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This text has been proofread but is not guaranteed to be free from errors. Corrections to the original text have been left in place.
Title: Heiress of Densley Wold, an electronic edition
Author: Warden, Florence, 1857-1929
Publisher: Cassell and Company, Ltd.
Place published: London
Date: 1907
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HEIRESS OF DENSLEY WOLDFrontispiece from Warden's Heiress of
Densley Wold.HEIRESS OF DENSLEY WOLDBY FLORENCE WARDEN Author of "The
House on the Marsh, " etc.CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITEDLONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK, TORONTO AND MELBOURNEMCMVIIALL RIGHTS RESERVEDCopyright information for  Warden's Heiress of
Densley Wold.HEIRESS OF DENSLEY WOLDCHAPTER I"ADVENTURESS be hanged! She's not an adventuress! She's the loveliest——""Stop, stop, stop! We know all about that. Your latest always is your loveliest!""Confound you!""Well, confound me as much as you like. I've been at all the trouble of coming down from town on purpose to see what sort of a scrape you've got yourself into this time——""Ince, if you say another word, I shall forget that you're a decent fellow, that you're devoted to me, and all that bosh, and throw you out of window!"As James Ince was sitting so close to the low bow-window of the sitting-room of the Cowes hotel where his friend, Massey St. Quintin, was staying, that the latter might have carried out his expressed intention with very little difficulty, and as that hot-headed young man was becoming greatly irritated at his friend's want of enthusiasm, Ince retreated hastily to the innermost recesses of the room, with an expression of comical terror upon his thin, intellectual face.The friends offered something of a contrast. James Ince, barrister, living in London on a narrow allowance, and with his way in the world still to make, looked, at two-and-thirty, as grave and as furrowed as a man of forty, an impression which was helped by the fact that he was already somewhat bald.He had dark blue eyes, almost hollow cheeks, and a straight mouth scarcely hidden by a slight black moustache. Thin and spare of frame and with a slight stoop, he had a look of extreme delicacy, which was scarcely borne out by the facts of the case. While Massey St. Quintin, his junior by nearly ten years, slight and boyish of figure and quick of movement, gave an impression of robust health which was almost equally wrong.The younger man, with his fair hair, light eyes, beardless face, and expression peculiarly sweet and winning, might have passed for the son, rather than the contemporary, of the older man, whose close friend he had been from the time, three or four years previously, when Ince had been St. Quintin's tutor before the latter went up to Cambridge.St. Quintin laughed when he saw the rapid retreat of his friend from the window. They had been enjoying the sight of the yachts that lay close to the shore on this perfect July evening, or moved lazily through the water farther out, scarcely helped by a faint breeze. It was but a few days before the Cowes week, and craft of all sizes were gathering together in the neighbourhood of the pretty, old-fashioned, and not over-clean town.St. Quintin laughed."Touching act of self-denial!" said he, mockingly. "To leave Fleet Street in July for a run down here. I could shed tears, Ince, at the depth of your devotion, that I could!"The joke had restored his good humour, if he had ever lost it. But the other wanted to bring back the conversation to the subject they had left."Well," he admitted, "there are compensations, even if the journey was inconvenient and tedious. But I had expected to be entertained on the Burmah Girl. Are you living on shore?""Well, I am at present," admitted the young man with a rather conscious expression.Ince laughed."I see. Miss Densley is at the hotel, and you can't tear yourself away! I wonder you condescended to dine up here with me! I should have thought, in the circumstances, the table-d'hôte dinner was more attractive.""Well, you see, Miss Densley doesn't dine at the table-d hôte" said St. Quintin, ingenuously; she and her governess have a private room.""Governess, eh! Rather an odd thing for a grown-up girl to be staying with a governess at an hotel at Cowes in the season, isn't it?""Odd! Not at all," retorted St. Quintin, quickly. "She is an orphan, remember.""How do you know that, if, as you say, she doesn't speak to strangers?""Well, the fact is—of course I know it's very undignified to get information in an underhand way, but what's a fellow to do when he can't get it any other way?—my man has struck up a sort of respectful flirtation with Miss Densley's maid, Rose, and he's told me several things that Rose has told him.""What things?" asked Ince, inquisitorially."Well, that she's an heiress, for one thing."Ince drew himself up."That about settles it," said he. "People don't go about giving themselves out as heiresses like that—decent people, that is."St. Quintin came over to him with his eyes ablaze."Please don't speak in that way of this lady," said he, quietly, "because I won't stand it. Remember you have no grounds whatever for insinuating anything against her. All I've said in my letters was that there was a beautiful girl staying at the same hotel with me, and that I was trying to get an introduction. The fact that I can't get it, try as I may, proves that she is what she is represented to be, what I've always felt her to be—a girl whom anyone would be proud to know.""Then how do you account for the strange circumstances of her stay here at this time of year?""Her aunt is in Paris, and Miss Densley herself has been ill and needed a change. And the doctors said that she must go somewhere where she could have life and gaiety round her. That's the clue to what you choose to think a mystery, though I can't for the life of me see why you should!"James Ince saw that he could do no good, and might do harm, by irritating St. Quintin with any further expression of his doubts. So he made no answer to this attack, but shrugged his shoulders with an air of assumed acquiescence, and allowed the matter to drop.When, however, on the following morning, the two men were on the sea-front together, looking alternately at the yachts and at the promenaders on shore, Ince exclaimed suddenly—"By Jove, what a pretty girl!"St. Quintin's eyes were, he now perceived, already turned in the same direction. And the half-shy laugh with which his words were received convinced him at once that he was looking at the object of his companion's infatuation."Is it Miss Densley?" he asked."Yes," said St. Quintin, who was now the colour of a peony, and whose shy glances were eloquent enough. James Ince, indeed, felt sure that the young beauty was not unconscious of the effect her presence had upon the young man in the serge suit. And the duenna with her pursed her lips and frowned at the two young men, evidently aware of it too. Miss Densley turned to her with a demure look of merriment in her eyes and muttered something which made the elder lady draw herself up and cast an indignant glance at poor Massey, who was, however, too much absorbed in her companion to notice it.Miss Densley was evidently laughing as she walked on beside her companion.James Ince looked bewildered."By Jove!" he said softly. "I am surprised!""Surprised! What at?""Why, why, somehow—I don't exactly know why, but I'd imagined your enchantress would be older, and—and—more of a—a——"St. Quintin burst into a triumphant laugh."Just what I thought! You had imagined an elderly, painted adventuress, though why you should imagine I should be attracted by such a person Heaven only knows! And now you've seen Miss Densley, you are obliged to confess that she's all I said, and more.""She's very good-looking, certainly, and I don't suppose she can be more than seventeen or eighteen. Still——"The dubious tone into which he fell again exasperated his companion, who refused to hear any more, but insisted upon rambling on with inane raptures until Ince declared he could stand it no longer, and went indoors to escape.But St. Quintin was satisfied, and he strolled on by himself, whistling softly, on the lookout for another chance of meeting the beauty, if it were only in the same unsatisfactory manner as before.But Fate—or somebody else—favoured him. Before he had been long alone he saw Miss Densley coming back along the parade, with her little black-and-white spaniel running before her, and he thanked his stars, for he knew the little beast, and guessed that within the next five minutes its caprices would lead to the opening he desired. The dog was always being frantically extricated from under the wheels of bicycles or fished out of the shallow water, and surely the Fate who watches over lovers would lead the animal into some such scrape again!So thought St. Quintin, as he kept as near as he dared, and watched the gambols of the animal round its mistress's pretty feet.Miss Densley was dressed in white serge—a white serge skirt under a white serge bolero—and she was wearing a loose tie of flowing crimson silk, and a sailor hat trimmed with a crimson band and bow. Her long dark hair was done in one large plait which hung down to her waist, and was tied in two places with crimson ribbon. From her white kid shoes to her white kid gloves she was beautifully dressed, with a neatness and good taste which enhanced the effect of her radiant beauty.Her skirts were still rather short, as if she was not long out of the schoolroom, and the bloom on her cheeks spoke of extreme youth.The little round face, with its pale olive skin, was almost colourless except for the bright red of her lips; it was not the pallor of ill health, but of a certain refined and striking type of beauty which seemed French rather than English. Her eyes, the most striking feature of her face, were large and dark brown, and the expression most usually on her countenance was one of merriment and delight in life.And as St. Quintin shyly looked at her and adored from a discreet distance, his longed-for chance came. The spaniel suddenly left his mistress's side, and bounded into the road, and she screamed faintly. For there was a motorcar within hearing, and—well, there was a very attractive-looking man within hearing too.St. Quintin rushed into the road, where the dog, seeing himself pursued, at once turned and made off, going in the direction of the motor-car, which was still round the corner.Miss Densley uttered another little cry, but the young man did not turn. He fled in pursuit of the animal, rescued him from the danger, which was perhaps not so imminent as they believed, and ran back, flushed and panting, to restore the dog to its owner.The girl was grateful, delighted, smiled and showed two rows of dazzling teeth, and thanked him effusively over and over again."I'm—I'm so glad, so very glad, to have been able to be of the slightest service to you!" panted St. Quintin, shyly, but with evident emotion.The girl reddened in her turn, and looking down, so that he could see how beautiful her eyelashes were, she said demurely—"It is most kind of you, most kind. But oh, you might have been run over yourself!"To emphasise this awful danger, the motorcar which had caused such grave concern at that moment appeared and toddled past at a snail's pace."I shouldn't have minded that, if I could have been of use to you," replied St Quintin, with fervour, if somewhat hyperbolically."It's very, very kind of you. You naughty Flossie, to give so much trouble!" she went on, apostrophising the dog, which she now held in her arms, because it was easier then to keep up a coherent conversation with the attractive but evidently emotional stranger."Let me feel him and see if he's hurt anywhere, "suggested St. Quintin, as he promptly began to make a searching investigation, although, as the animal had not been run over, there was apparently no great need for his solicitude."Oh, I think he's all right," murmured Miss Densley.But she made no objection as St. Quintin felt paw after paw gently and carefully, and ended by saying slowly and thoughtfully—"He seems all right, doesn't he?""Oh, yes, thanks to you."And she gave him another grateful glance, which intoxicated the susceptible young man. He felt that he ought to retire, but he lingered."If you would like me to take him for a run sometimes—any time, a good long run into the country or—or along the front, or—if you would like me to give him a bath in the sea—sea-bathing's awfully good for fancy dogs like this—I would do it with pleasure," he went on, conscious that his offers would have sounded wild to other ears, but wistfully hopeful that they were not ill received by those to which they were addressed."Oh, it's quite too awfully kind of you!" she replied.He lingered still."I wish some of my people were here," he said, "so that they could introduce themselves to the lady with you, and I could speak to you sometimes," he added ingenuously. "I should so like to be able to."Miss Densley blushed and smiled encouragingly."My governess wouldn't eat you if you were to introduce yourself to her," she said."My own people are so particular that, when I'm away from them, they have all the names of the people in the house submitted to them, so that I may not be exposed to contact with people they disapprove of."St. Quintin looked surprised."Really!" said he.Miss Densley laughed."It's true," she said. "My aunt's very particular. And when she can't be with me her-self, she gives such instructions to my governess that I'm hedged round like a nun. She says that lively places like this are full of adventurers, and that girls with money can't be too careful. And I," Miss Densley laughed merrily, "am a girl with money."St. Quintin thought this confession delicious. It was made simply, and with an innocent air of satisfaction which seemed to him charming."Well," he said, "I don't think it would make any difference if you had no money. I mean I think you'd find it just as difficult to—to keep people from wanting to know you."Miss Densley shook her head sagely."I can't agree with you. Before I knew I had anything, I never had any need to keep my set select. It was as small as could be without any precautions."She laughed again, and with a pretty bow was trying to move on when St. Quintin ventured to stop her."Do you mean that your people know my name, and that I'm not on the proscribed list, and that your governess would let me speak to you?" he asked eagerly.She grew demure."Oh, I'm sure I don't know," she said, looking rather frightened, as if she had confessed more than she had meant to do.But he persisted."If that's true," said he, "I shall lose no time. I never wanted to know anybody as much as I longed to have a chance of speaking to you. And I do bless that little dog that gave me the opportunity. The fact is, I was due in the Mediterranean three weeks ago, and I stayed behind, loafing about here, in the hope always of getting a chance of being allowed to make your acquaintance."Miss Densley smiled, blushed and looked away."Well, perhaps I guessed that you would like to," she confessed shyly, "but you know one can't do anything. I knew all about you and your yacht, Burmah Girl, and I think she's one of the prettiest here.""I do wish you could come—and your governess, of course, on board her!" said St. Quintin, wistfully.Miss Densley shook her head."I couldn't do that," she said," until you know my uncle and aunt. But perhaps some day, when they are back in England, you will come and see us?""I should be delighted. They live in town?" said St. Quintin, eagerly."No. Their address is 'Briar Lodge, Briar Heath. It's a little way out of London, not far from Wimbledon.""And I may come? When may I come?"Well, we shall all be there again by the end of August," said Miss Densley."Then I shall lose no time," said St. Quintin, eagerly, as Miss Densley bowed and hurried away with her spaniel under her arm.He returned to the hotel in a fever, told James Ince the gist of his adventure, and scoffed at his dubious expressions of displeasure."You'd much better keep away from the place," said he.But he only got snubbed for his pains, and St. Quintin, while conscious that the girl's circumstances appeared to be unusual, would not allow that there was anything doubtful or suspicious in them.He was longing for the next chance of seeing Miss Densley, in order that he might make the acquaintance of her governess and be able to talk to the girl again.But when he went down to the smoking-room that evening he learned to his dismay that Miss Stanley and Miss Densley and the maid Rose had all gone away by the Southampton boat.James Ince looked askance at him, but St. Quintin bore his disappointment well. He had the lovely girl's address in his pocket, and it was not so very long to the end of August after all.CHAPTER IIMASSEY ST. QUINTIN, although he professed to take the departure of the two ladies with equanimity, was not stoical enough to allow it to take place without making inquiries about its apparent suddenness. He therefore questioned his servant that night, and learned that Rose, the maid, had confided to him the reason of this abrupt departure.Miss Densley had, as in duty bound, mentioned to Miss Stanley, her governess, the incident of the morning, and Miss Stanley had telegraphed to Madame Leblanc, Miss Densley's aunt, at once on hearing of it. What the message was that she sent Rose did not know. But a telegram had been received in answer, and at once Miss Stanley had ordered the maid to pack for a journey. And Rose had not disclosed their next destination, so that all the valet could tell was that the ladies had gone to Southampton.St. Quintin tried to feel as confident as ever about the lady who had roused in him such passionate admiration, but he did not feel quite easy. He had, perhaps, the instinctive British mistrust of foreign relations, and wished that he could have heard the names of some of Miss Densley's English friends.It was not that he had the least suspicion that the beauty herself was anything but a pearl among women, but her movements were certainly erratic, and he chose to ascribe this fact to her French family, and wished heartily that he could have met them face to face at once, instead of having to wait a month for that satisfaction.James Ince perceived the agitation the younger man would fain have concealed, but was wise enough to say nothing more on the subject, thankful that the disappearance of the enchantress had, as he supposed, put his friend out of danger.The two young men left Cowes a few days later, having heard, in the meanwhile, nothing whatever of the beauty and her companion; and at the end of August Massey St. Quintin, with the knowledge but against the advice of Ince, went down to Briar Heath and looked about him for the house which Ince had assured him he would not find.But Ince was wrong. And it was with a glow of delighted triumph that the young man found Briar Lodge and made his way up the long, wide drive to one of the big, square-looking, detached houses, standing in their own grounds amidst trees of old growth, which stood back from the heath, and presented each a majestic front of old-fashioned prosperity and luxury most reassuring to the visitor.From behind a screen of tall trees which grew just within the outer fence, a pretty, square-topped, Italian tower showed at one end of the imposing building, and it was among more trees and along a drive, bordered on one side by a thick wall of shrubs, that St. Quintin made his way.It was about four o'clock in the afternoon, and the heat of the sun in these late August days was still great. The great house looked delightfully cool, with its striped sun-blinds and the awning before the front door, which was open, showing a wide, tessellated hall with Oriental rugs, and palms in brass-bound oaken tubs.The tall footman in a quiet livery, who came to the door in answer to his ring, said that Madame Leblanc and her niece were both at home, and led the visitor without delay across the wide, handsomely-furnished inner hall to a long room at the back of the house, the windows of which, opening down to the ground, showed a delightful garden, gay with flowers, and with a big fish-pond in the middle of the lawn. In the middle of the pond was a little fountain, the spray from which sparkled in the sunlight. From behind a thick hedge of yew which shut off the lawn and flower-garden, could be seen the trees of the kitchen-garden beyond, and around the lawn itself were more trees, the shade of which, though refreshing to the eye, had caused bare patches to appear on the grass.St. Quintin had no time to see more than this, and that the grounds were extensive and beautifully kept, before the door of the drawing-room opened again, and a stout, middle-aged lady, very well dressed in soft grey silk and wearing some magnificent diamond and ruby rings, came in, smiling and holding out her hand."Ah! This, then, is the gentleman who was so kind to my niece Marie, when she lost her little dog!" cried Madame, speaking with a marked French accent but fluently and well. "I am very glad to see you, Monsieur St. Quintin. You shall come into the garden with me and see my husband and my niece also."She had turned towards the nearest of the long French windows, when the door again opened behind her and the footman announced—" Monsieur Marbeau."Madame Leblanc glanced hastily, and, as it seemed to St. Quintin, rather anxiously at him.The new-comer was a tall, stout, pompous, florid Frenchman of about forty years of age, tightly buttoned up in a frockcoat which seemed scarcely to be large enough for his portly form, so evidently anxious had he been to squeeze himself into the smallest possible dimensions. For alas! he had reached the period at which the figure becomes either a god to whom sacrifices have to be made or a memory to be held in esteem and mourned over.He greeted Madame Leblanc with effusion, looked askance at the other visitor, and asked tenderly after Monsieur Leblanc and respectfully after Miss Densley.Madame replied with charming good humour, and presently, telling Monsieur Marbeau that she had something to show him, something that would interest him very much, with his "exquisite taste in works of art," she directed St. Quintin to go out into the garden, where he would find her husband and her niece under the cedar tree on the lawn.Then she turned, smiling, to the French visitor, while the English one, delighted to be able to meet Miss Densley again, went out into the beautiful grounds, and soon came upon the girl, looking more charming than ever.She was dressed in a frock of cream muslin that just escaped the ground; and the big hat she wore, covered with billows of cream lace, seemed to give her an added charm of picturesqueness, such as she had not had at Cowes in her smart little sailor hats and trim, tailor-made clothes.She greeted him with a smile of delight that enraptured the young man, and the red blush that suffused her round, olive-tinted cheeks made his heart beat wildly. Impulsively holding out her hand to him, she said—"Oh, what a pleasant surprise! I thought you would have forgotten!"There was something so straightforward and sincere in her welcome that St. Quintin lost his head, murmured something unintelligible, and was only recalled to himself by the voice of the gentleman who had sauntered up to them, and who said in perfect English—"Introduce me, Marie."St. Quintin and Miss Densley both turned at the same moment, and the girl, laughing apologetically, and still blushing a rosy red, said—"Uncle, this is Mr. St. Quintin, the gentleman who saved Flossie from being run over when I was at Cowes with Miss Stanley."Monsieur Leblanc was a little, thin, aristocratic-looking man, extremely neat, from his well-cut, close-trimmed beard to the tips of his pointed shoes. He was dressed in an alpaca coat and a wide straw hat, but he looked trim and neat in spite of these easy clothes, and St. Quintin was very favourably impressed by his courtly manners and relieved to find that there was no need for him to try his own indifferent French.They passed a delightful hour eating strawberries under the big cedar, and St. Quintin forgot to notice that Madame Leblanc and the other visitor delayed their coming. The young man received and promptly accepted an invitation to stay to dinner, and they were all conversing very pleasantly when the two others joined them, to the surprise of Monsieur Leblanc and the evident annoyance of Miss Densley, who frowned and replied very coldly to the stout Frenchman's elaborate courtesies.And then St. Quintin vaguely felt that something was wrong. When his host mentioned that he had asked St. Quintin to stay to dinner, Madame looked troubled and Monsieur Marbeau angry, and the young man came quickly to the conclusion that the middle-aged Frenchman was a suitor whom the elders encouraged, but who was distasteful to the girl herself.Thereafter there was an uneasy feeling in the minds of all, and this was intensified when Monsieur Marbeau mentioned that he had that day met in town a certain Mr. Burdock, who, he said, had intimated his intention of coming down to Briar Lodge that day.At this news there came a change in the expression of the host and hostess, who received the news with silent uneasiness, and in that of Miss Densley, who looked her horror and annoyance."I hate him!" she murmured to her aunt, just loudly enough for St. Quintin to hear.And then he began to understand that the rich Miss Densley was overwhelmed by the number of her suitors, and that the portly Monsieur Marbeau was one of the unfavoured ones.He and she had, however, no time or opportunity to exchange confidences on this subject, for her uncle and aunt, with great cleverness avoided any sort of collision occasioned by jealousy between the two visitors, whose glances betrayed that their chief interest was in the wealthy beauty.The greatest skill was needed and was used by the Leblancs in tiding over the difficulties caused by Monsieur Marbeau's evident dislike of what he considered the intrusion of the young Englishman, and it seemed to St. Quintin that under Madame's frank good humour there lay some deep anxiety.Dinner was served in a handsome room in the front of the house, with the windows wide open, and the blinds drawn up to allow every possible breath of air to enter.St. Quintin thought the table the most beautifully arranged he had ever seen, with its banks of ferns and flowers, its brilliant cut glass and costly silver-gilt dishes. Everything added to the intoxication produced by the beauty and charm of Miss Densley, round whose pretty throat there hung three rows of exquisite pearls, her only jewel.Before dinner was over, however, there was an unpleasant diversion. There were steps on the gravel, and Monsieur Leblanc, turning very pale, rose hastily and, looking out of the window into the darkness, made some excuse and left the room.He did not return, and Madame, who appeared but little disturbed, though she threw an intelligent glance at her husband as he went out, carried the burden of entertainment on her own plump shoulders for the rest of the meal, at the conclusion of which they all left the room together in the French fashion and assembled in the drawing-room, now illuminated by electric light that glowed from little crystal globes on the walls and ceiling.It was not until the gentlemen had risen to take leave that Monsieur Leblanc reappeared, smiling, neat, charming as ever.And then St. Quintin, interested and almost unconsciously on the watch, saw a strange, long look exchanged between host and hostess.The young man, more in love than ever, was not allowed much opportunity for a tender farewell of Miss Densley, but he received from her aunt a formal invitation to come to dinner again on Wednesday in the following week.This invitation he joyfully accepted, noting that Monsieur Marbeau received at the same time an invitation to dine on the Tuesday.St. Quintin expected to leave the house with his fellow-guest, and was looking forward to a little conversation with him to enlighten himself on various perplexing points. But Madame detained Monsieur Marbeau at the last moment, so that the young Englishman found himself obliged to leave by himself.He was, however, so anxious for a few words with his fellow-guest that, instead of going straight down the drive to the gate, he lingered and, as soon as the door was shut, deliberately turned back and sauntered towards the house again, keeping well to the left—where there was a window slightly open and a darkened and therefore, as he judged, unoccupied room—in preference to the right, where he would have been within the circle of light cast by the lamps and electric bulbs of the dining-room, in which a servant was moving about.And as he sauntered towards the darkened room with the half-open window, St. Quintin heard a sound that made his blood run cold.It was a man's voice, husky and weak and faint, whispering feebly—"Help! Help! Murder!"CHAPTER IIIFOR the first moment St. Quintin could scarcely believe his ears.Then, stepping nearer, until he was within half a dozen yards of the window, which was some eight or nine feet from the ground, he heard the words repeated, even more faintly than before—"Help! Help! Mur——"The feeble voice died away entirely on the unfinished word, but St. Quintin had heard enough to be sure of two things: the one was that the voice was that of a man, and the other that it came from the room on the left of the front door."Who is it? What has been done to you?" he asked in a clear whisper.There was no answer but a faint groan.St. Quintin debated within himself for a few seconds what to do. Then he stepped back, with the intention of making a running leap up at the window in the hope that he might be able to raise himself high enough and to hold on long enough to see into the darkened room.But just as he turned to run, he saw the window closed softly and slowly, without being able to see the hand that did it.Then he waited a moment longer, and listened intently. But he could hear no further sound, and the feeble voice never spoke again.With a mind full of hideous suspicions and fears, St. Quintin ran up the half-dozen shallow steps to the front door of the house and rang the bell."I want to see Monsieur Leblanc for a moment," said he, scarcely knowing what he said, to the servant who opened the door.The man was alarmed by the expression of his face. Indeed St. Quintin felt himself that he was scarcely in a condition to make himself understood, so overwhelmed was he with the horror he felt and with bewilderment at the position in which he found himself. His face was ashy white, and he felt as if he scarcely had command of his limbs or of his tongue.After a moment's hesitation, the footman was about to lead the way to the drawing-room when St. Quintin stopped him, shaking his head."No," said he hoarsely, "I want to see him alone."And then there came over the face of the servant a look which suddenly made the visitor aware that strange scenes must have happened in the house before—a look of inquiry, of veiled concern and interest, which made St. Quintin realise that what he had heard was no fancy, no freak of his imagination.The man led the way to the dining-room and turned up the lights."I'll tell my master, sir," he said, as he left the room, with another curious glance.St. Quintin was in a fever. He paced up and down the room, unable to stand still, looked fixedly at the paintings on the panelled walls, at the heavily-carved sideboard glittering with silver and silver-gilt plate, at the beautiful colourings of the tapestries that hung over the doors, at the richly-embroidered Japanese silk curtains that he had admired that evening as the handsomest things of the kind he had ever seen.Everything around him, from the thick carpet under his feet to the enormous Empire clock and old-fashioned, beautiful candelabra on the mantelpiece, spoke of wealth and luxury and prosperity. Could it be possible that there were dark secrets kept within its doors, that the courteous hosts were not the people of leisure and hospitality they appeared to be?Strong as was the impression made upon him by the faint murmurs and cries he had heard, St. Quintin would not have been so utterly overwhelmed but for the mysterious covert glances of the footman who had let him in. The man's obvious uneasiness seemed suggestive and uncanny, he thought.It seemed a very long time before anyone came to disturb his unpleasant reflections. Not a footfall could he hear, not a voice, not a sound but the ticking of the clock. He might have been a hundred miles away from London instead of in one of its outer suburbs. At last, impatient and suspicious, he decided on leaving the room to go in search of his host himself, when to his great relief he heard footsteps cross the hall, the door opened, and Monsieur Leblanc appeared, smiling, trim, courteous, charming as ever."Ah, Mr. St. Quintin, forgive me for having made you wait so long. But you know what we Frenchmen are when we talk! My friend Marbeau has not lived in England long enough to get his vivacity tempered by your English dignity, and I thought I should never get away from him! What is it that has brought you back? Not bad news of some sort, I trust?"And as he spoke, suddenly becoming aware of the strange look on his visitor's face, Monsieur Leblanc regarded the young man intently, with concern on his own fine features."Well, I—I—I'm afraid you will think me fanciful, but it was something strange that I heard—or fancied I heard—that brought me back. Is there, do you think—I mean, I want you to go into the room on the other side of the hall, in the front of the house, and to see whether there is anyone there."His host looked at him steadily, with obvious suspicion that he was seized with an attack of temporary insanity."Anyone where? The room on the other side of the hall is my study. There is no one ever in there but myself. Unless—do you mean you have reason to think that a burglar may have got in? Ah! mon Dieu! But I have precious things—and valuable things in there! It would be terrible!"And, with sudden anxiety apparent in look and tone, Monsieur Leblanc, now thoroughly roused, made a dash for the door. But before he could reach it, he suddenly remembered the courtesy that was due to his guest, and turning towards him said, with a bow and an inviting gesture towards the door—"But I am forgetting! You will come with me, will you not?—so that we can satisfy ourselves together, and"—a humorous twinkle appeared in his grey eyes—" you are younger than I am. Perhaps, if there is a burglar in there, you will be able to do more for me than I could for myself. You shall show your athletic British training, Mr. St. Quintin. You shall—what you call 'tackle'—the burglar."And as he spoke Monsieur Leblanc, whose French accent had become unusually strong under the pressure of his excitement at the notion of an attack being made upon his treasures, opened the door wide and invited St. Quintin to go out first.Together they crossed the wide hall, and the host opened a door which led into a short corridor, with doors to the right and left. He opened the one on the left, and turning up the electric light by means of a button on the wall, just inside, he dashed into the room hurriedly and cried " Ah!" as if with the intention of scaring away any possible intruder.But there was no one in the room, and no sign that anyone had recently been engaged there in any occupation more dangerous than that of writing letters.For opposite to the door and immediately under the window was a heavy writing-table of plain mahogany, with a leather top and a wide kneehole between two pedestal supports containing small drawers. Upon this table was an inkstand and a blotting-pad and half-finished letter, with other appendages of the writing-table, and more letters and papers.On one side of the room was a fireplace, now filled with ferns, with a massive cupboard-bookcase on each side of it.At the opposite end there were rows of shelves, all containing books in handsome bindings, which bore the stamp of having been bought for show rather than for use, each volume being in its place, and regard being had to size and colour rather than any more literary method of selection or of arrangement.The carpet was thick, costly, and little worn. The furniture was not perhaps as handsome as in the other apartments of the house; but this was rather on account of the intrusion among the more imposing pieces of carved old and red morocco of certain articles of use which showed marks of hard wear. Thus, the pedestal writing-table under the window was old and shabby, contrasting oddly and strongly with the magnificent bookcases, the handsomely-bound books and the luxurious carpet.St. Quintin, who had taken care to get quickly into the room as soon as the door was opened, without allowing time for the escape of a possible occupant, was struck dumb with amazement at what he saw.Not a sign of a struggle having taken place in the room, not a mark of a tragedy!Monsieur Leblanc seemed to be almost as much astonished as he was. Staring slowly round him, he turned to the young man and asked incredulously—"Where is he—the man? You cannot have heard a man in here, Mr. St. Quintin! There is no one!"St. Quintin looked about him scrutinisingly."I could have sworn," he said at last feebly, "that I heard a man calling, and that he was in this room. The window was open just half-way, and while I was close to it I saw it shut, and then I heard no more."His host looked at him steadily, and then smiled, shaking his head."You have a vivid imagination, that is all. If there had been a man calling in here, surely he would not have shut the window, but would have opened it wider.""Perhaps it was someone else who shut it," suggested the young man."Ah, bah! There was nobody here," said Monsieur Leblanc, almost contemptuously. "You deceived yourself, my friend."This attitude nettled St. Quintin and made him appear more certain than he really was. For indeed he had begun to agree with his host that what he had heard must have been the result of some trick played upon him by his own senses of sight and hearing."I'm quite sure," he said stubbornly, "that I did hear and see what I described."Monsieur Leblanc shrugged his shoulders, not aggressively, but with patient tolerance of British imbecility."Then how can you account for our not finding the man?"St. Quintin could not answer. Indulgently his host led the way to the door and said—"Perhaps it was something from next door you heard. There is a large family of young people there, and they are full of tricks. It is some escapade on the part of the young men who are there; one of them has played some trick on another, and you heard them from over the wall between their grounds and ours."For an instant St. Quintin caught at the suggestion. But the next moment he said shortly—"No; it was too near for that—much too near."By this time they were in the little corridor outside the room. There was no light in it, Monsieur Leblanc not having touched the button which would have turned on the electric light. He was impatient now, feeling that he had put up with the young man's vagaries long enough.St. Quintin lingered. He saw dimly that there was a door nearly opposite to that of the study, the room he had seen."There is a room here, is there not?" he ventured to ask, rather ashamed of his own persistency."Ah, mon Dieu! yes; you have not yet seen all the rooms in the house," said Monsieur Leblanc shortly.St. Quintin felt for the handle of the door, in spite of this snub. It was locked, and his host laughed."That is the butler's pantry," he said. "If you like, I will get him to open the door and satisfy your curiosity."St. Quintin, abashed, apologised hurriedly, and added that what he had heard struck him as so strange that he was as anxious for Monsieur Leblanc's sake as for his own satisfaction to know exactly what it was.Then his host, mollified, led him to the opposite end of the corridor to that by which they had entered it, and unlocking a door, led him into the garden.'You are unnerved, heated, worried by this, I see," he said kindly. "Let us try to find out, if we can, if there was really something going on next door which made you think as you did."In the cool night air St. Quintin recovered the full use of his wits, of which the shock of finding the room empty when he had expected to make some awful discovery had temporarily deprived him.Once more he felt sure of what he had seen and heard, and wondered what strange thing had happened in that study while its master was conversing with Monsieur Marbeau.The two men found themselves in a narrow walk lined on each side by flowering shrubs and evergreens, which shut them in from the house-wall on the one side and the wall which divided the garden from that of the next house, on the other.Monsieur Leblanc looked first to the right and then to the left and listened."I can hear nothing going on next door," he said. "Can you?""No," said St. Quintin rather sharply. "I heard nothing next door, and I am sure that we should find nothing there."Monsieur Leblanc peered at his young friend's face.Then he suddenly thrust his hand under St. Quintin's arm."You shall come back into the house with me," he said, "and you shall drink a glass of wine. For I see that, whatever this may be that has alarmed you, it has disturbed your nerves very much. Yes, yes, I do insist. Come this way, by the back of the house, where it is bright and gay and lively with lights."And he led the reluctant young man along the walk until they reached the garden at the back of the house, and there, as Monsieur Leblanc had said, the bright lights from the drawing-room streamed on to the lawn, and the voices of the ladies rang out in the night air.Monsieur Leblanc led him through, by one of the open French windows, into the drawing-room, where Madame Leblanc, her niece, and Miss Stanley, the prim governess, were all standing, laughing and talking, by the piano. They all turned as the gentlemen entered, and Madame uttered a little gentle scream when she caught sight of the young man's face."Oh, what is it? Has something happened to you? Have you hurt yourself?" she asked with much anxiety.St. Quintin shook his head, while his companion volubly explained that he had heard a cry from next door which alarmed him and made him come back to make inquiries."Make him sit down. Talk to him, play to him, be gay, amusing," said Monsieur, only half aside, to St. Quintin's amusement. "I go to fetch him some wine to what you call pull him round."And Monsieur Leblanc left the room, while the ladies gathered round the young man and asked him, with much interest, what it was exactly that had startled him and made him look so white.But he felt that he had better not say too much to them, so he affected to think he might have been mistaken in his fancy that he had heard a cry.Madame looked at him keenly and said, with the calm complacency of the plump, that cries were nothing to trouble one's head about, that the English lower orders were noisy and liked to make a noise, and that it was some "'Arry" he had heard uttering the war-cry of his class.Miss Stanley gazed at him fixedly the while, and Marie, who kept somewhat in the background during this conversation, looked at him askance with sympathetic glances, but said little.In a very few minutes Monsieur Leblanc returned with a glass of champagne, which he commanded St. Quintin to drink. The young man was not slow to obey, and in the meantime his host turned to Marie and said—"You are not sympathetic, Marie. Are you so strong-minded that you have no sympathy with an attack of nerves?"The girl came a step forward, hesitating and rather shy.There had been some slight constraint between her and St. Quintin, owing to the marked manner in which the portly Monsieur Marbeau had contrived to assert his claim to more consideration from her than she gave to the younger man."I hope I am not unsympathetic," she said "but indeed Mr. St. Quintin hasn't made it very clear what our sympathy is asked for."The young man laughed."I don't think I did ask for sympathy at all," he said. "I was only anxious not to alarm you all by my own fears.""What fears?" asked Marie, quickly.But her uncle intervened, preventing the young man from offering any answer to this question."You feel better now, don't you?""Oh yes, thanks, I'm all right. I'm sorry to have intruded——""Not at all, not at all. We were only too pleased to see a little more of you, Mr. St. Quintin. By the bye, are you musical?"St. Quintin hesitated."I like to hear music—some music," was his qualified reply."You must hear my niece sing. She adores music, and looks down upon us because we are not sufficiently impregnated with enthusiasm for Wagner. It is one of her great grievances that we didn't take her to hear the ' Ring' last season.""Oh no, uncle, don't say that," cried the girl, evidently rather surprised.He went on, smiling."You shall go to the Sunday concerts at the Albert Hall. They begin again next Sunday, don't they?""I don't know. There's one at Queen's Hall next Sunday afternoon. I should like to go to that.""Well, Miss Stanley shall take you. And when you see Mr. St. Quintin next Wednesday, as we hope to do, you shall sing to him, and I shall take that as a test whether he is musical or not.""I often go to those Sunday concerts. If I go next Sunday I may perhaps have the pleasure of seeing you there," said St. Quintin."I should be very glad to see you," murmured Marie.These words were uttered by both the young people in lower tones, as Monsieur Leblanc's turning to speak to Miss Stanley gave them an opportunity of speaking together.And then St. Quintin took his leave, and was accompanied to the garden gate by his host, who did not refer again to the "scare" they had had until he held out his hand to say good-bye."You won't be afraid to come and see us again? You won't think the house is haunted?" he asked, with a genial smile."I shall be delighted to come," said St. Quintin, evasively, as he shook hands.But all the way back to town in the train he was thinking over what he had seen and heard, and wishing that Miss Densley's relations had been English people, with a sort of dull British feeling that he would not have had that uncanny fancy or experience in a household of purely English character.For, once out of sight of Monsieur Leblanc, with his charming smile and grave, courteous manners, St. Quintin had begun again to ask himself whether it was possible he had been deceived by the evidence of his own eyes when he was inside the room, or of his ears while he was outside.And with a very keen sense that James Ince would look unfavourably upon his new friends and would warn him not to visit them again if he were to tell him all about his evening at Briar Lodge, St. Quintin avoided his friend until the following Sunday, when he duly went to Queen's Hall, and almost at once saw Miss Densley and her governess in the stalls.And then for a moment he hesitated; for the thought flashed through his mind that it was strange that her uncle should have opened the way to this meeting with his niece in the manner he had done.The hesitation lasted but a moment, however. Miss Densley turned her head, saw him, and smiled.In a few more seconds St. Quintin had passed along the row of intervening stalls, and dropped into the unoccupied seat beside her.CHAPTER IVONCE more seated beside the lovely girl of whom he had never ceased to think since he first saw her at the hotel at Cowes, St. Quintin speedily lost every trace of the caution which had suddenly seized upon him at his entrance. If he had liked music before, he loved it now; for even long sonatas and symphonies which he would have looked upon as intolerably tedious in the old days became sweet and entrancing when he heard them in such society.He was surprised to find how much prettier she was than he had supposed. And, while apparently giving his whole attention to a somewhat long-winded composition by one of the new "masters," he asked himself whether it was because he was falling more deeply in love, or because the white lace hat trimmed with huge rosettes of palest lemon-colour suited her better than anything he had ever seen her wear before.When the concert was over, he asked whether he might take the ladies to tea, and when they consented, they all went into the coffee-room of a stately and sombre hotel in the neighbourhood, where they had to wait a long time—a delightfully long time, St. Quintin thought it—and then felt that they were being treated with condescension in obtaining some weak tea and bread and butter and an indifferent tea-cake from a weary waiter.But there was a greater pleasure to come. Miss Stanley was tired and rather cross, and Miss Densley suggested that she should rest a little in an easy-chair. Taking the hint, the governess was soon in a doze, giving the young people an opportunity for the most delightful confidences in the world.For St. Quintin had made up his mind to seize the first chance he had of asking her some questions about her relations, guarded and careful questions, of course, but still to the point.He wanted to know something about the relation in which Miss Densley stood to Monsieur and Madame Leblanc. The mere fact of her being their niece was not enough for him: he wanted to know—he almost felt that his admiration for her and the encouragement given him endowed him with a right to know—how it came about that a purely English girl was the niece of two French people; while various other questions, arising out of the somewhat singular circumstances in which she appeared to live, came into his mind, pressing for an answer.So, as they sat together over the little table, at some distance from Miss Stanley, dozing in her arm-chair, St. Quintin said—"Will you think me too inquisitive if I want to know how you, an English girl, come to have a French uncle and aunt?"Miss Densley shook her head."I'll tell you all about it," she said, "and then I think you'll say it is the most wonderful history you ever heard. To begin with, I hadn't the least idea, six or seven months ago, that I had any near relations in the world.""Really?"She nodded, and after a little pause went on musingly, clasping her hands together and leaning her chin on them."It was like a fairy tale—the change to me from the dull life of a poor orphan girl to the luxury and delight of life as an heiress to a large estate and some thousands a year! What do you think of that for a transformation?"St. Quintin looked astonished, almost incredulous. She smiled astutely and nodded gaily."Ah! You looked as I looked when they first told me. It was wonderful; it took my breath away. Sometimes now I think it was all a dream, and that I shall wake up and find myself in my little back room in the small semidetached desirable villa-residence at Finchley—fancy—Finchley!"