Title: The Crowned Skull
Author: Fergus Hume
* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *
eBook No.:  0200401.txt
Language:   English
Date first posted: June 2002
Date most recently updated: June 2002

This eBook was produced by: Bronwyn Evans bronwyn.evans@student.adelaide.edu.au

Project Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editions
which are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright notice
is included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particular
paper edition.

Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing this
file.

This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg of Australia License which may be viewed online at
http://gutenberg.net.au/licence.html

To contact Project Gutenberg of Australia go to http://gutenberg.net.au

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Title:      The Crowned Skull
Author:     Fergus Hume




CONTENTS

I     The Tent of Mystery
II    The Prophecy Fulfilled
III   Queer Evidence
IV    The Will
V     After-Events
VI    Mrs. Krent's Diplomacy
VII   Retreat
VIII  An Amateur Detective
IX    The Steward's Story
X     A Strange Disappearance
XI    The Quarryman
XII   News
XIII  Mrs. Krent's Story
XIV   An Unexpected Meeting
XV    Husband and Wife
XVI   The Letter
XVII  Under the Earth
XVIII A Discovery
XIX   What Happened Next
XX    A Terrible Night
XXI   Anne's Defence
XXII  The Red Skull
XXIII Anak's Mother
XXIV  A Thorough Rascal
XXV   Disaster
XXVI  The Deluge





Chapter I The Tent of Mystery

Sir Hannibal Trevick was a personage at St. Ewalds. Certainly he lacked
money to support the dignity of his name, and therefore had been
compelled to let Trevick Grange to a South African millionaire, and take
up his abode in the Dower House at the Cornish watering-place. But he
came of an old and distinguished family, and possessed to all
appearances great force of character. Also, he was an ardent churchman,
and a philanthropist. Finally, he had a most charming daughter, who was
 both clever and beautiful: two things not invariably found together.

Dericka Trevick--her quaint Christian name was a source of wonder to
archaeologists, since it was that of the Babylonian fish-goddess, could
have figured as Titania at a fairy solemnity. She was small and slender,
golden-haired and blue-eyed, with a bright manner and a mercurial
temperament. Such a description gives an impression of insipidity and
shallowness. But Dericka was neither insipid nor shallow. Her will was
strong, her judgement quick and unerring, and she ruled the Dower House.
 Sir Hannibal obeyed her, although he saved his dignity by pretending
that such obedience was but fatherly kindness, which could refuse nothing
to his household fairy. She dominated the mild, lean governess, Miss
Warry, who had taught her everything, and she kept a tight hand over the
three domestics who formed Sir Hannibal's modest establishment. In spite
of her looks and manner Dericka was strong, and could have passed for an
Elizabeth or Catherine in embryo.

All the same, she was popular, and therefore all the young men of St.
Ewalds were bound to her chariot-wheels. But she favoured none of these
as they were too bucolic and tame. Her heart had been given for over six
months to a smart young barrister from London, who was called Oswald
Forde. Sir Hannibal approved, for Forde was a rising man, and might yet
become a K. C. or a judge; but as yet there was no open engagement.
Dericka was only twenty, and Forde twenty-seven, so there was time enough
for a mutual experiment as to whether they would suit one another before
before attempting matrimony.

Forde came to St. Ewalds to bask in the smiles of beauty whenever he
could manage, and thus found himself at the fete given by Sir Hannibal in
aid of the Fishermen's Chapel, which was being built on a promontory just
outside the town. It was a splendidly warm autumn day, and the spacious
grounds of the Dower House were occupied by all the fashion and wealth of
the place. The square, ugly building--it was Georgian and
comfortable--looked out over the waters of St. Ewalds Bay, and possessed
garden far too large for the size of the mansion. These sloped down to a
fringe of ragged rocks, barricading smooth stretches of sand upon which
broke the white Atlantic billows. What with foreign plants and native
trees, and late blooming flowers of all kinds bordering the green lawns,
the place was very lovely, and the tents erected here and there for the
fete made it look like an encampment. People were buying and selling,
and eating and drinking, and dancing, and playing games in the hot
sunshine, and Sir Hannibal secretly assured himself with much
satisfaction that the fete would bring in much money to the chapel. He
liked to play the Lord of the Manor even on a small scale, and regarded
those who attended the fete as so many worshippers who came to adore
him--which they certainly did in a most snobbish manner.

