, therefore, the keys of death close to
my hand--painless, instant death. Three roads to eternal sleep, and I
stand so much in need of rest. Yet I hesitate to use them. It is very
funny. Is it because I am going mad--I did not use to be infirm of
purpose--I wonder?'

She handled, one after another, the three objects--the razor, the
revolver, the little bottle--as if endeavouring to make a selection.

'I am too optimistic. There is my fault--I always hope. It is an
error. I have always had in my life such evil fortune that, when
happiness came, I should have known it would not endure--that the
night would be blacker because the sun once shone; that for me,
henceforward, it would be always night. I was a fool; so happy I
forgot, so I pay for it. Well, I will take my fate into my own hands
and make an ending when I choose. I should have liked to see the
little one--my little one.' A softness came into the voice of which
one might hardly have thought it capable. 'To have held it in my arms;
to press it to my breast; to touch its lips with mine. I should,
indeed, have liked to be a mother. Yet better not; it might have been
like its father. That would have been the worst of all. Which is it to
be--steel? lead? a little drink? Why is it I cannot decide? What's
that?'

She had Miss Bewicke's dainty drawing-room to herself. An incongruous
object she seemed in it, she and her gruesome playthings. A sound
appeared to have caught her ear. She put her right hand behind her
back; in it, the three assistants of death. Moving to a door which was
on the opposite side of the room, turning the handle softly, she
passed half-way through it, then stood and listened.

'Quite still, yet. The noise did not come from there. There was a
noise. Ah!'

The interjection was in response to a rat-tat-tat on the knocker. The
room was illuminated by a dozen electric lights. Disconnecting one
after the other, she allowed but a single one to remain alight.
Comparatively, the apartment was in darkness.

'That's not Ellen's knock, nor Jane's; she is not already back again.
Besides, she also does not knock like that. Who is it?'

The knocking came again--slightly, more insistently than before.

'If it is some bothering visitors, they will have a short answer, I
promise them. When I do not open, why do they not take a hint and go?
I am not to be disturbed when I am making my arrangements to remain
undisturbed for ever.'

The knocking was repeated for a third time.

'So, they persist! Well, I will show them. They shall see.'

Cramming her trio of treasures into the pocket of her dress, where one
would have supposed them to be in uncomfortable, not to say dangerous,
juxtaposition, she strode to the door, intent on scarifying the
presumptuous caller. When, however, she perceived who stood without,
surprise for the moment made her irresolute.

The visitor was Mr Horace Burton, at whom Miss Casata stared, as if he
were the very last person she had expected to see--which, probably, as
a matter of fact, he was. Mr Burton, on the other hand, bestowed on
her his blandest smile. He sauntered past her as if he had not the
slightest doubt in the world that he would be regarded as a welcome
guest.

'Hollo, Lou! come to pay you a visit.'

His tone was light and airy, in striking contrast to her demeanour,
which was about as tragic as it could be.

'Go! Do you hear me, go, before you are sorry, and I am sorry, too!'

Her manner seemed to leave him quite unmoved.

'Now, my dear girl, don't look at me like that; it isn't nice of you.
I'm here as a friend--a friend, you understand--and something more
than a friend.'

'You are no friend of mine; no, you never can be. I tell you again to
go at once, or you will be sorry. I have warned you.'

'That's all right; you'll change your tone when you hear what I have
to say. I've come here to bring sunshine into your life, to ask for
your forgiveness, to undo the past. Be sensible; there's a good girl.'

'Sensible? Oh, yes, I will be sensible. There's someone else here.'

'Yes, that's Cox; he's a friend of mine. He's come here to see
fair-play and witness my repentance. Come in, Cox.' Mr Thomas Cox
entered, looking, if the thing were possible, less like a Thomas Cox
than ever. 'Cox, let me present you to Miss Casata, the only woman I
ever loved. There have been times when I have been forced to dissemble
my love. Hang it, Cox! you know how I've been pressed. When a man's in
such a hole as I've been in, he crushes down the love which he feels
for a woman; he has to, if there's any manhood in him. He doesn't want
to drag her down into the ditch in which he lies. But, Cox, you know
how I have loved her all the time.'

Mr Burton turned away his head--whether to hide a tear or a smile was
uncertain. He spoke with a degree of volubility which, under the
circumstances, was remarkable. As Miss Casata appeared to think, her
tone remained inflexible.

'There still is someone else.'

'Ah, that's the Flyman; he's nothing and nobody; he doesn't count. Let
him have a chair, and he can wait in the hall, Lou, till you and I
come to an understanding.'

Mr Burton's suggestion was carried out. A chair was taken into the
little hall, on which the Flyman placed himself. How long he remained
on it, when their backs were turned, was another matter. The outer
door was closed, as also, Miss Casata having entered, was the door
into the drawing-room. But that was of no consequence; the Flyman's
ears were keen.

There was a curious glitter in the lady's eyes when she confronted her
quondam lover. Now and then she touched her lips with the tip of her
tongue, as if they were dry. Her hands continually opened and shut,
apparently of their own volition. Occasionally one of them found its
way into her pocket, feeling if her treasures still were there. She
spoke as if her throat were sore.

'Well, what is it that you want? what new lie have you to tell?'

'I want to marry you; and, Lou, that's no lie.'

She was silent. One could see her bosom moving up and down. Then,
becoming conscious of the two men's scrutiny, she drew herself up
straighter, as if resolute to keep herself in hand.

'You insolent!'

'Insolent! Now, Lou, that's not nice of you. A man's not insolent who
wants to marry the woman whom he loves, and who loves him.'

'I love you? I?' She tapped her chest with her forefinger. 'I love you
so much that I would like to tear you to pieces! That is the sort of
love I have for you. You--thing!'

'Lou, you're letting your temper get the better of you. I know I
treated you badly.'

'Badly!'

She laughed--a mirthless little laugh.

'I know you've a right to feel annoyed with me--'

'Annoyed with you? Oh, no, not that!'

'But I was forced to do what I did; I couldn't help myself.'

'No doubt!'

'But now it's different altogether. I see things in a new light. I
know what a mistake I've made. I've found out that I love you even
more than I thought I did, and I've come to ask you to give me another
chance--to forgive me. You're a woman, Lou, the best of women, and
you've a forgiving heart; I know you have. Let me be your husband.
I'll treat you better in the future; really, now!'

'What does all this mean?'

'It means what I say. Doesn't your own heart tell you so?'

'Oh, yes, it tells me. It tells me all sorts of things. It is a fool
and a liar. It is of you I ask what does it all mean? It is you I want
to tell me. Never mind what my heart says; we will leave my heart
alone. I think we'd better.'

'Well, look here, I'll be candid. You're clear-sighted, whatever else
you are, and level-headed; a cleverer woman I never met. I've told you
so scores of times. With a woman of your type, candour's the best
policy, as you say. So here's the matter in a nutshell. I'm in a hole;
you're in a hole. You help me out of the hole I'm in; I'll help you
out of the hole you're in. That's what I've come to say to you
to-night. You appreciate frankness; there you have it.'

'What is the hole you are in?'

'My dear Lou, you know quite well. I've never kept it secret from you;
I've always made you my confidant. What I want is my uncle's ruby. You
tell me where it is, and help me to lay my hand upon it, and I'll
marry you in the morning. And there's the proof that I mean what I
say.'

He handed her an official-looking document, which purported to be an
announcement of the fact that notice had been given to a certain
registrar requiring him to perform the ceremony of marriage, by
special licence, between Horace Burton and Louise Casata. The lady,
however, scarcely glanced at it. She kept her eyes fixed on the
gentleman.

'Your uncle's ruby!'

'That's it. As you know, if I can get it in my possession, it means
fortune; if I can't, it may mean misfortune of a bad type. As I'm not
taking any chances, if you'll help me to lay my hand on it, I'll marry
you in the morning.'

'What a liar you are!'

'My dear Lou, all men are liars; somebody else said it before you. But
where's the lie in this particular case? You've the proof in your hand
that I mean business. Cox shall come with us and see it done. Won't
you, Cox?'

Mr Thomas Cox bowed.

'Pleased to do anything to oblige a lady.'

'There you are! If you like, you needn't lose sight of me until we're
married.'

'You say you want your uncle's ruby?'

'Of course, you know I do.'

'I know that you have it already.'

'I wish I knew as much. If I had it, I shouldn't be here to-night.
There's another piece of candour.'

'I saw him take it.'

'Him? Who?'

'The man outside whom you call the Flyman. I saw him from a window
take it last night from Mr Holland.'

Mr Burton turned to Mr Cox.

'There you are! There's one witness. How many more might there have
been? The Flyman's a fool to transact a delicate piece of business of
that description in a public thoroughfare!' He returned to Miss
Casata. 'My dear Lou, you saw him try to take it, unfortunately
without success.'

'He took everything Mr Holland had.'

'You appear to be well-informed upon the subject, though I don't know
from what quarter your information comes. Still, what you say is
pretty accurate. He did take all he could. He even took a ruby. Here
it is for you to look at. Unluckily, it's not my uncle's. Hence these
tears.'

He handed her the ruby signet ring which the Flyman, when he turned Mr
Holland face downwards on the pavement, found that gentleman had been
lying on.