—and she made a delightful little grimace—" or reading to dear old Mrs. Mortimer, or picking up the dropped stitches of her knitting!""You're puzzling me more and more. All that means nothing without a key," suggested St. Quintin, humbly.She laughed merrily."Of course it doesn't. But I have to say it all over to myself like that sometimes, and to pinch myself, to be quite sure that it's all real—the great change, I mean, that came into my life with my Uncle Alphonse and my Aunt Sophie.""Now tell me about it connectedly, please Remember how interested I am," pleaded St Quintin."I'll try to begin at the beginning—the beautiful, amazing beginning," said Miss Densley, shutting her eyes, and causing him to ask himself whether she was more beautiful with her eyes closed even than she was with them open. "Well, Mrs. Mortimer is the lady at whose school I was when my parents died out in India, ten years ago. My mother had no near relations, and my father's people were not particularly kind, and only seemed to be eager not to have the worry of looking after me. So I was left with Mrs. Mortimer, and when she gave up her school, two years ago, she kept me with her as companion, because she and I had grown fond of each other, since cross old Sir William Lane, my great-uncle, practically washed his hands of me.""Sir William Lane!" echoed St. Quintin."Yes. Do you know him?""Only by name. He's rather eccentric, isn't he? and he used to be well-known in the hunting-field, down in the Midlands?""Yes, yes, that's right. Well, I believe he had quarrelled with my father, for he was never kind, and I know next to nothing about him, and don't want to know any more—especially now," added she, with a smile of satisfaction. "Well, I was living quietly with Mrs. Mortimer, when we both began to notice a stout, well-dressed lady, who didn't look like an Englishwoman, looking at me and even following me when I went out. And at last one day Mrs. Mortimer went up to her and spoke to her, and then we found that the lady, who was my aunt, Madame Leblanc, whom you know, had found out all about me, and was only waiting to make quite sure that I was the girl she was looking for when Mrs. Mortimer spoke.""The girl she was looking for! " repeated St. Quintin, curiously."Yes. She told Mrs. Mortimer the whole story. It seems that I was not really the daughter of the father and mother I had just known, but that they had adopted me when I was scarcely more than a baby. They had called me by their name, and I had never known any other, till my Aunt Sophie told me the whole story. My real father was a dear friend of my supposed father's, but he had wrecked his life by displeasing his people, the Densleys, when he married my mother, who was a French girl. It was my likeness to my mother that first attracted Madame Leblanc's attention one day when she passed me with Mrs. Mortimer in Piccadilly.""Strange!" said St. Quintin. "Very strange!""There's more that's strange for you to hear," cried Miss Densley, joyously. "My aunt made the fullest inquiries of Mrs. Mortimer, and found out all about me, and then she wrote to the man whom I had always supposed to be my great-uncle, Sir William Lane, who confirmed all that she wanted to know. And so my claim to my father's property was established, and my aunt took me to her own lawyer, who undertook all the business of it.""I don't quite understand," said St. Quintin, slowly. "What property was that?""The property which belonged to the Densleys, which had come to me after my father's death. You see I had never heard of it, but my Aunt Sophie, Madame Leblanc, of course knew all about it, because my real mother, Mrs Densley, was her sister.""How came you, heiress to a large property, to be lost sight of like that by your relations?" asked the mere dull, unimaginative man."Well, I was thought of no importance till my grandfather's death, and then, as he died without male heirs, I became of importance as he hadn't made any will. Do you see?""Oh—yes—but it seems very extraordinary.""It is extraordinary, but it's very nice for me.I can scarcely describe to you the change it has made in my life, to go straight from a tiny, little, semi-detached villa to Aunt Sophie and Uncle Alphonse, and the beautiful house they live in! I wasn't unhappy before, with old Mrs. Mortimer, but still, it was a narrow, dull, little life, and it seemed to have no opening anywhere. Can't you forgive my being pleased to get away?""Oh yes, indeed. And I could forgive you anything," said St. Quintin.And then they both grew red and looked down, and Miss Stanley, perceiving that there was a sudden drop in the conversation, looked round, pretended she had not been dozing, and rose to go.St. Quintin saw them as far as the station and then went back to his rooms in a state of considerable vague uneasiness about Miss Densley and what she had told him.He felt dimly that he would do better to consult James Ince before visiting the Leblancs again, but on the other hand, he knew that, if he were to do so, he should have to hear things that he did not want to hear.So he stayed away from his friend.And on the following morning the first paragraph that caught his eye when he opened his Telegraph was the following—"MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF A LONDON SOLICITOR."The friends of a London solicitor named Harold Burdock are much puzzled by his abrupt and mysterious disappearance. On Thursday last he left Waterloo station by an evening train for Wimbledon, saying to a friend who met him there, that he was going to see a man on business which might mean a great deal to him."He is known to have entered the train with a return ticket for Wimbledon, but from that point no trace of his doings has been hitherto obtained."He is a short, slight man, about thirty-five years of age, with a bad complexion and small, somewhat insignificant features. He was wearing a dark suit and a light overcoat when last seen."There were a few lines more, but at first St. Quintin could not read them. He was overwhelmed by the remembrance that Monsieur Marbeau, the French visitor at Briar Lodge, had mentioned a Mr. Burdock who was coming to call that day.Was he the man who had come during dinner?Was he the man who had uttered the cries which had reached St. Quintin's ears?CHAPTER VMASSEY ST. QUINTIN felt sick and dizzy with the shock.What was the connection between the paragraph about the missing man, Harold Burdock, and the adventure he had had at Briar Lodge? Was it indeed the voice of the missing solicitor that he had heard that Thursday evening, when he stood outside the study window? If so, what had happened to the man? What had been done to him?The more he thought about the whole matter, the more sure he was that something sinister had taken place in the handsome suburban mansion, and that, difficult as the feat seemed, the amiable, refined-looking Monsieur Leblanc must have contrived to deceive himWhat were the facts?.A man had been seen coming up the garden. A suggestion had been made that it was Mr. Burdock whose visit was to be expected. Monsieur Leblanc had disappeared from the dining-room, and had reappeared later in the drawing-room, calm, bland, charming, and apparently perfectly unruffled.Then, a little later, St. Quintin, on taking his leave, had heard, or felt sure that he heard, cries of "Help!" issuing from the house, and had seen the study window slowly shut.And now he learnt that Harold Burdock was missing, after having been seen to start for Wimbledon, with a return-ticket, on the very evening of St. Quintin's adventure.The ideas and suspicions that crowded into the young man's mind were uncanny, horrible; and, reluctant as he felt to take any man into his confidence upon a matter which was bound to involve the relations and friends of Marie Densley, if not herself, he at length decided that he would consult James Ince, beginning cautiously, and that he would hear submissively whatever he might have to say.That this would be rather unpleasant to hear he felt sure.And in this he was, of course, right.Going to Ince's chambers that evening, he at length, after a good deal of hesitation, which opened his friend's eyes to the fact that he had something to say which he wished he could leave unsaid, St. Quintin burst into an enthusiastic account of his meeting with Miss Densley at the house of her people at Briar Heath.James Ince looked at him keenly."Oh, you did go down there then? " he said."Of course I did. And of course I found her looking lovelier than ever," said St. Quintin, with an uneasy feeling that his friend perceived that something was wrong."And her people. What are they like? All right, eh?"St. Quintin hesitated."They're very nice people, charming people," said he at last. "But I suppose one always has a stupid insular idea that one would have preferred, if possible, to have none but English connections for one's wife.""Wife, eh? You have got on!"St. Quintin ignored the facetious tone, and answered steadily—"I knew in Cowes that I wanted her for my wife, but now I know it much better. No other woman would ever have for me the charm Miss Densley has.""But remember, you have to marry the French relations, and I gather—perhaps from your tone and looks rather than from your words—that, however charming they may be, you have some very strong reason for wishing that they were other than they are.""I don't mean to marry the relations," said St. Quintin, firmly, "the French ones at any rate. But I may tell you, if there is foreign blood in her veins through her mother, there is a good old English strain on the other side. Her father was an Englishman, of good family, and through him Marie inherits property which is, I am told, very considerable.""Ah! Well, and now I want to hear more about those of her people whom you have seen—those at Briar Lodge. Are they people of property, too?""I should say so certainly, judging by the way they live. Everything is done on a very handsome scale, lovely house, well-appointed, and all that. Good pictures, massive plate, well-trained men-servants, magnificent jewellery and not too much of it."James Ince, who was walking up and down the room, his hands in his pockets and a pipe in his mouth, suddenly stopped short in front of his friend."Well then, what's wrong with them?"But the young man thought it better not to blurt out all he knew and all he suspected, at once. Ince might possibly take the view that the girl and her guardians were a league of swindlers, if not something worse, and might even go the length of consulting the police without informing anyone of the fact. As this thought occurred to St. Quintin, he decided not to proceed in that direction any further, but to turn the conversation to Marie herself."There's nothing wrong with them that I know of. I want to tell you about Miss Densley herself. The oddest history you ever heard! Imagine a girl's being brought up without knowing who her own father and mother were!"James Ince looked interested, but also suspicious. He said nothing whatever, but leaning against the corner of the mantelpiece, nodded gravely as a sign to the younger man to go on."She was brought up by an old lady who had no idea that she was heiress to an extensive property, and it was only in the most extraordinary manner that they discovered the facts."At this last word James Ince raised his eyebrows in a manner that nettled St. Quintin, who had not been prepared to find this part of his story received with incredulity. The young man hurried on, feeling rather awkward as he perceived, for the first time, how very marvellous the story was. Shorn of the charm given it by the personality of the girl, who had told him her history with every mark of entire belief in it herself, the tale did indeed seem a little bald, a little unconvincing. However, St. Quintin stumbled through with it, giving all the details except names. These he suppressed for the present, he scarcely knew why.When he had finished, he looked at his friend with a careless air, and helped himself to a cigarette out of Ince's box, as he wound up with—"There's an astonishing history for a girl!""Astonishing, indeed!" retorted Ince, drily. "Quite the most astonishing I ever heard. And now let us have the names, please.""What names?""That of the baronet great-uncle, to begin with."St. Quintin shook his head."You know," he said somewhat feebly, "that we've found out now that he's not her great-uncle at all.""Well, let us know his name, at any rate. He's the great-uncle, or so it's alleged, of the man whom she always believed to be her father."St. Quintin reddened."If you're going to take it like that," he said somewhat inconsequently, "the less I tell you about names the better. We have no right to inquire into these things—""Oh, haven't we? Not when we intend to marry the girl? I should say we have every right."The younger man rose, excited and worried. He saw already that since the comparatively innocent part of what he had to tell was received in this scoffing and derisive manner, the part relating to Briar Lodge and its occupants would settle the matter, and make James Ince the declared enemy of the Leblancs—which would not have mattered—and of their lovely niece, which would have mattered a great deal."Well, I do know his name, and I can assure you it is that of one of the best-known men in the Midlands. If I'm satisfied, I don't see why you shouldn't be, Ince.""Ah, but you're in love and I'm not. That is to say, my head's cool, and yours isn't, can't be. Now do, like a good chap, tell me not only the name of the baronet, and of the lady in whose care the girl was brought up, but also that of her French uncle and aunt.""Leblanc. Their name is Leblanc. And if you think there's anything odd about their finding their niece, which I don't believe myself for a moment, I wish you'd go down with me and see them.""With pleasure," said Ince, with alacrity. "Only say when I'm to go, and I'll be ready."St. Quintin hesitated. He had welcomed as a happy thought the idea of taking the observant Ince down with him to Briar Lodge, deciding at once that he would introduce his friend to the household before telling him that mysterious adventure which had befallen him there. He answered cautiously—"All right. I'll take you down with me very soon—this week perhaps.""When are you going down again?" asked Ince, abruptly."Well, I'm going on Wednesday, but it's a regular invitation to dinner, so I couldn't very well turn up with a friend. I'm not intimate with them yet, you see.""Hope to Heaven you never will be!" growled Ince, as he filled his pipe afresh."But I'll ask if I may bring you down to see them, and I've no doubt they will be glad to let me," went on St. Quintin, so much irritated by his friend's attitude that he decided not to confide in him further at the time. "Miss Densley will remember having seen you with me at Cowes.""Yes. That was another odd thing: her being at the hotel, alone with a governess, close to the busiest week of the year," grumbled Ince to himself.This was fatal. St. Quintin chose to take the words as an attack upon Marie herself, and thereupon he became dumb.The younger man kept away from the elder for the next two days, and on the Wednesday went down to Briar Lodge by himself. He had watched the papers carefully for any tidings of the lost solicitor, Harold Burdock, but had seen nothing more about him except paragraphs stating that there was still nothing known of his whereabouts.Briar Lodge did not look quite so pleasant and gay on this occasion as on his first visit, for the day was dark and gloomy, the sky overcast, and a thunderstorm threatening.He found Miss Densley in the garden, leaning back in a cane lounge-chair under the big cedar on the lawn.She was dressed in a white silk dress, with a sunray-pleated skirt, and was wearing no hat on her sunny hair. She sat up on seeing St. Quintin, and he was touched and pleased to note that there was a flush in her cheeks as if she really felt glad to see him." My aunt is in the kitchen-garden," she said, when they had shaken hands. " Shall we go and find her?""Pity to disturb her, isn't it?" said he. "She may be counting the cherry-bushes—do cherries grow on bushes?—or doing something else like that which needs solitude and retirement to get through satisfactorily. You can't count fruit-trees when people are talking to you."He sat down in one of the lounge-chairs, and the thought flashed through his mind that he was glad he had said no more than he did to James Ince. It would have been a dreadful thing if Ince had made a row, and cut off his young friend's visits to Briar Lodge!And that was what would have happened.With the certainty hanging over him that there was something unpleasant, uncanny, to be learnt about these people, St. Quintin, under the spell of Miss Densley's bright eyes, felt that the evil day of discovery and exposure must be put off until he had found out whether Marie loved him. If she did, if she could, then he knew that he should make sure of her by marriage, secret if need were, take her out of the reach of her friends and relations if they should prove worthy of the suspicions he could not help entertaining, and then let fate deal with the family as it would.He could not but feel that there was an uncanny atmosphere about the handsome house and its surroundings, remembering, as he did, what he had heard and seen there, and the mystery of the disappearance of the solicitor, Burdock.He was startled when Miss Densley broke a short and somewhat constrained silence by saying—"You don't know what a strange thing has happened since you were here last week."On the alert for surprises, St. Quintin looked interested directly."Tell me about it," said he.Miss Densley looked instinctively round her, and lowered her voice confidentially."Do you remember," she began, "talk of a man named Burdock, whom Monsieur Marbeau had seen in town the very day you came here?""Perfectly, "replied St. Quintin, much startled. "You thought—someone thought he was seen coming up the garden while we were at dinner. And then Monsieur Leblanc went out.""Yes. Well, it was he who came to the house that night, and my uncle let him out by the side-door, as he wanted to go quickly. He said he had an appointment. And now it says in the papers that he has disappeared.""Yes; I saw it in the Telegraph yesterday," answered St. Quintin, with some constraint."Well, we are all very anxious and puzzled as to what has happened to him.""What was he like? You knew him well, didn't you?""Not so very well. I hated him." And she shuddered. " But, for all that, I can't help being sorry that this has happened. How can I?""He was in love with you, wasn't he?""Oh, I don't know. I suppose so. They said so. But he was rude, overbearing, presumptuous. Oh, I couldn't bear him to come near me."And the girl shuddered. St. Quintin brought his chair a little nearer. It was delightful to find that she was no coquette, that she did not encourage admiration from men she did not like. He had a dozen speeches half-formed in his brain, but he did not know exactly which to begin with. He looked at her, therefore, saw that she looked rather nervous, rather shy, and then he looked down.An exclamation, half of surprise and half of terror, from her lips, made him look up quickly.Having approached unseen, Monsieur Leblanc stood beside them, a dark figure against the back ground of shadowy foliage and stormy sky.CHAPTER VIST. QUINTIN started up with an exclamation much louder than that of the girl."Monsieur Leblanc!" he cried in a tone which was anything but cordial.For indeed he felt at that moment by no means well disposed towards the courteous Frenchman. The next moment, however, he found his hand seized in a most friendly grip, and his host smiling into his face with a cordiality which made him ashamed of his momentary coldness.Whatever he might fancy, suspect, or imagine about Monsieur Leblanc when away from him, the kindly greeting, the pleasant smile, the quiet, easy, well-bred manners almost set at rest all his fears when he was with him.Monsieur Leblanc chatted amiably with his guest and with his niece until Madame came from the kitchen-garden, laden with a basket of apples, and beaming broadly upon St. Quintin as she came slowly across the lawn with outstretched hand to greet him. Marie took the basket from her and the two ladies went towards the house together, while Monsieur Leblanc led the young man to admire his dahlias, which were the pride of his heart.But they would not grow so well here as in France, he said with a half-sigh."But you've been settled in England a long time, to speak our language as well as you do, haven't you?" asked St. Quintin, anxious to lead his host into the direction of autobiography.Monsieur Leblanc sighed again. He was too polite to say roundly that he had been longer in England than he cared to be, and said evasively that although he loved England and had lived here many years, it was natural he should sometimes long for the bluer skies and warmer climate of the land of his birth.St. Quintin admitted this, and then turned somewhat abruptly to a subject which he wished to thresh out before they were rejoined by the ladies."By the bye, Monsieur Leblanc, did you see in the papers that Mr. Burdock, who visited you on the day I was here last, has disappeared?" he asked point-blank.But if he had thought to disconcert his host by the suddenness of the question he had miscalculated his effect. Monsieur Leblanc nodded gravely and said at once—"I have seen it, and it has filled me with the gravest concern. He left me in a state of great distress, because he had asked for the hand of my niece, which I was obliged to deny him. He was passionately in love with her, he said, but I had an idea it was her money he was fond of, and although he was profuse in his gifts—most generous, in fact—I had to decline the honour of an alliance with him. Whether he was sincere in his protestations of love I cannot be sure. I may have done him an injustice in thinking the contrary. One can but follow one's reasoning, and may make mistakes. But in any case, my niece did not like him. She is particular, and though my wife and I are French and should wish to influence the choice of our niece, yet as she is English we have to consider her own fancy more than is the custom in our own country. She, it seems, prefers to marry a younger man, one nearer her own age."And, either by accident or design, Monsieur Leblanc cast a glance at St. Quintin which seemed to suggest that it was upon him that her choice was already fixed."Have you any idea what became of him? In what way did he leave you?" asked St. Quintin, rather sharply."He raved and stormed and said he would see my niece, and then if she refused to have him, he would make away with himself. He said he had a revolver, and he behaved so strangely that I began to wonder whether he was in his right mind, and decided that, at all hazards, he must not see the ladies that night. So I soothed him as well as I could, told him I would speak again to my niece and then communicate with him, and so, after some persuasion, I got him to leave the house by the side-door, taking the precaution to accompany him to the gate, to see him well off the premises."St. Quintin felt his heart grow lighter as he listened. This was all perfectly possible, probable, in fact. The fact that Monsieur Leblanc had not admitted the identity of his visitor that night had nothing suspicious about it, since, after the scene he represented himself to have had with the unwelcome suitor, it was hardly likely he would care to enter into a discussion as to the unpleasant interview, or to answer questions about the visitor of whom he had been so anxious to get rid."And what do you think has become of him?" he asked. "Has it occurred to you, Monsieur Leblanc, that he may have got back again to the house or the near neighbourhood of the house, and that he may have—have——""Made an attempt upon his own life?" broke in his host, gravely. "That is exactly what I have been asking myself, ever since I read in the papers that he has disappeared."St. Quintin breathed more freely. But still he had a final suggestion to make, to clear up the mystery entirely."Has it occurred to you that it might be as well to—to communicate with the police?"Monsieur Leblanc put his finger quickly upon his lip and looked mysteriously round him."That, my dear Mr. St. Quintin," replied he, rapidly, in a low voice, when he had assured himself that there was no one within hearing, "is exactly what I have done."St. Quintin could have uttered a cry of joy. He refrained, of course, from any such exhibition of feeling, and only drew a long breath of relief at the news. Monsieur Leblanc, however, came a step nearer to him and said in his ear—"But do not, I pray you, say one word of all this to the ladies. They would not only be in a state of acute terror and distress at the idea of the place being connected with any mischance to Mr. Burdock, but I more than suspect that they would, none of them, stay here, and I should have the place on my hands. And although I am not a poor man, I should not care to have the rent of a big house like this to pay indefinitely, while I had to keep another house going somewhere else for my wife and niece.""Oh, I see that, of course. But is there no fear of their finding out what you have done? Won't the police come here to conduct a search, an investigation?""No doubt they will. But I must contrive that the ladies shall be out of the way; in any case, however, I have asked that no one shall be sent except in plain clothes. So if you see a man you don't know and who is not exactly like a guest though he is treated as one, you will know what to make of him."St. Quintin was quite satisfied. It was plain that, however mysterious the incidents of his previous visit had appeared to him, Monsieur Leblanc was at least as anxious as he was to have them cleared up. His host, dismissing the subject with a wave of his hand as the ladies reappeared at the drawing-room window, took out of his pocket a morocco case which he opened, showing St. Quintin a beautiful bracelet consisting of a half circle of large diamonds."Look," said he, "what Monsieur Marbeau has sent to me to give to my niece. A generous suitor, is he not?"St. Quintin's face clouded."That stout man who was here last week! Surely she doesn't like him?" cried he sharply, incredulously.His host shrugged his shoulders mournfully."Indeed I am afraid she does not. But she ought to. He is well off; he is generous; I believe he is genuinely fond of her. He would make her a very good husband. In the French fashion, he proposed to me for her when he was here last night.""And she has accepted him?" asked St. Quintin, passionately.Smiling, Monsieur Leblanc raised his hand."Not so fast, not so fast, my young friend! I have not told her yet," said he, gently."When you do, I can tell what the answer will be," said St. Quintin, shortly."She is a good girl, and will listen to what her friends say to her," said Monsieur Leblanc, gravely."Would you, then, go so far as to force her inclination?" asked St. Quintin, abruptly."No, that I should not do, even if I could. She is a girl of spirit, and will, before many years are over, be able to snap her fingers at us, if she likes. But she is an heiress, you know, and with girls of property there is need of caution. They must pay heed to the advice and warning of their friends, lest they become the prey of fortune-hunters.""A man may admire and love your niece without being a fortune-hunter, Monsieur Leblanc. I am no fortune-hunter, certainly."The young man had hurried on, excited by passion, but he was suddenly checked by a look he saw on his host's face. He had once before experienced a similar sensation on catching a similar glance, and he now at once turned off the conversation with a laugh. He could not have told what it was exactly that struck him in the expression of the Frenchman's face, whether it was that he looked crafty, or eager, or simply cautious. But the look had been enough to make St. Quintin realise his own imprudence in laying his heart bare too soon. He turned towards the ladies, who were now approaching from the house, and at that moment the dinner-gong rang.They all went indoors, and were met by Miss Stanley, the prim, elderly governess, and again St. Quintin admired the exquisite taste displayed, not only in the dinner itself, but in the appointments of the table and the arrangement of the flowers.Again he enjoyed himself very much, the more that he found himself sitting by Miss Densley, who looked intoxicatingly pretty and was as charming as ever.There was no untoward interruption to the repast on this occasion, and afterwards they all went into the drawing-room together, and Miss Densley, sitting at the piano, played and sang, entrancing St. Quintin by her sweet little voice and the pretty way in which she used it.Carried off his feet by her charm and beauty, he felt that he must speak to her that evening, that he must tell her all he felt, and find out whether she experienced for him anything like the intensity of passion he felt for her. That she liked him he felt quite sure. To have doubted it would have been treason. For he would not admit the possibility of her saying with her eyes what her heart would have repudiated.How to get a word with her unheard? Would she come out with him into the garden? Dared he propose it?Even as he asked himself these questions he saw, to his great delight, Monsieur and Madame Leblanc, in earnest conversation, leave the room by the most distant of the two doors. A glance at Miss Stanley showed that she was having a doze after an excellent dinner. He leaned forward: Marie looked invitingly pretty and sweet."Miss Densley," he whispered, "won't you come out on the lawn and look at the stars? It's lovely out there, and so beautifully cool."Miss Densley smiled demurely."I don't believe there are any stars to-night," she said.But as she spoke, she made a slight move-ment, as if half persuaded to accede to his request."Will you bet on it?" said he, smiling."Yes. I bet there are no stars.""Very well. You're wrong, I know."With this strange wager on their lips the two young people, with a glance at the nodding head of Miss Stanley, moved softly across the floor and glided out into the night.Once outside in the pleasant garden, however, with the dark night sky overhead, a cool breeze just moving the tree-tops, and that intoxicating face not far from his, St. Quintin forgot the stars, forgot the wager, forgot his prudence too.All he remembered, all he could think of was that he loved this girl, that she was loved by others also, and that he must know whether he had any chance with her. So he burst out in a quavering voice, under his breath—"Miss Densley, has your uncle told you about that fellow I met here last week, that stout man—Marbeau, I think his name is? "Miss Densley turned, so that her pretty eyes had the light from the drawing-room lamps upon them."What about him?" she asked, with but faint apparent interest, though with some surprise."That he says—he—he wants to marry you?"Oh!" She shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. "So many of these men, especially these Frenchmen, say that, when all the time it's the money, money they're always thinking about?""You think that's all he thinks about?""Yes. They all do.""Except me," broke from his lips. "Marie, you don't think that of me, do you? Do you?"Before she could answer, before she could do more than turn towards him with a faint, sweet smile quivering upon her lips, St. Quintin heard a door shut and hurried on, afraid of losing his chance of speaking."Marie, if you are troubled by these people, come away from them. Marry me, and come away quietly out of reach of the fortune-hunters. It doesn't matter whether you forfeit your own money, for I have plenty. Come, Marie, you'll marry me. You love me, don't you? Don't you?"A little mocking laugh from behind startled him. and turning, he saw stout Madame Leblanc looking at him with eyes which, it suddenly-occurred to him to notice, were cold and critical and cunning.He started back and faced her, confused but resolute.CHAPTER VIITHERE was a moment of silence and intense anxiety on both sides as Madame Leblanc and St. Quintin faced each other, Marie Densley looking on the while in a state of strong emotional excitement.The Frenchwoman recovered herself the first, if indeed she could be said to have lost her self-possession at all."And so, Mr. St. Quintin, you take advantage of our confidence to make love to our niece and to urge her to deceive us?" she said, her mouth closing into a hard line when she finished her speech.The young man was, however, by that time ready with his answer."Was there anything underhand, Madame Leblanc, in my telling your niece I loved her, and asking if she loved me?""If you satisfied yourself with that I should say nothing. But if what I heard I understood aright, you were suggesting that she should marry you and run away from us. Was not that what he said?"And she turned abruptly to the girl herself, who was white and distressed."I certainly didn't understand that Mr. St. Quintin wanted me to marry him without your permission and uncle's," said she, earnestly. "I thought all he wanted was to find out whether I cared for him, whether I liked him better than any of the others, and enough to marry him."St. Quintin was grateful for her intercession, especially grateful for the tenderness he saw in her eyes as she glanced at him. It was a stronger assurance than he had had yet from her of her liking for him.But Madame was unconvinced."He said 'come away,'" she persisted, "and spoke of being able to do without your fortune. Then what could he mean but that, if you married him, we should object, and you would sacrifice your property?"Now St. Quintin certainly had meant to secure from the girl a promise which he vaguely felt her uncle and aunt might not approve of. But he thought it prudent not to say any more on this point, but to leave Marie to fight his battle, since she was able to do it better than he could himself."I shouldn't have listened to him if I'd thought he wanted me to behave ungratefully to you who have done so much for me," said Miss Densley, earnestly."And would it not be ungrateful to marry without consulting us, knowing, as you do, that we have only your welfare at heart?" said Madame."Of course it would. Be sure, aunt, that I shall never marry anyone without consulting you.""Ah!" cried Madame, somewhat soothed by this assurance, and at length suffering her features to relax into a smile, "that is better. That is a promise, and an assurance which satisfies me. And you, Mr. St. Quintin, I hope that you will not again speak words to my niece which sound so like a desire to make her disregard our wishes."St. Quintin heard her with mixed feelings. Was she really the disinterested guardian she pretended, or was she secretly concerned more with her niece's fortune than with herself?St. Quintin, as these questions darted through his mind, felt half-ashamed of them. What reason had he for doubting the genuine affection of the aunt for the niece? Was it that straight, hard mouth, or those curiously cold eyes, which made him mistrust Madame Leblanc? On the other hand, it seemed clear that her niece was fond of her, and if that were so, what right had he to doubt that her affection for her niece was as disinterested as he felt sure that the niece's was for her?Whatever her motives might be, however, he felt that she had no just claim to assume the right to mistrust his. So he met her eyes steadily and asked—"Why should you object to my telling Miss Densley of my love, Madame Leblanc? You could scarcely suppose I could come here time after time, as you have invited me to do, without being attracted by her, and I think I had a right to suppose you did not disapprove of the admiration I have made no pretence of hiding.""Oh, don't, don't," said Miss Densley; "I don't want anybody to admire me, or to like me. There's nothing bores me so much. I want you to look upon me, to treat me as if I were a man too, and not to say silly things any more. Do, aunt, persuade Mr. St. Quintin not to admire me, but to be just my friend. I should like that so much the best."Madame Leblanc and St. Quintin glanced at each other, and neither could forbear smiling."What am I to say to you after that?" asked Madame, with uplifted eyebrows and a little shrug. "You hear, Mr. St. Quintin, you are to look upon her as a young man. Can you do that, do you think?""Oh, don't laugh at me. It's too bad of you both to make fun of what I say. What I mean is that I've heard so much of the love and admiration of a dozen men whom I don't care two straws about, that I should like with you, to feel differently. I should like to be able to speak to you frankly, and to feel that you're not like the rest."St. Quintin was surprised, touched. But his astonishment was as nothing to that of Madame Leblanc, who stared at her niece in open-mouthed amazement, as Miss Densley, evidently letting herself go after a period of great self-restraint and reticence, poured out these words in a burst of passionate feeling. She was impatient, eager, earnest, and shy, all at the same time. Madame Leblanc, after the first consternation into which this outburst threw her, turned upon her niece with vivacity."Why, what is all this," she cried, "about admiration and love and the rest? I should have thought a girl would like to be admired!""What! By such men as that fat Monsieur Marbeau and Mr. Burdock, and that horrid Captain Darnell and Mr——"Madame Leblanc cut her short."You have nothing to complain of. You ought to feel flattered that so many men do you the honour to pay you attention.""Well, I don't. And you yourself say that it's not all on my account that they are so full of compliments and so anxious to show me attention. You told me you thought it was because they think I have money.""Of course there is always a possibility, when a girl is rich, as you are, that some of the attention she gets may be due to her fortune, but I did not say it was so in every case. I should not be so unjust. Some of these men who admire you have plenty of money of their own.""Then I wish they would be satisfied with what they have and not tease me," said Miss Densley, restlessly.Madame Leblanc, who had a tinge of unusual colour in her cheeks, turned to St. Quintin with a little laugh."Girls have changed since I was one myself," she said. "It was the fashion then to be pleased if one were sought after.""I can understand Miss Densley's feeling quite well," said the young man, taking her part bravely. "She does not like to disappoint so many, knowing that she can only confer happiness upon one."Miss Densley took advantage of this moment when he was speaking to her aunt to escape into the house, and St. Quintin suddenly perceived a great change in the elder lady when he was left alone with her. Her air of caution and dry