As Sir Hannibal was a widower, with a daughter who would soon be married,
at least so said the gossips, many young ladies had, as the saying goes,
set their caps at him. He seemed to favour Miss Anne Stretton, a
dark-eyed, handsome woman, who was studying art, and had just enough to
keep a roof over her head and dress well, which she invariably did. Sir
Hannibal, as Miss Stretton knew, was poor, but then he had a position,
and was, as she guessed, fairly manageable. It was worth her while to be
 Lady Trevick, and that position she was determined to occupy, even
though her heart drew her in the direction of Ralph Penrith, a
dissipated-looking man, whose pedigree was long and whose income was
extremely small.. These two were at the fete, and talked together a
great deal, perhaps, on Miss Stretton's part, to arouse the jealousy of
Sir Hannibal, and force him into an ardently-wished-for proposal.

'You have scarcely given me a word,' complained Sir Hannibal, advancing to
where Miss Stretton sat along with his rival. 'Will you not accept my
arm and walk round the grounds?'

'Certainly,' assented the lady, alertly, and shot a glance at Penrith,
whose face grew dark, 'but I cannot stay long. Mr. Penrith's mother has
asked me to stay for a few days, and he drives me out to the Manor House
at four o'clock.'

'It is three now,' said Penrith, looking at his watch; 'you have an hour
to explore the grounds, Miss Stretton.'

'It will not take us long to drive five miles,' she replied carelessly,
and walked away with the baronet, leaving Penrith sullen and silent.
After a time he strolled away to the tent where drinks were sold and
enjoyed himself there in his own gross way.

Miss Stretton looked sideways at her companion as they strolled among the
visitors. She saw a well-preserved man of over fifty who might pass for
forty, and could not but admire his alert military looks and perfect
dress. Catching her gaze Sir Hannibal smiled, and examined her in his
turn. She was certainly handsome--quite a fine woman, although it could
be seen that later in life she would become stout and heavy. Her eyes
were dark, and she knew how to use them, and her frock was all that could
be desired, even by so fastidious a man as Sir Hannibal Trevick.

'You are very cruel to me,' he murmured in her ear.

'On the contrary,' said Miss Stretton, smiling. 'I should blame you. I
have been here for half an hour and this is the first time that I have
set eyes on you. But for Mr. Penrith I should have been sadly neglected.
 These St. Ewald people look down upon a poor artist.'

'They are jealous, dear lady. You are fit to be a queen.'

'I am a queen, without a kingdom,' said Miss Stretton meaningly.

'You shall have one soon,' replied Sir Hannibal significantly. 'A small
kingdom, it is true, but still one wherein you can reign supreme.'

'The size does not matter so long as love rules.'

'And love would rule, were you the queen.'

'That so much depends on my subjects,' replied the lady, quickly, and
cast another look on him, which made the elderly heart of Sir Hannibal
beat faster than it had done for years.

They were in a secluded part of the grounds overlooking the beach, and
undoubtedly after so propitious an opening Trevick would have proposed,
but that he was interrupted. He had just opened his mouth to speak, and
Miss Stretton, with a heightened colour, was getting ready to accept
him, when Dericka appeared along with Forde. With his dark looks and her
golden beauty they made a comely couple, but Sir Hannibal frowned all the
same. His frown was reflected on the face of the calm queenly woman
beside him. Dericka, glancing from one to the other, drew her own
conclusions. She knew what Miss Stretton desired, and, not liking her,
congratulated herself on thus preventing a proposal. Forde saw nothing,
and shook hands with Anne; but Dericka saw everything with the quickness
of a woman who is in love herself, and at once proceeded to detach her
father from this too fascinating adventuress--as she characterised Miss
Anne Stretton.