                              CHAPTER XIV

                             WHO KNOCKS?

Miss Casata examined the ring with every show of interest.

'This is the ruby he took from Mr Holland.'

'It is.'

'It is the only one which Mr Holland had.'

'So the Flyman said. He ought to know. I believe, on this occasion,
he's no liar.'

'And it's not your uncle's?'

'It is not.'

'You are sure?'

'Dead.'

'Then, now I understand.'

'I wish I did share your understanding.'

'I understand why she laughed when he had gone, and why she said,
"Poor Guy, how disappointed he will be!"'

'What is it you're talking about? Would you condescend to explain?'

'Yet--I do not understand. It was the box. Wait; in a second I will be
back.'

She was back in less than a minute, bearing in her hand a small
leather-covered box. On the lid was gummed a narrow strip of paper, on
which was written, in delicate characters, 'The Burton Ruby.' Mr
Burton received it with a cry of recognition.

'It's it; but the writing's strange.'

'It is her writing.'

'It's uncle's box--the one in which he always kept the blessed thing.
There's his crest; there's where I dropped it in the ink.' He raised
the lid. 'It's empty!'

'Last night Mr Holland took from it the ring which was inside. I
always imagined that in it she kept your uncle's ruby, which was what
I said to Mr Holland, as I told you I would do.'

'You're a nice girl, Lou!'

'And you're a nice man! Are you not a nice man?'

Mr Cox interposed.

'Now, don't let's have any quarrelling. Stick to business. Time's
precious. Go on with your story.'

The lady turned and rent him.

'I will not go on with my story for you. What business of yours is my
story, you dirty Jew?'

Mr Burton smiled benignly.

'Personalities! personalities! Don't call the man a Jew, my dear. Cox
is no Jew; he's an anti-Semite. Continue your story for me, my love.'

Miss Casata complied with his request, although not in the most
gracious manner.

'Do not call me your love, or you will be sorry. As Mr Holland was
taking the ring out of the box, she came in--'

'And caught him at it? It must have been exciting. Wicked Guy!'

'He wished to give it to her back again, but she said, "Go, and take
it with you." He took it, and went. Then, when he had gone, she began
to laugh. She kept on laughing--it was true laughter, not false--as if
it was the best joke in the world, and she said, "Poor Guy, how
disappointed he will be!"'

'You notice things.'

'I am not a fool.'

'Is it possible that anyone ever mistook you for one?'

Mr Cox dug him with his elbow in the ribs, by way of a hint to him to
hold his tongue. Miss Casata went contemptuously on,--

'I perceive now that she laughed because she knew that he had not
taken with him what he supposed; but what I do not understand is,
where, then, is the ring? I know she kept it in this box.'

She examined minutely the one she held. Mr Cox put a question to Mr
Burton.

'For the last time, Burton, I suppose you're quite sure that it's not
your uncle's ring? Nice we should look if it was afterwards discovered
that you had made a mistake.'

'Don't be a silly ass! How many more times do you want to hear me
swear? I say, Cox, have you two legs, or four, and which end of you
are they? I might just as reasonably put such questions to you. I tell
you, I know.'

Miss Casata was still continuing her scrutiny.

'It is not the ring; you are right. It is not the ring which she used
to keep in the box. The stone in that, I think, was larger. It had a
crest on it, I remember. And inside there was a name engraved, "George
Burton." She showed it me one day, and she said, "I shall have to have
this stone remounted. I cannot wear a man's name upon my finger,
especially that man's name." I remember very well. Oh, no, this is not
the ring at all.'

Mr Burton turned in triumph to Mr Cox. 'You hear? Now, who's right?'

'You have seen the ring which you describe?'

'It is certain; more than once. When was the last time? Not many days
ago. It was in this box. She took it out of this box, she put it back
into the box, and the box she put into the little bottom drawer. I
remember it very well. When I heard of Mr Burton's will, I thought of
it at once.'

'Then where is it now?'

'She must have taken it out of the box and put it somewhere else.'

'But where? Think!'

'How do I know? how can I think? She must have put it with some of her
other jewels. They are everywhere--all over the place.'

Mr Cox and Mr Burton exchanged glances. The young gentleman took up
the running.

'In that case, we'll look for it all over the place.'

'What do you mean?'

'My dear Lou, I'm going to have that ruby, and before I leave these
premises. So, now, you've got it.'

'You will not touch her things?'

'I've no desire to do anything so indelicate. You tell us where it is,
or give us a hint.'

'I have not the slightest notion.'

'Then we'll investigate for ourselves.'

'You shall not touch her things!'

'Lou, you gave Guy Holland the tip. You helped him to commit a
burglary. Why should you be squeamish now?'

'That was different.'

'Of course it was. He's not attached to you like I am; he doesn't
worship the ground you stand upon. It isn't as though you were smitten
with Miss Bewicke, because you're not; you've told me so a hundred
times. She's going to play some pretty trick on her own account;
that's the meaning of her taking out the ruby, which she knew you knew
was in that box. And it's a thousand to nothing that she means to play
it at my expense. If I can help it, I don't mean to let her have the
chance. Your fortune's bound with mine; we sink or swim together. If I
don't get that ruby, and to-night, it'll probably mean that I go
under, and, if I go, you'll go too. My dear girl, you know you will.
Come, be sensible; be something like your dear own self. Do only half
for me what you did for Guy. Let me just have a look round for that
wretched ruby. By your own account, it must be somewhere close at
hand. I'm sure to get it, and, when I do get it, I'll not forget the
part you played. It'll not be my fault if I don't still make you the
best husband a woman ever had.'

'I was not here when Mr Holland came. I did not see what he did. I
knew nothing.'

'You need not see what we do. We have a little something somewhere
which will make you as unconscious of anything that may take place as
you can possibly desire. Then, if there is a bother, you will be able
to assume, with perfect propriety, the _rôle_ of injured victim. But I
don't see that there need be trouble, if you keep still. I've as much
right to that ruby as anybody else. I'm going to assert that right,
that's all. Now, be a good, kind girl. Go into another room and have a
nice little read. We're going to have a ruby hunt. Flyman!'

The Flyman appeared at the open door. At sight of him, Miss Casata
broke into a storm of exclamations.

'Not him! He shall not come in here. He killed Mr Holland! I saw him!
Mr Holland's blood is on his hands! I will not have that he come in
here!'

'My dearest girl, but that's absurd. He's the only one of the three
who understands locks. You don't want us to irretrievably ruin Miss
Bewicke's property owing to our sheer want of skill? And for a nose
for such a trifle as that ruby we are hunting for he has not his
equal. Now, you go and have a nice little read.'

He moved forward with the possible intention of taking her by the arm
and leading her from the room. If such was his design, it failed. As
he advanced, she slipped past him. Rushing to the door which led into
Miss Bewicke's bedroom, she placed herself in front of it. She took
out one of the three treasures which were in her pocket--the revolver.
Before the three men had even dreamed that she might be in possession
of such a weapon, it was pointed at their heads. Her tone when she
spoke was as significant as her attitude.

'If one of you tries to come through this door, I will shoot him dead.
Do not think this revolver is not loaded. I will show you.'

She fired, the bullet penetrating the opposite wall. Mr Thomas Cox
ducked as it passed. His companions instinctively shrank back. Her
lips parted in a grim smile. Apparently this was her idea of humour.

'You see I am not so helpless as you perhaps supposed. I am not
nervous, not at all. I am used to handle a revolver. I have won prizes
for pistol shooting, oh, several times. There are five more barrels
which are loaded. If I aim at you, I promise that I will not miss. You
shall see.'

The bearing of the trio, in its way, was comical, they were evidently
so completely taken by surprise. Mr Thomas Cox, in particular, looked
as if this were an expedition in which, under the circumstances, he
wished he had not taken part. He said as much.

'Look here, Burton, this is more than I bargained for. Before we came
I told you that I was not going to be mixed up with anything
equivocal. I have my character to consider. You said your lady friend
would listen to reason; if your lady friend won't listen to reason,
then I'm sorry, but I'm off.'

'Then you'll lose your money.'

'In that case you'll have to smart for it.'

'That won't give you your money. It's a nice little lot.'

'I know it's a nice little lot, and I can't afford to lose it; you
know I can't afford to lose it. But there's something I can afford to
lose still less, and that--that's my character.'

'Your character! Why, if you only could manage to get rid of your
character--I don't believe you yourself realise what an awful one it
is--it'd be the best stroke of business you've done for many a day, my
dear Cox!'

Mr Burton advanced, as if to tap his friend, in an affable manner, on
the shoulder. This brought him within a few feet of where Miss Casata
was standing. Laying his left hand on Mr Cox's shoulder, with his
right he snatched away that gentleman's walking-stick, swung round and
struck Miss Casata's outstretched wrist with such violence that the
revolver was driven from her grasp and sent flying across the room.
She gave a cry of pain. Her arm fell limp at her side. The blow had
been delivered with so much force that it was quite possible her wrist
was broken.

'You devil!'

'You wild cat!' returned the gentleman. 'Now, Flyman, on to her!'

The Flyman obeyed. The two gentlemen attacked the lady. Although she
fought gamely, especially considering her injured wrist, she was no
match for the pair. They got her down upon the floor, still struggling
for all that she was worth.