reserve disappeared, and she became friendly and communicative at once."Oh, these girls, these girls!" she said, with a laugh as genial as it had previously been dry. "They will have their own way, in spite of guardians and friends. Monsieur Marbeau is the man she ought to marry, the man her uncle would have her choose, and she will have nothing at all to say to him""I should think not!" cried he, excitedly. "A man like a hippopotamus, and old enough to be her father."Madame put up her finger."Ah! You English are all for such young marriages! But we in France say that a girl who is ignorant of the world should have for husband a man old enough to know more.""But not if she doesn't like him!""She would have grown to like him—in time. But we may as well give up that hope, I fear, dear old friend of ours though he is. Marie prefers men of her own age.""A man of her own age," corrected St. Quintin, "and we in England shouldn't blame her for it. What objection have you, Madame, to my marrying your niece? My fortune is ample, so that I'm sure you can't suppose I want money with my wife. And she likes me, I'm nearly sure. Though you came upon us just too soon for me to have got an answer to the question I put to her.""Ah!""You can guess what I wanted to ask her. Tell me, Madame Leblanc, is there any objection to my asking it?"Madame looked reflective."In an ordinary case I should say none in the world, except that we have not yet known you very long, Mr. St. Quintin. You must admit the shortness of our acquaintance.""But I'd met her before, and I've never ceased to think about her," pleaded he."You did not know her before. Having seen her at an hotel, and spoken to her once, does not count as an acquaintance either with French or English people, in the case of a young girl. But even if it were not for that, there remains the fact that the guardians of a girl with property have to exercise more care——""Oh, what do I care about the property? Let me marry her, and do what you like with the property!" cried St. Quintin, impatiently.Madame smiled again."My dear Mr. St. Quintin, that is, unfortunately, not possible. To our French ideas, you know, the property is as important as the girl.""Well, but property or no property, she must marry someone, and you had only to notice what she said herself just now to realise that this stream of suitors is becoming a sort of persecution. Tell me what you want to know about me, and I'll contrive to satisfy your scruples about letting me marry Marie: that is, if you have any.""Softly, softly. In the first place, you have not yet assured yourself of my niece's answer.""But——""In the second place, it is too soon, much too soon, to do so. In the third place, there is her uncle to be consulted, and I am afraid he, who is much stricter in these matters than I, will be angry with you, angrier than I have been, for speaking to her so soon.""Let me have it out with him at once then," said St. Quintin, in impatience which shone in his eyes and thrilled in his voice. "Let me speak to him, tell him what I feel, beg him to consider my appeal."Madame smiled more kindly than before."Well, you will have to remember that he will not look so indulgently upon your impatience as I have done. He will say wait, and he will insist upon your approaching him in the first place. You may say it is your English custom to speak to the girl herself. But you must remember that we are her guardians, and that our French prejudices and customs must be considered.""Indeed, I will remember," said St. Quintin. humbly. "I am very sorry if you thought me presumptuous. Indeed, I lost my head a little, and wanted her to tell me whether there was any hope for me, before I ought to have done. But you must remember, on your side, Madame Leblanc, that it was your husband himself who allowed me to meet Miss Densley at the concert at Queen's Hall. That did not look as if he wished to put any obstacle in the way of my seeing his niece. And I could fairly look upon that as an encouragement on his side.""You are quite right," said she, "and I shall tell him so if he makes any demur about your impatience."While they talked, Madame was leading the young man across the lawn towards the angle of the house, and suddenly St. Quintin remembered, with an unpleasant sensation, that it was here that he had stood with his host when they came out of the house by the side door, on the occasion of his first visit, to look for any trace of the man whose cry for help he had heard.The remembrance made him stop short involuntarily and look fixedly in that direction. Madame looked at him quickly"What is it?" she asked, with one of those glances which gave him so strongly the impression that she noticed a good deal more than she appeared to do.He hesitated what to reply.And at that very moment, by an extraordinary coincidence, as it appeared to him, Monsieur Leblanc himself came towards them from the angle of the house." Ah! " cried Madame, with a little vivacious nod in the direction of her husband, " here he is. I shall leave you with him. But do not be surprised if you cannot get round him so easily as you have got round me! "And Madame went towards the open French window of the drawing-room, while Monsieur Leblanc, smoking an excellent cigar, strolled forward to meet his young guest."A lovely evening, after the stormy day!" said he, as he took out his cigar-case and, opening it, offered it to St. Quintin."It is always lovely weather to me when I am near Miss Densley," said the young man, taking his courage in both hands and making the plunge in what he flattered himself was rather a neat manner.Monsieur Leblanc—who was, in spite of all the young man's doubts, more sympathetic to him than stout Madame with her cold grey eyes and straight mouth—looked intelligent at once."Ah!" said he. "I guessed I should be hearing something of that sort from you, though I did not expect it quite so soon.""Well, Monsieur Leblanc, I hope you have no objection against me because I know how to make up my mind.""Indeed I have none. But there is more to be done than to get my consent to your proposals to my niece. There is her other guardian to be consulted.""Her other guardian? Do you mean Madame Leblanc?""Oh no, I mean the trustee for the property.""Oh, the property!" exclaimed St. Quintin, impatiently. "I'm tired of hearing of it. I wish she hadn't any!""Ah! That is a good sign, a very good sign. It makes me think you are, of all the suitors she has, the one I should prefer for my niece. But at the same time, I'm bound to tell you that the consent of Mr. Williams, who was her father's trusted solicitor, is necessary as well as mine.""Certainly. When can I see him?"Monsieur Leblanc laughed."You are too impatient. He is not in England at present, though I believe he will be in about a month. He has been ordered away for his health during the Long Vacation.""The Long Vacation!" echoed St. Quintin in dismay. "That isn't over till the third week in October! Must I wait all that time before I see him?""I'm afraid so," said Monsieur Leblanc, smiling at his impatience. "However, perhaps you can manage to fill up the time pleasantly. We shall always be delighted to see you, Mr. St. Quintin, and so, I think, will my niece.""Then am I to understand that you make no objection to my suit?—that I have your full permission to pay my addresses to Miss Densley?""Certainly. Subject to that fact, that there is another man's permission to be obtained, I should be much pleased to regard you in the light of a pretender for my niece's hand."This seemed satisfactory enough, but St. Quintin hesitated."There's just one thing I should like to have cleared up, Monsieur Leblanc," said he. "In accepting me as a suitor, do you intend to discourage the attentions of the other men who are now in the same position?"The gentle Frenchman shrugged his shoulders with mild deprecation."Ah!" he said, "I cannot do that altogether. As I have told you, I am tied until my fellow-guardian returns, and in the meantime all I can do is to make my own selection, subject to my niece's inclination, which, I think, coincides with mine."And he smiled encouragingly at the young man."Do you mean that you think she likes me, and that you approve of me more than of the others?" said St. Quintin, persisting until he should get a straightforward and satisfactory answer."With the single exception of Monsieur Marbeau, who is a very generous suitor, there is no one I should put on the same level with yourself, Mr. St. Quintin."The young man raised his eyebrows with confidence."I know Miss Densley doesn't like Marbeau," said he, with decision. "She said so.""Ah! But as a husband he is not to be despised. Did I not show you the gift he sent me for her?""That miserable bracelet!" retorted St. Quintin, hotly. "Oh, I saw that, of course. But I can give Marie something much handsomer than that."Miss Densley's uncle looked politely incredulous. St. Quintin went on—"You will see. I'll bring something down for her the next time I come, and you shall judge whether her English lover is less generous than the French one.""Oh, it is not a question of gifts only, Mr. St. Quintin, I assure you. I have to say the best I can for Marbeau, who is a very old friend of ours. But if Marie's heart should speak for one nearer her own age, and her own countryman, why, as I have already said, I should be prepared to endorse her choice.""You have made me very happy, Monsieur Leblanc," said St. Quintin."And I am sure you would make her happy," responded the Frenchman quickly, as, having strolled as far as the drawing-room window, he made way for his guest to pass into the room.CHAPTER VIIINow although Monsieur Leblanc had thus given St. Quintin some reason for looking upon himself as provisionally accepted as Miss Densley's favoured lover, the young man found himself prevented from exchanging any more words with her until the moment came to say good-bye. Even then, he could not utter a word unheard by the rest, as he shook hands with her in the presence of her governess, her uncle and her aunt." Good-bye, Miss Densley. I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again very soon," were the only words he was suffered to utter, before Monsieur Leblanc slipped a hand within his arm, and insisted on seeing him on his way down the garden.As he sat back in the train on his way to town, St. Quintin thought over all that had taken place, and, while he felt more sure than ever, not only that Marie Densley was the sweetest and most straightforward of girls, but that she liked him more than she liked her other admirers, he was troubled by consideration of her uncle and aunt and their policy towards their niece's suitors.Reflecting upon the remarks made by Monsieur Leblanc about Marbeau and his generosity, on the fact that he had been shown the bracelet which was Monsieur Marbeau's gift, and that he had been spurred up himself to make the promise of bringing a gift still handsomer to lay at Marie's feet, St. Quintin could not but feel that Monsieur Leblanc's tactics with regard to his pretty niece savoured rather too much of putting her up to auction to the highest bidder.One man having offered a diamond bracelet, the next was encouraged to offer something still more magnificent.The young man did not like the method, and felt sure Miss Densley herself knew nothing about this sordid sort of rivalry which her uncle encouraged.However, he was bound to keep his promise, and on the following day he bought, at a shop in Bond Street, an exquisite diamond-backed watch, pendant from a brooch in the form of a bird set with diamonds. It was a beautiful jewel, and he opened the case when he got to his rooms, and set it in the rays of the electric light, admiring it and flattering himself that, even if the diamond bracelet of Monsieur Marbeau's choice were intrinsically more valuable—of which he was not sure—yet the artistic beauty of the little watch and the brooch attached would appeal to her taste far more surely.While he was leaning back in his chair, smoking a cigarette and thinking of Marie, the door opened and James Ince came in.Surprised at his entrance, St. Quintin, whose thoughts had been far away from him, jumped up, and stretching out his hand for the watch in its little case, welcomed him with some appearance of momentary embarrassment, which the elder man was quick to notice."Hello!" he cried, "what's that? Something pretty? Not quite in your line though, is it, St. Quintin?""Oh, it's for—for somebody else, of course," said St. Quintin, smiling rather foolishly, and hoping James Ince would not pursue the subject.But he did."For Miss Densley, if I may venture to guess? It's all settled then, and you are going to defy Fate and put up with an aunt and uncle who may in some respects be described as slightly dubious?" suggested Ince."Dubious! No, I never said that. And I'm not engaged—that is—not regularly engaged!" stammered the younger man."Not engaged! And does she let you give her diamonds before you're engaged to her? By Jove! What will you have to give afterwards?""Oh, it's nothing at all to do with her!" said St. Quintin, irritably. "It's her uncle who thinks so much of presents and all that sort of thing. You know what Frenchmen are! You know it's always money, money they think of in a suitor, and so I have to make a show, not to satisfy her, but him."James Ince looked hard at him."And you're expected, by him, to shower presents upon the girl before you're engaged to her?""No, no, of course not! There's no talk of showering anything. But there's another man who has given her uncle a diamond bracelet for her, and—and——"He stammered and stopped, for the expression of his friend's face had grown eloquent."I say, St. Quintin," said he, when the other paused, "I really must see this remarkable uncle. Do, there's a good chap, take me down there with you next time you go.""All right," said St. Quintin, nervously, trying to affect an alacrity he did not feel. "I'll write to Marie and ask if I may."He seized a pen and began to write, hoping by this to impress his friend with the notion that he was already practically an accepted suitor. But James Ince only waited till he had finished the letter, which was brief and awkward and constrained, before he asked—"And who is the other man who is showering presents against you?""Nobody is showering anything against anybody!" growled St. Quintin, irritably. "It's—it's only French custom, you know, to make sure as early as possible of the financial standing of a suitor.""Then I should advise you, also in the French fashion, to employ a friend to make sure of the financial standing of the lady.""But I don't care a hang whether she has a penny!" protested St. Quintin, hotly."I do though. At least, I care to know whether there is money somewhere on the other side.""Why should you mind if I don't?"James Ince, who was on his feet, towered over his friend, who had again thrown himself back in his chair."Because I don't want to see you fleeced," said he, shortly.The younger man started up, protested, fumed. James I nee paid no more heed to his ejaculations than if he had been a fly. He went on, with his hands stuck deep in his pockets and his feet wide apart, to lay down his own plan of conduct, in defiance of his friend."I intend to go down with you," he said, "and to see these people, the girl and her relations, and their friends too if I can. For nothing will convince me that you're not, like the hot-headed young fool you are, running your head into a noose which will tighten until you're done for.""What do you mean? How dare you presume——""I mean that it looks to me as if Mademoiselle and her people were schemers, who've got hold of a young idiot with money, and who mean to relieve him of as much of it as they can. Depend upon it, this girl doesn't mean to marry you. She'll take all she can get from you, just as she appears to be doing from the other fellow—or fellows," added James Ince, shrewdly.St. Quintin, who was in a state of great excitement, quelled his impulse to fly into a rage. Instead he laughed loudly, and said he was longing for the time when James Ince would see, without any sort of doubt, that he was making about the biggest blunder that ever was made by a fellow who fancied himself cleverer than anybody else, for the simple reason that he took everybody, whose antecedents he didn't know, for a rogue.Ince made no reply to this, and for the rest of the short time he stayed, conversation was slack and constrained. Two days after, Ince got this note from his friend—"DEAR INCE,—Miss Densley
and her uncle and aunt will be delighted to see you, if you will go
down with me on Monday.—Yours,M. St. Q."When Monday evening came, the two men started together, going, not by train, but by a new motor-car which St. Quintin had just bought.Ince was wise enough to say nothing which could give his friend cause for offence, and the evening being fine, they enjoyed the trip, in spite of misgivings in the minds of each. For, while Ince felt sure he should detect the cloven hoof beneath the exterior, however attractive, of the Leblancs, St. Quintin was wondering whether their hosts, and even Marie herself, might not be shrewd enough to guess that Ince was coming in the character of a spy.At Briar Lodge, however, a surprise was awaiting both the visitors, who had been growing more and more silent as they neared their journey's end.Sitting in the drawing-room, into which they were ushered, were not only Marie and her uncle and aunt and governess, but two people new to St. Quintin, whose appearance could not fail to inspire that confidence which the Leblancs had not altogether succeeded in imparting."Mrs. Mortimer," said Madame Leblanc, as she introduced an elderly lady, with hair almost white, and with a face as sweet and good as ever woman had."The Reverend Mr. Alverthorpe!" said Monsieur Leblanc, as he introduced a well-known London vicar, whose record was as well attested as his face was frank and noble.And even James Ince, primed with suspicions and curiosity as he was concerning the people who, he felt sure, were making a victim of his friend, was fain to be ashamed of his evil thoughts of them when he found under their roof such unequivocally good company.CHAPTER IXTHE gathering was a delightful one. James Ince, astonished and relieved to find such nice people where he had expected to find persons of quite a different character, chatted with Madame Leblanc, who was all smiles and graciousness; with Mrs. Mortimer, Miss Densley's old school-mistress; and with the Reverend Mr. Alverthorpe, a man whom he had long desired to meet, on account of the strong and manly position the vicar had taken up with regard to some recent religious and social controversy.Mrs. Mortimer was a simple-minded and gentle lady, not without intelligence, and evidently in a state of ecstatic delight at the change in the fortunes of her favourite pupil.She related to St. Quintin, to his great comfort and relief, the whole story of Miss Densley's upbringing, of the early death of her supposed parents, of the indifference and neglect with which the head of her supposed father's family had treated her."I thought it was quite shameful," the dear old soul babbled on into St. Quintin's willing ears, "that a man in the position of Sir William Lane should treat a member of his own family so, when she was left helpless in the world. However, of course it doesn't seem quite so bad on his part, now that we've discovered that he was not really her great-uncle after all.""Her French aunt and uncle seem much more anxious to do their duty towards their niece, don't they?""Yes, oh yes. They've managed everything: written to Sir William Lane, which I myself declined to do, after the unpleasant way in which he received my letters in the past; got their own solicitor to look into the documents——"St. Quintin smiled."What documents?" asked he."Oh, there are always documents, aren't there, where property is concerned? Title-deeds, and wills, and codicils and things, that would have puzzled poor Dorcas—I mean Marie—and me horribly, if we had had to do the business by ourselves.""Oh, yes, of course. And you are quite satisfied with the way in which they've done everything?""Perfectly. They've engaged a governess to go about with her, as you see, and done everything they should. And isn't she beautifully dressed? I was always so sorry that couldn't dress her better, with the very little money she had, or I either, for that matter. Now she looks just as she ought to look, bless her heart!"St. Quintin was charmed with this artless talk, and very much pleased to have an opportunity of interviewing the woman who had had the care of Miss Densley since her early childhood. He rather wished, however, as he turned his eyes towards Madame Leblanc with the straight mouth and the hard eyes, that the girl he loved had not found her French relations, who were rich and attentive, but that she had remained what she supposed herself to be, the neglected and poor niece of an English baronet of undoubted honour and good repute.St. Quintin and his friend had been specially invited to come down early, so that the whole party had time for a pleasant stroll through the grounds before dinner.But try as hard as he might, St. Quintin found it impossible to get a chance of speaking to Marie alone. Failing in his efforts, he decided upon a bold course. Taking the little case containing his gift from his pocket, he contrived to steal away from the three elderly ladies who were hemming him in as they all walked round the kitchen-garden in a flock, and placing himself beside Marie, heedless of the fact that her uncle and James Ince were on the other side of her, he said—"Miss Densley, I've brought you something I hope you will accept—something your uncle gave me permission to offer you."And at the same time he held out the little case, which he had wrapped up, not very deftly in tissue paper, and tied with a piece of fine string.Before Miss Densley could do more than make a startled and astonished movement, however, and long before she could appreciate what was happening and hold out her hand to take the gift, Monsieur Leblanc had neatly edged away from his companion, and following the two young people, put out his own hand, with the intention of intercepting the present."Ah! Mr. St. Quintin, not in that way. The presentation must be through me!" he said, with his charming smile, as he attempted to possess himself of the little parcel.Perhaps St. Quintin, in his long contemplation of the strange things that had happened at Briar Lodge, had grown cautious beyond his wont. At any rate, quick and nimble as was Monsieur Leblanc in trying to get possession of the parcel, the young man was quicker still. Smiling but firm, he snatched it away from the outstretched hand, and said—"No, Monsieur Leblanc. If I have permission to give a present to your niece, I understand that permission implies that I may give it in the English way, direct to her."There was a moment's confusion in the group. James Ince affected to step back, as if the matter were no affair in which he might take part; but he did not go far enough to be out of earshot, and Monsieur Leblanc cast at him a sidelong look of apprehension.St. Quintin glanced at him too, wondering what he thought of it all. Miss Densley, who had turned very white, stopped short in the middle of the broad path, and looked timidly first at St. Quintin and then at her uncle.Strange thoughts were passing rapidly through the brain of the young man. Had Marie, he wondered, been told of the gifts which her suitors were evidently ready to shower upon her? Or did her uncle save these offerings, and pile them up as a kind of shrine to youth and beauty, with the intention of weighing their value the one against the other before he finally made his choice of a husband for his pretty niece?St. Quintin, as this thought passed through his mind, could scarcely help smiling at the oddity of the idea. But, indeed, the Leblancs had confessed so frankly how great their consideration for money was, and how much higher property stood in their estimation than anything else, that there did not seem to be anything absurd in the notion.He looked curiously at the girl, wishing he could speak to her alone and satisfy his doubts. But Monsieur Leblanc noted his look, and stepping between the two young people, said in his gentlest and sweetest tone—"Marie, you do not know how generous Mr. St. Quintin is. What do you think of his insisting that he should give you a present, begging me to allow you to accept one? Would you, do you think, allow it also? "Marie, who had already stopped short, looked from her uncle to St. Quintin, with a strange expression upon her face."I—I don't understand," she said in a low, faltering voice. "What present? I don't understand!"By this time James Ince, much against his will, had felt compelled to drop altogether out of this very confidential domestic scene, and by hurrying his steps a little, he had rejoined the group in front, and was now walking beside the vicar.The three people interested in the presentation of the gift were thus left alone in the middle of the path, with the evening sun shining on their faces through the interlaced boughs of the fruit-trees, and with the sweet scents of thyme and sage, mint and sweet-briar, coming to their nostrils through the mild September air.Monsieur Leblanc proceeded to explain. Placing himself in front of the two young people, and laying a gentle hand upon his pretty niece's shoulder, he said—"Mr. St. Quintin hoped there would be no objection to his offering you a little gift, and I told him I should make none. Now, my dear child, what have you to say?"Marie's face, which had been pale under the influence of the astonishment and perplexity she felt at the incident, now grew crimson. She looked shyly at her uncle, then at St. Quintin with an expression which set his heart fluttering. It was, in the most modest way in the world, an intimation that a gift from him would be valuable in her eyes, not on account of itself, but of the giver.St. Quintin lost his head, and stooping suddenly, so that his eyes looked straight into hers, he said—"There! You are free, you see! Will you have it? Will you have——" The last word was formed with his lips, not uttered. But the girl knew what it was, glanced at him quickly, with an intoxicating little smile, and held out her hand, laughing happily."I'll have—whatever you like, Mr. St. Quintin," whispered she, bending her head, but contriving, as she did so, to see enough of his face to know how happy her reply had made him.Since there was no other way of attaining his object, he had to do it thus publicly, under the full blaze of the avuncular eyes. Monsieur Leblanc seemed taken aback by the unexpectedness, the audacity of the whole situation, and though he uttered little murmurs and apparently disapproving ejaculations, as these disjointed whispers were exchanged between the young people under his very nose, he made no open and distinct objection, having indeed left himself no decent excuse for interfering, when St. Quintin, again taking the little parcel out of his pocket, pressed it into the pink palm of the pretty heiress.Then he took care to stand so that her uncle could not take the gift away by force, should he have been so minded.Miss Densley's opening of the parcel was, so St. Quintin thought, a most delicious thing. First her little pink fingers curled round over the string as she carefully untied the knot and undid the paper. Very slowly she did this, moving her uncle to some impatience, but her lover to delight and admiration. Then she removed the paper covering very daintily, very slowly, as if enjoying the anticipation of a charming surprise of some sort. St. Quintin marvelled and enjoyed the pleasure she evidently felt, the more that he was sure she must have experienced similar sensations over the gifts of other people, for she was rich now, and although her wealth was not yet of long standing, she had certainly received handsome presents before.He watched her eagerly as she threw away the paper and then stooped and picked it up again. By this time the pretty little case was exposed to view, and she held her head on one side, and evidently amused herself by guessing what was in it."Come, come, make haste. Let us see what is inside!" said her uncle, sharply.Recalled to herself, Miss Densley finally opened the case with the same loving dilatoriness, not hiding her intense interest in the present. When the little diamond-backed watch and brooch were revealed to her eyes, sparkling in the setting sun, a cry of pleasure, quite honest and unaffected, broke from her lips."Oh, Mr. St. Quintin! Oh, uncle! May I—may I—take it?" she cried, like a child with a new toy.But the gift meant more than that to her, much, much more than that. For she turned abruptly, and said, under her breath, while the hand that held the watch quivered with excitement—"Uncle, do you mean—that you allowed Mr. St. Quintin to make me this present?"There was a note of strange, tumultuous earnestness in her voice as she looked intently at him and put the simple question.Monsieur Leblanc, disturbed and disconcerted, frowned, coughed, but said with a slight shrug of his shoulders—"Of course, of course you may take it, child, since I gave my permission."Both men watched her in perplexity and astonishment when she received this reply, for it altered her whole demeanour. Instead of being eager and radiant, she suddenly became excited and shy and full of maidenly perplexity. They wondered what thought was in her mind, what she was going to do. Monsieur Leblanc, not liking the symptom, indeed, made a sign to her to shut up the case and to join the rest of the ladies. But there was no sign of obedience to this desire upon Marie's face. Instead of walking forwards, she turned to St. Quintin, and said shyly under her breath—"Thank you, oh, thank you."And then, to the utter horror of her uncle and the delirious excitement of her lover, she suddenly put up her face to St. Quintin to receive his kiss.The invitation was accepted in the same second that it was made.And Monsieur Leblanc's howl of anguish was unheard, unheeded, as their lips met.CHAPTER XBUT within a very few seconds the crash came, and the rage and consternation of the scandalised Frenchman broke all bounds, and placing himself quickly between the two young people, who were both trembling" with the excitement of the kiss given and received, he turned from the one to the other and gave vent to his feelings in an exclamation—"Mon Dieu!"St. Quintin burst into laughter."Well, Monsieur Leblanc, and where is the harm of my kissing her, when we're engaged to be married!""Ah, no, I never said that. I never promised!"Marie uttered an exclamation of surprise."You let him save me this?""Ah! Yes, yes, I do not deny. But that is not the same thing," cried poor Monsieur Leblanc, almost forgetting his command of the English language, which was usually complete, in his indignant excitement.Miss Densley drew herself up."Surely you don't think I should have taken such a present as this from a man unless I meant——"She stopped confused, and St. Quintin came boldly to the rescue, finishing her speech for her, and dashing into one on his own account."Unless you meant to marry me! Of course not. What nice girl would? When you allowed me to give your niece presents, Monsieur Leblanc, I knew too well how seriously French gentlemen take these things not to take it for granted you knew how I should understand that permission."Now the truth was, as both St. Quintin and Monsieur Leblanc very well knew, that neither of them had looked upon this giving of the watch as anything but a pledge on the lover's part of the sincerity of his feelings, and an earnest of his generous intentions. And this it would have been, and no more, but for the young man's artfulness in refusing to let the gift pass through the uncle's hands on its way to the niece.Monsieur Leblanc, confronted by the difficulty of choosing between letting the gift be given without his knowledge or not given at all, had solved it hastily and clumsily by permitting the presentation under his very eyes. But never in his wildest moments of imaginative dread would he have conceived a possibility so frightful as that of his niece deliberately offering her face to be kissed in return for the gift, and then complicating matters still further by looking upon herself as engaged to the giver.His anxiety and horror were still plainly to be seen on his face, and indeed, his expression as he turned to the young man had something stronger, something more alarming in it than mere annoyance.For a moment there was silence. He was wondering how he should get out of his difficulty, without either offending the young man or exciting his suspicions, and without causing curious questions to arise in his niece's mind.St. Quintin now felt sure that Marie had seen nothing of the present given to her uncle for her by Monsieur Marbeau, but he dared not ask her about it until they were alone together. In the meantime Marie herself had begun to look rather frightened, and even to make an attempt to return the present, by holding out her hand to St. Quintin with a deprecatory glance. He took her hand in his, in spite of Monsieur Leblanc, who was too much disconcerted by these audacious movements to prevent them, and taking the beautiful brooch and its watch-pendant from the case, apologised to Monsieur for passing in front of him, and himself pinned the jewels on the girl's breast.The diamonds sparkled in the sunlight, and attracted the attention of the other ladies within a very few moments.The group ahead of these three had been passing up the other paths, aware that something of an interesting nature was going on, but unable to make out exactly what it was. When, however, Madame Leblanc's quick eyes caught sight of the dazzling ornament, she cried out from the other side of the wide asparagus bed and the espalier fruit-trees, with a broad smile of admiration.The diversion was opportune. Monsieur Leblanc recovered himself, Miss Densley's face gradually recovered its colour, and St. Quintin, quite satisfied with the stand he had made and overflowing with gratitude to Marie for the frank way in which she had accepted him and his offering together, was content to allow Monsieur to scold him again and to express his fiery indignation at his presumption."My niece, being an English girl, and not understanding the extreme modesty and reticence which we French expect in a young girl towards her lovers, has misunderstood me. You, too, Mr. St. Quintin, have misunderstood. I permitted you to offer your gift, not in the promise that you should marry my niece, but as a token that I myself would approve of the match. I have the same opinion still: I have not changed. But I repeat, and Marie knows the truth as well as I, that it is not possible for me to finally accept any man as her husband, until the approval of Mr. Williams, her trustee and second guardian, has been obtained also."Marie frowned impatiently."Oh, uncle, don't make such a fuss about it," she whispered pleadingly, as she twisted the cuff of his coat affectionately. "I don't suppose this Mr. Williams is an ogre, any more than you. Why shouldn't he like Mr. St. Quintin just as much as you do?"From this speech St. Quintin was quick to gather that Miss Densley herself had not yet made the acquaintance of her second guardian.And he glanced curiously at her uncle again, and wondered how such a curious position of affairs could have arisen. If Mr. Williams had as much authority as was represented, it seemed strange that he should not have insisted upon seeing the girl when she was first discovered by her second guardian. In the unusual circumstances of her case, it would have seemed the natural thing that a guardian, who was also a solicitor, should have at once interviewed the girl who was an heiress of such importance, with a view to making sure beyond all possible doubt that she was the right person.However, the young man had not much time for these reflections, for he had to listen to Monsieur Leblanc's reply to his niece's very natural comment."Mr. Williams," he replied deliberately, "is not like me. He is a hard man, a lawyer, and not so indulgent and soft-hearted as your old uncle and aunt. I think he may perhaps suggest that an older man than Mr. St. Quintin might make you a more suitable husband, in view of the fact that there will be a great deal of business detail to attend to on your behalf if he marries you."Marie burst into a merry laugh."And don't you think Mr. St. Quintin can look after my money as well as if he were seventy? If I were to marry an old man, I should be thinking that he considered poor little me as of much less consequence than my money."Her uncle waved his hand impatiently and then took her arm with a firm grip."Enough, enough," he said, "I desire no more discussion. You will have to be satisfied with what we arrange, and, Mr. St. Quintin, we will join the others, for it is time dinner was ready."He did not release his niece until they were all in the dining-room together, and there she was placed between Mr. Alverthorpe and her old schoolmistress.Talk was lively and general during dinner, but neither then nor afterwards did St. Quintin get the chance of a moment's conversation with Marie.Either Madame Leblanc or Miss Stanley or Mrs. Mortimer was always with her, so that at last in desperation, after trying in vain, time after time, to insinuate himself into the group about her in such a way as to cut her off for a moment from the rest, he went boldly up to Madame Leblanc, and said, looking in her face with steady eyes—"Madame, no doubt you have heard from Monsieur that he has practically accepted me as your niece's fiancé—"The lady, looking rather excited, interrupted sharply—"He told me, Mr. St. Quintin, that he had not done so—that you must wait."St. Quintin looked at her so steadily that the lady's eyes shifted uneasily as he went on—"He told me that. But no doubt there will be little difficulty in getting Mr. Williams to accept a suitor of whom he and you, I hope, approve.""Oh, certainly. If it were a matter concerning only me you need have no fear," she said graciously."I thought not. Well, then, Madame, will you please allow me to have a few moments' conversation with your niece?"Madame looked seriously alarmed, and as he saw refusal on her face he said rather coldly—"I can't insist, of course. But if you refuse, as I am asking what is only considered natural and usual in England, I must contrive to get an interview with Miss Densley without your permission, and even, if necessary, without your knowledge."It seemed to him that the poor lady turned absolutely green under this threat. Drawing herself up, after a moment's consideration she said severely—"I thought, Mr. St. Quintin, you were an honourable man.""I hope so, and that is why I have warned you of what I mean to do, instead of doing it without warning.""But it is not customary in France for a young girl to have têe-à-tête interviews with her fiancé""We are in England, though, and Miss Densley is an English girl, and is going to marry an English husband."He had a fancy that her eyelids quivered inquiringly at these last words, but in the end she said with sudden impatience, and a gesture rather broader in its wave of the hand and bend of the head than usual—"As you please, then. But I rely on your honour not to try to make her dissatisfied with us, her guardians, and our precautions on her account."St. Quintin bowed, but he did not in words pledge himself to anything. A minute later Madame Leblanc, with an expression of ill-concealed displeasure still on her face, sent Marie Densley to the piano, and gave a cold glance at St. Quintin which he took to be an ungracious permission to go too.He found the girl trembling and uneasy. Evidently something had been said to her to put her on her guard against him. There was an entire absence of all the girlish brightness, the charming coquetry of her manner when he gave her the watch, as he leaned across the piano and asked her, as she began to play something she knew by heart—"Marie, don't you want me to speak to you?"She looked up quickly and down again."I—I really don't exactly know what to say. We've managed, both of us, to offend my aunt and uncle. We are not stiff enough, not reserved enough, for their notions of propriety. So that I feel rather wicked, rather uncomfortable, and begin to wish——"She hesitated."Come, say it at once if you really mean it. Are you sorry you—you did what you did, you let me do what I did—this evening—in the kitchen-garden? Are you afraid I shall take advantage of it, and—and——"Miss Densley, with a flush in her face, looked diligently at her fingers. She was, he could see, struggling between her pleasure in her lover's society and her remorse for having vexed her relations."Well, I'm bound to consider their feelings, even their prejudices. They've been very, very good to me, and, but for them, I should be still living a narrow little life in a miserable little suburban road, with no prospects in life at all but a future as a companion or something of that sort.""Oh, yes, yes. Surely you don't think I want you to be ungrateful! But I wanted a chance of asking you whether it's true that you care for me, or whether you were carried away—this evening, so that you said—what you didn't quite mean. Now tell me, Marie, do you care for me, or do you not?"No answer."Well, I'll put it in another way. Do you like me better than old Marbeau?"She looked up quickly, her face puckered with mischievous smiles."Monsieur Marbeau!" And she burst into a peal of laughter. "Really it wouldn't be fair—to you of course!