'You are wanted, papa,' she said quickly. 'Mr. Bowring is waiting for
you in the library.'

'Mr. Bowring!' echoed Sir Hannibal, growing red and looking fierce; 'and
what may Mr. Bowring want?'

'I really do not know. He came over from the Grange in his motor-car and
seems very anxious to see you--on business, I suppose.'

'He might have chosen a day when I was less busy,' retorted Trevick, and
seemed inclined to deny himself to the untoward visitor. But on second
thoughts he turned away towards the house. 'I must see him, I suppose,'
he said ill-humouredly; 'something to do with the Grange, I expect. He
is a most expensive tenant in spite of his being a millionaire. He
always wants something done. Miss Stretton, will you excuse? Dericka,
please look after Miss Stretton.' And he went away with a last look at
Anne, who stood silent, drawing figures on the sandy path with the tip of
her sun-shade.

'Have you had some refreshment?' Dericka asked her formally.

'Thanks, yes,' replied Miss Stretton with a sweet smile, and with rage in
her heart at the interruption. 'Now I must buy something.'

'Or you can have your fortune told,' said Forde smiling. 'Go to the Tent
of Mystery. Miss Warry is there, and she really tells the most wonderful
things.'

'Has she told your fortune?' asked Miss Stretton with a glance at
Dericka.

'That is very easy to read,' answered Forde, smiling again.

Anne tossed her head. 'How superstitious you are.'

'I believe that there are more things in heaven and earth than are
dreamed of in our philosophy,' retorted the young man dryly.

'Poor Shakespeare; what a mis-quotation.'

'Give the credit to Bacon,' laughed Dericka, who scarcely knew what to
say to a woman she so much disliked.

'I am not clever enough to decide the Bacon-Shakespeare controversy, Miss
Trevick. You are, I understand?'

'You praise me too much, Miss Stretton.'

How far the battle of words would have gone it is impossible to say, but
the presence of Forde restrained the feminine war, and the situation was
adjusted by a glance between the two women. Then Miss Stretton turned
away with a laugh--a society laugh, to hide deeper feelings, and left the
lovers alone. 'You can talk Romeo and Juliet,' she called back
mockingly.

Dericka rather talked Lady Macbeth. 'How I hate that woman,' she said
clenching her small fist; 'an adventuress, and--'

'That is too severe, my dear.'

'No it isn't. She came here pretending to paint pictures, but in reality
to look for a husband.'

'Rumour gives Penrith to her in that capacity.'

'And my knowledge of her scheming gives her my father.'

'Pooh! Sir Hannibal is too old to think of marriage.'

'A man is never too old to be cajoled by a woman,' said Dericka, tartly.

'I know that,' replied Oswald gaily; 'even my twenty-seven venerable
years have not saved me.'

Dericka pinched his arm. 'You donkey.'

'A really nice girl would have put in an adjective.'

'You silly donkey!' Where upon the young man kissed her, and a lovers'
interlude followed.

'When will you allow me to ask Sir Hannibal?' demanded the barrister
softly.

'To-morrow, before you go back to town. But papa will not make any
objection, dearest. He has just enough to live on, and will be very glad
to place his burden--I am the burden, if you please--on someone else's
shoulders.'

'Dear burden,' murmured Forde, taking her in his arms. Then, when he
descended to earth again, 'Why doesn't Bowring help your father? I heard
that they were old friends.'

'Old enemies, rather,' said Dericka with a cloud over-shadowing her fair
face. 'Mr. Bowring knew papa in Africa years ago, when I was a little
baby. When he made his money he asked papa to let him have the Grange,
and pays him a good rent. But papa and Mr. Bowring hardly ever speak
and never visit one another.'

'But Mr. Bowring is with him now?'

'Yes, and I am going into the house to see what is the matter.'

'There is no need,' urged Forde, restraining her.