'Now, Flyman, where's that stuff of yours?'

'I'm getting it. She's a oner. She's bit me to the bone.'

With difficulty--he only had one hand disengaged--he evolved a tin
canister from his jacket pocket.

'Bite her to the bone! Let her have the lot!'

From the canister the Flyman managed to take a cloth--a cloth which
was soaked with some peculiar-smelling fluid. This he jammed against
the lady's face, even cramming it between her lips. She writhed and
twisted, then lay still.

As the Flyman got up, he examined the hand which she had marked with
her teeth.

'She takes a bit of doing. I shouldn't like to have to tackle her
single-handed.'

Mr Burton smiled. His clothes were a little rumpled. As he rose he
arranged his tie.

'Nice wife she'd make! What do you think?'

Mr Cox had occupied his time in picking up the revolver of which the
lady had been relieved. He seemed genuinely concerned.

'You know, Burton, I tell you again I didn't come here for this sort
of thing. I wouldn't have had this happen not--not for a good deal. I
shouldn't be surprised if we get into trouble for this.'

'My dear Cox, we should have got into trouble anyhow. We may as well
be hung for a sheep as a lamb. I'm going for the gloves.'

'Hung! Don't talk about hanging. You make a cold shiver go down my
back. You haven't--killed her?'

'Killed her? You innocent! She's the sort who take a deal of killing.
My good chap, when she comes to, she'll curse a little and go on
generally; but she'll forgive me in the end. I know her; she's a
dear!'

While the three men stood looking down at the unconscious woman, there
came a knocking at the outer door.

                              CHAPTER XV

                        AN HONOURABLE RETREAT

It was not what they expected. Their faces showed it; they were so
unmistakably startled. They looked at each other, then at the
unconscious woman, then back again at one another. Mr Burton bit his
lip.

'Who the deuce is that?'

'Servants, perhaps.'

The suggestion was the Flyman's.

'Then confound the servants! Why can't they take a little extra time
to-night? They know their mistress is away.'

The knocking came again--a regular rat-tat-tat.

'That's no servants. They wouldn't make that row.'

'You can never tell. Nowadays they make what row they please; they
fancy themselves. Brutes!'

'Visitors, perhaps.'

'Confound them, whoever it is!'

They spoke in whispers, an appreciable pause between each man's
speaking, as if each in turn waited for something to happen. Mr Burton
was outwardly the most self-possessed, being the kind of man who would
probably smile as he mounted the gallows. The Flyman had his eyes
nearly shut, his fists clenched, his shoulders a little hunched, as if
gathering himself together to resist a coming attack. Mr Thomas Cox
was visibly tremulous; his great head twitched upon his shoulders; he
was apparently in danger of physical collapse. It was curious to
observe the contrasting attitudes of the three men as they stood about
the recumbent woman.

The knocking was repeated, still more loudly, as if the knocker waxed
impatient.

'We shall have to let 'em in. Anyhow, we shall have to see who's
there. They'll knock the door down.'

This was the Flyman. Mr Cox suggested an alternative.

'Can't we--can't we get away? Isn't there another way out?'

Mr Burton enlightened him.

'My dear Cox, there's only one way into a flat, and there's only one
way out, unless you try the window, which means a drop of perhaps a
hundred feet. I'm not dropping. The Flyman's right; we shall have to
see who's there. There needn't be trouble, unless you give yourself
away. It depends who it is. I'll lay this dear little girl of mine
upon her bed; she'll be more comfortable there, and not so
conspicuous. I know which is her room. Then we'll see who's come to
call on you.'

Displaying a degree of strength with which one would hardly have
credited his slight figure, lifting Miss Casata off the floor, he bore
her from the room. During his absence there came the knocking for the
fourth time, this time furiously. When he returned, a marked change
had taken place in his appearance. There were signs of strange
disorder on his countenance, as if during his brief withdrawal he had
been unstrung by some overwhelming shock. The Flyman at once observed
his altered looks.

'What's happened? What's the matter?'

'Curse you, Flyman!'

'What have I done now?'

'I say, curse you!'

'Is she--dead?'

'No, she's not. I'm going to open the door. If it's the servants, I'll
send them away, pretending to give them a message from her; if it's
callers, I'll tell them a lie; if it's anybody who wants to make
himself unpleasant, you two look out. I'm not going to be bluffed out
of this before I've got that ruby.'

'Burton, be careful what you do, for all our sakes.'

This was Mr Cox. The retort was hardly courteous.

'You be hanged!'

Mr Burton reached the front door as the knocking was recommencing.
From where they were they could not see what he did, but they could
hear. They heard him open; a feminine voice inquire, in tones of
indignation,--

'What's the meaning of this? Why am I kept waiting?'

Then the front door slammed, the drawing-room door was thrown
violently open, and two young ladies came through it, one after the
other, with such extremely indecorous rapidity as to suggest that they
could scarcely be entirely responsible for their own proceedings, as,
indeed, they were not. Mr Horace Burton had propelled them forward
with his own right arm before they themselves had the least idea what
was about to happen. And, following right upon their heels, he closed
the drawing-room door, turned the key and stood with his back against
it, surveying them with his habitual, benignant smile.

It was what they call upon the stage a tableau, The smiling gentleman,
the two bewildered ladies, the two other almost equally bewildered
men, for it was an open question which were the more surprised by the
singularity of Mr Burton's behaviour--Miss Bewicke and Miss Broad or
Mr Thomas Cox and the Flyman.

The peculiar nature of her reception seemed to have driven Miss
Broad's wits completely from her. She gazed around like a woman
startled out of sleep, who has no notion of what has roused her. Miss
Bewicke had apparently retained some fragments of hers. She looked at
Mr Burton, then at Mr Cox and the Flyman, then back at the gentleman
who stood before the door. She eyed him up and down with a mixture, as
it seemed, of amusement, anger and contempt. Could a voice have stung,
hers would have stung him then. But this gentleman was pachydermatous.

'So it's you?'

'I guess it is.'

'How dare you come here?'

'That's the problem.'

'It's one which will soon be solved.'

She moved across the room. He checked her.

'It's no good your ringing the bell. There's no one to answer.'

As she turned to face him, Miss Broad spoke, with an apparent partial
return to consciousness.

'Who is this person?'

'This person is Horace Burton, of whom you may have heard. I cannot
tell you who the other persons are. They look as if they were friends
of his.'

'So this is Horace Burton?'

Miss Broad regarded the gentleman in question as if he were some
unclean thing, which, possibly, she considered him to be. He, on the
other hand, continued genial as ever.

'And you're Miss Broad--Letty, I believe? I'm pleased to meet you,
cousin that is to be.'

'Cousin--your cousin? I shall never be a cousin of yours.'

'No? That's hard on Guy. He's counting on the money.'

'You despicable creature!' She turned away, presenting him with a good
view of her back, and put a question to Miss Bewicke. 'What is he
doing here? Surely you don't allow him in your rooms?'

Mr Burton took upon himself to answer for the lady.

'I'll tell you what I'm doing here; she can't. I'm now for the first
time going to tell her also. It'll be giving her a little piece of
information which I know she'll value. Miss Bewicke, I've come here in
search of a quarter of million of money.'

'Is that so? You really are too modest! It was surely scarcely worth
your while to come for such a trifle! I need hardly say that you will
find several little sums of that amount lying loose about the
premises!'

'Indeed? Well, I want one; that's all.'

'Mr Burton, will you be so good as to leave my rooms?'

'I'll leave them on the wings of the wind, whatever that may be, when
I have my uncle's ruby.'

'When you have what?'

'My uncle's ruby. My dear cousin Guy committed burglary here last
night in quest of it, so I'm sure you won't mind my paying you a
little call this evening as a sort of sequel.'

'I suppose Louise Casata told you about Mr Holland?'

'There's no charge for supposing.'

'Probably the same person also informed you that he went away with
what he sought?'

'Did he, Miss Bewicke?'

'You had better refer to your informant.'

'I'm referring to you. I'm asking you if Guy Holland left these rooms
last night in possession of my uncle's ruby?'

'Ask Miss Casata; ask your cousin even, but don't ask me.'

'I am asking you. You've been playing some confounded trick.'

'Mr Burton!'

'I don't wish to hurt your feelings, Miss Bewicke, so I'll say you've
been amusing yourself with some dainty, delicate device, and I
shouldn't be surprised to learn that you have that ruby on your person
at this moment.'

Miss Bewicke, walking to the bell, pressed her finger against the
button, so that it kept up a continuous ringing. Mr Burton watched her
with a smile.

'You see, there's no one there. You might have taken my word.'

'Where is Miss Casata?'

'Where is she? That's the question. Where's everyone?'

'If I am unable to attract the attention of my own servants, thanks to
you, my friends in the next flat will hear the unceasing tinkling of
the bell, and guess that there is something wrong.'

'I should be sorry, Miss Bewicke, to have to seem rude to a lady--'

'On the contrary, I should imagine that few things would give you
greater pleasure; you are that kind of person.'

'At the same time, I must request you to leave that bell alone.'