—to compare you with him!""Do you wear his bracelet?"She grew quite suddenly pale, puzzled."What bracelet?""Your uncle showed me a bracelet Marbeau had given him for you."She shook her head."He hasn't dared to show it to me!" she said with decision. "I suppose that was why he made such a fuss about your giving me the watch, because he knew he had promised to give me the bracelet, and he didn't quite know how to get out of his difficulty! You see I couldn't take presents from both, and he had bound himself to do his best for the other!"She bubbled over with merriment as she put this, her view of the case, and St. Quintin, though he saw the matter differently, laughed too.And while they did so, Madame Leblanc, who had no intention of allowing the tête-à-tête to be a long one, came up quietly behind them, and laying a plump hand upon her niece's shoulder, told her she was wanted to play bridge.St. Quintin retreated uneasily from the piano, while Miss Stanley, who could turn her hand to anything, sat down to play.He hated and mistrusted the colourless, discreet elderly lady with her downcast eyes, and never spoke more to her than courtesy made necessary. He wanted to find Ince, to learn, if he could, what impression the occupants of Briar Lodge had made upon him. But he had no opportunity of speaking to him until they had left the house.James Ince, to all appearance, was enjoying himself exceedingly. He and Mr. Alverthorpe were both good talkers, and the evening passed so pleasantly that nobody joining the party would have guessed that there were any dark fears, suspicions or doubts in the mind of anyone present concerning any other member of the agreeable circle.When the party broke up, St. Quintin offered the vicar a seat in his car back to town, as the remaining guest, old Mrs. Mortimer, with whom he had come down, was going to stay the night at Briar Lodge.When they were all in the hall, preparing for departure, James Ince, who was being helped into his overcoat by one of the footmen, suddenly faced the man and said quietly—"I know your face. Where have I seen you before?"The footman looked at him, turned pale, and muttered under his breath—"Oh, Lord!"James Ince's face changed."I know," said he. "It was in the Law Courts, and you were, unless I'm much mistaken, in the dock."The man, under cover of arranging the coat he had helped on, said imploringly—"Don't let on about it, sir, for mercy's sake. I'm going straight now, indeed I am. And if you was to tell, I should lose my place."James Ince hesitated. He had artfully stepped back a little way until they were in a distant corner of the hall, far enough from the rest, and the bustle and the talk, to have their conversation unheard. The footman was sharp enough, on his side, to busy himself with the gentleman's hat and coat, so that there was nothing in the manner of either to attract attention"If I keep your secret," said Ince, at last, looking the man steadily in the face, "will you, in return, answer a question I'm going to put to you—truly—the absolute truth, mind?""That I will, sir."''Well then," said Ince, stooping to take his hat and his stick, and speaking very low, "these people you're with—are they—all right? You know what I mean. Are they straight, eh?"The man looked rather startled. He coughed, hesitated, and then, below his breath, answered in two short words—"No. sir."CHAPTER XITHERE was no time to say more, but it was enough. With a glance and a nod James Ince left the footman, and crossing the wide hall, rejoined the lively group near the door.St. Quintin tried to get more than the conventional "Good-bye" from Miss Densley, but he was foiled by Madame Leblanc, who stood with her niece until the guests had left the house and got into the motor-car.St. Quintin drove himself, and Mr. Alverthorpe sat beside him."Charming people!" said the vicar, who had enjoyed his evening immensely."Have you known them long?" asked St. Quintin."I've known Mrs. Mortimer for many years, before her husband died in fact. The others, except, of course, her old pupil, Miss Dorcas Lane—I mean Densley—I never met before to-day.""Indeed! Wonderful story that of the discovery of the young lady by her French relations!" said St. Quintin, anxious to hear how it struck a stranger."Ah, one meets so many wonderful stories in the course of one's experience, that I often think a volume of my own personal reminiscences would be more wonderful reading than any romance.""I dare say," returned St. Quintin, shortly.He was not sorry that his occupation as driver allowed him to give short answers, for indeed he was much perplexed and disturbed, and not in a condition to hold a conversation with anyone but James Ince, who was sitting with the chauffeur in the back seat of the car.The vicar, however, was communicative after his evening's enjoyment, and he went on to relate that it was through the fact that the Leblancs were deeply interested in East End Mission work that he had been introduced to them by his old friend, Mrs. Mortimer.This was a new and rather surprising view of the French relations of Miss Densley, but St. Quintin heard it with interest, and decided to make further inquiries on the point at a later time.It was not until he had taken his new acquaintance to his home that he was able to unburden himself to James Ince, who took the vacant seat beside his friend before they restarted."Well, what do you think of the Leblancs?" he then asked as carelessly as he could."Charming" people," replied Ince, at once.St. Quintin looked round at him quickly and frowned."Why do you say that, like a parrot?" he asked with a snap.James Ince glanced at his friend from under his cap."What do you want me to say?" he asked drily."I want you to tell me the truth as to what you think of them.""Well, then, I think they have some very nice friends.""And about themselves?"James Ince was silent. Then he asked suddenly—"Did you ever meet a man named Burdock there?""Good heavens!" exclaimed St. Quintin. And then he added quickly, "Don't talk to me any more till we get back to my rooms, there's a good chap."They drove along in silence, and it was not until they were safely shut in St. Quintin's rooms that the young host turned to his friend and said—"Now then, why did you ask me about Burdock? Did you know him?""No. But I knew a man who knew him very well, and who was with him on the evening of the day he disappeared. It seems Burdock was on his way to Wimbledon, and that he was going to keep an appointment which was an important one, connected with money. It seems he expected to marry a rich wife.""Well," said St. Quintin, turning his back on the other, on pretence of lighting a cigarette, but really to hide the agitation caused by these words."It's very odd, isn't it, that they should have known him: that he should have called at their house, in fact, on the very day he disappeared, and that—well, there is a rich girl there, isn't there?""Who told you he called at Briar Lodge?""I learnt it from Miss Densley herself. But she says she didn't see him on that occasion.""And what then?""Then he—disappeared."" I mean, what has that to do with it?""It's odd, isn't it, that he should have said what he did—something about expecting to marry a rich wife—that he should then have called at Briar Lodge, where the rich Miss Densley is living?""It's a coincidence, nothing more. You can't suppose Miss Densley has made away with him!""No, of course not. And so you are satisfied with the way her people are behaving towards you?"St. Quintin turned suddenly, betraying the fact that his face was very white."Well, not altogether. I love Marie herself more every moment that I pass in her society. She is frank, maidenly, gay, charming. But I don't care for the relations, and I'm rather surprised to find that anybody else does."James Ince hesitated."Don't you think," he said presently, with some reluctance, "that if you condemn the relations, you must condemn the niece too?""Indeed I don't. And what I want to do is to separate Miss Densley from her relations—to marry her and take her away from them.""Will she consent?""I hope so.""You don't think she cares for them then?"St. Quintin looked disturbed."I'm afraid she does.""Then will she leave them for you?" Silence on St. Quintin's part. "If not, what will you do?"The younger man walked restlessly up and down the room."I don't know yet. All I'm absolutely certain of is that I love her madly, passionately, and that I shall never rest till I've made her my wife.""You don't think there's anything wrong about the girl, too?"St. Quintin turned upon him with rage in his eyes."I'm absolutely sure of that, too. She is modest, good, sweet, everything that a woman should be. I won't hear a word——"Ince put up his hand."Indeed you'll hear nothing against any of them from me," he said quietly. "It was you, I think, who first said you did not care for the relations, and accused me of parroting when I called them charming."St. Quintin looked confused and abashed."Well, the fact is, I suppose I'm so much in love that I scarcely know how to speak rationally when she is in any way concerned. But, yet, I have grave doubts about her people—the French ones. I'll tell you an odd experience I had the first evening I went down there."And he told, straightforwardly and shortly, without dwelling upon any point unduly, the strange story of his hearing the cries of " Help! Murder!" of his seeing the window close, and of his going back to the house, and having it proved to him, to the satisfaction of his own eyes, that there was no one in the study, and no trace of any crime having been committed there.James Ince listened very quietly, and made no comment whatever when he had heard all. It was left for his friend to say sharply—"Well, what do you think of it?""It looks,' replied Ince, calmly, "as if they made a business of offering their niece in marriage to the man who is able to pay the most, in jewellery or perhaps in other things. Now doesn't it?"St. Quintin was trembling."I can't think it's quite as bad as that," he said hoarsely. "What I think is that this man is covetous—indeed he confessed as much—and that he is trying to—to—to——""Well, what do you think he's trying to do?"St. Quintin made a gesture of despair."I think you're right," said he at last, desperately. "He's holding out with the intention of inducing her to marry the man who pays the most handsomely for the privilege. Yet why a man who must certainly be well off himself——""How do you know that?" asked Ince, quickly."Look at the house, the servants, the ladies' jewellery and dresses!""Might they not all be part of the plot to make her pass for an heiress when she is really nothing of the sort?"St. Quintin drew a long breath."There must be money somewhere," he said. "Either she has plenty, or he or his wife. For think of the enormous sums he would have to get out of everybody to keep up such an establishment! And all he gets out of his niece's admirers is a few trinkets.""You mean as far as you know."St. Quintin, trembling so much that he had to support himself against the table, stared at his friend."Oh, no, no, by Heaven! It's not possible! You mean that they use Marie, that lovely, charming girl, as a decoy! A——" He thrust his hand through his hair in a stupor of incredulous dismay. "No, no, no. They know I'm well off. If they had been what you say, do you think they wouldn't have tried to get something more out of me than a diamond watch? Just ask yourself!"James Ince got up, and leaned over his friend."You've only been down there two or three times. Perhaps they've scarcely begun the bleeding process properly yet."The other started up with a cry."By Jove! I won't believe it, I won't. I—I must go down at once, see Marie, and find out the truth. She must know something about the way of life of her uncle and aunt. She——""Ah!"The effect of that monosyllable upon St. Quintin was paralysing, for it summed up all the incredulity, all the ugly conviction, which had been ripening in the mind of the elder man on the way back from Briar Lodge that night.St. Quintin made a rush for his friend, who held him off and tried to soothe him into listening quietly."Hush. Be quiet, there's a good chap. All I meant was that you must not now be content to let things slide, you must find out, once for all, how much the girl knows."St. Quintin glared at him."She knows nothing of what you mean, nothing of anything wrong, I'll swear.""Then, if you were to suggest to her that there is something shady about the place, and put a few plain facts before her—perhaps you'll open her eyes, always supposing they're not open already, and you can get her to choose between you, on the one hand, and these people, who are probably not her relations at all, on the other.""But Mrs. Mortimer was satisfied!""An old lady is easily satisfied, especially if she's good," said Ince, with decision. "Look here, let me go down with you the next time you visit Briar Lodge.""That would rouse their suspicions at once. I saw the old Frenchman looking at you askance.""The very reason why you must take me again. If he thinks I go in the character of detective we shall soon find out something. Either he will shut up altogether, or he will do something to satisfy us of his bona fides. Don't you agree with me?""Perhaps," faltered St. Quintin, who was too much overcome with the terrors of the situation to be able to think clearly."Have you had an invitation to go down again?""A general invitation, that's all.""Well, this is Monday. Shall we go down together the day after to-morrow?""All right.""And will you promise not to write and give them any warning of our coming?"St. Quintin was up in arms at once."I must write a note to Marie, of course," he began.Then James Ince showed himself in his true colours, dropped the gentle, easy, earnest tone, and became abrupt and dictatorial."Unless you give me your word of honour," he said, weighing heavily on every word, "not to write one word either to Miss Densley or to any member of her circle or household, between now and Wednesday, I shall put the matter into the hands of the police."St. Quintin, pale as the dead, stared incredulously at his friend."You would dare!" he said in a hoarse voice. "Against my earnest wish and command?""I would, and I will. So now you understand. I know for a certainty that these people are wrong 'uns. Whether the girl herself knows it or not I can't tell. I should think she must have suspicions, though. And, in any case, I think if you had any sense you'd cut the whole lot.""Never. I'll cut anybody else you like, but if you ask me to give up Marie——""I don't. I say it would be wiser, that's all. However, we needn't discuss that now. All I want is your word of honour not to write to her or communicate with her till after Wednesday. Is it a bargain?""All right," said St. Quintin, hoarsely, as, with bent head and uncertain steps, he staggered across the room and threw himself into a chair.CHAPTER XIIST. QUINTIN passed the next two days in a state of such anxiety as he had never before known.Ready as he had been to see that there was something strange, to say the least of it, about the household at Briar Lodge, where all seemed so prosperous and yet was so full of mystery, he fought hard against James Ince's ugly suggestion that Marie herself had anything to do with what was wrong.She was the victim, not a fellow-conspirator. If she was being used as a decoy, it must be without her knowledge, if not against her will.He did not scoff, as Ince did, at the story told by the girl, and though he thought some points of it were open to inquiry, it seemed to him perfectly natural that two ladies living by themselves, like Mrs. Mortimer and her old pupil, the one very old and the other very young, should believe whatever was told them, especially when the story was illustrated by such a sudden and great rise in life as that experienced by Miss Densley.However, deeply as he was hurt by his friend's suspicions of the girl and entirely as he rejected them on his own account, he had sense enough to understand that he could not do better than allow the cooler-headed Ince to see, at least, what he could do to investigate the mystery of Briar Lodge.So when his friend arrived on the Wednesday afternoon, on a dull and misty September day, and peremptorily forbade the use of the motorcar on their journey, he was submissive, asked few questions, as he got no satisfactory answers, and accompanied Ince to the railway station in a hansom without much demur.One answer he insisted upon getting, however, before they started."Have you learnt anything fresh about these people?" he asked point-blank."Not a thing," replied Ince, promptly. "And I've been making the most of my time too."This was satisfactory as far as it went. The Leblancs might be shady, but they were not notorious, evidently.So the two young men went down to Briar Heath together in a very different mood from that in which they had paid their first visit.When they reached the outer gate of the garden, which was a good way from the house, Ince stopped short and said—"Look here, will you mind if I go up to the house by myself? Will you wait for me here? Walk up and down this way, without passing that gap in the trees where they could see you from the windows. I won't keep you waiting a minute longer than I can help."St. Quintin was alarmed."But what are you going to do?" said he."Nothing whatever. At least, nothing to upset anyone. I'm going to make a few inquiries, that's all. And I'll answer for it they will not reach any ears you need mind."Puzzled and distressed, St. Quintin, feeling that he had let himself in for more than he had bargained for, reluctantly consented, and turning back, strolled along the footpath under the trees that spread out their branches from the gardens of the stately row of detached houses that bordered the heath.Meanwhile James Ince went quickly up the drive and rang the bell. As he had hoped, it was the footman he knew who opened the door."Is Monsieur Leblanc at home?" he asked, without appearing to recognise the man."No, sir," said the footman, promptly.James Ince raised his eyebrows."Really not at home?" he asked in the lowest of voices.The servant hesitated."Well, sir, that was the message I was told to give everyone, and he won't see anybody, I know.""Where is he, as a matter of fact?"The man answered as before, reluctantly, as if every word were being drawn out of him with tortures."He's in his study, sir, or his laboratory. He doesn't allow anybody to disturb him when he's in there.""Laboratory, eh? And where's that?""Oh, it's at the back of the house, sir. Yes, on that side."The affirmative was in answer to Ince's curious movement of the head to his left."Can you introduce me into the room where he is, saying that it's a gentleman come on important business?""Oh, no, sir, I dursn't do that. Look here, Mr. Ince, you wouldn't wish to do a poor chap any harm, now would you? I feel quite grateful-like to you, seeing you're a friend of the gentle-man that spoke for me, and got me off for that affair of the sealskin jackets——""And hard work he had too, you rascal!""Well, sir, believe me, if I could do what you want, I'd do it. But I can't. In the first place, Monsieur Leblanc locks himself in.""Well, will you tell me just what you're doing here?""I'm simply a servant, sir, nothing else, honour bright.""Come, Saunders, that won't do for me. Unless you're quite frank it's of no use expecting me to hold my tongue about you. Who are these people, and what are you doing for them?""Well, sir, as for the first question, I can only say, 'blest if I know myself who or what they are.' Everything looks square. Plenty of money; highly respectable visitors. Everything tiptop.""Then now, tell me the truth about yourself.""Well, if you must have it, I'm here—to watch for the other party in the firm.""Oh, there's another party, is there?""Yes, sir. And you've heard of him right enough. It's Bob Gurney, that got seven years for stealing at a bank—what they call 'bezzlement, sir.""Oh, so he's the partner of these people? Does he come here?""No, sir. I keep him posted up.""How?""Well, there's a lot of gentlemen comes here who're all after Miss Densley and her money. For she's got money—lots of it, by what I can make out—and land up in Lincolnshire too.""Yes. Well?""They come here in swarms making up to her, for her money mostly, I think. And some of them make an awful bother because they can't marry her off-hand. Mr. Burdock, he was one of them that made a row.""Burdock, eh? And what became of him?""Oh, Monsieur Leblanc quietened him down, talked him over, as he does with them all. Oh, he's a rare one, as far as the gift of the gab goes, sir, is Monsieur Leblanc. He beats Madame, and that's saying a deal.""And Burdock didn't come here again?""Why no, sir; they say nobody knows what's become of him," said Saunders, simply.It was plain that he himself had no sort of explanation to offer of that mystery."Did you let him out, the last time he came?""No, sir. And I didn't expect to have to, for when they're angry and impatient, like what he was, asking for Monsieur Leblanc peremptory-like and sharp, I always know how it will end. For when they're like that, Monsieur Leblanc he doesn't bring them into the drawing-room where the ladies are, but he takes 'em and he talks 'em over in his study, and he lets them out himself and sees them down to the garden-gate himself, where they leaves him all smiling and good-humoured. Lord, sir, I've watched 'em from the window on the stairs lots of times!""Then you have no suggestion to make as to what became of him.""No, sir. I've only heard what they said free in the servants' hall, sir, as he was keen either on the young lady or on her fortune, and so made away with himself when he was told he couldn't have her, p'r'aps.""Ah! That's the talk here, is it?""Among us, sir, but I've never heard anyone else say so, except Monsieur Leblanc said one day he hopes Mr. Burdock hadn't done anything rash. And then the ladies all looked at each other, and Miss Densley she couldn't go on eating her breakfast after that.""And it's not uncommon for the gentlemen who come here to go away and disappear like that?""Oh, no. Mr. Burdock is the only one. The rest—why Monsieur Leblanc he keeps them on by keeping them off, and they have to wait, he say, till the young lady's trustee, Mr. Williams, comes back from abroad.""And who is he?""I don't know, sir.""And you keep a register, you say, of all the men who come here?""Yes, sir. What time they come, how many times, what their names are, and if I can, I have to find out whether they bring any presents.""Presents, eh?""Yes, sir. They bring presents, most of 'em, I fancy. Some of them, I know, carry little parcels, flat parcels mostly, that they don't take away again. And in the hall, sir, we say Monsieur Leblanc looks 'em over himself to see whose presents are the best, and that those that bring small presents won't have a look in, Mr. Williams or no Mr. Williams.""And what does Miss Densley say to all this?""Ah, that's more than I can tell. Her maid being French and not speaking much English, we don't hear much of what she says. And it's likely she don't know half as much as we do of what goes on, for, you see, sir, half of the visitors have to go away when they've seen her uncle, without having seen her!""Ah! Odd, certainly. And now, Saunders, I want you to do me a service."The man looked apprehensive."Come, I'm a friend worth having, am I not?""Yes, oh, yes, Mr. Ince, and I'm sure if I can do anything for you—in reason—and without risking the loss of my place——"James Ince smiled."The place must be a very remunerative one, for you to be so anxious to keep it.""It's not so much the pay, but I'm doing work for a pal, you see, sir. And indeed I've done more than what I ought in telling you what I have done. And I hope you won't make no use of what I've told you against Bob Gurney, sir?""My business is not with Gurney, but with the people here. If Gurney's mixed up in anything shady, you'd better give him the tip to drop it, for I may have to come down upon these people, I warn you."Saunders looked shrewd."Very well, sir.""And now for the service I spoke of. You say Monsieur Leblanc is in his study?""Well, sir, in there or else in his laboratory. He fiddles about with chemicals and things a good deal—his father was a great French chemist, I believe, sir—not what we call a chemist over here, but a great swell at mixing things and finding out new airs and all that, sir.""I see. Well, I'm curious to see him at his work. And you've got to contrive to let me see him."The man shook his head decisively."No, sir, that's more than I could do, even if I dared. Besides, I couldn't tell you, no more than Adam, where he is at this moment. The door on the left as you go into the house—that door,"—and he pointed to a door on one side of the hall as he spoke—"leads into a little corridor, with a door at the end that goes into the garden. He always keeps both doors locked and has the keys himself. On one side of the corridor, at the back of the house, is the laboratory; and on the other side, in the front, is the study. Nobody can ever tell which room he's in, and if they could, it wouldn't be possible for you to see in, for the windows are ten feet or thereabouts from the ground.""You must manage to let me see into the rooms, all the same," said Ince, quietly. "I'm particularly anxious to see into this laboratory. So I'm going round to the back along the path between the shrubs.""There's a side gate, sir, and it's shut and bolted on the inside.""Then you must unbolt it. And you must take me round to the back of the house, where I know there are plenty of shrubs to hide us from the ladies, if they should happen to be in the garden. "The unfortunate footman looked white with consternation, but Ince went remorselessly on—"When we get under the window, you must let me raise myself on your shoulders.""Oh no, sir, I couldn't do that, Monsieur Leblanc would about kill me if he caught me doing such a thing!""But he won't catch you. And let me tell you"—and with a confidential note of warning James Ince looked steadily into his eyes—"it's better to have your master ready to kill you than to offend the friends who can get you out of a tight place if need be."The man looked white and disturbed, but after a few moments' hesitation, he said, with an air of desperation—"Well, sir, I suppose you must have your way!"He glanced behind and around him. Then he said in a lower tone—"If you'll go to the side gate, sir, I'll let you through. But I'm sure you won't see anything of any consequence, and the only end of it will be that I shall get the sack, while you—well, I shouldn't like to be you, sir, if Monsieur Leblanc catches you spying on him.""Oh, all right. I'll take the risk of that," said James Ince, good-humouredly, as he turned away and went towards the side gate.A few minutes later he heard the footsteps of Saunders on his way to the gate to let him through. There had been a few minutes' delay, and he asked himself whether the man would dare to play him false, and—choosing to risk offending him rather than the master he evidently feared—would put the latter on his guard.Saunders, however, when he opened the gate, looked just as before, disturbed, uneasy, and simple, like the great, clumsy, foolish, helplessly weak and lazy sort of man that he was, drifting into crime from inability to keep away from bad company rather than from native viciousness.He unbolted the door in silence, and James Ince followed him through quietly.Half an hour later St. Quintin, who had been walking up and down, up and down, until he thought the very errand-boys looked upon him with suspicion, was shocked to see his friend stagger out through the garden-gate of Briar Lodge, pale as death and with his eyes starting out of his head."Great Heavens! What has happened?" cried St. Quintin, as he seized him by the arm, thinking he was going to have a fit of some sort.James Ince made signs with his mouth, but seemed unable to speak. He was staring out before him as if at some hideous spectre that held him fixed and dumb.To his friend's entreaties, however, he at last managed to answer with four words, uttered in a hoarse whisper—"Get me—some—brandy!"CHAPTER XIIIST. QUINTIN had to support his friend as they went in search of the necessary restorative, and on the way he took care to ask him no more questions. That something of a terrible nature had been discovered by Ince was plain enough, but, having regard to the neighbourhood they were in, to the importance of the discussion which would undoubtedly arise, and to his own strong emotions on the subject of the occupants of Briar Lodge, he felt that the matter had better be postponed for a little while.They got some brandy, and when they had left the modest hostelry where they had obtained it, they wandered over the common together, on the implied suggestion of Ince, who nodded towards the wide, open space, and thrusting his hand through the arm of the younger man, led him in the direction he proposed."That's better," he said then, as he drew a long breath. "I felt as if I must have air, fresh air, and lots of it.""And now," said St. Quintin, "you'll tell me all about it?"Ince shook his head."You must excuse me for a little while " said he, "I don't want to talk about it yet.""Talk about what? Surely you don't think you can leave me in the anxiety I feel! I let you go to the house—the house where Marie lives—by yourself, by your wish. I let you go without asking any questions. You come back half an hour after, looking like a corpse, and you expect me to wait! No. You must tell me what happened.""Nothing happened," said James Ince, who had scarcely yet recovered his ordinary tone and manner.St. Quintin stared."Do you expect me to believe that?""Yes; nothing whatever happened. But I saw something, or perhaps only fancied I saw something. Anyhow, I'd rather not talk about it just now. I may have been wrong.""Well, you must let me have the chance of judging, too.""Not yet. Let us get back to town first, and we'll go over the evidence for and against quietly together."But St. Quintin's mouth closed stubbornly."I'm not going until one of two things happens. Either you must tell me the truth about what occurred between your leaving me in your ordinary state and coming back looking a wreck, or I must call at Briar Lodge and get another interview with Marie."James Ince laid a detaining hand on his arm."You mustn't do that," he said, earnestly. "If my eyes didn't deceive me, Briar Lodge is not a place for you or any sane man to call at except under police protection.""Good Heavens! What do you mean?""That I believe Leblanc is a villain, and that the less you have to do with anyone connected with him the better it will be for you. Look here! I'll tell you more presently, when I've made sure myself of what I suspect. In the meantime do be warned, and take advice, and come out of the danger zone without another moment's delay.""No," said St. Quintin, obstinately, "I can't do that. If there is any danger about, Marie must be in it, and I must find out where she is and whether I can do anything to help her."James Ince laid a restraining hand once more upon the arm of the younger and more impetuous man."My dear fellow, you're talking nonsense. What can you do? You haven't even the right to speak to her about her people.""I don't believe they are her relations at all.""Very likely not. But that makes it all the more difficult for you to interfere. Look here, I don't want to be unkind or unjust. But don't you think the girl must know something about what is going on?""She doesn't know there's anything fishy going on, I could swear. No. It's of no use to try to stop me. The attitude you take up, of vague warning without details, is simply maddening. I'm going to see Marie, and I'm going to see the old man. And I'm not coming away till I've had it out with both of them, and got the address of this Williams, and all."James Ince pleaded in vain. Nothing would deter the young man from his project, and he would not even suffer his friend to accompany him back to the house. Ince, therefore, agreed to wait outside, walking up and down as his friend had done, and St. Quintin, promising that he would not be longer than he could help, went hurriedly up the garden to Briar Lodge.Saunders, the footman who opened the door, looked pale and worried; so obviously that St. Quintin felt more sure than before that Ince had really had some very alarming adventure there. To the visitor's inquiry whether Miss Densley was at home, the man replied, "No, sir," and the same answer was given when St. Quintin inquired for Monsieur Leblanc. Then, after a moment's hesitation, the young man said quietly—"Then I'll wait till one or other of them returns."And he boldly walked into the house.The servant was struck with evident consternation."It's of no use, indeed, sir. They cannot see you to-day, neither of them. If you'll write a note I'll give it to Monsieur Leblanc when he comes back."But St. Quintin had caught the sound of Miss Densley's voice, and that of a man, coming from the direction of the drawing-room. He made straight for that room without another word. The footman placed himself before the door, however."It's as much as my place is worth, sir, to let you go in, or any visitor, against my master's orders," he said entreatingly."I'll let your master know that you did your best to prevent my coming in," said St. Quintin.But still the servant, much agitated, refused to give way. And St. Quintin, raising his voice, was ordering him to let him pass, when they heard a door on the left quickly unlocked, and Monsieur Leblanc, deadly pale but very quiet and self-restrained, came out."What is the matter? Ah, Mr. St. Quintin, it is you? How is it, Saunders, that you did not tell this gentleman that we are not receiving to-day?""Your servant did his duty, Monsieur Leblanc, and told the lie you ordered him to tell. But as I felt sure it was a lie, I presumed to disregard it. I have come to see your niece, my fiancée and as I know she is in the house, you can scarcely deny me the right to see her.""It is not usual for gentlemen," said Monsieur Leblanc, with a slight stress upon the word, "to disregard an order given by a lady."St. Quintin smiled drily."Do you mean to say that Marie gave that order, that she was not to be at home if I called?""I gave it," said Monsieur Leblanc, suddenly becoming bolder, though he still spoke very quietly and was very pale.The footman had retreated, leaving his master and the visitor to fight their battle out by themselves. St. Quintin stood his ground."Am I to understand, then, that you deny me the right to see your niece?""As a right, yes, I do deny it. It is not true that you are engaged to her—yet. That may come, I hope will come, when Mr. Williams——""Oh, Mr. Williams be hanged! Give me his address, and I'll settle that difficulty without delay."The young man had raised his voice, speaking angrily and with impatience; Monsieur Leblanc dragged him hastily away from the drawing-room door, and thrusting him inside the dining-room, went in, shut the door, and faced him, frowning."You are behaving in a very singular fashion, Mr. St. Quintin. You surely cannot think you have a right to try to bully me into accepting you as a suitor for my niece!""Of course not," said St. Quintin, trying to keep as quiet as the Frenchman, but not succeeding in keeping his voice well under control."All I ask is that I may be allowed to see her when I know she is in the house. That is a very small privilege to ask, and it is one I didn't expect you to refuse me.""How is it you take for granted she is in the house?""I heard her voice. And I heard a man's voice too."Monsieur Leblanc smiled, but uneasily."You do not think she is to speak to no man but you, because you wish to marry her?""Of course not. But you seem to forget that she likes me, that she admitted it, that she looked upon herself as engaged to me, two evenings ago, just as certainly as I looked upon myself as engaged to her.""You were both too hasty. Mrs. Mortimer thought so too.""It's nothing to do with Mrs. Mortimer," cried St. Quintin, who, with James Ince's warnings fresh in his mind, was taking quite openly an attitude of suspicion towards the Frenchman. "Once for all, do you intend to let me see Miss Densley, or shall I bring my friend Ince back here to deal with you?"Monsieur Leblanc's face changed to a deadly colour when the name was mentioned."Ince! Back here! He has been here?" he asked fiercely, under his breath.St. Quintin was silent. He was in a dilemma, not knowing what had passed between Ince and the members of this household. However, he was pleased to see the effect his words had produced, and he merely bowed his head without saying any more.Monsieur Leblanc threw a stealthy glance at the window, another at the door, a third at the young visitor himself. Then he said—"Ah, bah! It matters not! I will have none of you here! I will not receive him or you. I will not be dictated to, nor my niece either. I do not like your bluff English ways. We marry with whom we please. We are not to be bullied, no, no, no!"St. Quintin's manner suddenly changed, and became very quiet. If the Frenchman really meant that he was never to see Marie again, that he had yielded his toll in the shape of the diamond watch, and was, now that he began to prove restive, to be discarded as dangerous, then indeed all Ince's fears and his own suspicions were proved justifiable and well-founded.What was he to do? To go away without satisfying himself from Marie's own lips that she accepted him or that she was being coerced into receiving the attentions of other men was now not to be thought of. On the other hand, it was difficult to insist upon presenting himself in her presence against the will of her presumed uncle and guardian."Do you mean then, Monsieur Leblanc, that you wish me to regard your niece as forbidden to look upon me as her flancé?That you wish to be rid of me once for all?" he asked presently, looking steadily into the Frenchman's face, in which, under the bland and courteous smile he habitually wore, St. Quintin was beginning to detect a less pleasing expression.Monsieur Leblanc hesitated. It was plain that this was by no means his wish, to kill the goose that had already laid such a valuable golden egg as the diamond watch and brooch. He shrugged his shoulders."Indeed, my dear Mr. St. Quintin, I had hoped, until you tried to force your way in a few minutes ago, that you were the man of all others whom I should choose for my niece.""But now you prefer the man who is in the drawing-room at this moment?" asked St. Quintin, shortly.Again Monsieur Leblanc looked uneasy."There is no one I should prefer to you," he said, his eyes shifting as he spoke."Thank you. I am glad to hear you say that. And now we can come to an understanding. Both my friend Ince and I, Monsieur Leblanc, cannot help considering that your conduct towards me has been rather strange, that you have encouraged me and discouraged me alternately in a very unusual manner. If you insist that you decline to let me see Miss Densley this afternoon, I must withdraw, of course, and I will go straight back to town with my friend, who is waiting outside for me. If, on the other hand——"Monsieur Leblanc cut him short."He is waiting outside?—your friend—Mr. Ince?" asked he quickly and with manifest uneasiness."Yes.""Why did you not bring him with you?"St. Quintin did not answer. The Frenchman looked at him askance and then looked away again.There was a short but uncomfortable silence, and then Monsieur Leblanc said hurriedly—"And what are you going to do, you and your friend?"The fear which peeped out through these words inspired St. Quintin with the notion of "bluffing" a little. He had not the least idea what they intended to do, beyond the fact that they would have supper together somewhere and discuss the unsuccessful expedition to Briar Lodge. But he decided to answer diplomatically, and so he said—"That, Monsieur Leblanc, if you will pardon my saying so, is our affair."His host looked troubled. He also looked crafty. Then he turned to his visitor with a burst of confidence."After all, why should I suspect that you will behave otherwise than as honourable men? It is true you do strange things, you Englishmen. You pry, and you insist, and you will not be satisfied with plain answers. But I know you are both good at heart, and that you, Mr. St. Quintin, are actuated only by true love for my niece. Well, then, here is the truth. She is beset, as you know, by other admirers. There is one here to-day, one Captain Darnall, a fellow-countryman of yours, deeply in love also, and jealous. I was afraid if you were to meet, there might be an unpleasant feeling between you, though of course I know better than to think you would behave other than as gentlemen. You can see for yourself it would be awkward for you to meet, would it not?"St. Quintin's worst fears were roused by this speech."Indeed, Monsieur Leblanc, I think it would be the most satisfactory thing for us both to meet and understand exactly how we are being treated by you," he said drily."Do you mean to insinuate, sir, that I am treating either of you except as I should?""When I have seen Captain Darnall I can tell you better."Monsieur Leblanc shrugged his shoulders and waved his hands deprecatingly. But for a few moments he said nothing. He was evidently considering what was the best course to pursue with this obstinate and presumptuous young Anglo-Saxon. St. Quintin, however, was impatient, and in no mood to be specially gentle. He remembered the condition in which Ince had returned from his call at the Lodge, and although he did not know exactly the circumstances which had thrown his friend into such an unusual state of agitation, he was quite sure that the solution of the mystery would prove to be unfavourable to Monsieur Leblanc. He therefore abruptly decided to take fresh counsel with his friend as to making the acquaintance of Captain Darnall, and turned to the door."Perhaps, Monsieur, you are right," he said. "I can make Captain Darnall's acquaintance on a future occasion, if you feel disinclined to receive me now."And he was opening the door and leaving the room, with no other farewell than an inclination of the head, when his host, probably foreseeing that nothing could be worse, from his point of view, than to permit the young man to go away offended to consult with his legal friend, changed front with great rapidity, and coming towards him with outstretched hands and a spasm of Gallic vivacity, cried—''No, no, I am wrong. Why should I mind your meeting each other? After all, you know my niece has other suitors, do you not? and that you must not count too much on my favourable opinion of your pretensions, until we have seen Mr. Williams also and learnt his views?"St. Quintin was about to suggest that the lady's views were the most important factor in the case, but he wisely decided to be satisfied with having gained his point, and said nothing. Monsieur Leblanc went on—"You say your friend, Mr. Ince, is outside? In which direction? I will send a servant out to ask him to join us. We cannot let him wait outside for you. We could not be so inhospitable!"To this St. Quintin agreed, wondering very much how these two would meet each other, and whether he should be able to find out by their demeanour what had occurred on Ince's first appearance.The next moment Monsieur Leblanc rang the bell and told Saunders, who answered the summons, to go outside to look for Mr. Ince, and to ask him to come in. He thus avoided the danger of allowing the two young men to consult together before being introduced into the society of the ladies. Then Monsieur Leblanc led St. Quintin across the hall into the drawing-room, where Marie was sitting with her aunt and Miss Stanley and Captain Darnall.This new acquaintance proved to be a tall, thin, pallid young man, slightly bald, and with a long, thin, dark moustache. He had rather offhand manners and wore a single eyeglass. These were the salient features that St. Quintin remarked as their host introduced them to each other.Miss Densley flushed deeply when St. Quintin came in, and held out her hand with a faint and timid smile, which was reassuring on the one hand as to her interest in him, but alarming on the other, as it lacked the impulsive ease with which she had treated him on his previous visit.On the whole, the reassurance he felt was stronger than the alarm. The one thing he wanted to be doubly sure of was that she cared for him. If that were so, since he believed implicitly in her purity and faith, he could look upon all the unpleasant circumstances which surrounded her as so many obstacles to be overcome on the way to their happiness together.The other ladies, however, joined so rapidly and so effusively in the conversation, which they instantly made general, that there was no opportunity for these two young people to do more than shake hands. Then St. Quintin was given a seat as far as possible from Miss Densley, and instantly found himself wedged in between the two elderly ladies, while Captain Darnall was left with Marie, and Monsieur Leblanc hovered about, the only person standing, like an evil genius over the assembly.And a very few minutes later the door opened and the footman, who was still pale and nervous, as St. Quintin duly noted, announced—"Mr. Ince!"CHAPTER XIVIT was with the deepest interest and excitement that St. Quintin watched the meeting of his friend and Monsieur Leblanc, and he saw at once that they both greeted each other with a sort of bravado, not as if they had recently met, indeed, but as if they had just learnt something undesirable each about the other. That was strongly the impression obtained by St. Quintin as he watched their galvanic smiles, and saw their hands touch and immediately separate from each other.The ladies helped greatly to prevent the gathering from being awkward and uncomfortable. Madame Leblanc chatted and laughed, and Miss Stanley, waking up from her usual lethargy, backed her up with an energy which said more for her zeal than for her powers of interesting conversation. Marie's share in the entertainment was a more passive one. Seated beside Captain Darnall, she had to listen to him when he talked, as he did in a low, confidential voice, bending his head to look into her face in such a manner that St. Quintin longed to kick him.Captain Darnall did not condescend to pretend that he took an interest in any person present except Miss Densley, and all the weak and timid efforts she made to join in the general conversation were checked by his determined stand, and by the air of authority with which he monopolised her attention.Not once did she get an opportunity of speaking to St. Quintin, who, by the bye, was monopolised almost as carefully by Madame Leblanc as James Ince was by Miss Stanley.The party, thus split up into three uncomfortable and dreary tête-à-têtes, with Monsieur Leblanc to preside over them and to see that they did not break up into fresh and unwelcome combinations, was tiresome and dull. Tea was served without any change in the character of the gathering, and then Captain Darnall on the one hand and St. Quintin and Ince on the other, sat down steadily to the pastime of trying to tire the other out.Absolutely unmindful of the hints given by Miss Densley's indifference to his remarks and by her stolen glances at the clock, Captain Darnall continued to lean forward to speak low in her ear, and refused to be daunted by her monosyllabic replies, or by her glances across the room at St. Quintin.At last James Ince, who began to dread the result of this steady fanning of the jealousy in St. Quintin's breast, looked at his friend as a signal to make the first move. St. Quintin, bored to death by Madame Leblanc's rattling flow of gossip, was answering at random with scant ceremony. Ince, on his side, had exhausted the governess's stock of commonplaces and his own, and was run dry conversationally.Monsieur Leblanc noticed the glance, and came to the rescue."Before you go, Mr. Ince, I should like you to see a little invention of mine that I am trying to perfect, something