'There is every need,' replied Dericka determinedly. 'Papa in many
things is a mere baby, and I have to do everything; besides, he has a
very quick temper, and Mr. Bowring is a very rough man. Should they
quarrel, and that is not unlikely, I don't know what may happen.'

'Let me go with you to the house.'

'No, stop here. People always smile when they see us together.'

'Who cares for their smiling? We are as good as engaged.'

'Wait until our engagement is announced,' said Dericka quickly, 'then I
won't mind. But I hate gossip, until my position is assured with papa's
approval.'

'Ah, then you do count Sir Hannibal as something?'

'Of course. I like to do things in order. Papa, to the outward world,
is a person of character and with a strong will. But he has my character
and my will.'

'What a terrible wife I shall have,' said Oswald jokingly; 'you will rule
me in every way.'

'Then I shall begin now,' said the girl, laughing, but with a fond look
at his handsome face. 'Stop here and I'll be back as soon as I know why
Mr. Bowring has come. Papa cannot do business without me.'

Somewhat annoyed, Forde lighted a cigarette and leaned over the brick
wall to watch the billows rolling on the shore, while Dericka walked
quickly to the house. She had cause for uneasiness, as she had heard her
father express anything but amiable sentiments towards his tenant. Mr.
Bowring was a rough man, as she had said, for she had met him once or
twice, and having lived in lawless lands he was not likely to be bound by
social rules. Sir Hannibal, weak and refined, would have no chance
against his rugged strength, nor indeed would he have any chance did
Bowring do business with him. The South African, fighting for his own
hand, was always trying to get the better of his landlord with regard to
the Grange, and would have done so on three occasions but for Dericka's
shrewdness. Bowring bore no grudge towards the girl for her
interference, and rather seemed to admire her for her cleverness of
getting the better of him.

But Dericka's fears as to a fracas proved to be vain, for when she
reached the front door she met Sir Hannibal and his visitor, issuing
therefrom. The baronet certainly appeared to be agitated, but Bowring
presented a calm aspect.

The millionaire was a man of bronze, grey as an old wolf, with shaggy
hair fringing a bald head, and shaggy eyebrows overhanging piercing grey
eyes. His long beard was also shaggy, but his skin, in spite of his
sixty years, was fresh and pink as that of the girl who gazed at him.
With the contempt for appearance in which wealthy men indulge on
occasions, he wore a shabby suit of black, with an African felt hat, and
carried in his ungloved hands a queer twisted stick, carved and painted
by the hands of some Zulu witch-doctor. Beside Sir Hannibal, polished,
stately, accurately dressed, and eminently refined, John Bowring looked
like a savage, but a savage dowered with a powerful brain.

Man of bronze as he was the keen grey eyes lighted when they fell on
Dericka, gazing fascinated by his strength.

'Good-day, missy,' he said in a deep, harsh voice, yet in a kindly
manner. 'We have finished our conversation, and now your father--my old
friend,' he cast a side glance on the baronet as he spoke, 'wants to see
the fun.'

'Dericka will conduct you round the grounds,' said Trevick hurriedly.
'Where is Miss Stretton, my dear?'

'In the Tent of Mystery,' replied the girl carelessly; 'at least, I
advised her to go there and have her fortune told.'

Sir Hannibal looked hard at his daughter, trying to discover if her words
were double-edged. But she met his gaze serenely, and presently the
baronet hurried away. Bowring turned to address the girl with something
like a chuckle when behind him appeared a mild face and a lean, gaunt
figure, in sad-coloured feminine garments.

'Why, Sophy, are you not in the tent?' said Dericka, recognising her
governess with surprise.

'I just came in for a few minutes,' said Miss Warry timidly. 'It is
trying work telling fortunes. I read Miss Stretton's hand.'

'What did you read?' asked Dericka, curiously.

'Sorrow and trouble and wickedness,' said the sibyl solemnly, and again
the old millionaire chuckled.