He went closer to her. His moving away from it left the door
unguarded. Over her shoulder she shot a glance at Miss Broad. That
young lady, catching it, perceived the little ruse she had been
playing. Hurrying to the door, she began to turn the key, and had
already unlocked it when Mr Burton came rushing back to the post which
he had been beguiled into deserting.

'You darling!' he cried.

Seizing Miss Broad by the waist he dragged her from the door. As he
whirled her round, she struck him with her clenched fist on his right
ear, the blow being delivered with such good judgment, force and
fortune that it carried the young gentleman clean off his feet and
right over on to his back.

'Bravo!' exclaimed Miss Bewicke. 'Now, Letty, open the door!'

But Miss Bewicke was a little hasty in supposing that the road was
free. As Mr Burton fell, he prevented Miss Broad from moving by
clutching at her skirts. She struggled to release herself in vain; he
gripped too tight. And the Flyman, hastening to occupy the fallen
hero's place, confronted Miss Bewicke as she advanced.

'It's no good,' he observed. 'There's no road this way.'

She was not to be baffled without an effort.

'If you'll let me pass, I'll give you--'

'You won't give me anything, because you won't pass. Now, don't you be
silly, or you'll be sorry. You won't bowl me over with a clip on the
ear from your little fist.'

This was said because, encouraged, perhaps, by Miss Broad's success,
Miss Bewicke showed signs of actual violence. The apparent
recognition, however, of some peculiar quality on the face of the man
in front of her caused her to relinquish her purpose, if it was ever
formed. Instead, turning to Miss Broad, she took her by the hand.

'Come, quick!' she cried.

Mr Burton, reassured by the Flyman's arrival, loosed the lady's skirt
as he ascended to his feet. The quick-witted proprietress of the
rooms, taking instant advantage of Miss Broad's freedom, rushed her
towards the door through which, not long since, he had carried Miss
Casata. Divining their purpose, he tore after them as soon as he had
regained his perpendicular.

'Stop them, you fools! Move yourself, Cox!'

But Mr Cox did not move himself. He remained motionless where he was
standing, and Mr Burton, in spite of his impetuosity, was too late.
They were not only through before he reached the door, but had banged
it in his face, and turned the key on the other side. He shook the
handle in vain.

'Open, you cats!'

They were not likely to comply with his civil invitation. He addressed
himself to Mr Cox, on his face, all at once, a very peculiar look of
pallor.

'I shouldn't be surprised if you swing for this.'

'Swing? For letting them through that door? Who do you think you're
talking to?'

'I'm talking to you, my friend. What's the betting that your letting
them through that door doesn't turn out a hanging matter for you? I'll
take short odds.' He turned to the Flyman. 'Let me through there.
There's another way into where they are; I'll see if I can get at
them. You stay here, in case they try to double. Cox is no good. I'll
be even with him for this.'

Mr Burton crossed to a door, which was on the other side of the little
hall. Unlocked, it admitted him to the kitchen. From the kitchen he
passed to another room, apparently where the servants slept. On the
opposite side of this was still another door. He eyed it.

'If I remember rightly, that leads into her room.'

The door was locked; the key was in the lock upon the other side. He
stooped to see; it was in a position which prevented anything being
visible. He rattled the handle; rapped with his knuckles at the panel,
without result. All was silent.

'It is her room. I wonder what they're up to? They're very still. They
can't--'

He stopped, probably because the stillness of which he spoke was
broken by a woman's cry--a mingling of surprise, anguish, fear. He
retraced his steps towards the kitchen, whispering to himself two
words,--

'They have!'

Taking the key from one side of the lock, replacing it in the other,
he locked the door of the servants' room behind him. The key itself he
pocketed.

'Except through the drawing-room, there's only this way out, so we've
trapped you anyhow.'

As if to make assurance doubly sure, he locked the door of the kitchen
also. Again he pocketed the key.

                             CHAPTER XVI

         THE FINDING OF THE RUBY AND THE LOCKING OF THE DOOR

When Mr Burton returned to the drawing-room, he found that Mr Thomas
Cox had been having a few words with the Flyman. That worthy jerked
his thumb in the other's direction.

'Wants to sling his hook. Says he's had about enough of it.'

'Oh, he has, has he? Now, Cox, listen to me. It's through you we're
here--'

Interrupting, Mr Cox raised his hat and stick in a hasty disclaimer.

'Was there ever anything like that? It was your suggestion entirely.
You said you could twist your lady friend round your finger--'

'Let's go a little further back, my Cox. You've told me--how many
times?--that if I lose my uncle's money you'll send me to gaol. Not
being anxious to go to gaol, I'm doing my best to get my uncle's
money. So if it's not through you I'm here, I should like to know
through whom it is.'

'That's different; you're entering on other matters altogether. You've
committed--you know what you've committed; but it doesn't follow,
because you've brought yourself within the reach of the criminal law,
that I want to bring myself too.'

'You hand over those pieces of paper which you're always flicking in
my face, and you're at liberty to go through that door, and down the
stairs, and neither the Flyman nor I will ever breathe a word about
your having been connected with the evening's entertainment.'

'Do you take me for a fool? You've robbed me on your own account
already, and now you want to jockey me into robbing myself. Don't talk
to me like that!'

'No, I won't talk to you like that; I'll talk to you like this. What
there'll be to pay for this evening's proceedings I don't know; but
you'll pay your share, whatever it is. This is a game of share and
share alike, and of in for a penny in for a pound. The Flyman and I
are going to see this through. I'm going to have the ruby before I
leave, I tell you that; and you're going to be in with us right
along.'

'Burton, you're a villain!'

'Cox, you're a scoundrel! Any use our saying pretty things to each
other, you renegade Jew?'

Mr Cox was wiping his forehead with his pocket-handkerchief, as if he
felt the heat.

'I will not be spoken to like that, as if I were--as if I were a man
of your own type. Where--where have those women gone?'

'The room on the other side that door is the dining-room; beyond is
Casata's room. That's where they've gone.'

'Then--then they've found her?'

'Oh, yes, they've found her; not a doubt of it. They've found a good
many other things as well.'

His tone evidently struck Mr Cox as being disagreeably significant.

'For goodness' sake, Burton, let's go. You are so rash, don't let's
make bad worse. Let's go while we have a chance, and before anything
very serious has happened.'

'Something serious has happened.'

'What do you mean?'

'What I say.'

'You don't mean--'

'Oh, cut it! Flyman, Cox is too fond of cackle. We're losing valuable
time, my child. You stay where you are, and keep an eye on things,
while Cox and I find my uncle's ruby.'

The Flyman proposed an amendment.

'Excuse me, Mr Burton, but, if you don't mind, we'll have it the other
way about. You stay here, and Mr Cox and I will find the ruby.'

Mr Burton laughed.

'Flyman, Doubt was your sire, out of Suspicion. Still think I want to
do you?'

'Sure.' The Flyman drew his finger across his lips. 'Mr Burton, you're
cleverer than most, and a lot cleverer than me. If you once got that
there stone between your fingers, I might whistle for my thousand, and
keep on whistling. Besides, I am handier than you at looking for a
thing like that.'

'Then show your handiness; only look alive about it. We can't expect
to continue in the enjoyment of these charming rooms for ever.'

'Where shall I start looking?'

'There you are, displaying your handiness from the very beginning. How
am I to know? I'm not informed as to where she keeps her gewgaws. I
believe that the pretty lady's sleeping-chamber is on the other side
of that door; look, there.' The Flyman looked in the direction
referred to. 'Hold hard; take Cox with you.'

The Flyman gripped Mr Thomas Cox by the arm.

'You come with me.'

Mr Cox objected.

'None of your handling.'

'Who wants to handle you? You come with me, that's all.'

'Yes, Cox, that's all. You go and assist our friend in prising open
the pretty lady's jewel-boxes and dressing-cases, and so on. You know
quite well that it isn't the first time you've been at the game, dear
boy.'

'I'll have no finger in anything of the kind; and as for your
imputations, I'll make you regret them, Mr Burton.'

'You will, will you? Take care, Cox; I'm in a nasty mood. If you won't
take a hand in this game, we'll play it in spite of you. We'll count
you out. Not a farthing shall you have of my money, and I defy you to
put the law into execution against me. You know you daren't--now. The
moment you move, I'll give the police the office to keep an eye on
Thomas Cox. You've more to lose than we have.'

'You--you brutes! Don't try to bully me.'

'Bully? I don't bully, Cox. Here, I'll open that door, and you shall
go through it at once, if you please. Only I'll go with you, and at
the foot of the stairs I'll denounce you for murder. If the game is
lost, as it will be if you won't play it out, I don't care if I do
hang, so long as you hang with me.'

'What--what the devil do you mean by keeping on dropping hints
about--about murder?'

'You shall know, if you like, when you reach the foot of the stairs.
Take my earnest and well-meant advice, keep in with us, and take my
word for it that each moment you waste brings the shadow of the
gallows just a little nearer. I'll give you all the explanations you
want afterwards, if there ever is an afterwards.'

Mr Cox hesitated. He glanced from one of his companions to the other.
What he saw on their faces seemed to have on him an odd effect. He
went with the Flyman into Miss Bewicke's bedroom, looking as if he had
all at once grown older. Mr Burton followed them with his eyes, the
peculiar expression of his countenance seeming to endow his
stereotyped smile with an unusual prominence. He looked, as he had
said of himself, in a nasty mood.