which will, I think, bring me into some prominence with the scientific world."James Ince, looking strangely agitated, rose quickly at the words. He was exceedingly anxious to cut short the unpleasant visit they were making, as he feared that St. Quintin's patience would not hold out much longer."We shall be delighted, Monsieur," said he, frowning at St. Quintin, who still seemed reluctant to make a move. "Come, Quintin you will be late for your appointment," he added sharply.The young man rose in his turn, but still kept his eyes turned in the direction of Marie, who, suddenly breaking away from her gaoler, ran across the room and held out her hand to him."Don't look so wretched," she said. "I can't help myself. I hate this man, but I have to be civil to him, as he's one of the friends of my uncle and aunt. You needn't mind my talking to him indeed."St. Quintin's face cleared a little.''Well, let him know you don't mean to have anything to do with him," he said quickly, in a low voice. "Tell him you're engaged to me."She shook her head."I daren't say that," she whispered. "You know I'm not free to decide altogether for myself.""Aren't you engaged to me?" said St. Quintin, dictatorially.But before she could answer, Monsieur Leblanc, in the neatest manner, thrust himself between the two with an air of easy gaiety and, smiling, sending Marie back to her aunt with a wave of the hand, put his hand through St. Quintin's arm, and, beckoning to Ince, who was shaking hands with Madame Leblanc, led the way out of the room.A silence fell upon all three when they were in the hall, and the host, leading the way to the door which shut off his own suite of rooms, took a key from his pocket and unlocked it.Both St. Quintin and Ince, each remembering the uncanny impression they had received from that part of the house, were absolutely silent as they followed their host into the corridor, which was lighted only by a small window over the garden door at the other end.Monsieur Leblanc, still bland, smiling and gracious, relocked the door behind him."This is my sacred domain," said he, "where I allow no one to come, even with a broom and duster, except my wife. Servants are too careless to be trusted among my precious books, or my still more precious retorts and crucibles. Do you do anything in the way of chemistry? It is my passion," he went on, without waiting for an answer, as he led the way towards the door on the right—that which overlooked the garden at the back of the house.James Ince could not have answered him if he had wished to do so. It seemed to him, with certain suspicions strong in his mind, that the air of this corridor was sickly and fetid; and not even the open window above the door seemed to have any good effect upon the atmosphere. Monsieur Leblanc unlocked the door of the back room, talking all the while."This," said he, "is my laboratory, into which I bring none but my intimate friends. Do not expect much order or tidiness. Those are not the virtues of the scientist: I mean in the housewifely sense of order. In the strict sense, we love order as no other man loves it."By this time the door was open, and he led the way into a large and lofty room, well lighted by one window, broad and high, the bottom of which was filled in with an old-fashioned brown wire office-blind.The first impression of the room was one of confusion and disorder. But as the eye became accustomed to it, one found that the chaos was apparent rather than real, and that chests and boxes, tables of bottles and phials, crucibles, retorts and other paraphernalia of a chemist, stood arranged, not in real confusion, but in places where they were easily reached by the master's hand.Great chests of drawers were there; skins of animals lay on boxes, giving out a musty smell; while the skeleton of an animal, perhaps a sheep or goat, stood in a corner in a dusty glass-fronted case.Monsieur Leblanc took St. Quintin by the arm and led him to a slab of marble which, supported on trestles, formed a long, narrow table not far from the window. From the slab he took up a fused mass of metal in a little crucible, and asked him, with a smile, if he knew what that was.St. Quintin confessed his ignorance."It is the nearest thing yet discovered, I honestly believe, to gold, and it is composed without the admixture of any particle of natural gold. If I am on the right road to making gold out of baser——"He was interrupted by an exclamation from James Ince, who, left behind by the other two, had had his eyes fixed intently upon a long, worm-eaten wooden chest, upon which lay a couple of goat-skins, and which occupied an obscure corner away from the window.While the other two were occupied with the contents of the crucible, James Ince crossed the room to this corner, and, pulling off the two goatskins, threw back the lid of the chest with a loud crash against the wall.The noise was so loud and so unexpected that both St. Quintin and Monsieur Leblanc started and uttered exclamations.Turning quickly, they saw Ince leaning back against a table, his chest heaving, his eyes staring down into the chest.With a shudder, St. Quintin, suddenly awakening to the significance of this action, sprang across the floor to his friend's side and looked into the chest too. It smelt musty, horrible.But there was nothing in it. The rough sides of the chest were dark and worn, worm-eaten and malodorous. That was all there was to be noted.Monsieur Leblanc came back across the room very much surprised."What is it? You look alarmed? Is it a mouse?""No, Monsieur, it doesn't appear to be anything," said St. Quintin, answering for Ince, who seemed unable to speak.Monsieur Leblanc laughed."You are more impressionable even than the wife, Mr. Ince," said he. "She objects to my skeletons of animals. But that is all."James Ince, instead of replying, merely bent his head in assent and staggered out of the room. St. Quintin, who also felt a strange oppression in the atmosphere of the room, although the large window was wide open at the top, soon followed.Monsieur Leblanc expressed his regret that he had not had more to show them, and appeared slightly offended at the lack of interest they had taken in his alleged great discovery."You must come again and see me at work. That will please you more," he said, as he led them out of the corridor into the hall, and immediately relocked the door behind him. "Let us make an appointment. You took me by surprise to-day. I will have something to awake your interest, I assure you."They thanked him and took their leave rather hurriedly, for James Ince seemed still to be in a half-dazed condition, and incapable of much conversation, while St. Quintin was curious about this new show of agitation in a man not easily moved.It was not until they had gone down the garden and were well in the road, with their faces turned in the direction of the railway station, that James Ince completely recovered his powers of speech.In answer to his friend's eager questioning he stammered out at last—"You saw me open that chest and look inside?""Yes, yes, of course.""I'd seen it before, an hour ago. When I came here alone, I got the footman to hoist me on his shoulders, and I looked into the room through the wire blind.""Well?""I saw that chest, just where it was when we saw it. The lid was shut, but there was a gap where some of the wood near the top had broken or crumbled away.""Yes, I noticed that.""Through the gap I saw something—something that was there this morning and not there just now when we went in. It was—or I thought it was—the fingers of a dead man's hand."CHAPTER XVFOR a few seconds after James Ince had told his ghastly story, both he and St. Quintin maintained a dead silence. Then the younger man spoke—"You're not sure of this?""Well, imagination does play tricks with one, but I could have sworn it—almost.""Then you think——""I only wonder. Remember what you heard yourself. It's not more than a week ago. The man has disappeared—Burdock I mean. And you heard cries of 'Help' and 'Murder.' Putting two and two together, and recollecting that horrible, polluted atmosphere that was distinct and all-pervading, even with the windows wide open, one asks oneself whether this Leblanc is not merely what we know him to be—an artful schemer bent on getting all that he can out of everybody—but one of the vilest criminals of the century."St. Quintin shuddered."One wouldn't like to think that!""Of course not. I myself shrink from the thought, try to tell myself that I only imagined and did not see. And it's true that the very chest which I saw this moment empty was the one in which I saw or thought I saw, human fingers—pale fingers, deathly fingers."St. Quintin stared at him."The question is: did Leblanc see you looking in at the window?""He may have done. That's what one says that he must have done. But I was not conscious of it."They walked on a little way in silence. Then James Ince stopped short."Look here," he said, "we have something to do. We must wait for this Darnall and compare notes with him.""Wait for him!" echoed St. Quintin, in a threatening tone. "I don't want to speak to the fellow! A bounder like that! I——""Come, you mustn't take that tone until you know something about the circumstances. Probably he's been fleeced, like you and the rest.""How have I been fleeced?""Well, not extensively as yet, but, depend opon it, old Leblanc is only waiting for an opportunity of putting the screw on.""I don't think you ought to take so much for granted," protested St. Quintin, uneasily. "You see, we may be doing him an injustice all the time. As for what I fancied I heard and you fancied you saw, we both have to own we couldn't swear to it. And as for this Darnall paying her attention, and the rest of them, well, Leblanc has never made any secret of the fact that there are lots of men after her, has he? And he's almost as open about his intention of handing her over to the man who shows himself the most likely to be a generous husband.""Or nephew," suggested Ince.But St. Quintin was determined to look on the bright side of things, and to shut his eyes, if he could, to the possibility that he might be called on to look upon Miss Densley's relations as rogues and swindlers."We shall only get snubbed by this fellow if we attempt to waylay him," he said."You leave it to me, and I think we can avoid that. But mind, you mustn't be impatient until you have found out on what terms he stands, or supposes himself to stand, with the people. To my mind, the most probable thing is that he has been encouraged and led on, just as you have been——""Not by Miss Densley," said St. Quintin, fiercely. "Surely you could see with half an eye that he was boring her to death. It isn't her fault if her miserable old uncle keeps a dozen men on the hooks, dangling about her and each hoping that the prize will fall into his mouth at last."Ince hesitated."No doubt she likes a good-looking fellow like you better than others like Marbeau and this Darnall, for instance. But if I were you I shouldn't take anything on trust.""I'll take her on trust. But as for her uncle and aunt, real or not, why, you may find out what you like about them, and all the difference it will make to me is to increase my anxiety to take her away from them."They had stopped and turned back, and were strolling in a leisurely way within sight of the garden-gates of Briar Lodge. They waited and watched a long time, and began to fear that Captain Darnall might have been invited to stay to dinner, when a smart motor-car drove up to the gates, and the chauffeur, who was the sole occupant, turned into the drive and drew up to the door of the house.The two young men took this for conclusive evidence that it was Captain Darnall's car, and that it was waiting for its owner. Their task of stopping him became more difficult, but James Ince was determined and would not despair. Taking their stand "like a couple of detectives," as St. Quintin said uneasily, within a few yards of the gate, but out of sight of the house, they waited, not for long.In about ten minutes the car came slowly out, with the captain himself at the steering-wheel.James Ince stepped forward the moment the car had turned into the straight, and raising his hat, said—"Captain Darnall, may we speak to you a moment?"The captain stared at him through the goggles he was wearing, and evidently recognising him without enthusiasm, said in an off hand tone—"Oh, certainly, what do you want?"James Ince came nearer and spoke lower, so that his words only reached the ear of the man to whom they were addressed—"We want to know whether you are one of the men whom Monsieur Leblanc is marrying to his niece."Captain Darnall leaped out of his car and confronted Ince with a stare of amazement, perplexity and indignation.Ince stood his ground and gave him look for look."Eh! What the devil are you talking about?" he said, after a moment's silent contemplation of his interlocutor."My friend has been provisionally accepted by the Leblancs and by Miss Densley as her future husband, and it occurred to us to wonder whether you had not been accepted on the same terms," said Ince, quietly.St. Quintin, who had heard the last few words, now came forward.Captain Darnall changed colour a little."Impossible," said he, shortly.James Ince, who dreaded any sort of encounter between these two, interposed his person between his friend and the indignant Captain Darnall, just as St. Quintin was about to make an injudicious remark."You can see," he said, "that we have done the best thing we could for you as well as ourselves, in telling you at once what his position is, so that you can compare notes with us. These people seem to have eccentric ways of treating the suitors for their niece, and we thought it fairer to you to let you know our experience, hoping that you will in return tell us yours."Now, although Captain Darnall did not look very intelligent, and was inclined to put on lofty airs of superiority, the tone and manner of James Ince were so quiet and impressive that he decided to hear all that there was to be said. He, there-ore, after a short pause, asked—"What is the name of your friend?"Of course he knew very well, having been introduced to St. Quintin by the Leblancs. However, James Ince, keeping a steadying hand upon his friend's arm, gave him again the information he professed to have forgotten, and St. Quintin, who looked very angry, bowed stiffly in return or the acknowledging bend of the captain's head."Well, Mr. St. Quintin," drawled he, at last, when he had taken a careful survey of the man who was now presented to him in the character of a rival, "and what have you to say?"The young man found it difficult to control his anger at the quiet insolence of this question. However, under Ince's warning eye, he answered—" I have only to say that I am engaged to marry Miss Densley; that she accepted me on Monday.""The devil she did!""And that, although Monsieur Leblanc, who calls himself her uncle, professed to have to wait for confirmation of our engagement until I could be seen and approved by his co-guardian, Mr. Williams, Leblanc said that I was the man he should choose for his niece.""The devil he did."Captain Darnall's face had lost its look of amazed insolence, and now wore a look of perplexity which was not unmixed with incredulity.He and James Ince regarded each other steadily, and the captain spoke with more civility than before."You think the old fellow is playing a double game then? What can be his object, though?""Well, he's already succeeded in getting a man named Marbeau to give a handsome diamond bracelet, not to the lady herself, but to him to give—or not—to her. And my friend St. Quintin has given her a present handsomer still."St. Quintin moved restlessly. He hated to hear the girl herself dragged into the discussion."It was not her fault. She didn't talk about presents. It was Leblanc who suggested it," said he."Have you, may I ask, given her presents too?"The captain hesitated. But he was evidently so far convinced of the credibility of the two men that he presently said, with a show of irritability—"I've lent the old chap five thousand pounds to pay off a mortgage on the property of Densley Wold." James Ince and St. Quintin both started. He hurried on, with an air of great cunning, "But I can tell you I took jolly good care to see first the property in question.""You saw it!" echoed both the young men, who had begun by this time to doubt the existence of the estate in Lincolnshire.Captain Darnall nodded shrewdly."Rather! I went down there and had a good look round, and then I insisted on seeing this Williams, the trustee. Oh, I don't let myself be had on toast, I can tell you, as you fellows seem to have done!""But Williams is abroad!" objected St. Quintin."He was. But I had him sent for before I'd advance a cent," replied Captain Darnall, with a proud chuckle. "I saw him, I questioned him, turned him inside out, in fact, after I'd seen the property, and before I'd hand over the money.""Did you employ a solicitor?" asked Ince."Not such a fool," replied the captain. "He might have worked in with the other side. Those fellows often do. No, I can trust my own wits better than anyone else's, and I made sure of my security and made sure of the lady without any assistance. If you've allowed old Leblanc to let you in, why I'm sorry for you, you know, but you have only yourself to thank for it. You should have done as I did, and not let yourself be caught without something definite as a quid pro quo.""I never proposed to bargain for a wife when I wanted one," said St. Quintin, coldly. "Instead of trying to find out whether Miss Densley's property was real or not, I've been thinking how best to act so as to free her from the degrading necessity of being hawked about by these people, and offered, without her consent or even knowledge, to the highest bidder."This speech, which he delivered with all the fire and passion which had been smouldering within him from the first moment of their meeting Captain Darnall, struck both his hearers with astonishment and a sort of consternation. The captain could not help seeing that he had a real live rival in the quiet-mannered young man with the almost boyish face and figure. While James Ince, though he admired his friend's spirit, regretted the friction which must result from his fiery speech between two men whom he would have liked to see acting together for their common good and the exposure of the Frenchman, whom he believed to be no better than an arch-swindler, if not a dangerous and treacherous criminal of a worse sort.There was a short, embarrassed pause, and then Captain Darnall said, with some show of impatience—"If you have reason to think you've been had, why don't you withdraw and have done with them? I don't say Leblanc is anything but an artful customer; so, if you don't feel yourself to be artful enough to deal with him, I should advise you not to turn up at Briar Lodge again."With that he turned sharply, went back to his car, got in and drove off at a furious pace, leaving the two young men to go to the station with very uneasy feelings in their minds.It was not till they had reached St. Quintin's rooms that the all-absorbing topic of Briar Lodge and its mysteries was broached again. Then James Ince, when they had both been smoking silently for some time, said in a persuasive tone—"I say, old chap, do you think it's worth it?""Worth what?" asked St. Quintin, fiercely, though he understood the other very well."Well, do you think, if I must say it boldly, that any girl in the world is worth the awful risks you're running in dealing with a man like Leblanc, whom you must know to be a consummate rogue?"St. Quintin did not fly into a passion as his friend expected. He did something more hopelessly convincing still. Rising to his feet, and leaning over the table towards his friend, he said in a low, steady voice—"I think Marie Densley is worth any sacrifice, any risk; and I'm not going to stick at anything in my determination to get her out of this nest of harpies and into perfect safety—as my wife."James Ince said nothing to this; indeed there was nothing to be said.CHAPTER XVITHE worst of it was that St. Quintin, with all the goodwill in the world, was utterly ignorant how to set about fulfilling his heart's desire. Knowing, as he did, that Miss Densley was entirely under the influence of the Leblancs, who might or might not be her relations, but whom she certainly looked upon not only in that character, but as her best friends, he felt sure that, if he were to write her such a letter as his heart dictated, she would feel bound in duty to submit it to them before replying.And if he were to express in his letter his mistrust of her guardians, it seemed more than probable that she would resent the accusation, and perhaps refuse to see him again.While he was torturing himself with doubts and questionings, however, and feeling sure that the Leblancs wished to throw him over altogether in favour of Captain Darnall, who had shown a much higher degree of "generosity" than he, St. Quintin was surprised and overjoyed to receive a letter from Madame Leblanc, inviting him to dinner on the Saturday evening.For one moment he debated whether he should consult Ince before accepting the invitation. But common sense told him that his friend would strongly urge him to take no notice of the invitation, would talk about putting himself again into the lion's clutches, and say other things unpleasant to hear.So St. Quintin said nothing about it, and went down to Briar Lodge on the day named, after accepting the invitation with alacrity. He had provided himself with a huge box of chocolates from Fuller's and with a bouquet of flowers that looked just like artificial ones from Gérard's, so that Monsieur Leblanc might not reproach him with coming empty-handed to the shrine.To his great delight, he once more had a chance of a t#x00EA;te-à-t#x00EA;te with Marie, whom he found alone in the drawing-room. She was very pale, and seemed timid and miserable; and though she let him kiss her, he felt that she did it under protest, and wondered what orders she had received from headquarters as to her treatment of him.He soon found out."Mr. St. Quintin," she said, "I've been very unhappy on your account since you were here last.""Well, and I," retorted he, "have been very unhappy on yours. When I saw you monopolised by that fellow Darnall, I couldn't understand it. I wondered whether you were nothing but a flirt after all.""I hate him," said she, sharply."Then it's not true you're going to marry him? That's what he says?""Of course it's not true! How could you think I should marry him when—when——""Well, I know you accepted me. But your uncle quibbled and wobbled so much, and Captain Darnall was so certain that he was the man whom your people had chosen for you, that I began to think, well, all sorts of things that I hope aren't true."Miss Densley, who looked years older than she had looked before, as if, indeed, she had been very much worried and distressed since he had seen her last, looked up earnestly into his face."I can't help what he thinks," she said, "and you ought not to believe anyone's word against mine if you really love me as much as you say you do. But I know who it is that has prejudiced you. I know you would never believe hard things of anyone of your own accord. It's that Mr. Ince! He hates my uncle and aunt, and if he doesn't exactly hate me, I am quite sure he'd be delighted if you were to give me up."The suggestion was so shrewd that St. Quintin, embarrassed, did not know what to answer. Marie laughed a little, ever so gently."Ah-ha!" she cried, "you can't deny that, can you? And now listen to me. When you were gone the other day, and Captain Darnall too, I spoke to my uncle—told him I couldn't treat you again as I had done that day, letting you think I cared more for that horrid man than I did for you. He had made me promise to be civil to the captain, and that meant that I had to listen to his silly talk, and endure being looked at in a way I didn't like, while all the time you were fuming—I could see you were—and thinking I was doing what I did to please myself. My uncle was quite surprised at me for speaking out like that because I'd always been so submissive. You see I'm bound to be obedient to them both, because of what they've done for me.""And what did he say?""He said he quite agreed with me that it was hard, but that he was placed in a very difficult position by Mr. Williams's long absence, and that he should try to get him to come back to England earlier than he intended, to settle matters once for all.St. Quintin listened eagerly, and wished he could believe in the rectitude of Monsieur Leblanc's intentions. He wanted to sound the girl as to the extent of her faith in her uncle and aunt, but every word she uttered proved so conclusively, to his mind, that she trusted them thoroughly, that he scarcely had the heart to frame such a question as he would have liked to put."And—do you think he means—really means to let me have you?" said he, dropping his voice to a whisper, and putting his arm round her as he spoke."Oh, what makes you think he doesn't?"He heard at once, by the tone of her voice, that she herself had had no doubts on the subject. And she refused to allow such a suggestion to pass."Of course, of course he does. Why should he tell you what he did? It would have been so easy to say something to put you off."Plainly the girl had no suspicion whatever of the deep game St. Quintin believed her uncle and aunt to be playing. Her own trust began to infect him."I daresay I'm prejudiced because they're French, and French people always think so much more of money than they do of love in a marriage. I ask myself whether they're not waiting to see which of us is the richest, before binding themselves definitely to choose a husband for you."Her face clouded."They've always been so kind," she said, "that I think they would listen to what I had to say in the matter. Indeed, my uncle has done so, for he told my aunt to write asking you to come to-night, as soon as I asked him to, and he let me see you all by myself—as I wanted to. For I thought," she said, blushing a rosy red at the ingenuousness of her own words, "that you would like to hear from my own lips just how things were with us.""I'm undyingly grateful to you for the happy thought," said St. Quintin, "and if you'll only promise to stick to me, and not to hear of anyone else having you, and if you'll say the same to this Williams when he comes, why, we can snap our fingers at uncles and aunts, Marbeaus and Darnalls, and live happy ever after."He had got another kiss from her, and he could read in every look, in every word, the assurance that he was the man she loved. And although there was still a little cloud hanging over them, something indefinable which neither cared to try to analyse, yet, on the whole, they were happy, trusting each other at least, if they felt doubts and fears about others which they dared not openly discuss.St. Quintin was rather anxious to note what sort of reception he should have to endure at the hands of her uncle and aunt. But he was reassured when he met nothing but smiling faces, and found himself treated with even more affectionate consideration than ever before. Indeed, but for what he had learnt from Captain Darnall, and in other quarters, he might have felt secure in the belief that he was indeed the favoured suitor, as certainly with the elders as with Miss Densley herself.After dinner, instead of leaving the dining-room all together, as was usually the custom at Briar Lodge, they broke up in the English fashion, Monsieur Leblanc pleasantly suggesting to Madame that they should follow the custom of Mr. St. Quintin's country, in order that they might have a little talk together.St. Quintin hailed the opportunity with delight.But it was with still greater satisfaction that he received the first announcement made by his host when the ladies had left the room."Mr. St. Quintin," he said, "I have done something yesterday which ought, if all you have told me is true—as I believe it to be—to cause you the greatest joy.""Indeed, Monsieur, then I can guess the sort of news you have for me," said the young man at once.His host smiled a little, but rather ruefully."It has been done at a heavy cost," he went on in a grave and even sad tone. "But there was no help for it. I wished to leave the matter of my niece's marriage open until the arrival in London of her other guardian, as you know. But Marie took such a decided stand in your favour that I have been forced to write to Captain Darnall, and to tell him he must retire from the contest—in your favour.""Indeed, that is good news!" cried St. Quintin, in delighted excitement. "Then there is no longer any obstacle to our marrying?"Monsieur shook his head dubiously."Well, there is one difficulty," he said. "The fact is, Captain Darnall lent me five thousand pounds to pay off a mortgage on my niece's property, and he at once wrote back to demand the repayment of the loan."The Frenchman's manner was so bland and so convincing that St. Quintin, even while he felt that he was doing a foolish thing, at once offered to find the money."Pass the loan on to me, Monsieur," said he, "and the thing is done. I will instruct my solicitor to meet yours, and the matter can be arranged without delay."Monsieur smiled approvingly."Unhappily," said he, "I cannot do that. I should have to disclose to your solicitor the fact that I had borrowed the money from Captain Darnall, and he would at once warn you not to have anything to do with the matter. He would say, 'You will embroil yourself with Darnall; be wise; leave the matter alone; let him marry Miss Densley.' Now would he not?""Well, yes, I daresay he would. But I shouldn't listen to him. All I want is to marry your niece as quickly as I can, and I don't care what the conditions are."The Frenchman smiled benignly."Ah! There is the real, high-spirited English lover, in whose disinterestedness we more prudent Frenchmen find it so hard to believe!" said he."Well, my dear Mr. St. Quintin, if you really care to do such a thing, and choose to advance the money on your own responsibility, without consulting your more prudent friends, you shall do so.""And you'll agree to let me marry Marie at once, without any more delay?""I will take upon myself that responsibility. In the circumstances I could not refuse.""You must give me a day or two to realise," said St. Quintin. "I haven't so much money lying at my bankers at the moment.""Oh, certainly, certainly. There is no hurry. And see, Mr. St. Quintin, we have to do everything in order. You shall not advance one penny till you have seen the estate.""Oh, I don't want——""I insist. On Tuesday I take the ladies, my wife and my niece and her governess, to Densley Wold for change of air. You shall accompany us there. And it is there that my solicitor shall come to us, and, after you have seen the property, and learnt the particulars, if you have brought the money with you and choose to carry this through, you shall have your own way. It is a bargain?""Indeed it is," said St. Quintin, trying to look entirely happy, as he rose with his host from the table, for he was not such a fool as to ignore the dangers of the course he had bound himself to pursue. Not only was he going to advance five thousand pounds without taking advice on his side, but he was alive to the fact that it was odd to hear of this apparently rich family being pressed for what he would have thought they looked upon as a small sum.He saw, too, that to trust himself so far away from his usual haunts, with a sum of five thousand pounds in cash or securities about him, in the society of so dubious a person as Monsieur Leblanc, was a hazardous proceeding.But he was young and spirited; it was an adventure, and if there was a risk to be taken, there was also a great prize to be gained.Whether Monsieur Leblanc succeeded in wheedling him out of his money or not, he would not give it up unless he was allowed to marry Marie without further delay. When once he had rescued her out of the clutches of these people he could set to work to find out all the truth about them; and if it should prove, as he suspected, that the money was a myth and that these people were no better than swindlers, he would have no scruple in bringing them to book, since he doubted the story of their relationship to the beautiful girl whom they had professed to befriend.Conscious that James Ince, if he should hear of all this, would never rest until he had circumvented him and made his adventure in one way or another impossible, St. Quintin carefully kept out of his way for the next day or two, during which time he was rash enough to provide himself with the sum of money Monsieur Leblanc demanded as the price of his niece's hand.Provided with a cheque-book, and with a small travelling trunk and hand-bag, St. Quintin presented himself on the appointed day at Liverpool Street Station, at the hour named by Monsieur Leblanc for their departure.Full of delighted anticipation of his approaching meeting with Marie, and of the knowledge that he should be able at once boldly to treat her as his fiancée, he was at the meeting-place long before he saw any sign of the Frenchman and the ladies.The first sign he saw of their presence was a pile of luggage on the platform, all of it marked with "A.L." in large white letters. These he recognised as the initials of Monsieur Leblanc, and he was not surprised when, a moment later, the Frenchman himself came towards him, with outstretched hand and a face beaming with smiles of welcome."Ah!" he said, "I am late, I fear! But no matter. It will not take us two minutes to arrange ourselves. I have engaged a reserved compartment for us so that we can travel comfortably."He turned away, saw his luggage labelled, and then, thrusting his arm through that of St. Quintin, hurried him along the platform to a compartment labelled "engaged," into which he pushed him, following at once."But where are the ladies?" asked St. Quintin in surprise. "I thought they were going too!""The ladies! Ah! they are at Densley Wold already, waiting for us!" said Monsieur Leblanc, as he took from the porter, and settled on the seat, a long parcel which looked like a gun-case.Then, with an odd spasm of the heart, St. Quintin recognised the fact that he and Monsieur Leblanc were to travel two hundred miles alone together.CHAPTER XVIIMONSIEUR LEBLANC sat back in his corner, placed his newspaper on his knees, and smiled benignly at his young companion."And now," he said, "I will tell you something which will, I think, afford you much pleasure. There is someone else whom meet at Densley Wold, besides the ladies.""Indeed I don't think anybody else will have much interest in my eyes if the ladies are there," said St. Quintin.Monsieur Leblanc raised his eyebrows."Oh, come now, isn't there just one person more whom you would very much like to see, one person upon whose goodwill your happiness, according to your own account, depends?"The young man looked at him inquiringly."The Mr. Williams, of whom so much is heard, but so little seen?" he asked quietly.His tone was very cold, for his suspicions were already aroused by the non-appearance of the ladies, and he was by no means in a communicative mood. Monsieur Leblanc nodded benevolently."Yes," said he, "that is the very man. I must tell you frankly that I have been much troubled in my mind of late to decide what was best for my niece, in the face of so many rivals for her hand. So when she declared herself so strongly in favour of you, I wrote urgently to Williams, begging him to come back. And he was good enough to listen to my representations, and to cut short his holiday, so that we shall find him at Densley Wold when we get there.""Ah!" said St. Quintin, curiously. He remembered Captain Darnall's account of Mr. Williams's journey to England to see him, and he felt some interest in finding out what sort of person the all-powerful Williams might prove to be. "And how is it that he goes by himself, and not with you?""He is killing two birds with one stone, and proposes to make an inspection of the property before our arrival," said Monsieur Leblanc. ''You see, the mansion itself has been too long empty and neglected for us to stay there, so that we have to make our own independent arrangements as to where we go—all of us. The ladies, who left Briar Lodge last night, will engage a furnished cottage where we have stayed before, for us all. But Williams, I suppose, will stay at the inn. We know there is sure to be accommodation there.""Yes. And how is it you have altered your plans, so that the ladies don't travel with us?""I sent them off early because Marie was getting restless and excited, and I was afraid some of her other admirers might turn up and worry her at the last moment. I couldn't go myself with them, because I had made an appointment in town late last night, so I stayed at an hotel."It was rather a lame explanation, St. Quintin thought; and he made little or no attempt to hide his view. Monsieur Leblanc, however, was so cheerful, so amiable, and so determined to maintain an even and courteous demeanour, that, in spite of himself, the younger man had to unbend a little and submit to be entertained by the stories and accounts of his adventures which his companion related to beguile the time.Although he felt his doubts and suspicions of his companion grow insensibly less as the journey proceeded, yet St. Quintin took care to be on his guard. He knew that his cheque-book was safe in his pocket, and that, as Monsieur Leblanc scarcely knew his handwriting, there was comparatively little to fear from any wish he might have to obtain possession of it. An expert forger may indeed do a great deal with a cheque-book and a thorough knowledge of his victim's signature. But such a knowledge Monsieur Leblanc was far from possessing, and St. Quintin wondered vaguely what evil purpose the schemer could have had in his mind in making him take this tête-à-tête journey, since he could scarcely suppose a man would carry five thousand pounds about with him in hard cash.However, nothing happened during the journey to warrant his fears, for the train, which, after a run of five hours and a half, was timed to reach Doncaster at 3.28, arrived at the station in due course without any suspicious or uncanny incident having occurred to justify the young man's fears.There was a long and tedious country drive still before them, so Monsieur Leblanc said. And he engaged a small omnibus to take them the half-dozen miles which lay between them and Densley Wold.St. Quintin was rather surprised at the necessity of engaging such a heavy vehicle in preference to a fly; but when he noted the number and weight of the articles of luggage brought by Monsieur Leblanc, he ceased to be surprised. In the first place there were two smart new trunks, with the letters "A.L." in bright white letters upon them. Then there was an old hat-box, with the same initials. And lastly, there were no less than four smaller packages, two being square, wooden boxes without any initial, and the other two portmanteaus—not large, but, to judge from the effort necessary to lift them, extremely heavy.These things, together with St. Quintin's luggage, which was light, were all packed inside the omnibus, and St. Quintin and Monsieur Leblanc got up on the seat beside the driver.The drive was not tedious after all. The country was indeed not overwhelmingly pretty, being rather flat and not greatly diversified by tree and stream. But the weather was glorious, warm and bright, and St. Quintin, full of liveliest anticipation of the meeting with Marie, was in high spirits and ready for enjoyment.It was, however, he felt sure, considerably more than the half-dozen miles promised from the station they had left to the outskirts of the wild-looking moor they were approaching, when Monsieur Leblanc, pointing to a distant fringe of trees that grew on the other side of a high wall, cried to his companion—"That is the park of Densley Hall, and this is the wold. Desolate-looking place, isn't it?""It's nowt now to what it be in t' winter, sir," said the driver, with a grin. "Ever since t' auld place was shut oop, nigh on twenty year ago, it's been main bleak-looking hereabouts. One time 'twas all aloive wi' t' hunting and t' gaiety. But now it's a dreary place, inside and out."And with that he drew up at the gates of the park, by order of Monsieur Leblanc, who jumped down just as a child, who was playing round the side-gate, ran into the tumble-down lodge that stood just inside, crying, "Mother, mother! Here's the 'bus come!"St. Quintin looked about him with a sense of desolation. Everything, from the tumble-down lodge and the ragged child, to the rusty gates with the grass growing high round them and the walls out of repair, with the glimpse of a grass-grown drive inside, spoke of long neglect and decay. The leaves that had already begun to fall from the changing trees lay in heaps on grass and gravel, untouched, unheeded. A glimpse of the house itself could be obtained from the box-seat, and he could distinguish enough of the outline to know that it was a big, red-brick house stained with damp and greatly overhung with neglected creepers.A woman came curtseying out of the lodge, and said, "Good-day, sir," to Monsieur Leblanc, whom it was plain she knew."How do you do, Mrs. Bradshaw? Can you let us go over the house?" said he, as he patted the head of the ragged child."Oh, yes, sir, for sure I can," said she. "Do you want to bring the 'bus in, sir? It'll take a good time to open the gates if you do!""No, never mind that. We'll leave it outside while my friend and I go over the house together. Has Miss Densley been this way yet? She was to have arrived here with her aunt this morning.""No, sir, I haven't seen the ladies," said Mrs. Bradshaw, as she went back into her lodge, and bringing the huge bunch of keys from a nail in the wall, asked if she should accompany the gentlemen to the house."You'll find some of the locks rather stiff, I'm thinking, sir, not being used to 'em," she suggested.But Monsieur Leblanc shook his head."There are two of us," he said, smiling. "We'll manage the most obstinate lock between us, and we don't want to take you away from your household duties and your children." And, giving a penny to the small boy, who had evidently recognised a generous friend in him and who had been anxiously expecting this dole, he signed to St. Quintin to accompany him up the drive.It was a rather depressing expedition to St. Quintin, who thought, as he waded along sometimes almost knee-deep in rank grass and nettles, that he had never seen a more melancholy-looking sight than that of the grand old house in its ruin and decay.The glass was missing from half a dozen of the windows, and through some of them the creepers and the branches of the nearest trees had forced their way, showing, by the growth they had made inside, how long the place had been left in this sad state."Plenty of work for a husband to do here, in clearing his wife's property and making it habitable again!" said Monsieur Leblanc, as he advanced towards the few broad stone steps that stood before the Georgian doorway of the old mansion.The steps were green with damp, broken and worn away. St. Quintin hung back. Monsieur Leblanc smiled."Won't you come inside?" said he. "It's even worse inside than outside, I admit, for there are old panellings and staircases left to decay that ought to have been well taken care of. But still, it's worth while to see, to imagine what it will look like when it is done up and kept up as it ought to be.""It would never be kept up by me," said St. Quintin, with decision. "I don't like the look of the place. It's damp for one thing, I'm certain. No, thank you, I won't go over it.""Not over Marie's house?""I don't mind going over it with her, presently, if she wants me to; but not yet. Let us find the ladies before we make any more inspection of anything," said he.Monsieur Leblanc looked disappointed."Well, just as you like," he said. "We'll go round the house, then, and out by the little wooden gate in the wall that leads to the village. On our way we pass two or three small houses, in one of which we stayed a few months ago. Perhaps the ladies have settled there."St. Quintin followed with alacrity, glad to get away from the gaunt-eyed mansion with its green stains, its haggard growth of wild creeper, like an old man's neglected beard, and glad also to be again on the road towards the place where Marie was staying.They passed round the house into what had once been a flower-garden. It was now a tangle, in which barberry bushes, yew hedges swollen out of shape, straggling holly and ragged laburnum trees stretched out gaunt, unkempt branches over such a wilderness of weed and flower as he had never before fought his way through.They emerged at last at the back of the house, upon a terrace which bore even plainer marks of ruin than the rest. Evidently human hands had done their part in the wreck. Stone balusters had been torn out of their places, and pieces hacked out of the old garden-seats that stood on the lawn below.Lawn! Was it a lawn? It looked like a down-trodden hay-field, with patches of sodden earth which had been small pools in the rainy season. And beyond that was a big pond, at the foot of a gentle slope, a pond so covered with green weed that it was only by the smoothness of its surface compared to the rough green growth around that it could be distinguished as a pond at all.Close by, the trees grew high, bare almost to the tops, where their branches interlaced, casting a deep shadow over the green surface, and striking the imagination strangely.As they walked towards the water and smelt the rank, foul odours of the stagnant pool, St. Quintin was seized with nausea, and withdrew among the trees, exclaiming that the air was poisonous, that it was so shut in that the fresh wind could scarcely reach the hollow where the water had collected."It ought to be drained," said Monsieur Leblanc, examining the sides curiously. "It certainly isn't healthy to have so large a pond near the house."St. Quintin, from where he stood among the trees, cast another scrutinising glance at the green, slimy surface.The sides were slimy and black, on one side very steep, and the impression given was that the water was deep. He broke a long stick out of a rotten rustic fence which, at a distance of a few yards, separated, or had at one time separated, the flower-garden from the utilitarian part.Advancing cautiously over the slimy bank, he stooped and tried to sound the depths to discover how deep the water was. He could scarcely reach the bottom."It must be quite five feet deep on this side," said he, "deep enough to drown a man. It's a nasty place."Monsieur Leblanc assented."Well, you and Marie will settle what you do with that, as with everything else here," he said. "Now let us push on and see if they are at the cottage where we stayed last year."St. Quintin was glad to get away from the place, which seemed to him to be melancholy and desolate beyond his wildest imaginings. In the mellow autumn sunlight it looked gloomy enough, and he pictured to himself what it must be on a raw and cold winter's day.Monsieur Leblanc led the way over more rank grass and through more weeds, treading down huge dock-leaves and tearing his way through thistles, until they came to the door in the wall of which he had spoken. Finding the right key on his bunch without difficulty, he let himself and the young man out into a dusty country road, within sight of a few straggling cottages, a small village shop and the inevitable inn, which was a large, rambling place, still bearing traces of the time when the wide green before it was a favourite meet of foxhounds.Beyond the inn they went together, St.Quintin happy in the thought that in a few minutes he would be with Marie, and exchanging notes with her as to their impressions of the lonely mansion which he decided that they would never live in.The village, though not specially picturesque, looked quite homely and refreshing after the depressing scene they had left. Monsieur Leblanc pointed to a neat stone cottage, standing back in a little garden full of late flowers."That is Miss Grey's," said he. "That is where we stayed last year, and where I expect to find them now."He ran up the little slope by the side of the road, and spoke to a neat-looking woman between thirty and forty who was standing in the doorway. She answered and he came back with a rueful face, showing a telegram which the woman had given him."Miss Grey has had a wire from my wife," said he. "I'm afraid you'll be dreadfully disappointed."Something vague and indefinable seemed to seize St. Quintin in a grip of despair and dread as he heard these words. He did not know at all of what he was afraid, but he felt sure, though there was no distress upon Monsieur Leblanc's face, that something had gone wrong, very wrong, something more important than it seemed on the surface to be.It was with an air of frank mistrust that he held out his hand, took the paper, and read—"Missed the train. Coming on to-night. Tell Monsieur Leblanc to