'Do you really profess to tell the future?' he asked contemptuously.

'I really do,' said the mild governess, nettled by his disbelief, 'and if
you will come with me to the tent I can tell yours.'

'My future is already my past,' said Bowring harshly; 'you can tell me
nothing likely to interest me. However, I wish to give some money to
the chapel, and as I give nothing for nothing I may as well buy a few
fairy stories with my guinea.'

'I may make mistakes,' said Miss Warry simply and blinked with her tired
old eyes, 'and sometimes I do, as I am not sufficiently conversant with
the psychic life. But I do occasionally foretell things which really
happen.'

'Let us see what will happen to me,' said Bowring jokingly, and with a
grim smile walked after Miss Warry, who floated--the term is very
appropriate, for she did not walk like an ordinary human being--towards
the Tent of Mystery.

It was now about four o'clock, and Dericka saw her father bidding
farewell to Miss Stretton, who was hanging on the arm of the still
sulky-looking Mr. Penrith. The baronet seemed to be younger than ever as
he basked in the smiles of the adventuress. 'For she is that,' insisted
Dericka to herself, 'and wants to marry papa for his position.' It never
occurred to the girl, who, after all, was young in experience, that the
adventuress might seek money also, and that she was not likely to find
in the pockets of Sir Hannibal Trevick.

Dericka saw the three disappear down the short avenue, at the foot of
which, presumably, waited the dog-cart of Penrith, wherein he proposed to
drive Miss Stretton over the moorland to his mother's place. She then
walked about amongst the visitors, exchanging a few words, and making
herself agreeable. Chance brought her in front of the Tent of Mystery,
and from it there issued Bowring, looking somewhat white, followed by the
governess.

'You don't believe me?' asked Miss Warry severely--that is, as severely as
her mildness would permit.

'No,' said Bowring harshly, 'you talk nonsense.'

'Yet you seem to be upset,' said Dericka suddenly, and looking at him in
a curious, puzzled way.

Bowring wiped the perspiration from his high, bald forehead.

'I have had a turn,' he said gruffly, 'but from nothing that woman told
me.'

The governess had again retired into the tent, and Dericka, thinking that
the fortune-telling was at an end, was about to conduct the millionaire
to the refreshment stall, when Miss Warry again appeared, holding an
envelope in her hand. 'Mr. Bowring,' she called, and some people turned
at the sound of the name.

'What is it?' he asked gruffly.

'In this envelope I have written a prophecy which I read in your hand.
It will be fulfilled before to-morrow. The envelope is sealed, and if
what I have written here occurs, then the truth of my art will be made
manifest.'

Bowring took the sealed envelope and thrust it into his pocket. 'I shall
look at it to-morrow night.'

'It may be too late!' said the sibyl solemnly, and vanished into the
tent.



Chapter II The Prophecy Fulfilled

'What does she mean by that?' asked Bowring sharply, when the governess
had disappeared to foretell the futures of fresh dupes.

'I do not know,' said Dericka. Then she pointed to the pocket into which
the millionaire had slipped the sealed letter. 'You can learn, if you
read what is written.'

Bowring took the letter out and twisted it in his gnarled, lean hands in
a thoughtful manner. 'No,' he said abruptly, and after some meditation.
'If it is good, it can wait; if evil, I must meet it blindly, as it is
best that the future should be hidden from our eyes.'

'Yet you went in there to inquire?'

'Because I wanted to give my guinea to the chapel. I give nothing for
nothing. In that way I made my money. It is all rubbish, this fortune
telling,' he added, looking keenly at Dericka. 'Has Miss Warry ever told
your fortune?'

'Yes. By the cards and by the hand, and by looking into the crystal.'

'And you believe what she said?'

Dericka blushed, and looked away in the distance to where Oswald Forde
appeared, sauntering idly in search of her, with a cigarette.

'I should like to believe,' she said softly.

Bowring's eyes followed her, and he also saw the handsome young fellow.
The sight appeared to annoy him, and he frowned.