'Leave the door open, Flyman. I also am interested in the proceedings,
and should like to be instantly informed when you do light upon my
uncle's precious jewel.'

He watched for a moment or two the Flyman pulling open such drawers as
were unlocked and turning over their contents.

'Don't trouble yourself to look at the frills and laces. Women don't
keep jewels among their underwear. Turn your attention to the
dressing-table, man.'

The Flyman resented the comment on his mode of procedure.

'You never know where a woman does keep her things, especially the
thing you're after, as you'd know if you'd as much experience as I
have.'

Mr Burton, laughing, lit a cigarette.

'All right, man of many felonies. You're quite justified in resenting
the criticism of the amateur. I was only telling you what was my own
idea. Only do be quick and illustrate the handiness of which you
bragged.'

He strolled towards the door which was on the opposite side of the
room, the one through which the ladies had vanished. He softly tried
the handle; it still was locked. Taking the cigarette from between his
lips, he inclined his ear towards the panel and listened.

'They're quiet. I suppose they're in her room. I wonder what they're
doing? Problem for the papers which give prizes for puzzles. Under the
circumstances, what might they be expected to be doing? Odds on that
they're doing something else. One might easily see. It wouldn't take
long to cut a piece out of this panel, or, for the matter of that, to
take the lock itself clean off. But would it be worth one's while?
They've seen enough. Ye whales and little fishes, they've seen too
much! Better carry the thing to a conclusion without unnecessary
witnesses. If they're content, we are. What's up now?'

The question was prompted by an exclamation which came from Miss
Bewicke's bedroom. Mr Cox appeared at the entrance.

'Burton, you said that all we wanted was the ruby; that the rest of
her things should go untouched.'

'Well?'

'The Flyman's pocketing her jewels.'

Mr Burton crossed the floor.

'That won't do, Flyman. We're here on an expedition of right. We're
not thieves.'

'You said yourself we might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.'

'I did; and you are aware that that is not the kind of sheep I meant.
On this occasion I really must ask you to be honest.'

'But I never saw such shiners. Who could resist them, guv'nor? She's
got enough to stock a shop. Why, if we take 'em away with us, we
sha'n't be far out, even if we don't get that blessed ruby.'

'It's the ruby or nothing; also, and nothing. Put those things back.'

'I've only nobbled one or two. I've got to look after myself.'

'I, too, have to look after you. You know what was agreed; keep to the
terms of the agreement, or, though you "nobble" every "shiner" the
lady owns, you'll be a loser. Put those things back.'

There was something about Mr Burton just then which compelled respect,
of a kind, which fact the Flyman recognised. His face darkened and, in
audible tones, he grumbled. But he produced the trinkets, as
requested, and replaced them, one by one, on their velvet beds.

'Is that all?'

'Every blooming one.'

'Cox, is that all?'

'Yes, I believe it is.' He glanced at the open jewel-case. 'No,
there's a ring still missing.'

The Flyman cursed.

'Can't a bloke have one?'

'Not unless he wishes to pay for it more than it's worth. Come, man,
look pleasant.'

The Flyman did not 'look pleasant;' but he restored the ring. Mr
Burton expressed approval.

'That's better. Now, show yourself as keen in the right direction.
Give us a proof of the "handiness" you talked about, and find that
ruby. It'll be worth to you more than all those other things.'

On this point the Flyman, from his manner, seemed to have his doubts;
but he continued his researches. Mr Cox observed that they were
strictly confined to what Mr Burton had called the 'right direction.'
Mr Burton, returning to the locked door, pursued his meditations as he
listened at the panel.

'It's odd that they're so quiet, and suggests mischief. In such a
case, surely women are not quiet. Unless--unless what? That's what I
should like to know.'

'Burton, is this the ruby?'

The words came sharply from Mr Cox, with a sudden interposition from
the Flyman.

'You give me that! Don't you lay your fingers on the thing!'

'I'm only looking at it.'

'You give it me, I say.'

'Burton!'

The cry was almost an appeal for help. Mr Burton arrived to find
something very like a tussle taking place. The Flyman was endeavouring
to obtain possession of something which Mr Cox was holding, and which
that gentleman was doing his best to keep.

'I found it!' he cried. 'Hand it over!'

'Burton! Quick! Catch!'

Mr Cox tossed something through the air which Mr Burton caught. He had
just time to see that it was a ring, set with a gleaming red stone,
when the Flyman was upon him with an emphatic repetition of the demand
he had made on Mr Cox.

'You hand it over before I down you.'

Mr Cox explained.

'I found it; he didn't. I opened the box, and it was the first thing I
saw. It had nothing to do with him.'

The Flyman paid no attention to the statement. He merely reiterated
his request.

'Now, Mr Burton, I don't want no patter. You fork up before there's
trouble.'

The young gentleman, holding his hand behind his back, was smiling in
the other's face.

'Gently, Flyman. Let's know exactly where we are before we come to
business.' The Flyman flung himself upon him without another word. Mr
Burton never for a moment seemed to lose his self-possession. 'You
ass! what do you suppose you're going to gain by this?'

While they struggled, the bedroom door was suddenly slammed to. There
was a clicking sound. The continuation of the argument was instantly
deferred. Mr Burton hurried to the door.

'They've caught us napping; it's locked. Well, Flyman, I hope you're
satisfied. Owing to your "handiness," of which we have heard so much,
in our turn we are trapped.'

                             CHAPTER XVII

                        THE FIGURES ON THE BED

'At anyrate,' remarked Miss Bewicke, as, turning the key in the lock,
she shut herself and Miss Broad inside the dining-room, 'you can't get
at us for a time.'

The two girls stood and listened. They heard the handle tried; the
rapping at the panel.

'You may knock, and knock, but it won't be opened. He's gone. That was
Horace, dear. How beautifully you knocked him down!'

'What does he want?'

'It's pretty plain. Uncle George's ruby has the attractiveness of the
Holy Grail. This is another quest for it.'

'But they'll find it if we stop here.'

'And if we don't stop here, what do you propose to do? Fight them to
the death? Nothing else will be efficacious. They're not the persons,
and they're not in the mood, to stick at trifles.'

'What a wretch he is! I've heard Guy speak of him, but I'd no idea he
was as bad as this.'

'My dear Letty, when a bad man is in a bad hole, you've no notion how
bad that man can be. The question now is, Can we get out through the
kitchen door, or can they get through the kitchen door to us?'

'Where does that door lead to?'

'Into Louise Casata's bedroom. The beauty of the average flat is that
you can always pass from any one room into any other, which,
sometimes, is convenient and sometimes isn't. I'm wondering whether
Louise is responsible for Horace Burton's presence here, and also
where she is. I've reasons for believing that it was not her intention
to go out to-night.'

'I shouldn't keep such a woman about my place, if I were you.'

'I don't intend to any longer. All the same, you've no idea how useful
she has been. There have been times when I don't know what I should
have done without her. Still, I fancy that henceforth she and I part
company.' She opened the door which led into Miss Casata's room, then
gave utterance to a startled exclamation. 'Why! what is the matter?
Letty, keep back!'

Returning to the dining-room, she leaned against the door, which she
had pulled to after her, as if she needed its support. For one who
was, as a rule, so completely mistress of herself, she showed strange
emotion. Miss Broad stared at her askance.

'What has happened now? What's in there?'

'I don't know. Don't ask me. Let me get my breath and think, and I'll
tell you all about it.'

She pressed her hand against her side, as if to still the beating of
her heart. She seemed unhinged, thrown, in a second, completely off
her balance. Her agitation was infectious. Probably, without her
knowing it, Miss Broad's voice trembled and sank.

'Tell me--what it is.'

'Wait a minute, and I'll tell you--all.'

She made an evident effort to get the better of her infirmity. Bracing
herself up against the door, the little woman looked Miss Broad
straight in the face.

'Letty, something horrible has happened.'

'What is it?'

'I don't quite know myself; I didn't stop to look.'

'Let me go and see.'

'It's Miss Casata and--a man.'

'A man? What man?'

'I can't say; I only saw it was a man. They're lying on the bed--so
still. Oh, Letty!'

'May!'

Miss Broad was probably wholly unaware that she had called her
companion by her Christian name. The unknown horror in the other room
had laid its grip on her. She was overcome by frightful imaginings,
not knowing why. She gasped out an unfinished question.

'You don't mean--'

'I don't know what I mean. I only know that there's something there.'

The two girls had been speaking in whispers, as if they stood in a
presence which compelled hushed voices. Now, suddenly, Miss Bewicke
raised her tones, extending her small palm towards the door through
which they had entered.

'Oh! you wretches! wretches!'

She broke into a passion of tears.

'May, for goodness' sake, don't cry!'

'I'm not going to. I don't know why I am so silly, but, for the
moment, I couldn't help it.' Her sobs ceased almost as rapidly as they
came. She dried her eyes. 'Letty, let's go and see what's happened.
I'm afraid Miss Casata's--dead.'

'Dead?'

'Yes; and--the man.'

'The man?'