meet us at Doncaster at 11.5."SOPHIE LEBLANC.""I thought," said St. Quintin, very coldly, "that they were to have come here last night!""So it was arranged. But you know what women are! They seem to have made a great hash of it all!" said Monsieur Leblanc, with an air of great irritation at his wife's stupidity."Then why didn't they start this morning, instead of leaving the journey till so late?" persisted St. Quintin, not only with curiosity, but with suspicion."Ah! that I cannot tell you," said Monsieur, shrugging his shoulders and turning out his hands in a large gesture unusual with him. "It is very strange!""Very," said St. Quintin, laconically, as he turned quickly away.CHAPTER XVIIITHE young man was beside himself with rage and with amazement at his own stupidity. That he had been brought on a wild-goose chase he felt sure; that he would not see the ladies during his stay he felt equally certain. All the wise counsels of his friend Ince came back to his mind, and he told himself that he was a born fool to have come away with Monsieur Leblanc when once that astute and clever person had shown his hand by confessing that neither Marie nor her aunt was going to accompany them on their journey to Densley Wold. Even then he had been hopeful, believing that he might find the ladies waiting for them at the end of their journey.But now that this hope had proved deceptive, he had no longer any hesitation in deciding that he had been tricked, and that the only thing left for him to do was to return to town with all speed and take counsel with his friend once more.He had mechanically turned to the left on leaving the cottage gate, away, that is to say, from the little door in the park wall by which he and Monsieur Leblanc had come out.Walking at a rapid pace, and not knowing where he was going, he passed the village inn, and presently came to a turning on his left which he remembered, and recognised that he had reached the cross-road which he had passed on his way from Doncaster station.Walking a few paces down the road on his left, he came in sight of the little omnibus which had brought them, standing still where they had left it in front of the park lodge.He thought he would go back to Doncaster by it, and so abruptly, without any leave-taking, separate himself from the wily Frenchman, and set to work to devise some new way of getting Marie out of the clutches of her questionable relations.But as he drew near to the omnibus, he was struck once more by the size and the number of Monsieur Leblanc's trunks and parcels, and asked himself again whether he had not been too hasty in assuming that the ladies were not coming. For the two or three days' stay which was all that had been proposed, surely no single person could need such an enormous amount of luggage!And St. Quintin stopped short, argued the matter a little while with himself, and then, becoming more and more curious as to what the Frenchman's real designs and intentions were, decided to play him trick for trick, and to see the business through after all.Although they were in the wilds, they were not altogether cut off from human kind in the little village, and as he was well on the alert against surprises, he could take care of himself.So he took his bag and portmanteau down from the omnibus, and turning back towards the village, met Monsieur Leblanc with a smile as that worthy gentleman came rather hesitatingly towards him from the cottage garden.St. Quintin noticed that there was another man, a burly, portly, red-faced, genial-looking man, tall and of typical John Bull aspect, standing in the little porch of the cottage.St. Quintin spoke first."Well, Monsieur Leblanc, I'm awfully disappointed, and I thought of going back straight to town, by Jove, I did! But I've got over my ill temper, and if you'll put up with me till the ladies come to-night—when I shall be all good humour again—I'll stay."The face of the Frenchman expressed great relief at this change of front. It was evident that he had experienced great uneasiness at St. Quintin's resentment."Ah, well," he said, "you have your reward, for there is a pleasant surprise in store for you. If the ladies are not yet here, there is someone else who is waiting to see you, someone whom I think you will welcome with eagerness."And he turned towards the cottage and waved his hand towards the stout man in the little porch."Who is it?" asked St. Quintin, trying not to speak too drily."It is Mr. Williams. Come and I will introduce you."Monsieur Leblanc dragged him towards the little slope that led to the cottage-garden, beckoning as he did so to the portly stranger, who advanced, with an open smile on his pleasant and genial face, and held out his hand in a frank and engaging manner."Mr. St. Quintin, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance," cried he, almost before the Frenchman could utter the name. "I've heard a great deal about you, and I'm sure we shall get on together, shan't we?"St. Quintin, in any other circumstances, would have agreed with him. There was something attractive, congenial and open about this red-faced, red-haired, portly person, in the loose velveteen coat, something almost Bohemian about his dress, about the length of his curly hair, the arrangement of his flowing tie, which contrasted strongly, and St. Quintin was inclined to think, favourably with Monsieur Leblanc's studious, cold neatness of appearance. The two men were as the poles: the one the urbane, bland, courteous man of easy manners and quiet speech, the other the burly, loud-voiced, laughing, bluff-mannered man who despised society and loved a pipe and his ease in the chimney-corner.St. Quintin shook hands readily. He was mollified against his will, and began to wonder whether things were going to turn out so badly after all.Mr. Williams drew him at once into conversation, asked about his prospects, his position, with straightforward frankness, and twitting him upon his disappointment over the delay in the arrival of the ladies, said frankly that he was rather glad of it himself."For," he added slyly, "if Marie Densley had been here, I should have had but very scanty opportunities of speaking to you, I fancy, and of finding out anything about you."St. Quintin laughed."Well, there isn't much about me to learn," he said, finding his suspicions gradually yielding to the man's geniality and charm. "I'm just an ordinary, every-day chap, with nothing particular to distinguish me from anybody else, except just this—that I know how to make up my mind. And my mind is made up about Miss Densley, and I want to marry her with as little delay as possible. I hope you will make no objection. It's been maddening to have to deal with the Leblancs, who were always encouraging first one man and then another about their niece. But I tell you she does really care for me, and not for the others, and I hope, when she has told you that with her own lips, that you will be satisfied, and let us get married without delay."Mr. Williams looked at him with a benevolent smile."I should have to go a long way before I found another young fellow whom I would as soon give her to as I would to you," he said at last. "And if there's nothing but my consent to be got, you won't have to wait long."This was direct and eminently satisfactory, and St. Quintin looked round him with an air of triumph.They were standing in the little garden, and he expected to find Monsieur Leblanc close by. But the Frenchman had disappeared, and as St. Quintin, with an exclamation of surprise, stared about in search of him, they saw the omnibus jogging slowly towards them with the luggage, and with Monsieur Leblanc seated beside the driver."Ah! Here he comes!" cried Mr. Williams, as he went down, at a great rate for a man of his cumbersome proportions, towards the vehicle, and at once began to help to bring in the luggage.Recalled to his former doubts, St. Quintin noticed again how heavy some of the luggage appeared to be, as the driver of the omnibus, assisted by Mr. Williams and the Frenchman, brought it in and, directed by Miss Grey, the owner of the cottage, piled it up in the little front sitting-room on the left hand.He went down to offer his assistance, and was given the portmanteau marked "A.L." to carry indoors, while the others were busy with the rest of the parcels.When the omnibus was gone Mr. Williams thrust his hand through the young man's arm, and told him he was dying for a drink.But Monsieur Leblanc hurried after them and told them he had had tea prepared, and that they must come into the cottage and have it. So they all went in together, and seated themselves round the small table in the little dining-room on the right, in the front of the house, not loth to see the pile of home-made cakes, the brown and white bread and fresh butter, and the homely brown earthenware teapot. For it was now past five o'clock, and the travellers had had but little to eat since breakfast.It was a pleasant change from the gloom of the deserted mansion, the decaying vegetation and the stagnant pond, to sit in the dying sunlight in the cheerful little room, with its old-fashioned wall-paper, stained engravings and with a little fire burning in the grate.They did justice to the fare provided, and then Mr. Williams produced from some corner a bottle of whisky, and inviting St. Quintin and the Frenchman to smoke, filled his own pipe, turned his chair to the fire, and sat back, the picture of honest enjoyment of the good things of life.St. Quintin had long ceased to identify him with the uncanny imaginings which centred round his fellow-guardian, and it was with a shiver that he was brought to a recollection of the suspicions which possessed him, when Monsieur Leblanc said in his sweetest manner—"Well, Williams, and what are we to say to Mr. St. Quintin's proposal for Marie Densley's hand?"Mr. Williams looked at the young man, and burst into a roar of laughter."To judge by what I've heard and seen of him," said he, "it doesn't matter much what we say, for if we refuse to let him marry her, he'll contrive to do it all the same! Eh, that's about the size of it, isn't it, St. Quintin?"The young man laughed."Well, I suppose I may as well own that I wouldn't give her up except by her own wish," he said sturdily."That being so, there's very little more to be said. I'm only thankful that it's a case where we have as little need to interfere as we have inclination.""But she has other suitors. Ought you not at least to see them?" suggested Monsieur Leblanc."Of course I'll see as many as you like," said Mr. Williams, promptly; "and equally, of course, I must make the acquaintance of the young lady herself before I give my formal consent. But I may as well tell you at once, St. Quintin, that it's only a matter of form, for I'm satisfied the girl has set her heart on you, and now I see you, I don't wonder. I know you're well off—not that that is of so very much consequence in her case—I know, for I've made inquiries, that you're a good fellow, and I know from Miss Densley's own messages that you're the man of her heart. When she arrives to-night, therefore, I'm prepared to say, like the fathers in the plays, 'Bless you, my children!'""Thanks a thousand times," said St. Quintin, gratefully, with a spasm of hope and joy which was, however, speedily changed to a different feeling when Monsieur Leblanc said softly—"Before we settle definitely, though, we must ask Mr. St. Quintin to fulfil his promise to get me out of the difficulty I am in with Captain Darnall. He is deluging me with applications for his five thousand pounds.""Deluging you, is he? Well, we can soon put a stop to the deluge. St. Quintin has come prepared to shell out, I suppose; haven't you?""Yes," said St. Quintin at once.And then something, he scarcely knew what—a glance, a movement of the eyelids, a scarcely perceptible gesture, on the part of the Frenchman—made him pause. He corrected himself."That is to say, I am willing to advance the five thousand pounds the day Marie Densley becomes my wife."There was ever so short a pause, but it was enough to let him see that he did right to be cautious."I'm afraid that won't do for our friend here," said Mr. Williams, with a nod of the head towards Leblanc. "You will have to get rid of him before that, won't you, Leblanc?""If I do not, he will frustrate the marriage," said the Frenchman, with decision. "He would stick at nothing.""You hear, St. Quintin. Now what do you say?"St. Quintin hesitated, looked down a moment, made up his mind."If," said he, quietly, "Miss Densley, when she comes here to-night, agrees before you all to marry me without delay, and you agree solemnly to it as well, then I will write you out a cheque for the money this very night. Not otherwise."There was another short pause, and then Mr. Williams rose with a hearty slap of his knee."Well said," he cried. "Then to-night we arrange matters, and in a fortnight you will be man and wife."But Monsieur Leblanc looked pale and harassed, and did not join much in the conversation which went on between the other two."Who is going to meet the ladies?" asked Mr. Williams, presently."I will," said St. Quintin, quietly. "I'll order a trap at the inn, and drive to Doncaster."When this was settled, the time dragged and conversation grew somewhat intermittent. Even the genial Mr. Williams became grave and almost taciturn, and St. Quintin grew more and more convinced that there was no intention of bringing Marie Densley to the north at all.But he kept his doubts to himself, smoked cigarette after cigarette in the company of the two men until it was nearly eight o'clock, when he took up his bag, and saying he would engage rooms at the inn and get a conveyance of some kind to take him to meet the eleven-five train, shouldered his own portmanteau, told the two men he would be back with the ladies by midnight, went out and towards the Red Lion.He did engage a dogcart, and he did drive into Doncaster.But St. Quintin had his curiosity to satisfy, and when he had left his bag and portmanteau at an hotel in Doncaster, he returned to Densley in another vehicle, having sent back the dogcart to put them off the scent.He knew that they would expect to see him back again, either very angry or very disappointed, at about midnight.But it was a few minutes after ten when he slipped out of the fly from Doncaster, about a quarter of a mile from Densley, and telling the driver to wait there, went quickly into the village, and ascertained that neither Williams nor Leblanc was at the cottage.For there was no light in the front, and Miss Grey, who was in her kitchen at the back, told him the gentlemen were busy removing some of the luggage to the inn."Mr. Williams's luggage," she explained. "He isn't going to sleep here. We've only room for Mr. and Mrs. Leblanc and the young lady.""Oh, all right," said St. Quintin. "Perhaps I can help them."And he went into the front room, where the luggage had been left, and found that the four parcels which had seemed so heavy, and which had had no initials on them, had disappeared.St. Quintin then left the cottage, and armed with a box of matches, went in the direction of the side-door into the park. He noticed that the grass growing outside had been a good deal trampled upon, and he hoisted himself over the wall into the park and went carefully and cautiously in the direction of the pond, with a well-developed suspicion in his mind.When he got to the edge of the water, he listened, and hearing no sound, felt pretty sure that he was alone. Then he struck a match and looked down at the pond.An exclamation burst from his lips. The green surface of weed which had covered the water had been broken up, and on the slimy edge were plainly to be discerned the marks of something heavy having been dragged along to the brink.Just as he was stooping to look more closely at the broken weed, a slight sound among the trees behind him attracted his attention and made him hold his breath.CHAPTER XIXST. QUINTIN stood still and listened. There was a slight but very distinct sound of cracking branches and the rustling of dried undergrowth, and he was sure that some living thing, whether man or beast he could not tell, was moving stealthily not far away from him.He was near enough to the brink of the slimy pool to be cautious in his movements, for the edge of the bank was slippery and smooth, and the water deep in some parts, as he knew.Then there was absolute stillness.He felt nervous and ill at ease. Something had disturbed the evil-smelling waters of the pond since he saw it that afternoon. Then it had a smooth surface of dark green weed, even as a tablecloth, treacherously still.But the lighting of a match had shown him the surface broken up and uneven, and little flecks and patches of dark foul water in between the torn masses of now ragged weed.What was it that had broken up the weed and made the edge of the pond more slippery than before?His imagination suggested an answer. Those heavy packages of Monsieur Leblanc's, that he had seen in the front room of the cottage, had disappeared. But all the rest of the luggage was still piled up there against the wall. Was it possible that there was something in the trunks and boxes that Monsieur Leblanc wished to get rid of? And had he chosen the deserted and foul pond as a convenient hiding-place for his mysterious unmarked luggage?St. Quintin, while he put these questions, scarcely dared admit, even to himself, what his suspicions were with regard to those packages. But he was quite certain that he would not leave the neighbourhood until he had probed the mystery of the broken weed and had made a minute investigation by the daylight of the pond and its contents.In the meantime, dark as it was, and gruesome as were his imaginings in the desolate hollow among the trees, with the unhealthy vapours rising to his nostrils from the stagnant water, and the constant fear of attack in his mind, he felt that it was impossible for him to leave the spot until he had made some sort of attempt to satisfy himself as to whether those mysterious trunks and boxes had really been thrown into the dark pool below him.So when he had waited some minutes, standing quite still and listening intently, without hearing any more sounds among the trees behind him, he groped his way to the fence of stakes which he had already robbed that afternoon, and finding a long, strong pole, disengaged it from the rest, and returning to the edge of the pond, began to probe through the slime and rank vegetation to the mud at the bottom of the water.And then, while the pole was diving into the depths, through a mass of tangled weed and root and fallen branch, making a little splashing noise and stirring up a nauseating vapour from the decaying mass, there came again to St. Quintin's ears the slight sound he had heard before; and, afraid of being taken by surprise and attacked suddenly by unseen assailants, he withdrew his pole quickly from the water with a louder splash than before, and retreating from the brink of the pond with the rough weapon in his hand, peered about him and awaited events.Then there was silence again.It was uncanny, disconcerting, for he was absolutely unable to tell whether the sounds he had heard were caused by a rabbit scared from its hole, or a bird, or a human being.In this ignorance he thought his best plan lay in making his way round the pond, so as to put the space of water between him and the unseen creature among the trees. Cautiously therefore, and still holding his pole in his right hand, he made his way round the edge of the pool until he was on the open space which had once been a smooth and well-kept lawn.Here he felt safer, since there was open ground all round him, and he decided not to try to find his way out of the park by getting over the wall where he got in, but to go round the house again as he had done with Leblanc that afternoon, and to make his way down the drive to the lodge, where it might be he would find a man who would help him in his investigations.So he turned and began his journey through the long grass, which was now wet and heavy with dew and mist. But he had not gone far when he distinctly heard a soft whistle, and this being a conclusively human sound, he thought it wiser to take cover at once, and left the open for the trees on his left, that being the side which was the farthest from the back door by which Leblanc had let himself and St. Quintin out of the park that afternoon.He had scarcely time to reach the shelter of the shrubs which grew below the trees on that side of the lawn, when, for the first time, some words reached his ears."We've missed him."They were whispered, and he could only tell that they were uttered by a man. But he guessed that the man was either Leblanc or Mr. Williams, so he slid down to the ground under a lilac bush, and lay quite still.Now he was quite sure that he heard the sound of two men's feet, and that they were hunting among the bushes and trees.He guessed who the hunters were, and—he guessed who was the game!There was another silence, but he took care not to betray himself by the slightest sound."Which way did he go?"This voice was a little louder, and he thought he recognised that of Leblanc. Both men were standing within a few yards of him, having come up stealthily from the neighbourhood of the pond."I don't know. He was close to the pond, I'll swear, poking about in it, I fancy. I heard
something splashing, as if a stick or a stone had been thrown or thrust in."Yes, this was certainly the voice of Williams. He was panting, having evidently suffered, on account of his size, in what was nothing less than a hot pursuit."Did he go back, that's the question, or towards the house?""Impossible to say."There was a pause. Then Leblanc said—"What on earth did he come back for, I wonder!""No good, I'll swear," said Williams. "Talk about generous, high-spirited, careless youth! There's no such thing nowadays! They're born as fly as you can make 'em!"Leblanc groaned."I didn't think it of him, I didn't indeed. He seemed such a dashing, devil-may-care fellow! Well, we must find him, if we hunt all night. You take the way by the right of the house, and I'll go back to the pond and keep watch. After all, it's better so than——"His voice dropped to a whisper too low for St. Quintin to catch, and then the two men separated, and St. Quintin heard their footsteps among the long grass and the dry twigs and dead leaves get fainter and fainter in the distance.He was puzzled. Strong as his suspicions of the two men were, he had nothing to go upon as yet. Even this chance overhearing of their conversation had told him little but that they were surprised to know that he was back at Densley when he was supposed to be at Doncaster, waiting for the arrival of the train with the ladies.They had uttered in his hearing no word suggesting that they had committed one crime and were contemplating another. No threats or insinuations had reached his ears. They had said nothing incompatible with natural surprise at his actions.Ashamed of himself, and deeply puzzled, St. Quintin crept out, damp and muddy, from his uncomfortable hiding-place, brushed his cap and scraped off as much of the mud from his knees as he could, and then, still moving very softly and slowly, crept along, under cover all the time of trees and bushes, back towards the pond.For that was where all his interest centred, and although he knew that Leblanc was haunting this neighbourhood, he knew that he could deal with one at a time, and that he had no need to fear the Frenchman by himself.When he got close to the brink on this side of the pool, at a spot where the trees grew so close to it that their long roots protruded into the water below the surface, he stopped and listened again.And he had the satisfaction of hearing Monsieur Leblanc humming softly to himself as he walked farther and farther away, in the direction of the door in the wall.Then St. Quintin emerged, crossed the open space to that side of the pond where the water had been disturbed, and once more plunging his pole into the water, moved it rapidly from side to side until he suddenly met with an obstruction, large and solid, which made him utter an exclamation below his breath.The next moment he felt a soft hand laid upon his arm."Hallo! Why, Mr. St. Quintin, is it you? What are you doing here?"The young man was so much surprised by this attack and the manner of it, gentle, quiet, and apparently without guile, that for the first moment he could offer no explanation, no excuse. He withdrew as quickly as he could from the brink of the pond, and said, with a forced laugh—"By Jove! I couldn't think who you were!"The Frenchman laughed back, quite sweetly, and as if nothing surprising had happened."Williams and I," he explained, "were immensely astonished when Miss Grey told us just now that you had come back from Doncaster. And to find you here, poking in the mud, at ten o'clock at night! Well, I thought for the moment you must have gone out of your mind!"St. Quintin, who was beginning to recover his self-possession, laughed again to fill up the time and to find an explanation for his own action. It was important that he should give these men as little cause as possible for suspecting how much he guessed. But it was not easy to see how he was to offer a reasonable tale.To his great relief another voice broke upon their ears, and Mr. Williams, looming large in the darkness, through which they could just distinguish his burly form against a background of night greys and blacks, clapped him on the shoulder as genially as ever.With all his courage, St. Quintin wished himself a little farther away from the pond when he found himself between the two men. He grasped his pole more tightly, and drew back as if in surprise at the appearance of the other.Not going to meet Miss Densley after all?" inquired Mr. Williams. "Why, this is a change, after all your ardour! Didn't you get to Doncaster at all then?""Oh yes, I went there. But I—I suddenly remembered that I'd left something behind," stammered St. Quintin.There was another slight pause. It seemed an odd thing to have done, to go into Doncaster with his luggage and to come back at once without it."Why didn't you wire? We would have sent it on to you? Was it a portmanteau or what?" asked Mr. Williams, as he on the one side, and Leblanc on the other kept the young man between them as they all made their way together under the trees towards the door in the park wall."Oh no, not luggage. I took that with me," said St. Quintin."And what did you do with it?" asked Monsieur Leblanc, with, as it seemed to St. Quintin, surprising interest."I left it at an hotel—the Angel and Royal," said St. Quintin, and then he was suddenly seized by a strong belief that he had done foolishly in telling them this."And are you going back to-night?" asked Mr. Williams. "You will have missed the ladies I'm afraid. They will be on their way here by this time."Monsieur Leblanc was looking grave."You say you took your luggage to Doncaster", said he. "I thought you were going to stay the night at the Red Lion here."St. Quintin did not answer. Although these men were very clever, very careful, although he had as yet heard and seen nothing to excite any fresh suspicions by their behaviour to him, he knew that they must be aware of his mistrust, and he felt that it did not so very much matter whether or no he kept up an appearance of friendship.His great wish at the moment was to get rid of them both, so that he might continue the investigations which they had interrupted just at the moment when he felt that he was getting "warm."But this was not so easy. He tried to walk fast, in order that he might get clear of them as soon as they reached the park wall, which he proposed to climb over, as he had done in entering.He knew that neither of these men could be athletic enough to climb up after him; so that he reckoned upon having time to reach the village inn while they were fumbling with the lock of the door in the dark."What were you doing by the pond?" asked Monsieur Leblanc in a subdued and gentle voice.St. Quintin hesitated."Oh! I was—I was looking for what I told you I had left behind, for something I thought I might have dropped into the water when we were there this afternoon," he said. "My match-box, a little gold match-box."This was quite too lame a story, and he perceived, even in the darkness under the trees, that a sort of magnetic thrill of alarmed incredulity passed from one to the other of the two men."A match-box? You were hoping to find a match-box in the pond, with a stick—in the dark!" said Monsieur Leblanc, drily.St. Quintin was near enough to the wall to believe himself safe; so throwing off all disguise, he answered boldly—"Well, Monsieur, I struck against a box of some sort. It may have been a match-box. At any rate, I mean to have another look for it—in the morning."Although he could not see much of their faces, St. Quintin was immediately alive to the effect his words had produced in both his hearers. Running forward and making a spring, he got on the wall and climbed to the top by the help of the clinging ivy.But when he jumped down on the other side, he found that Mr. Williams had, with surprising celerity, got through the door, which had been left unlocked by his companion, and was waiting to catch him as he touched the ground."Come, we must help you to find your lost match-box before you go," said Mr. Williams, seizing his arm with a grip which made it impossible to escape.At the same time Monsieur Leblanc came round to the other side of him, and, holding him by the other arm, said in his most urbane tones—It's all right. I believe I saw your match-box on the mantelpiece at the cottage. We will go together and see if I'm not right."And so, being without a word ready in excuse, St. Quintin found himself led away, practically a prisoner, between the two gentlemen of whom he had so great a distrust, towards the cottage, which he thought he had already reason to associate with one ghastly and hideous crime.CHAPTER XXST. QUINTIN realised at once that his best chance lay in being conciliatory and in effacing, as far as he could, the impression which he could not but feel sure his imprudence had already made.They both knew that he suspected them; they both knew that he had not been probing the depths of the pond out of idle curiosity. So strong was his sense of the danger he was in, quiet though they were, and unsuspicious as were their looks and tones, that he threw a stealthy glance round him, hoping that he might catch sight of some passer-by to mitigate the feeling of helplessness in the hands of these two men which he experienced as he felt the strong grip each had on his arm.But there was nobody in sight. And in a very few minutes they had all reached the cottage and gone into the little sitting-room, where the fire was still burning.Just before entering the cottage, St. Quintin made a sudden movement with the intention of trying to get away. But he was amazed and perturbed to find that the hand on either side tightened on his arm, and that instead of being allowed to enter the cottage at his own pace, he was rather thrust than led inside, and into the little sitting-room, which he now recognised as at least a temporary prison.On the alert and watchful, and conscious that he was almost wholly in the power of these two men, in one of whom he suspected a consummate scoundrel, St. Quintin was, on the other hand, so much interested and excited by the adventure in which he found himself engaged, that he was not wholly unwilling to submit to the treatment in question.He pretended to have no notion that there was anything sinister about the display of force they had made, but sat down by the table as soon as they had released him, put his hands in his pockets, and said that he had never felt so tired in his life."You'll stay here to-night, won't you? It's too late to hope to get to Doncaster. And you can continue your hunt for your match-box, as you suggested, in the morning," said Monsieur Leblanc, speaking in a tone in which St. Quintin noted a change from his usual suavity, a sort of tigerishness which seemed to promise ill for the peaceful ending of the interview.Now St. Quintin had been careful to keep near the door, ignoring the invitation to sit by the fire, which both gentlemen had courteously given him. He knew that Miss Grey, the land-lady, was within hearing, for he had seen her hovering about in the passage outside, and felt satisfied that she was no party to the doings of these two.A cry for help would reach her ears without difficulty, and as long as he kept both the other men well in sight, and his own back against the wall, St. Quintin felt comparatively safe.For even as he threw himself back, he had managed to let the chair slide, so that he could not be attacked from behind.He still kept up, as much as possible, an appearance of unsuspecting candour. It would be time enough to take off the gloves by and by, when Leblanc had shown his teeth a little more, a moment which St. Quintin felt would not be long in arriving."No, thanks. I won't stay here," he said, in answer to Leblanc's snarling invitation. "I've got a fly waiting for me at the cross-roads, and I'll get back to town as soon as I can, if the ladies don't turn up to-night."There was a pause. St. Quintin looked at his watch."I ought to be on the move now. It's ten o'clock," he said.Leblanc made an impatient movement."Well, there's no hurry, if you have a fly waiting for you," said Mr. Williams. "You must have a stirrup-cup before you go.""Thanks," said St. Quintin, rising. "I won't stay for that, or I shall be late. These country folk keep early hours, and——""Oh, but we insist."Mr. Williams came towards him and thrust him down into his seat with a heavy hand, while Monsieur Leblanc went out of the room."It's fearfully stuffy in here, don't you think so?" said St. Quintin, seizing the opportunity of Leblanc's leaving the room to put his foot in such a way that the door could not be closed. "Let us have the door open for a little while.""Just as you like," said Mr. Williams, whose manner never changed from its genial ease and warmth.He poured out some whisky into three glasses which he had brought from the side cupboard by the old-fashioned fireplace. St. Quintin watched him, rather relieved to find that by the departure of the Frenchman he had now only one man to deal with, instead of two. But he did not drink the whisky, having, certain strong suspicions as to the effect it was intended to produce upon him. Mr. Williams, who chatted genially to him with his arms across the table and his glass in his hand, and smoked his pipe with a contemplative air as he did so, noted the abstemiousness of his companion, and asked him drily if he thought it was a local product."You needn't be afraid," he added; "I brought it down from town myself. It's Johnny Walker. I don't poison myself with the stuff one gets in these out-of-the-way places.""I suppose not," said St. Quintin, still near the doorway, and quite aware by this time that it was a farce to keep up appearances with these men.Still he left the whisky untasted, and suddenly Mr. Williams's manner changed. Raising his head, he looked steadily at the young man in the light of the oil-lamp on the table, and asked in a voice like the growling of distant thunder—"Do you think there's anything wrong with it?""Of course not," said St. Quintin, laughing with an effort."Drink it then," said the other, drily.St. Quintin sprang to his feet.You must excuse me," he said.And dashing the door open, so that it rattled against the wall, he ran out into the passage and to the front door. This, however, was bolted, and he found himself stopped.A minute later Mr. Williams was by his side, laughing at his impatience in his old genial manner."What on earth is the matter with the fellow?" he said, with a comical look of apparent dismay. "Aren't you going to wait till Leblanc comes back to say good-bye to him?""Where is he gone to?" asked St. Quintin, sharply."To see if he can make arrangements for you to sleep at the inn, I suppose, since you won't stay here.""But I'm going back to Doncaster. I told him so. And I must lose no time. Make my excuses to Leblanc, and tell him I couldn't wait any longer.""If you are really determined to go, of course we mustn't try to detain you," said Mr. Williams, becoming serious when he found the young man was in earnest. "Let me open the door for you. It's bolted, I think. And I'll see you on your way as far as the place where you left the fly.""All right. Thanks," said St. Quintin, reassured when he found that he was to be allowed to go without further trouble, and only a little disturbed by the non-appearance of the other rogue.Leblanc was up to some mischief, of course. What was it?In the meantime Mr. Williams, still chatting easily about country life and its miseries, was putting on his hat, hunting for his stick, and asking to be helped into his overcoat. St. Quintin, who was uneasy all the time, and who grew more and more suspicious about the absence of the Frenchman, did as he was directed to do, but took great care not to be pinned to the wall, or put in any position where the other man could have used his brute strength to knock him down.But apparently Mr. Williams had no such intention, for he buttoned up his coat very slowly, taking what seemed to St. Quintin an interminable time over every button, then pulled out his cap into just the shape he wanted, took up his stick, but without offering the young man an opportunity of giving him the slip and going without him, and then, drawing back the bolt of the front door, announced that he was ready.St. Quintin heaved a sigh of relief when he got outside the door. Penned up in the cottage with two strong men, both of whom he believed to be consummate rogues, he had passed a very uneasy ten minutes. And when he had had only the one to deal with his troubles had, if anything, increased rather than diminished.Once in the open air he felt that he was safe.True, the night was dark, the little village road deserted, and not a light to be seen in any of the windows. Even the Red Lion had turned out the latest of its roisterers and was as dark and desolate-looking as the rest.But still there were human beings in those shut-up houses, and St. Quintin felt that a shout would reach the ears of somebody or other in case his companion should turn upon him before they reached the cross-roads where the fly was waiting.Once there, he knew that he was out of the clutches of both his dubious friends.In the meantime Mr. Williams talked and laughed and smoked his pipe and rolled easily along with his hands in the pockets of his big overcoat, a garment, St. Quintin felt, which looked reassuringly unlike the sort of thing a man would encumber himself with if he meant to commit a brutal assault upon another man.They strolled through the village, St. Quintin growing more relieved at every turn in the road that brought him nearer to the fly and deliverance.He still contrived to keep up an intermittent conversation with his companion, but his replies grew shorter as the village was left behind and they were together and alone on the open road.A qualm of doubt suddenly entered his mind concerning the fly he had left waiting for him. What if the man should have grown tired of waiting, and have gone a little farther away, or——The thought had scarcely formed itself in his mind, when they reached a bend of the road that brought them in sight of the spot where St. Quintin had left the vehicle which brought him from Doncaster.But it was not there.Quickening his pace, and ill at ease, St. Quintin began to wish that he had some weapon of defence about him. It was not that there was anything menacing or alarming about the demeanour of his portly companion. On the contrary, Mr. Williams was still conversing cheerily, and still smoking with his hands in his pockets. But under all his rough good-humour St. Quintin had begun to detect a nameless something, a sort of cold readiness for emergencies, which was perturbing under the circumstances.What if the two men should decide that he guessed too much? What if they should have made up their minds that he was better out of the way?St. Quintin, even while these thoughts passed through his mind, wondered at his own cowardice. For why should he suppose they were so eager to take upon themselves a crime by which they could gain so little?But there had been that in the manner and looks of both men, though it was only at odd moments that it made itself noticeable, which was a surer danger-signal than anything more definite, more tangible, would have been.St. Quintin said nothing about the disappearance of the fly, but walking a little faster, hoped that he might catch sight of it, as soon as he reached the cross-roads. It might be a