'You are foolish, girl,' he said roughly. 'We make our own fortunes,
good or bad, and it needs no palmistry to tell that as we sow, so shall
we reap.'

Dericka, her eyes still fastened on her lover, who paused to talk with a
pretty girl, defended what Miss Warry called 'her art'. In a musing
voice she replied. 'To some natures,' she said, 'the veil between the
seen and the unseen is very thin. Such natures may have a premonition
which turns out true, or they may read by the present the doubtful
future. I have known several of Sophia's prophecies come true in the
end.'

'Sophia?'

'Miss Warry. She is my governess, and has been for many a long day, but
shortly she is leaving us, as the success of her fortune-telling has made
her desirous to earn money in that way.'

'If she sets up in London,' said Bowring grimly, 'she will be haled
before the magistrates as a swindler, and quite right too. The woman's a
fool.'

'She is a very good, kind woman, Mr. Bowring.'

'Well,'--the millionaire shrugged his large shoulders--'she certainly has
a strong advocate in you, Miss Trevick. Where is your father?'

'Somewhere about,' said Dericka, looking round. 'Do you wish to see him
again?'

'Not at once; though I would like to see him before five o'clock, when I
must leave. It is a long drive to Trevick Grange, but my motor is swift,
and I'll get home very rapidly. I want to have a chat to you before I go
away.'

'With me?' Dericka looked surprised. There was little in common between
this old man and herself.

'Yes.'

He led the way towards a secluded corner where there was a garden seat,
and nodded that she should follow, with the air of a man who is
accustomed to be obeyed.

'Your father and I have been talking about you,' he said abruptly, when
Dericka was seated.

'Yes?' Dericka replied coldly, and fastened her brilliant blue eyes on
the rugged face. She was not going to commit herself by asking
questions until she knew how the land lay. Bowring, as she intuitively
saw, was a man to be delicately handled.

'You seem to be a girl with a head on your shoulders.'

'Thank you for the compliment. But why pay it to me?'

'I have heard of the way in which you manage this house, and your father,
who is, and always was, a simple man.'

'How do you know?'

'Because he was with me out in Africa years and years ago, when you were
a tiny girl. He came home about the time your mother died, and came
home, too, without a penny. Now I,' the millionaire expanded his chest
in a grandiloquent fashion, 'I have made my fortune! I am worth a great
deal of money.'

'So I understand,' said Dericka coldly; 'but what has all this to do with
me?'

'I am coming to that. It has a great deal to do with you. I rented the
Grange from your father, not because I wanted it, but so as to help him.
 I pay a fancy rent, upon which he lives.'

'You have no right to talk to me like this,' said Dericka, reddening.
'After all, my father is my father, and your old association in South
Africa does not give you the right to insult him.'

The millionaire was immovable.

'You are a girl of spirit,' he said approvingly. 'I like you none the
worse for it.'

'With your permission,' said Dericka, rising, and speaking sarcastically,
'I will join our visitors and attend to my duties.'

'Join that young popinjay there,' said Bowring, nodding his head in the
direction of Forde. 'I see well what it means.'

'Sir!' Dericka looked angry, and really felt angry. 'My private affairs
have nothing to do with you.'

'They have a great deal to do with me, as your father and I agreed.'

'What do you mean?'

'Let me reply by asking another question, my dear. When Miss Warry told
your fortune did she say who was to be your husband?'

'I refuse to answer that question,' said Dericka with spirit; but all the
same she did answer it by looking again at Forde.

'No,' said Bowring, looking also; 'he is not to be your husband.'

'I chose for myself, Mr. Bowring.'

'What a little spitfire you are. Listen. I want to help your father as
he is my old friend and is poor.'

'I never knew that my father and you were friends.'

'We have both been very thick, certainly,' said Bowring grimly. 'He has
kept away from me, and I from him. But to-day, I came over to make it
up. We have done so, although it was not an easy task. Your father so
far forgot himself as to threaten me with death.'