'They're so still. Let's go and see. Give me your hand.'

Miss Broad yielded her hand. Miss Bewicke opened the door. The two
peeped through.

The room was not a large one. On one side was an ordinary French
bedstead. A brass railing was on the head and foot. On this railing
were hung feminine odds and ends. These made it difficult for anyone
standing at the door to see clearly what was on the bed. Miss Broad
perceived that on the outer edge there lay a woman.

'Who's that?'

'That's Louise Casata.'

'Perhaps she's sleeping.'

'She wouldn't sleep through all the noise.'

'She may be ill; I'll go and look at her.'

'Don't you see--that there's a man?'

Miss Broad moved further into the room. She saw what the other alluded
to. As she did so, she gave utterance to that cry which Mr Horace
Burton heard, listening in the servants' room beyond--the cry in which
there was such a mingling of emotions as they welled up to the lips
from the woman's heart.

Miss Casata lay almost on the extreme edge of the bed fully clothed.
She was on her back. One arm dangled over the side; her head was a
little aslant upon the pillow, so that from a little distance it
looked as if her neck was broken. The whole pose was almost as
uncomfortable a one as a human being could choose; indeed, the
conviction was irresistibly borne in on the beholders that it was not
self-chosen, unless she had sunk on to the bed in a drunken stupor;
but Miss Bewicke knew that she was no drinker.

However, it was not Miss Casata's plight which had drawn from Miss
Broad that involuntary cry. Beside her, outlined beneath the
bedclothes, was a figure, stiff and rigid. With the exception of one
place, it was completely covered. Some one, curious, perhaps, to learn
what the thing might mean, had drawn aside sufficient of the
bedclothes to disclose a portion of the head and face. As a matter of
fact, the curious person was Mr Horace Burton. When relieving himself
of the burden of the lady who was once the object of his heart's
affection, he had been struck by the outlined form which lay so
curiously still, and had wondered what it was, and had seen; and
because of what he had seen, had gone back to his companions with the
fashion of his countenance so changed.

Now Miss Broad saw. The man beside Miss Casata on the bed was Mr
Holland--Guy Holland--her Guy. It was when she perceived that it was
he that her heart cried out. Miss Bewicke, who had only realised that
it was a man, without recognising what man it was, came to her side
trembling, wondering. When she also knew, she also cried aloud; but
there was a material difference between the quality of her exclamation
and Miss Broad's. Hers signified horror and amazement--perhaps
something of concern; Miss Broad's betokened so many other things
besides.

The two women went running to the bed; but when Miss Broad showed an
inclination to lean over and to touch the silent man, the other, as if
fearful of what actual contact might involve, caught her by the dress.

'No, no; take care!'

Even Miss Broad shrank a little back; for Miss Casata lay between.

'Move the bed!'

The suggestion was Miss Bewicke's. In a moment it had been put into
force. The bed was wheeled more into the centre of the room, so as to
permit of passage between it and the wall, and presently the girl was
at her lover's side. She knelt and looked, but still she did not touch
him. No tears were in her eyes; she seemed very calm; but her face was
white, and she was speechless. On her face there was a look which was
past wonder, past pain, past fear, as if she did not understand what
it was which was in front of her. Miss Bewicke stood at her side, also
looking; her dominant expression seemed sheer bewilderment.

He also lay on his back. The bedclothes were withdrawn, so that his
face was seen down to the chin. No marks of violence were visible. His
expression was one of complete quiescence. His eyes were closed, as if
he slept; but if he did, it was very soundly, for there was nothing to
show that he breathed.

Suddenly Miss Broad found her voice, or the ghost of it. Her lips did
not move, and the words came thinly from her throat.

'Is he dead?'

The other did not answer; but, leaning over, she drew the bedclothes
more from off him, and she whispered,--

'Guy!' They waited, but he did not answer. She called again, 'Guy!'

Yet no response. In that land of sleep in which he was, it was plain
that he heard no voices.

The further withdrawal of the bedclothes had revealed the fact that he
was fully dressed for dinner, as he was when Miss Bewicke had seen him
last, the night before. His black bow had come untied; the ends
strayed over his shirtfront, which was soiled and crumpled. His whole
attire was in disarray. There were stains of dirt upon his coat. Now
that they were so close, they perceived that traces of dry mud were on
his face, as if it had been in close contact with the ground. About
his whole appearance there was much which was ominous.

The fact that this was so seemed to make a fresh appeal to Miss
Broad's understanding; probably to something else in her as well.

'Guy!' she cried.

Her tone was penetrating, poignant. If it did not reach the
consciousness of him to whom she called, in another direction it had a
curious and unlooked-for effect. As if in response to an appeal which
had been made directly to herself, Miss Casata, on the opposite side
of the bed, sat up. The girls clung to each other in startled terror.
To them, for the moment, it was as if she had risen from the dead.

Although she had sat up, Miss Casata herself did not seem to know
exactly why. She seemed not only stupid, but a little stupefied, and
gasped for breath, her respirations resembling convulsions as she
struggled with the after-effects of the narcotic. The two girls
observed her with amazement, she, on her part, evidently not realising
their presence in the least.

It was Miss Bewicke who first attained to some dim comprehension of
the meaning of the lady's antics.

'She's been drugged; that's what it is. Louise!'

Miss Casata heard, although she did not turn her head, but continued
to open and shut her mouth in very ugly fashion as she fought for
breath.

'Yes; I'm coming. Who's calling?'

'I! Look at me! Do you hear? Louise!'

This time, if she heard, Miss Casata gave no sign, but, sinking back
on the bed, clutched at the counterpane, making a noise, as she gasped
for breath, as if the walls of her chest would burst.

'Letty, let me go! I must do something. She'll relapse, or worse, if
we don't take care.'

Miss Bewicke hastened to the wash-handstand. Emptying a jug of water
into a basin, she took the basin in her hands and dashed the contents,
with what force she could, into the lady's face.

The salutation was effectual. Miss Casata floundered, spluttering, on
to the floor, more like herself.

Miss Bewicke confronted her, the basin still in her hands.

'Who did that?'

'I did. Louise, wake up!'

Miss Casata seemed to be endeavouring her utmost to obey the other's
command.

'What's the matter?'

'That's what I want to know. In particular, I want to know what is the
meaning of Mr Guy Holland's presence in your room?'

'Holland?' She put her hand up to her head in an effort to collect her
thoughts. She spoke as if with an imperfect apprehension of what it
was she was saying. 'He was in the street--lying--on his face--so I
brought him here--before the policeman came.'

'Before the policeman came? What do you mean? How did you know that he
was lying in the street?'

'I saw--the Flyman--from the window--knock him down--he took the
ruby.'

'The Flyman? Who is he?'

'A man--Horace knows--I knew--Horace had set him on. I didn't want him
to get into trouble, so I brought him here. It was all I could do to
carry him up the stairs--he was so heavy.'

'And do you mean to say you've had Mr Holland hidden in your room all
day and night?'

'All day--and night. He's dead. The Flyman killed him. Horace will get
into trouble--when it's known.'

Miss Casata, in her condition of semi-consciousness, said more than
she had warrant for. Mr Holland was not dead. Even as she asserted
that he was, he showed that her assertion was an error. While the
still partly-stupefied woman struggled to get out of the darkness into
the light, there came a cry from the white-faced girl on the other
side of the bed.

'May, he moves!'

Startled into forgetfulness of what it was she held, Miss Bewicke
dropped the slippery basin from her hands. It broke into fragments
with a clatter. The noise of the shattered ware seemed actually to
penetrate to Mr Holland's consciousness. Miss Bewicke would always
have it that it was her breaking the basin which really brought him
back to life. In an instant Miss Broad was half beside herself in a
frenzy of excitement.

'May! May! he lives! Guy! Guy!'

Miss Bewicke, turning, saw that he was alive, but that, apparently,
when that was said, one had said all.

                            CHAPTER XVIII

                              REINFORCED

Mr Holland had opened his eyes; he had done nothing more. The movement
might have been owing to an involuntary contraction of the muscles, so
rigid did his attitude continue to be, so apparently unseeing were the
staring pupils. But, for the instant, it was sufficient for Miss Broad
that he had shown signs of volition even to so small an extent. She
bent over the bed, addressing him by a dozen endearing epithets.

'Guy! My darling! my love! my dear! Don't you know me? It's
Letty--your own Letty! Speak to me! Guy! Guy!'

But he did not speak. Nor was it possible, to judge from any
responsive action on his part that he even heard. His continual
unnatural rigidity cooled the first ardour of the lady's joy. She
addressed Miss Bewicke. And now the tears were streaming down her
cheeks.

'May, come here! Look at Guy! Get him to speak to me!'

To enforce compliance with her wish was not so easy, as Miss Bewicke
saw, if the other did not. There was an uncanny look about Mr
Holland's whole appearance which was not reassuring. He looked far
indeed from the capacity for reasonable speech.

'He wants help. We ought to have a doctor at once.'

'Then fetch one--fetch one!'

That there was anything about the request which was at all
unreasonable, seemingly Miss Broad did not pause to consider; she was
too preoccupied with her own troubles and his. But to Miss Bewicke the
difficulty of the errand forcibly occurred.