little farther away and out of sight round one of the angles. Perhaps the horse might be feeding by the roadside, or the driver might have drawn up at a spot a little wider than the place where he had been left. Anything, surely, was more probable than that he should have gone away!But the cross-roads were reached, and the vehicle was nowhere to be seen."I must go back and put up at the inn," said St. Quintin, trying not to show anxiety."My man has given me the slip, I see."Even as he spoke he felt sure that this disappearance was the result of an act of treachery, and when Mr. Williams thrust a strong hand through his arm, and led him in the direction of the park wall which was close by, saying: "Perhaps he's gone this way!" St. Quintin felt that a crisis was approaching.There was by this time enough moonlight for the young man to be able to see that there was a gap in the stone wall of the park leading out of a field on their left. Mr. Williams led him close to the low hedge which divided the field from the road. They had got quite close to the beginning of the wall when suddenly, without a moment's warning, St. Quintin found himself tripped up from behind and lying on his back at the side of the road."Help! Help!" cried he.The next instant a hand was placed upon his mouth, his jaws were forced apart, and a gag was thrust in and tied behind his head, with neat, strong, slim fingers which he knew by the touch to be those of Monsieur Leblanc.Mr. Williams lent his assistance in keeping the young man's hands down, treating him with so much roughness that he nearly broke one of his fingers."Now then, through the hedge, over the wall, and straight on," said Williams, as the Frenchman tied the young man's legs deftly together and then bound his arms.It was all done so quickly, so neatly, with so little fuss or noise, that in a few seconds St. Quintin, helpless as an infant, had been carried through a gap in the hedge, over the corner of the field, through the opening in the wall; and then at a run the two scoundrels made towards the deserted mansion.St. Quintin's blood ran cold. He felt now as if he had had an instinct that afternoon, when passing that desolate and deserted house, of the fate that awaited him there. Already he had made up his mind that in an appearance of absolute passivity was his best chance. He must take them unawares if he meant to escape from their clutches. But as he thought over the coolness and deliberation with which they had carried out their plans, he began to despair of ever seeing the sunlight again.He heard the rusty key turning with a shriek in the lock of the front door, and then he was carried in, motionless as a dead man, and through the musty and stagnant air of the great hall, where the footsteps of the two rascals echoed as they walked, into a lofty room, the walls of which were reeking with damp, and upon the floor of which green moss and grey lichen were growing in little tufts between the boards.There they let him fall with no more concern than if he had been a bundle of merchandise, and then Mr. Williams stood up, panting."What shall we do with him?" asked he, in as unconcerned and cool a tone as if they had been discussing the menu of a tea-party.Knock him on the head," growled Monsieur Leblanc, with so much savagery that St. Quintin's heart stood still.A horrible light, greenish and pale and cold moonlight seen through a film of ragged greenery, came through the window and showed the unhappy man the face of the Frenchman, looking lurid and horrible like a devil's.Then he saw with fascinated eyes, something dark and large, and heavy, raised deliberately in the slender fingers, and the next moment he saw millions of flashing lights, and felt that the earth had opened with a crash to let him fall through, through space into something, something which surely, surely must be—death!CHAPTER XXIWHEN St. Quintin had thought it better to keep out of his friend Ince's way, in order to avoid inconvenient questions, he had reckoned without his host.James Ince was by no means so innocent as not to guess that this avoidance on the part of his most intimate friend meant mischief of some sort, and he was sure that it was connected with the undesirable people at Briar Lodge.So he called at his friend's chambers on the very morning of the departure for Densley Wold, and heard from the valet that St. Quintin had gone away for a few days, and had left no address for letters to be sent on, so that all the information to be got was that he went by way of Liverpool Street Station.Now this was quite enough to put the astute Ince on the track of the runaway. That he had purposely refrained from leaving his address behind him in order to defeat his friend's unwonted vigilance, Ince felt sure. That he had gone on some errand of more than common danger he was equally certain.The next thing to be done was plainly to make investigations at Briar Lodge, where there was one person at least upon whom he could rely for trustworthy information, provided he had not been "got at" since his last interview with the young barrister.So to Briar Lodge James Ince went without delay, arriving there a little before luncheon-time. He was relieved to see that the house looked much as usual, so that he had not to fear that the family had already taken flight.The footman who answered the door proved luckily to be Saunders, the man he wanted, but the man looked more disconcerted than he had done before on seeing who the visitor was, and changed colour in a way that at once aroused James Ince's curiosity and suspicion.He asked, however, as if nothing had happened, for Monsieur Leblanc, and was told that that gentleman was away.Ince's suspicions were keener than ever.He made a clever guess at once, and said—"Yes. Went by way of Liverpool Street this morning, didn't he?"The man looked surprised, in spite of himself, but still more disturbed."Yes, sir. At least I believe so."For a moment there was silence, and James Ince kept his eyes fixed upon the man's face. He could see that some fresh development had taken place, and that the man was much more anxious than he had previously been to avoid having to answer the questions put to him. James Ince made another shrewd guess."Have you reported this journey to Gurney?" he asked suddenly.Then by the look on Saunders' face he saw that he had touched the right spot. For some reason Saunders was now sensitive to questions about his "pal," Gurney."No. sir; I haven't had to report that to him.""Why not?""I don't know, sir. He let me know it wasn't necessary for me to report anything more for the present.""Do you know where he is?""No, sir."This last answer might be the truth, but Ince doubted it. The man, with an implicit trust and belief in the mighty intellect of counsel, who could do so much with an unsympathetic jury, tried to avoid meeting his eye. James Ince did not believe him."Well," he said, "wherever he is doesn't matter. But where Leblanc is matters a great deal. You've got to find that out for me—if you don't know."The flush in the man's face betrayed the fact that he could have made a shrewd guess.There was a significant pause. Then James Ince said very quietly: "You do know."The man, who was no subtle rogue, but a foolish fellow, too easily led away into the wrong paths, shook like a leaf."No, sir, I don't know, s'elp me! I'll tell you everything, sir, honour bright, but where my master is now I know no more than you do—if as much.""Well, let me hear what you do know then.""I had to send off a wire for Madame just now. It was directed to a Miss Grey, Rose Cottage, Densley, Yorkshire. And it said: 'Missed the train. Tell Monsieur Leblanc to meet us to-night at Doncaster at eleven-five.'""Oh, and have the ladies started on their journey? Is it true they had missed the train?"Saunders, restless and uneasy, and looking as if each word was being dragged out of him against his will, shook his head."No, sir. They haven't missed any train, as I know. And I've understood by what I can hear that it's not to Doncaster the ladies are going to-night, but to France, sir. Leastways that's what the maid seems to think by what she's heard."James Ince perceived that he had not come too soon."Will you ask Madame Leblanc if she will see me?""She's not at home, sir, to anyone.""Is anyone here besides the ladies?""Yes, sir. Captain Darnall's come to luncheon.""Ah! Then you must go and tell Madame that I must see her for a few moments on important business."The man shrugged his shoulders recklessly."Well, I don't suppose they'll want any of us much longer here, so my place doesn't matter much," he muttered desperately. "If you'll wait in here, sir," and he opened the door of the dining room, where luncheon was laid for four people, "I'll tell Madame."James Ince was much excited and in a state of deep anxiety about his friend. That a crisis in the affairs of the Leblancs was rapidly approaching he felt sure, and that his friend St. Quintin, rash, hot-headed and deeply in love, was to be further victimised by these unscrupulous adventurers he had no doubt whatever. He was very thankful to have obtained such a valuable clue to the whereabouts of his friend, and all he had now to do before going in pursuit of him was to ascertain, if possible, whether Marie Densley herself was in any way mixed up with this new development, whether she was a party to the trick which the Leblancs appeared to be about to play upon the young man.He knew that St. Quintin had gone away by way of Liverpool Street, that Leblanc was in the neighbourhood of Doncaster, that Madame professed to be following him, but was supposed to be really going in another direction. The natural inference was that St. Quintin was in the company, the very dubious and dangerous company of Leblanc himself, and that he had been lured northwards by a promise of meeting there the girl he loved.Whether this girl was a schemer or a victim, James Ince had now to find out if he could.He had not long to wait in the dining-room, for Madame Leblanc came into the room a few moments later, with a galvanic smile on her face, held out her hand with an artificially warm welcome, and expressed her regret that she was unable to receive him in the drawing-room, as there was a business interview going on there in connection with her niece's approaching marriage.James Ince expressed becoming interest, though not as much as he felt."Indeed!" said he. "And may I ask who the happy man is?"Madame smiled and shook her head."I think I had better leave Monsieur Leblanc to tell you that," she said. "He and your friend, Mr. St. Quintin, have arranged matters satisfactorily, and no doubt you will hear everything from them.""Monsieur Leblanc is away, I believe?""Only for a day or two. You will hear all when he comes back.""May I ask whether my friend, St. Quintin, has gone away with him?"Madame shrugged her shoulders and began to show signs of impatience."Oh, you must go to your own friend for information about him; I know nothing," she said sharply. "I am afraid you must excuse me now, but if you have any more questions to ask, perhaps you will write to Monsieur Leblanc, and I will forward your letter as soon as I have his address.""You are going away too, Madame, I understand?"She looked angry and astonished."I? Oh, I had thought of going away for change of air, but I have not yet made up my mind. This address, at any rate, will always find me if I do go away for a week-end.""Thank you. And now may I see Miss Densley for a moment and congratulate her?"There shot out of Madame's cold eyes a particularly virulent glance."That is impossible," she said, tartly, "to-day at least. It is a new thing to me to find English gentlemen so persistently forcing themselves into the house of their acquaintances at inconvenient moments."James Ince did not take the trouble to excuse himself for his ill manners; he was too much alarmed and disgusted, indeed, to have any commonplaces suitable to the occasion ready to his lips. He bowed low, however, as Madame rang the bell and coldly directed the footman to show the gentleman out.Ince, in no way disconcerted, took as much time as possible in crossing the hall, so that Madame was well inside the drawing-room, with the door shut, before he reached the doorstep. Then he took a leaf out of his pocket-book, scribbled a few words upon it with a pencil, and folding it up, gave it to Saunders."Listen," he said. "There is something going on that I must know all about, and I depend on you to help me. You must give this note to Miss Densley without being seen—as quickly as possible. Do you understand?""Yes, sir, I'll do it. I may as well, for I'm in for it now. I could see that I was done for with Madame for letting you in."Ince looked at him shrewdly."Your place here," he said quietly, "is not worth more than twenty-four hours' purchase. Take that as a tip."And he nodded and went rapidly down the drive.Saunders, though he was not clever, had just sense enough to know that it was better worth his while to keep "in" with the rising young barrister than with his doubtful and erratic masters. So he contrived very neatly to thrust the pencil note into Miss Densley's hand as she passed out of the drawing-room on her way to luncheon.The girl was pale and miserable, much annoyed by the attentions of Captain Darnall, who devoted himself to her with open and unwelcome assiduity, and assumed the attitude of an engaged man, in spite of her studied coldness.She had been prevailed upon by her aunt that morning not only to receive him, but to treat him civilly, and when she protested that he already took too much upon himself and behaved as if she had promised to marry him, Madame Leblanc assured her that this was only her fancy, and that he was, like St. Quintin, waiting for the final acceptance or rejection of his offer.To Captain Darnall, on the other hand, Madame Leblanc said, in confidence on his arrival, that he was accepted as Marie's future husband, but that he must consider French prejudices, and not presume in any way to force himself too much upon the young lady, who was of an extremely modest and retiring disposition.The result of her manœuvres, though not wholly satisfactory to either party, was to keep up some sort of appearance of courteous reserve on the girl's part, and of reticence of a patronising and annoying sort, on the man's.Captain Darnall was not too well pleased at being kept at a distance by Marie Densley's coolness, and he shortened his visit in a huff when, after the receipt of the pencilled note, Miss Densley's forced courtesy grew more forced and less courteous, until she scarcely answered his questions at all.With a sudden change to an abrupt and offended manner, Captain Darnall rose from the chair in which he was sitting in a lounging attitude, after they had all returned to the drawing-room after luncheon. Crossing the room to Madame Leblanc, he said coldly—"I'm really afraid, Madame, that my presence is rather distasteful than otherwise to Miss Densley, and I need scarcely say that if it is so, I shall be most happy to withdraw my pretensions.""Oh, surely, Captain Darnall, you are mistaken," said Madame, rising with a smiling face, but not with the air of distress he had expected, and at once walking with him towards the door. "Marie may be a little distraite to-day. She had a headache this morning, I know. But come again, and you will find her everything you can desire, I'm sure."By this time Captain Darnall, much to his discomfiture, found himself outside the drawing-room and on the way to the front door. He was beside himself with mortification."In that case, Madame, I shall have something to say to Monsieur Leblanc," said he, angrily. "In view of my engagement to your niece I made certain advances——"Oh, you are not going to try to talk business to me, a woman, are you?" said Madame, still as smiling and as amiable as ever. "I know nothing whatever about Monsieur's arrangements with you. But if you will not come again and see us, you have only to wait till he comes back, which will be in a fortnight or perhaps sooner, and then you can talk this over, and he will satisfy you in any way you prefer, of course.""That remains to be seen, Madame," said Captain Darnall in a high voice. "I may tell you I have been warned that I was imprudent in making the advance I did——"I really must refer you to Monsieur Leblanc," said Madame, interrupting him with a large and imperious gesture of disgust at his discourtesy, as she opened the door for him to go out. "I am not accustomed to bandy words with gentlemen who forget themselves and try to talk me down. Write to Monsieur, and he will get his lawyer to write to you, if you are not pleased with what we can do, I and my niece.""Thank you for the hint," said Captain Darnall, loudly, as he bounced out of the house and went quickly down the drive. He was leaving the house an hour sooner than he had meant to do, so his car was not there.Not far from the gate he came face to face with James Ince, who was hanging about in the hope that Marie Densley would come out and see him for a few moments, as in his note he had begged her to do. The two men uttered an exclamation of surprise at the meeting. It came suddenly into Captain Darnall's mind that the quiet young man with the clever face might be able to help him to understand things."Hallo!" said they both at the same moment."What's going on in there?" asked Captain Darnall, abruptly."That's what I want to know," replied the other quickly.Then each looked the other steadily in the eyes."Do you think they're all right?" asked the captain."I know they're all wrong," was James Ince's very decided reply."Then, by Jove! they've had me for five thousand pounds," said Captain Darnall."And I've very little doubt," said Ince, "that they're now engaged in having my friend St. Quintin for another substantial sum. They're swindlers, out and outers, or I'm much mistaken. And if I were you, I shouldn't lose a moment in consulting your solicitor and getting him to take action."Captain Darnall looked startled, as well he might."But—but," he stammered, "there really is property. I've been over it. I've been to Densley Wold, I've been over the house.""Have you seen the deeds?" asked Ince, sharply."Well, n-no, I haven't. But still I can't think——""Take my advice, and get someone else to do your thinking for you," cut in James Ince, drily. "If only St. Quintin had let me do his for him, and not been in such a precious hurry to run his head into a noose of these people's making, I shouldn't be in the anxiety I feel on his account now.""St. Quintin! That fellow who was hanging about Miss Densley! But he hasn't the ghost of a chance with her. The uncle and aunt told me so. They've accepted me for their niece, and the other guardian, Williams, has done so too," said Captain Darnall, nettled at the tone James Ince was taking.Ince shrugged his shoulders."That is exactly what they've told my friend," said he. 
"However, I don't want you to take my word for it.""Do you mean to say the girl has deliberately engaged herself to two men at once?""I don't know about that. I'm more inclined to think that she's been used as a tool by these people, and that she has been engaged by them to half a dozen fools, all of whom have been contributing handsomely to keeping the place going. However, don't take my word for it; make your own investigations and judge for yourself.""By Jove, if I thought that, I'd have him taken up by the police!" said the captain, trembling with anger and dismay, as the amazing possibility that he might have been made a dupe of began to assume realistic proportions in his eyes."The sooner the better, Captain Darnall," said James Ince, as he turned away and left the Captain walking quickly and undecidedly up and down a few times, uncertain whether to go back to the house or not.He ended by making up his mind to go back to town and take advice, and the last Ince saw of him was his long, thin figure running towards the station at a rapid pace.Ince wondered whether Marie Densley would come out to meet him or not. Upon that hung, he felt, his decision concerning the part she had played in the ugly transactions at Briar Lodge. If she were to meet him, he would be justified in thinking that she had been at most a passive agent in the hands of the schemers. If, on the other hand, she did not come, he should feel fairly certain that she was herself an active party to the frauds of which she had been made the instrument, and that she therefore found it impossible to meet him and discuss the matter about which she would know he had come.It was with considerable anxiety that he waited and watched the door; for not only was he determined not to miss the last train to Doncaster that night, but he was really anxious that the girl should be able to prove herself innocent.It was only natural that a woman so young and beautiful should have made some impression upon him, and knowing how deeply his friend's affections were fixed upon Miss Densley, Ince felt keenly the position in which he would be placed, if he should have to demonstrate to St. Quintin that he had been tricked, not only by the artful Leblancs, but by the girl he loved.An exclamation of relief, therefore, broke from his lips as he presently saw Miss Densley herself, in a little navy serge frock with a vest of cream and gold, and a big mushroom hat of finest black straw with two long waving ostrich feathers, slip quickly out by the side gate of Briar Lodge and come hurriedly towards him.CHAPTER XXII"Miss DENSLEY."She glanced at the pencilled note he had sent. She was holding it in her hand."What did you write this to me for? she asked.He could see that she was in a state of great agitation and apparently suffering from some severe mental strain. Her eyes were restless and feverish, and her face had lost its delicate colouring and wore a leaden flush."Please come out and see me for a few moments if you want to hear anything about S. Q."JAMES INCE."This was the message he had written on the scrap of paper, and she read it over once more as she stood before him."What have you got to tell me?" she asked again.He hesitated. There was not much time to be lost, and he had not only a great deal to tell, but a very hazy notion as to the best way to tell it. How was he to put it to the girl that, instead of being her loving and conscientious guardians, as she believed, the people in whose care she was were no better than swindlers, if not worse? How would she receive this news, if it was news? And what would be her attitude towards himself, and towards St. Quintin, when he told her what he had gathered from Captain Darnall?However, he knew that he must dash into the matter somehow, and he did so abruptly enough."Miss Densley," said he, "are you quite, quite certain that the Leblancs are really your relations?"The girl uttered a little cry. But he could not gather whether she was utterly overwhelmed with amazement at the suggestion, or whether she had had her suspicions before."What makes you ask that?" she said under her breath."Well, the story they told you, when they professed to discover you, was a curious one, wasn't it?""It was strange, of course. Many real stories are strange," she said, in a frightened whisper."Well, relations or no relations, are you quite satisfied that they are acting honourably towards the men who admire you and who all wish to make you their wife?""Oh, what do you mean?" she gasped.But in the look in her great eyes he recognised the fact that here he touched on a tender spot, that she had had her suspicions already."I—I—I don't know. I—I don't think you make allowance—or I either, perhaps, for the difference in the French point of view," she said wistfully, apparently trying to persuade herself as she spoke, and anxious to persuade him at the same time."Don't you know that they've made at least two men, Captain Darnall and my friend St. Quintin, believe themselves to be engaged to you?"Here the look that flashed across her face showed him that something like this had occurred to her already."Oh, don't, don't," she said. "It's not right of you, is it, to believe the worst without any inquiry, and to try to poison my mind against the people who, whether they are my relations or not, have been so good to me?""Have they been so good to you? I thought they told you you had money. Isn't the money benefiting them?""Oh, I don't know—I'm sure I don't know. It's wicked of you to try to make me ungrateful."James Ince came nearer to her, and holding her eyes with his own, which were earnest and dark with passion, he said in a low, impressive voice—"I'm not making you ungrateful. Ask yourself whether I'm not right, and whether you haven't often before asked yourself the same thing: whether they were acting fairly to St. Quintin in keeping him on and putting him off, in encouraging him one day and holding him at arm's-length the next? And whether they were acting fairly by Captain Darnall in telling him you were to marry him and in taking five thousand pounds from him, when——"Five thousand pounds!" almost shrieked the girl, recoiling in horror."Yes, I've just seen him, met him coming out of the house, and he told me so. He thinks he's going to marry you, says he's been accepted by everybody. Now, is it true?"Marie was very pale by this time and was shaking like a leaf."No," she said hoarsely, "it is not true. I told my uncle and aunt I would never marry him. I can't bear him. There's only one man I care about, one man I love, one man I'll marry. And that is Massey St. Quintin, and I've told him so, and I've told them all."James Ince, touched and delighted by the manifest sincerity of the girl, whose eyes looked large and unnaturally bright as she spoke, clasping her hands tightly together and dragging out her words as if with difficulty, patted her lightly on the shoulder as if she had been a child."And what would you do to prove your love for him, eh?" he asked earnestly, holding her eyes in his own straightforward gaze.The girl shivered."What do you mean? What can I do?"I'll tell you. If you love him, if you mean to marry him, you will have to cut yourself adrift from these people you are with, and to know the truth about them—a truth which it will cause you great pain to hear.""What truth? Speak out. Tell me. What truth?"He paused just for one instant, and in that moment decided that there was nothing for it but to blurt out the whole hideous truth as far as he knew it, brutal as it would sound."The Leblancs are not your relations. They are swindlers, adventurers of the lowest, vilest type, who have been using you and your beauty as a tool to get men into their clutches in the hope of getting a rich wife. They've plundered half a dozen men at least, to my knowledge, and the probability is that they've robbed a great many more. They have no conscience, no heart, no remorse, and if I dared, I could tell you worse things about them still."The girl bore the blow stoically, standing quite still, and receiving each sentence as if it had been a thrust which needed indeed all her nerve, all her courage to bear, but which she met unflinchingly.There was a long pause, and he grew frightened on seeing how the colour of her face, which had been of a natural pallor, changed to a horrible leaden hue like the face of a corpse. He wished he had not been so brutally frank, even though in absolute, horrible, straightforward truth lay his only hope of getting believed.Then she whispered faintly—"I can't believe it; oh, I can't, I can't!"Yet, even as she uttered the words, he could see that the horrible story was gaining ground in her mind: that one circumstance after another was rising to her recollection, bearing out what he had told her. He could see the conflict within her, could see how she repelled the ugly sugges-tions, and then how gradually they forced their way into the very depths of her mind, telling her that they were all true, true, true.Then suddenly, to his great horror and distress, she burst into tears."Oh, how could you?" she sobbed. "Even if it's true, how could you tell me?"He waited, limp and remorseful, while she fought with herself, and conquered the little irrepressible outburst of despair. Then she looked up fiercely."But of course it's not true," she said. "I shall go indoors, and tell my aunt word for word what you have told me, and ask her what it means that people can say such wicked things, can have such evil minds. I shall go in at once and tell her."But in spite of her bravado, her voice trembled. James Ince, still looking at her steadily, said, in a very quiet, subdued tone—"You don't dare!"She changed colour again and her whole frame seemed to bend and bow under the stern words."Come," said he, gently, "I think you know I wouldn't have told you this if I could have helped it. But I had two objects. The one was to put you on your guard, so that you may save yourself from being used like this any longer. The other was that you might know that St. Quintin is in the power of these people; that Leblanc has lured him away on pretence of meeting you at Densley Wold, and that, if you are wise, if you care for him, if you wish to save him and yourself too, you had better run away from Briar Lodge at once, and let me take you up to Densley, where I must be to-night."She shrank back in alarm."Run away! Oh, no, I couldn't.""Do you mean to stay here then?"She seemed once more on the verge of tears."My—my aunt—Madame Leblanc," stammered she, "is going to take me to Paris—we are to start to-night. I am sorry, because I wanted to see Massey first. But she said I should be glad to get away from Captain Darnall, who comes here every day. And—and so——""You are going to Paris?" said James Ince, sharply. "But your aunt has telegraphed to Densley this morning to say that she was going to take you to Doncaster
 to-night, and that Leblanc was to meet you there. How do you account for the discrepancy?"The poor child could not account for it, and she bit her lip and gulped down a sob. Earnest, sincere, straightforward and blunt, James Ince did his best to convince her."Now look here," he said, "you know I've told you the truth, even though you won't acknowledge it yet. You know that St. Quintin is an honest, honourable lover; that he is passionately fond of you; that you can trust him. You know, or you ought to know, that you can't trust your alleged uncle and aunt. What I want you to understand is that St. Quintin is in danger from them, and that your best chance of safety, and of saving him, is to go away and to meet him now, before they can devise any new scheme for keeping you apart. I'm going to start for Doncaster from Liverpool Street by the five-fifteen train. I know I can just do it. If you like to trust yourself with me, I'll take you up there myself, and I'll make myself responsible for your safety anyhow. Have you pluck enough to do this?"She shook her head."No," she said hoarsely. "It would be saying, confessing that—that all you've said is true."Why, yes, so it would. And that can't be denied.""And it would be cutting myself adrift. I could never come back.""That's true also. It is a choice between these people—your uncle and aunt, on the one hand, and the man you love on the other."She drew back quickly."It's more than you have any right to ask. It's too daring, too much of a plunge. Oh, I can't, I can't! "James Ince bowed."Very well," he said. "I have no power to make you decide otherwise than as you please. Only remember my warning. If once you let them take you out of England, you will lose St. Quintin for ever. He loves you devotedly, but not even he, I think, would care to marry a girl who chose to stay with these people when once she had learnt the truth about them."But Marie would not listen. She interrupted him sharply."Thank you. I know you've only done what you thought right. But I'm not brave enough to do such a thing as you want me to do. Good-bye."Waving her hand slightly she turned and ran back into the garden like a hare.Sorrowfully, with many mixed emotions struggling in his breast, James Ince turned and went towards the station. He knew that he had done a bold thing in trying to cut her off from the people who had acted as her guardians, and he felt bitterly already the pangs which he would have to inflict upon poor St. Quintin when he should learn the truth that she had gone away.Of course the girl was too young, too inexperienced to understand to the full the risk she was running, since it was hardly likely that such practised swindlers as the Leblancs evidently were, would let her out of their toils when once they had proved what a tempting bait her beauty was.He hurried back to town, determined to catch the train that arrived at Doncaster at eleven-five, and wondering what fresh trap the artful Leblanc had been laying for the hapless St. Quintin.When he reached Liverpool Street he had only a minute to spare, and he ran along the platform and jumped into the first vacant compartment he came to.He had scarcely thrown himself back in a corner when another figure leapt into the carriage, and he recognised, with an exclamation, the white face and graceful figure of Miss Densley."I've done it! " she said hoarsely, as she sank trembling on the seat.CHAPTER XXIIIJAMES INCE uttered an exclamation which was rather one of dismay than of satisfaction when he recognised Miss Densley, and knew that, after all, she had decided to take the risks of the adventurous journey."Miss Densley!" he cried, with a sort of gasp, as she sat back, panting and pale, in her corner of the carriage, her eyes closed, her mouth twitching, bearing every mark of extreme nervous prostration.But at the name she sat up and opened her eyes."No, no, no she said fiercely; "not Miss Densley. That is not my name; it never was my name. I'm Dorcas Lane—poor, penniless Dorcas Lane. I've—I've taken your advice, I've challenged her, got the truth out of her, and I know that what you told me—all those dreadful, horrible things—are nothing but the truth."She covered her face with her hands, evidently struggling hard to keep her self-command, but suffering still under the effects of the blow.Poor James Ince was much disconcerted. When he had first proposed that she should break away from the Leblancs and go north with him, he had acted on the spur of the moment, suggested what he thought the best course for her, without duly considering the added difficulties which the companionship of a beautiful young woman would put in his way.To have on his hands a girl who was already almost hysterical from the shock she had just received, when he was bent on a task which would need all his nerve and all his resourcefulness, was a situation with which he felt that he had never properly grappled."I'm very sorry," he stammered.At the words Miss Densley looked up again, then with a woman's quick intuition she understood what he felt, and dashing away from her eyes the tears which had again begun to gather in them, she said with unexpected firmness—"Don't look so frightened. I see—you're afraid of me: afraid I shall be silly, have attacks of nerves and cry, and make scenes, and be a trouble to you. You're quite wrong. I won't. I've got over the worst of it now. You see, it's really been coming upon me for days, though I didn't exactly know it—I wouldn't know it! But now that the worst has come, that I understand just where I am, and what I have to do you won't find me silly or troublesome indeed. Only I can't be satisfied, any more than you can, until I know if those wretches have done anything to Massey! What have they got him up there for? Why couldn't they have robbed him at Briar Lodge, as they robbed the others? It frightens me!"The girl's great eyes were full of distress, but as she had promised, she conquered the outward manifestations of her agitation, and clasping her hands tightly as if that would help her to keep her feelings in check, she told him of the scene she had just gone through."When I ran away from you and went indoors," she said, "Madame Leblanc met me and asked where I'd been. There was something in her face I had never seen before, something that frightened me. So I said I had been to speak to you, and that you had said I was being promised in marriage to Captain Darnall and other men, besides the one man I was really engaged to—Massey St Quintin. Then her face grew very hard and cold, and she pounced upon me, as if I had been a naughty child, and dragged me into the drawing-room, and told me I was a fool and an idiot to quarrel with the splendid position I should presently have, if I did as I was told, and let her manage my affairs for me. And I told her I didn't want them managed: I only wanted to marry the man I cared for; and then I asked why he had been taken to Densley. And she looked frightened at that, and said unless I held my tongue I should find myself in prison, as there was plenty of evidence that I had been taking presents from different people under false pretences. And she raged and stormed at me, and tried to frighten me into going away with her to France, and told me that when Mr. St. Quintin found out how he had been treated he would never speak to me again, but would get his friends to prosecute me for theft. I kept as quiet as I could, and presently I asked her point-blank if it was true that my name was Densley and that I was entitled to a large fortune. And she laughed in my face, and told me I knew very well it was not true; that I was only plain Dorcas Lane, without a friend and without a penny, and that was why Mr St. Quintin had given me up: that he had learnt the truth, and looked upon me as an adven-turess. I told her I knew better; he would never give me up for the fault of other people, and that he would be glad, not sorry, to find I was really the grand-niece of Sir William Lane, after all."That seemed to frighten her a little, and she laughed in a forced sort of way and said sneeringly that my grand relations never had done much for me, and that they would be still less likely to do anything when they found out the sort of life I had been living."Here the girl turned with an imploring look at James Ince, and said—"But there was nothing really wrong in my life, was there? I only talked civilly to the people the Leblancs brought to their house, and I certainly never promised to marry anybody but Massey, or allowed anybody else to think I liked him".Ince smiled pitifully."Of course not. You have been in no way to blame that I can see.""Well, when she found I wouldn't go away with her she grew very quiet, and sent me out of the room. And then I thought perhaps I should be made to go away with her, whether I liked it or not; so instead of going to my room, as she had told me to do, while she was talking to Miss Stanley, whom she sent for, I ran straight out of the house, just as I am, without waiting to bring away anything at all. I had my purse in my pocket, with nearly four pounds in it, and at first I thought I would go to Mrs. Mortimer's; but then I decided to try to catch the train you were going to take from Liverpool Street, just as you asked me to. And"—she gave a soft little sigh of resignation and apology—"and here I am."James Ince was reassured as to her good sense long before she had reached the end of her story. Her simple confidence in St. Quintin, her bold front when she had learnt the truth about the people she was with, made it clear that she was, although very ignorant of the world, not by any means the fool Madame Leblanc had called her."You've done just the right thing," he said, " and if you will only be as courageous with Leblanc as you have been with his wife, you may be able to help both St. Quintin and me. It's a very unpleasant thing for all of us, of course, and especially for you. But as you must see now that you have no cause whatever for gratitude to these people, who have simply made a tool of you and used your beauty in a most infamous way to enrich themselves, I hope you'll stand up on the right side, and help to bring them to justice."She shuddered."I will—for Massey's sake," she said in a weak little voice. " But, even now that I know, it seems dreadful to help against the people one looked upon as so good and generous!""Well, I only hope we shan't have reason to think them worse than you suppose," said James Ince, in a warning voice.He was in a state of great anxiety about his friend, and wanted to warn the girl that she might have more dreadful particulars to learn about her supposed relations.Perhaps, however, now that her imagination was once roused, she realised this better than he supposed possible. She was very silent throughout the long journey, for the most part sitting back with her eyes closed as if asleep. But James Ince felt sure that it was only a pretence, and that her thoughts were busy all the time.When they drew near Doncaster, they both began to discuss the possibility of their finding Leblanc and St. Quintin at the station to meet them."It may be," suggested Ince, "that the telegram was sent to be shown to St. Quintin, to induce him, for some reason or other, to come to the station. If so, Leblanc will be immensely surprised to see that you have really come."However, when they reached Doncaster and got out of the train, they found nobody there whom they knew, and after a short consultation, as the girl refused to be left at an hotel, James Ince engaged a fly to drive them to Densley.He put her inside and got on the seat beside the driver, as a better post of observation.He had scarcely done so when he was accosted by a tall man in a long overcoat, who touched his cap and said—"Beg pardon, Mr. Ince, but could I speak to you a minute, sir?Ince, recognising to his surprise the footman Saunders, jumped down and listened to the man's story."I got the sack, sir, not many minutes after you went away. Madame she comes to me in a towering passion, said she had been ruined through my letting you into the house, and sends me about my business. So I only just waited to learn two things: one, that she was going to make tracks herself for the Continent, and the other that Miss Densley had run away. I soon saw where the young lady had run to, for she came up to Liverpool Street by the same train. I got into the train you came by, sir, and I've come to ask you to take me on, if you can make me useful, seeing it's through you, if I may make so bold, I lost my place.""All right. I'll find a use for you, if you'll do as I tell you. We shall have to tackle Leblanc presently, and I shall be glad of a hand, I dare-say. Jump up on the box, and I'll get inside."This change effected, the fly started on its way to Densley. But it had not got more than a mile on its way when it was met by another fly, and James Ince, either recognising someone or suspecting something, got out and ran after it, hailing the driver to stop.Running up to the carriage-window, he looked in, and at once recognised Leblanc, who was quite evidently taken aback by the meeting. There was another man in the fly, but he sat well back, so that his face could not be distinguished."Hello, Monsieur, this is a bit of luck. Were you going to Doncaster to meet your niece?" asked James Ince.Monsieur recovered himself quickly, bent forward, so as to fill the window and prevent James Ince from looking in, and said—"Dear me, is it Mr. Ince? This is a surprise, a most pleasant surprise! I am delighted to see you."And with that he put out his hand, seized that of the young barrister, and shook it heartily.Ince repeated his question. Monsieur Leblanc raised his eyebrows."My niece! Ah, yes, I was going to meet her. You have seen her then?""I've not only seen her, I've brought her to you. I understood you were at Densley, her place."Monsieur Leblanc hesitated, drawing a long breath, as if uncertain what to do or what to say. Only for a moment, however."Ah!" he cried, smiling so that his two rows of false teeth showed from end to end, "that is most kind of you! And so you have taken all this trouble! We are most grateful. I do not quite understand yet why you should be with her, but no matter, I am glad to see you. Where is she?""In the fly which has just passed yours.""Ah! And so you are on your way to Densley?""Yes. You will turn back and accompany us, will you not?""Alas! I cannot yet have that pleasure! I have to see my friend here off by train. But if you will take my niece on to Densley, and put her up at the Red Lion, the inn in the village, I will come back as quickly as I can, and we will have a chat together."Now while this colloquy was going on, the two men engaged in it were trying, by every means in their power, each to outwit the other. For, while James Ince was determined to see who was the Frenchman's companion, Monsieur Leblanc was equally determined that he should not satisfy his curiosity. In order more effectually to block up the window and keep James Ince from thrusting his face inside the vehicle, Monsieur Leblanc placed himself in such a manner that his person filled the aperture