'Ridiculous!'

'So I told him,' said Bowring quietly; 'but for reasons connected with
South Africa he would not be sorry to see me in my coffin. However, I
managed to make him understand that his interest and mine are identical,
and proposed a new arrangement.' He paused.

'Yes?' said Dericka, interrogatively.

'I intend to pay your father a larger rent and help him out of his
present difficulties, of which you are cognisant, if you--you, Miss
Trevick--will marry my son Morgan.'

Dericka rose with a bewildered air.

'Marry your son--that idiot?'

'He is not quite an idiot,' said Bowring in vexed tones, 'although his
will is weak. All the better for a woman of your managing capability, my
dear. Morgan wants a woman who can handle him firmly, and from what I
have heard of you, Miss Trevick, you are the woman who would make Morgan
a good wife. Also, you are a girl of old family, and the daughter of a
baronet. Against these advantages I set my money. If you will marry
Morgan and turn him into something resembling a man, I will give you your
old family seat of the Grange, and allow you and your husband ten
thousand a year. When I die you will get the lot of my money. Also, I
will put your father's affairs right.'

'Are you serious?' demanded the girl, with a red spot on either cheek.

'Perfectly. I never waste words.'

'Neither do I. Wait!'

She walked away, leaving Bowring wondering what she was about to do, and
speedily returned with Oswald Forde.

'I have asked this gentleman to come,' said Dericka coldly, 'so that he
and you may hear my answer. Oswald, Mr. Bowring and my father have
decided that I shall marry Morgan, the son of this man.'

'Dericka, you will not, when I--'

'When you love me,' she finished, and placing her arms round his neck she
kissed him fondly. Then, turning to Bowring, who looked on grimly at
this comedy, she said promptly, 'Do you require any further answer?'

'What does all this mean?' asked Forde in angry tones.

'It means that Mr. Bowring wanted to buy me and that I am not for sale.
It means, Oswald, that I will marry you whenever you like.'

'It means also,' broke in Bowring, perfectly composed, 'that if you do
not obey your father and marry my son, Sir Hannibal Trevick, baronet as
he is, will be disgraced.'

'Disgraced! What do you mean?'

'I advise you to ask your father that,' said Bowring sarcastically. 'You
will find that he is on my side, and is anxious to call Morgan his
son-in-law. For the rest, I can wait. He pulled out his watch and
glanced at it. 'Five o'clock; I must go. I'll return to-morrow to see
if your conversation with your father has modified your attitude.
Good-day!'

When the millionaire had gone Dericka stared after him in consternation.

'What does he mean?' she asked.

'Blackmail,' said Forde quietly. 'My legal experience tells me that
much. Your father was in South Africa and apparently got into some
scrape. This man knows all about it, and unless you marry this Morgan
Bowring he will tell all the world something, which your father would
rather keep concealed.'

'Oswald,' said Dericka rapidly, 'my father is weak and foolish in many
ways. But I do not believe that he has done, or would do, anything
disgraceful.'

'Then why is this man so certain that you will marry at his bidding?'

Dericka passed her hand across her forehead with a weary air.

'I do not know,' she said. 'This Morgan Bowring is half an idiot--a most
dreadful person to look upon. Were he sane I would not marry him, much
less when I know, what all St. Ewalds knows, that the man is not
responsible for his actions in a great measure. My father would never
consent to my marrying him. I am sure of that.'

Forde was silent. He knew that Sir Hannibal was a selfish man, and
probably had pages in his past life which he would not like read by the
world. To save himself from a single pang he would sacrifice Dericka
without a moment's hesitation. But he did not tell this to the girl for
obvious reasons, and remained awkwardly silent. It was the girl who
first recovered her speech.

'I shall see my father at once,' she said decisively, 'and confront him
with Mr. Bowring before he leaves this place.'