'You forget--' she began. Then stopped, for she remembered how easy it
was, in the other's situation, to forget all things save one. She knit
her brows and thought, the result of her cogitations being a series of
disjointed sentences.

'They can hardly be such brutes, when they know. And yet it was they
who put him there. I wonder! Do I dare?'

It seemed that she essayed her courage. She went to the door, and, for
a moment, listened. Then turned the key, opened it an inch or two.
What she saw and heard increased her valour, especially what she
heard. The drawing-room was empty. Loud voices came through the open
door of the bedroom--her own bedroom on the opposite side--sounds
which did not speak of peace.

'I do believe they're fighting.'

She stole on tiptoe a foot or two into the empty room, then stopped in
a flutter as of doubt--what might not happen if they caught her?--then
tiptoed further, till she had reached the centre of the room. Again
she paused. If she was seen, it was a long way back to the haven of
comparative safety she had quitted. But the noise, if anything, grew
louder. From some of the words which reached her, she judged it
possible that they were too much occupied with their own proceedings
to pay heed to anything else. She perceived that, by some stroke of
good fortune, the key was outside the door. She screwed her courage to
the sticking-point, forming a sudden resolution. Darting forward,
thrusting the door to quickly, she turned the key, then, when the key
was turned, the deed done, the three gentlemen trapped, she leaned
against the wall, went white, seemed on the verge of fainting.

She went still whiter when the handle was turned within, and Mr Horace
Burton's voice was heard demanding that the door be undone.

'If they should get out!'

The possibility of the thing, and the fear thereof, acted on her as a
spur. She tore to the door which led out of the flat, and, throwing it
open, almost fell into the arms of the cook and housemaid who were
returning from their Sunday evening out. Seldom have domestic servants
been more heartily welcomed. She addressed them by their names.

'Wilson! Stevens! go at once for the police!'

Instead of promptly obeying, they stared at her in astonishment. Her
hat, which she had not removed during the lively incidents which had
marked the passage of the time since her arrival home, was on one
side, at that unbecoming angle which is a woman's nightmare; and there
were other traces of disarray which were not in keeping with her
best-known characteristics, for, with her, a pin misplaced was the
thing unspeakable. While the cook and housemaid stared, hesitating to
start, as they were bidden, in search of the representatives of law
and order, the lift stopped at the landing, and from it, of all
persons in the world, Mr Bryan Dumville emerged.

She flew into his arms, as, it may be safely said, she had never flown
before.

'Oh, Bryan! Bryan! I'm so glad you've come!'

As the flattered gentleman was, no doubt, about to express his
appreciation of the warmth of his reception, the lift commenced to
descend. Something else occurred to her.

'Stop! stop!' she cried. The lift returned. The porter looked out
inquiringly. 'Peters, there are thieves in my rooms! You had better
come with us at once.'

'Thieves, miss? Hadn't I better--'

She cut the porter's sentence short, relentlessly.

'No, you hadn't. You must come with us at once. Don't you hear me say
so?'

He went. They all went--the cook and the housemaid, the porter, Mr
Bryan Dumville, and Miss May Bewicke. She went last. As she went, she
shut the front and drawing-room doors behind her. She pointed towards
her bedroom.

'They're in there at this moment--three of them.'

The porter seemed to have his doubts.

'Three of them? You're sure they are thieves, miss?'

'Am I sure? Why do you ask me such a question? Do you think I'm likely
to make a mistake in a matter like that? Pray, don't be absurd.'

'In that case, if they are thieves, don't you think I'd better fetch
the police?'

Miss Bewicke's wits worked quickly. Even when circumstances seemed
against their working at all--since instructing the cook and housemaid
to do as the porter was now suggesting that he should do--she had
already been turning things over in her mind, with the result that she
was not sure that she desired official assistance after all. If the
police came, arrests would be made; she would have to see the thing
through to the bitter end. In view of such a possible consummation,
there were many points to be considered. Had she been an actress, with
a keen eye for an advertisement--a type which, it is understood, does
exist--the idea of figuring as the heroine of what the slang of the
hour calls a 'cause célèbre' might have commended itself to her
intelligence; but, as it happened, she was not that kind. If these
gentlemen did come into the hands of the police--at anyrate, on this
particular charge--it was possible that things might transpire which
she, and possibly others, would not wish to have mentioned in court
and in the papers. That the miscreants deserved all the punishment
which the law might award them, she had no doubt whatever. At the same
time, she was equally clear that they would duly, and shortly, receive
their reward, if not at her instance, then at that of others. So, on
the whole, she decided, in a twinkling, that she would take no final
step till she saw which way the cat might jump.

'When I want you to fetch the police, I will tell you.' She turned to
the housemaid. 'But there's one thing, Stevens, you might fetch, and
must, and that's a doctor. Go to the nearest, and bring him at once.'

Even as she spoke, through the dining-room door there came three
persons--Miss Broad, with Mr Guy Holland on her arm, looking the most
woe-begone figure imaginable, but still alive, and plainly walking;
behind them Miss Casata. For the second time Miss Bewicke
countermanded her instructions.

'Stay, Stevens! Perhaps the doctor won't be wanted.'

                             CHAPTER XIX

                          STILL WITH A SMILE

The five stared at the three, then, after momentary inspection, as if
for the purpose of satisfying herself on certain points by visual
inspection, Miss Bewicke moved towards Mr Holland.

'Oh, Guy, I am so glad to see you better! I do hope that you're all
right.'

The words were, perhaps, a trifle banal, possibly because, for once,
the nimble-witted lady was doubtful as to what was exactly the proper
thing to say. Apparently, however, it was of little consequence what
she said. The gentleman was still incapable of appreciating at their
just value either words or phrases. That he knew she spoke to him was
probable, for he turned and regarded her with vacant looks and glassy
eyes; but that he realised who she was, or what she meant, was more
than doubtful. Mumbled words proceeded from his stammering lips.

'All right--yes--quite all right--nothing wrong.'

Miss Broad looked at Miss Bewicke with eyes in which the tears still
trembled. She appealed to her in a whisper, in tones which quivered.

'Won't you let them fetch a doctor?'

'Let them! Stevens, fetch the man at once.'

This time Stevens went in search of medical aid.

Mr Dumville had been observing Mr Holland with undisguised amazement.
Now he clothed his thoughts with speech.

'Holland, what on earth's the matter with you? May, what does all this
mean?'

Miss Bewicke explained; that is, she told as much as she thought it
necessary and advisable that Mr Dumville should know in the fewest
words at her command. Mr Dumville professed himself to be, what he
plainly was, amazed. The tale was very far from being complete in all
its details, or he would probably have been yet more surprised, in a
direction, as things were, which he little suspected.

'And do you mean that that man Burton is still upon these premises?'

'He was in my bedroom, when I turned the key, with his two friends.'
Mr Dumville strode forward. She caught him by the arm. 'What are you
going to do?'

'Slaughter him!'

'I would rather you did not do that. It would make such a mess upon
the floor.'

'Do you think that scoundrel's behaviour is a thing to laugh at? I'll
show you and him, too, where the laughter comes in.'

'My dear Bryan, I know very well that there's nothing laughable about
Mr Horace Burton or his proceedings. He is--oh, he's all sorts of
things. I'd rather not tell you all the things I think he is.'

'I know.'

'Of course, you know. But, at the same time, when you have made sure
that neither he nor either of his friends is taking away any of my
property upon his person, I should be obliged if you would let them
go.'

'Let them go! May, you're mad!'

'Believe me, Bryan, I am comparatively sane. I will tell you all my
reasons later on. At present the thing is to get them gone. You may
take my word for it that for Mr Horace Burton the day of reckoning is
close at hand, and that it will be as terrible an one as even you can
desire.'

'That won't be the same as if I'd killed him.'

'No, it won't be the same; it will be better. Could I creep between
your arms if I knew that your hands were red with that man's blood? If
you don't mind, as I locked the door, I'll open it. Please keep your
hands off him as he comes out--for my sake, dear.'

She gave him a glance which possibly constrained him to obedience. She
was famous in the theatre for the skill with which she used her eyes.
Turning the key, throwing the bedroom door wide open, she stood before
it with a little gesture of invitation.

'Pray, gentlemen, come out.'

And they came out, the hang-dog three, for, though each endeavoured to
bear himself with an air of unconcern, in no case did the endeavour
quite succeed. As regards Mr Thomas Cox, the failure was complete. He
looked like nothing so much as the well-whipped cur which only asks to
be allowed to take itself away with its tail between its legs. The
Flyman, who was probably more habituated to positions of the kind,
succeeded a trifle better. He looked defiance, as if he were prepared
to match himself, at less than a moment's notice, against whoever
came. Mr Horace Burton it was, however, who might claim to face the
situation with the most imperturbable front. He looked about him, not
jauntily so much as calmly, with his unceasing smile.

'More visitors, Miss Bewicke, I perceive. Ah! Guy, how are you? You're
looking dicky. Louise, my dearest girl!'

Of its kind, his impudence was glorious. Mr Dumville strode up to him,
as if forgetful of the lady's prohibition.

'By gad! I'd like to kill you!'

Mr Burton, glancing up at the speaker, did not turn a hair.