from the one side to the other.But he was so intent upon doing this, that he overlooked one most important fact. He was carrying on his arm a light overcoat, which he used to make himself wider by holding over his arm and putting his hand to his waist.This action naturally made James Ince the more inquisitive, and he tried to peep through the small space left between the coat and the Frenchman's waist. In doing this, however, he suddenly became aware of a strange fact: he recognised the light overcoat as one belonging to his friend St. Quintin.Without a moment's hesitation he whipped the coat off Monsieur Leblanc's arm, crying—"Why, this is St. Quintin's coat!"At the moment of doing so, he was actuated merely by the wish to make his recognition of the garment an excuse for snatching it up and peering into the carriage as if in expectation of seeing his friend. But the way in which Monsieur Leblanc changed countenance and tried to get the coat back into his possession roused in the shrewd young barrister new and strange suspicions. Holding it tightly and stepping back briskly from the side of the fly, he said—"All right, Monsieur Leblanc, I'll take care of this. I'll take it with me to Densley, and leave it at the inn for you. I suppose you are going to meet St. Quintin then?Monsieur Leblanc, who was pale and grim, evidently intensely annoyed at what he looked upon as impertinence, said shortly—"You had better leave it at Miss Grey's cottage then, a little stone house standing on a bank, with a porch and a seat outside. It is on the opposite side of the road to the inn, but farther away and outside the village. You can't miss it. St.Quintin was there this evening and will be returning. He asked me to take care of his coat, and not to leave it about.""Oh, all right. I'll look after it. What time will you be coming back?""As soon as I have seen my friend off. Good-bye for the present.""Good-bye," said Ince, with a well-feigned appearance of having no suspicion of anything being wrong.And he stepped back and let the fly drive on towards Doncaster.But as soon as Monsieur Leblanc's fly had got round the first bend in the road, he made his own driver turn round and told him to follow the Frenchman's conveyance at a safe distance.Then he got inside, and the pursuit began.CHAPTER XXIV"MISS DENSLEY " was leaning back in a corner of the fly, and she sat upright as soon as Ince got in again."Who was it?" she whispered. " Wasn't it Monsieur Leblanc?""Yes, with another man. I couldn't make out who he was, but he was too big a man to be St. Quintin. But look! Leblanc was carrying St. Quintin's coat, and here's his cheque-book in it and his pocket-book. Odd, isn't it?"The girl began to tremble."Did he say where Massey was?""He said he had been at a cottage in Densley, a Miss Grey's——""Yes. I know it. I've stayed there with the Leblancs a few weeks ago, when they showed me over the place.""Leblanc says St. Quintin will be coming back there, and that he will be coming also. I wonder what he's up to! ""Why have we turned back? Ought we not to push on to Densley, to see what has become of Massey?""Yes, presently. But first I want to see where Leblanc is going. "There's something mysterious about his movements and odd about his manner. I don't like finding this chequebook, and I want to see whether it will be a bait sufficient to bring Leblanc back to Densley."They were both silent as the fly rumbled back, and presently stopped. By this time they were in Doncaster itself, and Saunders got down from the box-seat and said—"The other fly has stopped before one of the hotels, sir, and Monsieur Leblanc has gone into the house.""All right. Has the second man got out?""No, sir.""Then tell our driver to keep out of sight, and to follow the fly when it goes on again."The fly which contained Ince and his companion had not to wait long. In a few moments Monsieur Leblanc came out of the hotel, followed by a sleepy waiter bearing a small portmanteau, which was put into the fly. Then the vehicle started off again, with that of James Ince in pursuit."Miss Densley " looked paler than ever: she had an instinct that all this midnight journeying was sinister.James Ince, however, was taciturn and would admit nothing, not even the suspicions he had formed as to the possessor of the portmanteau which Monsieur Leblanc was taking back to Densley.Ince had another short colloquy with his own driver, as soon as he had ascertained that the other fly had taken the Densley road."Do you know of a short cut to Densley?" he asked."Yes, sir. "There's one across the fields. But it's for foot-passengers, not for 'orses."James Ince asked for the direction, and when the fly had reached the spot where the path across the fields began, he and Miss Densley and Saunders got out of the vehicle and started at a rapid pace by the short cut, in order to reach Miss Grey's cottage before Monsieur Leblanc and his unknown companion.The fly was to come on slowly, and to wait at a point outside the village in case it should be wanted.Ince had St. Quintin's overcoat on his arm, and led the way at a flying pace, while "Miss Densley " proved almost equally fleet of foot, and the tall, muscular-looking Saunders brought up the rear not many feet away. In silence they went, just able to pick their way across a country that was fortunately very open, by the light of a misty moon.They succeeded in reaching Densley before the appearance of the fly which contained Monsieur Leblanc and his companion, and they dashed up to the cottage, where there was a light burning in the top front room.They knocked, and James Ince, thinking that the solitary female occupant might perhaps be alarmed to see so many nocturnal visitors, directed Saunders to take up a position at the rear of the cottage, where he would be wanted later, if things turned out as expected.Then Ince and his pretty girl companion waited for a few moments, until they heard a female voice on the other side of the front door."Who is it?" asked the voice, querulously."It's I. Don't you remember Miss Densley? " said the girl.Miss Grey drew back the bolts and let her and her companion in at once."Lor, Miss Densley, I've had such a day of it, with gentlemen coming and going! And I thinking you and Madame weren't coming after all! Where is she now?""I've not come with Madame Leblanc," answered the girl, quickly, with an involuntary shudder."Well, come in and go upstairs. I've got your room ready."And Miss Grey turned curiously to the gentleman by her side."And who is this gentleman? ""My name is Ince. I've come to try and find a friend of mine, Mr. St. Quintin. Have you seen anything of him?""Mr. St. Quintin! Oh, dear, yes. He's been in and out all the afternoon. He and Monsieur Leblanc and Mr. Williams.""Mr. Williams, eh?"Both Ince and the girl turned curiously at the name. This was the man, then, who had been spoken of as her guardian, the man on whose opinion so much depended. They looked at each other."Well, I want to meet them when they come back. They told me they should come here," said Ince to Miss Grey.She frowned and looked worried."Oh no, not here," she said. " They've gone away for good, as I understand. They've been about all the evening, as I say, smoking and drinking and going in and out. But they're gone now, thank goodness. I hope I'm not offending you, sir, but really there was such a commotion going on, what with them and Mr. St. Quintin, that I'm very glad to have the house quiet again.""They're coming back, though," said Ince, quietly. " And now, Miss Grey, I want you to help me, if you can, by letting me know all you can about their doings this afternoon. I'm sorry to say there's a doubt about their being all that one would wish them to be, and that we may want very particularly to know all about them."Miss Grey, an elderly woman of the small farmer class, looked at him shrewdly."I knew there was something wrong about them," she said sharply. "And if they come back here, I shan't let them in—begging your pardon, Miss Densley, for having to say such a thing of your own uncle.""He's not my uncle," said the girl, "and I've just found out that my name's not Densley at all."Again Miss Grey looked shrewd, and Ince broke in—"When they come back, as they will, I want you to show them into a room, and I want you to lock up this coat somewhere in it. They'll ask for it, and you will say Mr. Ince left it for them.""And you're sure they'll come back? " asked Miss Grey, apprehensively."Quite sure.""And will they go away again? ""I don't know. But I should think so. Now will you tell me when you last saw Mr. St. Quintin?""He left here at eight o'clock for Doncaster" said, "and the other two gentlemen began to shift a lot of their heavy luggage from here to the Red Lion. At least, that was what they said they were going to do, but they didn't go to the Red Lion, I noted. They went the other way, towards the back of the park."Her hearers listened breathless."And presently," she went on, "Mr. St. Quintin came back from Doncaster, and asked for the gentlemen. And I told him they were out, and he went the same way as they did, and I've never set eyes on him since. But I fancy they must, some of them, have been looking over the big house, for I saw lights in the windows, and there's no caretaker lives in the house."James Ince uttered a low cry. "Miss Densley " looked at him with wild eyes. Miss Grey went on—"Monsieur Leblanc and Mr. Williams came back presently, and they brought Mr. St. Quintin's coat and said he was gone to meet the ladies; but as Mr. Williams had to go back to London, they couldn't wait to see them, but would pass them on the road, they said, and give Mr. St. Quintin his coat.""Let us go to the house. I know the way," said the girl, breathlessly, reading aright the anxiety in her companion's eyes.James Ince nodded."Yes" said he. " We'll go there together if you know the way. How shall we get in?""We'll manage it somehow," said the girl, who was in a fever of nameless dread. Ince turned to Miss Grey."Show me the sitting-room where you will bring these gentlemen",said he.She led him into the little room where they had all sat that evening. The fire was low and the lamp turned down, but there was light enough for him to see that the little window was shuttered and barred, and that there was a key in the lock of the door. He transferred it from inside to outside."Now," said he, quickly, to Miss Grey, "show them into the room and tell them you have put the coat in the cupboard. See, I'll put it in here."As he spoke, he opened the door of the cupboard by the fireplace, placed the coat inside, turned the key in the lock, and then taking the key out, gave it to Miss Grey."They will ask for the key of the cupboard," said he, "and you will say you have it and will fetch it. And when you leave them, just lock them in, and go into the front garden and beckon to the man you will find there hiding behind the bushes."Miss Grey looked alarmed, but she was no coward, and she only asked—"And who's to pay for the damage if there's any done? for I suppose, sir, you're connected with the police?""I'll undertake to pay for all damage done," said Ince, not undeceiving her about the other part of her speech. "And now we must go."He led the trembling girl out of the cottage, made Saunders hide among the bushes, with orders to prevent any attempt at escape, if he could, on the part of either of the men, but in any case to be sure to note the companion of Monsieur Leblanc, so as to be able to identify him later.Then he and the unhappy little "heiress" started for the park, making, by her direction, for the nearest gap in the ruinous wall."I've been here before, you know," she whispered, "and they told me all this place was mine. I'm glad it isn't, though. It's gloomy, dreadful."She talked intermittently, her voice getting more tremulous every moment, until they drew near the great, gaunt, deserted mansion.Then they stopped and looked at it, looked at the broken windows gleaming in the faint moonlight, at the straggling bushes, the ragged trees pressing their branches against the stained masonry.Then James Ince suddenly raised the primitive lantern which he had borrowed from Miss Grey.And as they stood, and he flashed the light of the lantern to and fro, they heard a faint moan from inside the building."Massey!" shrieked the girl, as she made a dash for the nearest of the broken windows, and climbing to the sill, forced her way in, smashing the glass away with her gloved hands until she had made a passage through for her slim figure.James Ince followed more cautiously, and together they hunted, calling as they went, their voices echoing strangely in the empty rooms, until they came to the great dining-room, where St. Quintin lay, in a pool of blood, in the middle of the floor.The girl did not scream. She uttered a long moan as she rushed forward and raised the poor, bruised body in her arms."Thank God, he's alive, he's alive!" she whispered, as she pressed her lips upon his forehead, which was disfigured with horrible stains.But St. Quintin, if he heard her, did not understand. He had been lying limp and motionless when they came in. But the sound of their voices roused him, and he opened dull eyes to say in a hoarse whisper—"The pond, the pond! Search the pond! You are murderers, both of you! I'll have the pond dragged to-morrow!"The girl burst into tears."He doesn't know us! " she said. "They've driven him mad, mad! Oh, Massey, Massey, my darling, don't you know me? Don't you remember me? You must, you must!"James Ince had to gulp down his own tears as he looked at the piteous sight and knew that his friend had indeed lost his senses.Kneeling on the floor, he examined St. Quintin's body, and ascertained that beyond a frightful injury to the head, which had bled profusely, he appeared to have sustained little bodily injury."Have you got the pluck," he asked the girl, "to stay with him, all by yourself, while I bring a doctor? I want you not to be alarmed. This may pass off. I say it may. Let him keep quiet. Don't try to rouse him. I'll make him as comfortable as I can with my coat. Keep his head low; and just wait and watch patiently till I come back."She was tender, submissive, wise enough to restrain her misery and to do as she was told. Ince undid his friend's collar, placed him on his back on the outspread overcoat, and left him with his sad little nurse.He had another and a more arduous task before him. Returning to the cottage at a rapid pace, he found, as he had expected, that Monsieur Leblanc's fly had arrived, and that the two men had already entered the little house. He heard the front door shut as he came up. Saunders sprang up from the bushes as Ince went quickly into the little garden."Mr Ince, sir, I can't do it. I can't do it. You mustn't look for me to help you!" cried he, as the barrister ran up the path."Why not?""Because I've never rounded on a pal and I can't begin now.""A pal, eh? Who's the pal?"The man was silent.James Ince looked round, and then beckoned to the driver of the fly. The man was a sturdy young Yorkshireman, thick-set and muscular. He climbed down off his box and came up to the garden gate."Do you want to earn a ten-pound note?" asked Ince, quietly.The man grinned."Go and fetch help—a couple of men—as many as you can get—from the inn or anywhere. And tell the man who would be of the least use to us to run and bring a doctor straight up to the big house in the park. There's a man lying wounded there, half-murdered by the two scoundrels you drove here from Doncaster.""Reght, sir," said the man.And he was away before Saunders could do more than make a faint attempt to enter the cottage."Stand back," said James Ince, sternly.He himself was standing by the little porch, waiting. He guessed that the rascals inside would by this time have got wind of the fact that they were besieged.There was no retreat by the back way, Miss Grey having bolted her kitchen door and so cut off the staircase. There was nothing for the besieged to do, therefore, but to get out by the window of the room in which they were now locked, or burst their way through the locked door into the passage and thence out by the front door or through the window of the second little front room.He was not long in suspense as to the way they would choose.There was a rattle and a crash, and Monsieur Leblanc, slim and small, had flung open the little window and jumped out. Saunders was standing back with folded arms."Seize him! " cried Ince.And Saunders was about to obey when a tall and burly figure leapt out through the open window after his companion.It was Mr. Williams without his overcoat, and considerably lighter and slimmer in consequence.James Ince started forward. The other man kept his face turned away, and Saunders at once dropped Monsieur Leblanc at a sign from him, and the Frenchman and his fellow-prisoner sprang down the bank together.Just as Mr. Williams had reached the fly and was climbing on to the box to take the reins in his hands, the young barrister caught a glimpse of his face in the moonlight, and cried aloud—"By Jove, it's Gurney the forger!"CHAPTER XXVTHE words were scarcely out of James Ince's mouth when the fly started off at a rapid pace, not in the direction of Doncaster, but away across the moor.Mr. Williams proved an expert whip, and was getting every ounce out of the old horse, while Monsieur Leblanc, cowering down inside the vehicle, trusted himself to Providence and the driving of his colleague on the box.Ince did not waste any time in trying to over-take the rascals, but at once turning to Saunders, who was standing, sheepish and guilty but with a stubborn look on his face, not many yards away from him, he said—So you're in with these rogues after all?"Saunders shook his head and replied sullenly—"No, I'm not. I hadn't a notion as Mr. Williams, whom I heard tell of when I was at Briar Lodge, was Bob Gurney. Bob should have told me, and then I'd have cut my tongue out sooner than have set you on the track of him.""Take care," said Ince. "I can be a better friend to you than that rascal, you know."Saunders stood firm."I've never split on a pal, and I wouldn't, not even for you, sir. You let me think as it was Leblanc you were after, not Bob.""To tell you the truth, I didn't know myself—hadn't an idea—who 'Mr. Williams' would prove to be."Saunders shook his head."It was his own fault for not trusting me more," he said ruefully. "But Bob would never trust anybody. You see, he set me to watch Leblanc, to see he wasn't cheated, but he wouldn't go so far as to let me know his other name was Mr. Williams.' If he'd only have told me!"James Ince smiled grimly."In the interests of justice it was just as well he didn't," he said. "You've done me a good turn by putting me on the track of the scoundrels, and you may make your mind easy, for they would have been caught before long anyhow. They've gone a step too far this time, and if they haven't committed murder, it was by no lack of the will to do it.""Murder!" echoed Saunders, hoarsely."Yes. Mr. St. Quintin is lying more dead than alive in the big house over there, and I'm going to see whether the doctor's arrived yet. But I've got something else to see to first. In the meantime you may as well go to the house too. You've got a strapping pair of arms and you may be of use in carrying the poor fellow."Saunders turned rather reluctantly in the direction pointed out, and James Ince went quickly along the road to the spot where he had left the fly which brought him from Doncaster. Giving the driver a note which he hurriedly pencilled on a leaf from his pocket-book, he directed him to take it as quickly as he could to Doncaster police-station, and waiting to see the fly start at a good pace, he then returned to the deserted mansion where he had left his wounded friend.The doctor had by this time arrived, and had done his best for St. Quintin, who was now sunk into a state of stupor. With the help of the stalwart Saunders, the wounded man was carried from the house, across the park and to the Red Lion, where a room had been prepared for him."He will want the most careful nursing," said the doctor.And a soft voice at his elbow answered him—"I'll do just whatever you tell me, and I shall never leave him for a moment."The doctor, a middle-aged, kindly man, turned to the fragile-looking girl with a smile."You look as if you wanted nursing yourself," said he, noting her pale face.But Dorcas replied earnestly—"Oh, no, no. I always look pale. But I'm quite well and strong, and I can do without sleep. I couldn't sleep till he's better.""And what she can't do I will," chimed in Ince. "If this young lady and I can't save him together, doctor, nobody could. We'd both give our lives for him. Wouldn't we?"The girl bowed her head in silence, her lip quivering and her eyes looking very large and dark."Well," said the doctor, gently, "there will be three of us then, for I'll stay here till the morning, and by that time we shall probably know how the case is likely to go on."The doubt suggested was a terrible shock to the girl, who bore it bravely, however, and did not give way to sobs or even tears.The night was an anxious one, but towards morning there was a slight change in the condition of the patient, and as the doctor and Dorcas were still watching, James Ince, on the advice of the former—to whom he had confided that he had a heavy day's work before him—retired for a short rest.As he expected, a police-inspector from Doncaster called to see him at a very early hour, and to him James Ince narrated, as far as he could, the facts of the previous day's crime and attempted crime.Already, in his pencilled note to the police, he had given brief details, not only of the crimes committed by Leblanc and his accomplice, but of their personal appearance. "Mr. Williams," under his real name of "Robert Gurney," was already well known to the agents of the Law, having served more than one term of imprisonment for forgery and embezzlement. James Ince was able to state in which direction they had started, but the police officer was able to carry this information still further. Already his subordinates had been on the track of the two rogues, but, though they had found the fly—some miles away from Densley and not far from a railway station, the horse tired out and showing signs of excessive punishment, and the vehicle covered with dirt and dust—the criminals themselves had disappeared. No doubt was entertained of their having taken the train that had stopped at the station that morning, though inquiries had not yet succeeded in tracking them.In the meantime, however, James Ince had more work for the police. He related the circumstances of their finding his friend in the empty mansion, and the words he had uttered about the pond.The Inspector agreed with him in thinking they might form a valuable clue to some of the doings of the rascal who had assaulted him, and it was decided to drag the pond that very morning.Leaving St. Quintin, therefore, to the care of his devoted nurse, James I nee went with the Inspector to the park, and finding the pond without difficulty, noted at once that in one corner of it the weed on the surface had recently been disturbed.Of course a small knot of idlers had followed the two men through the various gaps in the park wall, and now stood at a little distance, wondering what was going to happen.It was a cold autumn day, and the mist clung about the trees of the park, and hung in a thin blue veil over the slimy, evil-smelling water. The old mansion, not far away, looked unspeakably desolate with the fresh damage done to its lower windows in the doings of the previous night, and the leaves which had been shaken from the creepers lay in heaps under the walls.James Ince was seized with a feeling of sickness and horror as he looked about him and thought that the mystery which he felt sure they were about to unravel had perhaps been the cause of the insanity or death of his dearest friend. He felt convinced, beyond all doubt, that there really was a secret hidden beneath their feet, which would give the clue to the assault upon St. Quintin.Meanwhile the Inspector was probing beneath the surface of weed and slime, and before long his stick touched something that he knew must be a box."There's something hidden in the water," he said in a low voice to Ince. "We'd better get these yokels to give us a hand in getting it out."He called some of the idlers to the edge of the pond, and finding among them one or two sturdy enough to venture into the slimy depths, sent for a pitchfork and such other implements as seemed the most likely to be of service in dragging the concealed box to the shore.There was a short space of intense suspense as the first man to venture into the pond announced that he had got something. He was armed with a hayrake, with which he tugged at the unseen object below the green and black water."I've moved it, sir; it's coming, but it's mighty heavy!" was his comment as he succeeded in dragging to the bank which sloped the most something square and solid and of great weight. Here it was seized by half a dozen hands, and soon there lay upon the bank under the trees a square, shabby old portmanteau, stout and strong, well corded and strapped and locked, and without any indication of its owner. There was not even a luggage-label on any of its four sides, or any card or lettering whatever.The dull eyes of the rustics began to gleam with cupidity and the love of sensation when they crowded round the prize, whispering to each other that it was full of gold "most like," and jewels "to make your mouth water." Already it had got abroad that there were two criminals connected with the outrage upon the young gentleman, that they had got away, and that they were suspected of more than one crime.In the imaginations of the villagers these crimes now took shape, and they pictured to themselves the two criminals, escaping from the justice that they feared was on their heels down in the south, "Lunnon-way," coming up here together, engaging a cottage, and stealing out at night, as Miss Grey had already admitted they had done, with luggage for the Red Lion which never reached that hostelry.Surely, the villagers thought, the two men were burglars, who, fresh from a series of clever robberies, had come away with their booty and dropped it in this deserted pond in the neglected park, hoping to leave it safely hidden there until they should find means of coming to fetch it away.Eager for unearned gain, the men asked themselves how much of the haul of diamonds and gold, rubies and emeralds and suchlike would fall to their share if they made themselves actively useful in recovering the stolen treasure. Surely a handsome reward was in store for them! And so they crowded round the Inspector and Ince, both of whom were very grave and silent, and by no means as jubilant concerning the find as the group around them.The Inspector, indeed, had had certain words whispered in his ear by James Ince which made him anxious to get rid of his too-eager assistants, who were pressing round in the hope of seeing the portmanteau forced open there and then.Their disappointment was great when he declared that there was no need to open the portmanteau, as they knew what was in it. And the villagers were exchanging discontented murmurs, expressive of baffled curiosity, when the tall man who had fished out the prize called out that he had come upon something else. There was a rush to the edge of the pond again, and with a little more trouble a trunk was got out, this being of a different shape, long instead of square, but with the same remarkable absence of label or name.Curiosity grew stronger, but still neither the Inspector nor James Ince made any attempt to open either of the trunks. The crowd, growing awestruck with suspense and a vague uneasiness, waited and watched, impatient and eager, while successive fishings brought up another and yet another prize, until in the end two portmanteaus and two wooden boxes, all securely fastened, all heavy, all mysterious in their anonymity, stood in a line upon the brink of the pond.Then, repeated searchings having failed to bring up any further treasure, the crowd, exasperated and dismayed, were informed that it was not proposed to open the boxes then, that they were to be conveyed to the Doncaster police-station just as they were.By this time, owing to arrangements which had been made quietly by Ince while the search was going on, a covered cart had been brought from the village to the nearest gap in the park wall, and under the direction of the Inspector, and watched by James Ince, the steadiest of the men assembled round were allowed to transport the mysterious boxes one by one to the cart, in which they were deposited within a few minutes. All remarked upon their weight, and grumbled at not being allowed to see the jewels and gold they contained.When the task was accomplished, James Ince and the Inspector got into the cart, and the driver whipped up the horse and started for Doncaster, followed for some distance by a wondering and whispering crowd.For already rumours had begun to circulate to the effect that the contents of the boxes might not prove to be untold treasure after all.The journey was made quickly, and without much conversation between the Inspector and James Ince, who had given all the information he could, and who now awaited the result of their investigations with sickening anxiety.At Doncaster police-station the boxes and portmanteaus were taken out and examined, and then opened in the presence of the chief constable.The first to be dealt with was an oblong portmanteau, which, on being opened, proved to contain a tin box, wedged in between shavings and rolls of crumpled newspaper, now sodden and wet.The tin box was locked, and was forced open in its turn, and inside, a layer of drab-coloured hard substance met their eyes.The Inspector exchanged glances with James Ince, and they nodded in grave affirmation of the doubts already expressed by the latter.A hammer was now employed to break up the Portland cement, of which they had by this time discovered the substance in the box to con-sist. Under repeated blows it gave way, and then the horrible discovery anticipated by the onlookers was made.Inside the box, cased in Portland cement, which had hardened to stone round it, was a portion of a human body.The ghastly process had to be gone through three times more, with the same result. Then it became practically certain, by the time the divisional surgeon had made his examination of the whole of the contents of the boxes, that the dismembered body of a man was contained in the four.The head was there, although an attempt had been made to mutilate the features. But it was possible to ascertain certain particulars concerning the height, breadth of shoulder, colour of hair and size of the skull, which enabled James I nee to verify his own suggestion that the body was that of the unfortunate Harold Burdock, the missing solicitor.A telegram to London brought down by the next train a near relation of the murdered man, who was able to identify, practically without any doubt, the head, which was small and of unusual shape, as that of Burdock; and that evening a warrant was issued for the arrest of Alphonse Leblanc on the charge of murder.CHAPTER XXVIJUSTICE was to overtake the rascal who had played so vile and so bold a game for his own enrichment at the expense of the dupes whom the beauty of poor Dorcas Lane had attracted to his net.But it was not at the hands of the police that he met his reward. They searched the country far and wide, and succeeded in catching Gurney, alias "Mr Williams," just as he was in the act of running to earth in one of the lowest parts of London.But Leblanc evaded all pursuit for several days, and was found at last starved and bedraggled, hiding in a ditch on the borders of a field not many miles from Doncaster. Fear and exposure, want and cold, had reduced him to a mere shuddering, quivering thing, gaunt, haggard and miserable beyond belief. At the first sound of the yells and execrations which were raised by the party of men and boys who unearthed him, and who recognised at once in the wretch before them the vile murderer who was being advertised for all over the country, he uttered a wild shriek, and dashing out of his hiding-place, ran for his life, lame, limping, panting, his eyes glaring, his tongue protruding, a horrible, sickening sight, straight for the stone quarry where he had hidden himself the day before.He meant to creep again into a nook he had found there, concealed among thorns and briars, where he had lain securely for two nights.But the crowd, yelling and hooting, cursing and shouting, gained upon him, so that he knew he could never reach the corner which was his goal.One moment he stood irresolute. Then, summoning all his strength, as the foremost man in pursuit came within a few yards, brandishing a stick and red with rage, the murderer turned, made straight for the quarry's edge, and with one wild leap into the air, fell, a crushed and mangled mass, dead on the stone beneath."Mr. Williams" was thus left to take his trial alone. But there was no evidence to connect him with the actual murder of Harold Burdock; and though a good case might have been made out against him as an accessory after the fact, it was thought wiser to put him on his trial for conspiracy to defraud.In support of the case for the prosecution a most valuable witness now came forward, in the person of the governess, Miss Stanley, who, however much she might be suspected of having known a little more than she professed to have done, was now a useful ally in unmasking the plots by which the Leblancs had gained large sums of money at the expense of their victims.There was some doubt, indeed, whether she would not have held her tongue discreetly, if Madame Leblanc had not treated her shabbily at the last moment, and instead of taking her to Paris as she had promised to do, cut her adrift with scant ceremony, and, as Miss Stanley declared, without paying her salary.However this might be, her evidence was of signal use in getting up a case against Madame Leblanc, who was extradited without delay and lodged at Holloway, and "Mr. Williams" otherwise Gurney, whom she identified at once as the person who posed as the co-guardian of "Miss Densley," the heiress whose beauty and whose money were so artfully used as a bait for numerous suitors, all of whom had to contribute handsomely, in one way or another, to the Leblanc exchequer.Little by little the whole vile scheme came to light, and it was known that this was not the first time that the Leblancs, by exploiting an inno-cent girl as a supposed "heiress," had reaped a rich harvest from avaricious or enamoured suitors.The first case had been that of a French girl, and it was in France that they had successfully pursued their plan of taking toll from would be husbands, until circumstances made France too hot to hold them, when they dropped their prey, lay low in New York for a time, and then recommenced operations on the same plan in England.On the second occasion it was upon the unfortunate Dorcas Lane that Madame Leblanc set her evil eye. She found it easy to deceive, not only the ignorant girl herself, but the simpleminded lady with whom she lived, and the more or less undiscerning religious and philanthropic set in which she moved.The rest was easy. Being used to their fraudulent profession, they knew how to set about it, and began by taking a handsomely furnished house at Briar Heath, to which they could invite their victims. These they obtained in various ways, some through cleverly worded advertisements, both in English and French papers, some by placing poor, ignorant Dorcas, in charge either of her governess or her supposed aunt, in places where she would be seen and admired by men of wealth or position, as in the case of the stay at Cowes during which St. Quintin had seen and been attracted by her.Once caught, the victims were managed in various ways, some being induced to advance loans on mortgage, some to supply jewellery which the "heiress" never saw. Sometimes the victims discovered something and were tiresome and difficult to manage. And although only one of these, the unfortunate Harold Burdock, was known to have been murdered by Leblanc, it was felt to be a matter of doubt whether this was really the first of his victims to be put out of the way.As for the manner of Burdock's death, nothing was ever positively known. But it was conjectured, after a minute examination of Briar Lodge, that the solicitor, who was a very small man, was set upon and strangled by Leblanc in the study in the front of the house, that his dying cries reached the ears of St. Quintin, but that Leblanc removed the body into the back room, and pulled the big desk up to the window to hide the traces of his crime, before he allowed St. Quintin to enter the room.As to the property at Densley Wold, that did certainly belong to a Miss Densley, as the Leblancs had taken pains to ascertain before laying their plans. But the Miss Densley in question, instead of being a lovely girl, was a lunatic who had to be kept under restraint, and who was not likely to come forward to interfere with their schemes. The Leblancs, therefore, had found it easy to impose upon those of the villagers with whom they came in contact during their short stay at Densley, by assuring them that the pretty girl of whom they were in charge was the next heir to the property, which would be hers on the death of her insane relation. Captain Darnall had been quite satisfied with what they showed him of the property which they declared to be that of their "niece," and Dorcas herself had been deceived without the least difficulty.The shamefaced Monsieur Marbeau was forced to come forward to bear witness to the extent to which he had been victimised, under pretence that he was the husband chosen by her guardians for the lovely heiress. Captain Darnall, to his great annoyance, had also to appear in the character of dupe. Two or three others were induced to come forward, and lastly St. Quintin, still weak and ill from the effects of the blow which had been dealt him by one of the murderous ruffians, whom he believed to have been Leblanc, stood up in the witness box to testify that he had been induced to offer to lend Leblanc five thousand pounds to pay off that sum advanced by Captain Darnall."I took my cheque-book with me," he went on, "but I would not advance the money until I had seen the lady whom I knew as Miss Densley. For though I knew she was ignorant of all the schemes of these people who called themselves her relations, I knew also that they were not at all innocent, and that I must be on my guard with them, as I wished to take her as well as myself out of their clutches."This speech, uttered very simply and manfully, produced a strong effect in court, since it is only too common to find it difficult to feel sympathy with any of the personages in a criminal case.The straightforward way in which he gave his evidence, the steadiness with which he made it known that he had determined to marry the girl he loved, no matter what her surroundings were, or what the difficulties might be which he would have to surmount, created a strong impression not only in his favour, but in that of the girl herself.She, poor child, was by no means such a good witness as he was.Overwhelmed with shame at the position in which she had been put, conscious that the ease with which she had been deceived must seem incredible to many, she answered badly, with hesitation and reluctance, scarcely raised her voice above a whisper, and made such a pitiful exhibition of nervousness and distress that only her beauty saved her from general condemnation as an artful and designing creature.For indeed she felt conscious that her situation was a shameful one, and she could not but feel that part of the disgrace, if not of the guilt, of the murder of the unhappy Burdock, lay upon her most innocent shoulders. So she stammered and grew red, answered quickly when she ought to have been careful, and slowly when she ought to have been frank, so that she ended by having the men on her side indeed, but at the cost of losing the suffrages of the women.As for the accused man, Gurney or Williams, he was proved to have posed as the second guardian of the heiress, and to have shared the plunder obtained by the more daring Leblanc. St. Quintin's cheque-book having been found upon him, it was rightly conjectured that, being an expert forger, he had intended to ransack the young man's portmanteau for specimens of his handwriting, and then to draw cheques in favour of himself and his fellow-rogue, forging St. Quintin's signature to each.And it was easy to believe that, but for the act of James Ince in snatching away the coat containing the cheque-book, and thus forcing the two rascals to come back to Densley in search of it, they would, after calling at the Doncaster Hotel for St. Quintin's luggage, have taken the train to London, and perhaps have succeeded in cashing some cheques and in getting away from England before there was time to raise a hue and cry.Both the scoundrels had recognised that they had reached the end of their tether, and but for the inconsiderate curiosity of St. Quintin in watching them at the pond, they might have succeeded in leaving their ghastly secret undiscovered for a long time, and have avoided the necessity of the assault which had nearly cost St. Quintin his life.Gurney strenuously asserted that he had been no party to injuring St. Quintin, and St. Quintin himself was inclined to think that this was true. It was in Leblanc's face that he had seen the murderous expression which made him believe that his last hour was come, and he had a dim and hazy fancy that the second rascal had interfered to save him from anything worse than abandonment in the deserted mansion.The trial resulted in the conviction of both Madame Leblanc and Gurney on the charge of conspiracy to defraud, and the woman was sentenced to seven years' penal servitude and the man to fourteen.When the case was over, Dorcas Lane disappeared, and St. Quintin, who guessed where she had gone, found her, in bad health and broken-hearted, in the shabby little house where Mrs. Mortimer had given her shelter before the days of her short but terrible reign as the heiress of Densley Wold.She repulsed St. Quintin, told him she never wished to see him again, behaved with fierce pride, sent him away grave and disconsolate, and then cried her eyes out with misery at what she felt that she was bound to do.She could not let him mate with such an outcast as Fate had made of her.Mrs. Mortimer, however, would not sit down tamely under the unmerited shame which had been put upon her protegee. She wrote to Sir William Lane, appealing to his generosity to take some pity upon a girl, a near relation of his, who was prevented by her sad position from marrying a man of good birth and handsome fortune, who loved her and who was loved by her.To this came such an answer as filled both the ladies with indignation.Sir William regretted that, having regard to the scandalous position in which his grand-niece had placed herself, in making herself the talk of London in connection with a gang of swindlers and murderers, he could not do as much for her as he would have been glad to do in other circumstances. However, if Mrs. Mortimer would assure him, on her word of honour, that, in spite of appearances, Dorcas was really quite blameless in the matter, he would consider his decision, and would perhaps later be able to allow her to pay him a visit, which would rehabilitate her in the eyes of the world.To this letter Mrs. Mortimer replied that Dorcas had indeed been unlucky in not having the judgment and intellect of her male relations to assist her, in which case she would no doubt have seen through the machinations of the people who, as it was, had made her so easy a victim. As to his possible invitation, she said she would leave Dorcas to accept it or refuse it as she pleased.And then there was an interval, during which neither the baronet nor his grand-niece heard anything from the other.But one day, about a month later, Sir William Lane got a letter in a masculine handwriting which he did not know, and on opening it he found it to contain these words—"DEAR SIR WILLIAM,—I daresay you will not remember me, though my father was an old friend of your father's and though I used sometimes to come to your house on a visit when I was at Eton. I write on behalf of your grand-niece, Dorcas, my wife, to say that she regrets being unable to avail herself at present of your most kind and warm-hearted invitation to Greys Court. But if you will come and see us at Hawks Castle, where we shall be, if all goes well, in March, when we return from the Riviera, where we are spending our honeymoon, we shall both be delighted to welcome you.—Yours very truly,"MASSEY ST. QUINTIN."COLSTON AND COY, LTD., PRINTERS, EDINBURGH 10.1007