'I'm afraid I haven't the honour. Miss Bewicke, may I ask you to
introduce me to the gentleman?'

'With pleasure. Mr Horace Burton, this is Mr Dumville. It is only at
my urgent request that he refrains from breaking every bone in your
body, as he easily could. But you know, and I know, that for you
there's such a very bad time coming that I feel it's quite safe to
leave you to the tender mercies of those to whom mercy is unknown.
Turn out your pockets!'

'Charmed! I quite appreciate the motive which actuates your request,
Miss Bewicke. Nothing could be more natural. But I give you my word of
honour that neither of us has anything which belongs to you.'

Notwithstanding, Mr Burton turned his pockets inside out, smiling all
the time. His companions followed suit, though scarcely with so much
grace. So far as could be seen, neither of them was in possession of
anything to which Miss Bewicke could lay claim, as she herself
admitted.

'I really do believe you, Mr Burton, when you say that you--none of
you--have property of mine. It sounds odd, and you may wonder why, but
I do. Good-night.'

'Good-night I am indebted to you, Miss Bewicke, for a pleasant
evening's entertainment.'

'Don't mention it. When the time comes to balance your accounts,
you'll find the sum-total of your indebtedness altogether beyond your
capacity to meet. Go.'

And they went. At least Mr Thomas Cox and the Flyman went--the
first-named gentleman with an undignified rush, the second not very
far from his heels; but Mr Burton lingered on the threshold to waft a
kiss on his finger-tips to Miss Casata.

'Best love, Louise.'

The lady made a dash at him, inarticulate with rage.

'You--you!'

Miss Bewicke stayed her progress.

'Louise!'

Mr Burton laughed.

'My dearest girl, you can't expect to embrace me before all these
people! Propriety forbids.'

When he had disappeared, Mr Dumville gave voice to his sentiments.

'I wish you'd let me kill him!'

Miss Bewicke nodded her head, with an air of the profoundest wisdom,
as she laid her little hands on his two arms.

'My dear Bryan, before very long he'll be wanting to kill himself;
that'll be so much nicer for us and so much worse for him.'

                              CHAPTER XX

                       HOW THE CHASE WAS ENDED

Mr Samuel Collyer was seated in his office. Spread open on the table
in front of him was Mr George Burton's will, which apparently he had
just been studying. The study seemed to have afforded him amusement.
Leaning back in his chair, he smiled. He referred to his watch.

'Twenty minutes past; they will soon be here. On these occasions,
punctuality ought to be the rule, and generally is. George Burton was
a curious man, and left a curious will. And yet I don't know. Why
should I, or anyone, call it curious? By what right? When a man has
neither wife nor children, and his only kindred are a couple of
nephews to whom he is not particularly attached, surely he has a right
to do as he likes with his own. It is his own--as yet. And if he
chooses to attach to the succession certain conditions which appeal,
we'll say, to his sense of humour, what title has anyone, lawyer or
layman, to comment adversely on the expression of his wishes? So long
as they are not in opposition to the general welfare of the body
politic, it seems to me none. In a sense, most wills are curious, when
you get right into them and understand their ins and outs. I daresay
mine will be. I'm a bachelor. Upon my word, I don't know who has the
best claim to the few pence I shall leave. Why shouldn't I ornament my
testamentary dispositions with a few characteristic touches? Why not?'

While the lawyer propounded to himself this knotty problem, two
visitors were shown in--Mr Holland, again upon Miss Broad's arm. He
still was not himself. The effects of the sand-bag, which the Flyman
had used with more enthusiasm than he had perhaps intended, had not
yet all vanished. He seemed uncertain about his capacity to steer
himself. He did not carry himself so upright as was his wont. There
was a look upon his face which it had not previously worn--of
indecision, irresolution, as if he was not quite master of his mental
faculties. That sandbag had landed on the brain. Miss Broad seemed to
regard him as if he were a child; she watched over him as if he were
one, and it must be allowed that he appeared to appreciate to the full
her tender care.

The diplomatic lawyer chose not to see the things which were patent.
His greeting was,--

'I am glad to see you, Mr Holland, looking so much yourself. I was
grieved to hear that you had had an accident.'

'Accident!' The reiteration was Miss Broad's. 'You call it accident!'

'My dear young lady, the words which lawyers use are not always
intended to bear their strict dictionary significance.'

Another visitor was announced--Mr Horace Burton, as much at his ease
as ever. Miss Broad blazed up at sight of him.

'You dare to come here!'

'Dare! Collyer, who's this young lady? Oh, it's Miss Broad, my future
cousin. May I ask, Letty--you'll let me call you Letty?--why you
should speak of my "daring" to come to my own lawyer's office? Hallo,
Guy, you look squiffy! Buck up, my boy!'

He would have saluted his cousin with his open palm upon the back had
not Miss Broad caught his arm as it was descending and flung it away.
He gazed at her with what was meant for admiration.

'You are a warm one, Letty, really now! If you propose to slang Guy,
as you seem fond of slanging me, you ought to have a pot of money to
make it worth his while. He's likely to find marriage with you an
expensive luxury, my dear.'

Mr Holland half rose from the chair on which Miss Broad had placed
him. He spoke with hesitating tongue.

'You had better be careful--what you say.'

His relative laughed.

'You'd better be careful what you say, or you'll tumble down.'

Miss Broad laid her hand on Mr Holland's shoulder.

'Never mind what he says. I don't. He's not worth noticing.'

'Do you hear that, Collyer? Isn't she severe? But let's to business.
I'm not come to engage in a tongue-match with a lady. The three months
are up. Where's the ruby?'

Mr Collyer spoke.

'May I ask, Mr Holland, if you're in possession of the ring in
question?'

It was Miss Broad who answered.

'No, he is not. Miss Bewicke calls herself his friend, and she even
pretends to be mine, but her friendship does not go far enough to
induce her to hand over property to its rightful owner which was never
hers.'

Comment from Mr Burton,--

'How sad! That's very wrong of her. Shows such deplorable
moral blindness, doesn't it? She is a wicked woman, is May
Bewicke--heartless, hypocritical, selfish to the core. Well, Collyer,
anyhow that settles it. The money's mine, and I give you my personal
assurance I can do with it.'

'I have not the slightest doubt of that, Mr Burton; but, before we
conclude, there is something which I have been instructed to hand to
Mr Holland. It was for that purpose I requested your presence here.
Permit me, Mr Holland, to hand you this.'

From a drawer in his writing-table the lawyer produced a small parcel.
When Mr Holland had undone, with somewhat shaky fingers, the outer
covering, it was seen that within was a leather-covered case. Inside
was a note, which he unfolded.

'Dear Guy,' it ran, 'this is a wedding present from yours, MAY
BEWICKE.'

'This' was a ring--the ring--the famous ruby.

While they gathered round it, with a babble of voices, and Mr Burton
showed himself disposed to bluster, Miss Bewicke herself appeared at
the door with Mr Bryan Dumville. She advanced to Mr Holland and Miss
Broad.

'My dear children, how are you both? So you have the ring? That's all
right. Directly I heard of the will, I sent it to Mr Collyer--he's my
uncle, don't you know? I thought it would be safer with him than it
would be with me. A lone, lorn woman's rooms are always open to the
machinations of the most dreadful characters, and you never know what
may happen--burglaries and all sorts of things. And you see I do call
myself Guy's friend, and I even pretend, Letty, to be yours. Don't I,
Bryan, dear?'

Some of the latter words suggested that the little lady had been
listening outside the door. Mr Dumville confined his attention to Mr
Horace Burton.

'So it's you again? I shall have to kill you after all.'

Actually Mr Burton did not seem altogether at his ease.

'I suppose, Guy, you couldn't let me have a thousand pounds to get
away with?' He laughed. 'No; it's no good. You'd better let me have it
when I come out. They're waiting for me outside. A thousand would only
be a drop in the sea. They wouldn't let me make a bolt of it for
that.'

As he said, certain persons were waiting for him in the street. When
he appeared, and it was discovered that he was not to have his uncle's
money, within an hour he was arrested on a charge of forgery. It was a
remarkable case, and not a savoury one. Neither prosecutors nor
prisoner showed to advantage; but as it was clearly proved that Mr
Horace Burton had forged, and put into circulation, a large number of
acceptances and other legal documents, the jury had no option but to
find him guilty. A hard-headed judge sent him to penal servitude for
fourteen years.

The Flyman soon followed him, it was understood, to the same prison.
His was a charge of robbery with violence in the City Road. The
sand-bag again. As there were previous convictions against him, he
suffered badly.

Mr Thomas Cox is still at large. He was seen lately on the cliff at
Margate, with his wife and daughter, lounging on a chair listening to
the band. He looked well and flourishing--an illustration of a sound
mind in a sound body. But one never knows.

Mr Guy Holland and Mr Bryan Dumville were married at the same church,
at the same time, on the same day. They are the best of friends. Their
wives swear by one another. Mrs Guy Holland is convinced that Mrs
Bryan Dumville is the most charming woman on the English stage, just
as Mrs Bryan Dumville is certain that Mrs Guy Holland is the
altogether most delightful person off it.

                               THE END

                              EDINBURGH
                       COLSTON AND COY. LIMITED
                               PRINTERS