Forde acquiesced, but a search for the master of the house was in vain.
Sir Hannibal was not to be found in any of the rooms, nor in the gardens.
People, having exhausted the pleasures of the fete, were already
leaving, and Dericka, with Forde at her heels, went down to the gates
thinking to find her father there, saying farewell to some of his
visitors. Instead she found Mr. Bowring getting into a 50-hp. Hadrian
machine, more like a racer than a simple motor-car for travelling country
roads. Bowring addressed her:

'I cannot find my old friend Sir Hannibal,' he said with something like a
sneer, 'or I should have told him of our conversation. But I'll come
again to-morrow. Good evening.' And as the chauffeur placed his hands
on the wheel the motor swung off with a powerful hum, like a gigantic
bee.

Dericka stared after the machine, but found nothing to say. Then she
went back with Forde to again search for Sir Hannibal, and again was
unsuccessful.

What Bowring thought of the girl's defiance it is impossible to say. He
sat thinking deeply, sometimes with a grim smile, and again with a frown
corrugating his brows. The chauffeur, a quiet, fair young fellow called
Donalds, engineered the racer--for the Hadrian certainly was that, from
the speed she was going at--up the High Street of St. Ewalds and out into
the open country. Many people stopped to look at that low, rakish form
painted grey, and looking uncanny, which ran up the steep ascent of the
street like a fly up a wall. Everyone knew Bowring, and envied him the
wealth which could command such a vehicle.

But when the steep ascent was mounted the machine ran smoothly along a
level road until she topped the next and slid round a sloping curve,
which dropped her into a valley. Then again came a rise, and she slipped
forward humming into wild waste lands.

On all sides stretched the naked moorland, covered with heather and
gorse, and huge grey stones lying here and there as though a Cornish
giant had dropped a handful of pebbles from his pocket. On either side,
here and there rose rounded hills, topped with cromlechs and
rocking-stones, and streaked with purple lights. The west flared with
the vivid colours of the sunset, delicately pink, and melting on the
horizon into sheets of shimmering gold. To the left were the bleak hills
bathed in the imperial purple of the setting sun; to the right the cold
blue of the trembling ocean, with white waves near shore tumbling amongst
the black jagged rocks. Bowring knew the landscape well, and troubled
himself very little about the beauty it took on under the changing hues
of the western sky. He was thinking of many things--perhaps of his past,
which rumour said was not all that could be desired. But of one thing he
certainly was thinking, and that was the firm face of the fairy-like
creature who had defied him. He wondered that so frail a form could
contain so brave a spirit. Dericka was the very wife for the half-mad
Morgan, and would bring good blood into the family. Then he, John
Bowring, millionaire, could die in peace, leaving the firm foundations of
a county family.

So the old man dreamed, while the car buzzed along the smooth road,
swooping into hollows, soaring up ascents, and, spinning like a live
thing, sped along endless levels. About three miles from St. Ewalds came
a long downward stretch of road, which afforded Donalds the chance of
letting his machine go. And go she did, with a roar and a rush like a
live bombshell. The keen air cut sharply against their faces as they
hummed down the long descent. At the foot the road took a sharp turn
under some high banks, above which stretched the purple of the moorland.
 With Bowring dreaming, and Donalds exulting in the speed of the powerful
machine, the car swept round the curve at a tremendous rate. But once
round, and with another short road descending before her to a second
corner, she had scarcely darted forward a short distance when right in
front loomed up a huge mass of granite in the very centre of the
roadway. With a cry of horror Donalds put on the brakes. But it was too
late. The Hadrian met the mass of granite full, and the two men were
hurled into the air, above a smashed mass of steel and iron, smoking and
hissing.

It was like a nightmare. The chauffeur was tossed like a cork down a
bank and fell on a soft bed of purple heather, narrowly missing a mighty
stone, which would have killed him. Dazed and confused, and not knowing
how time was passing, Donalds painfully climbed up to the road again. He
saw, as in a dream, the broken motor-car, vague and doubtful-looking in
the twilight, and saw also his master struggling to his feet. As Bowring
straightened himself, swaying to and fro, a man leaped down from the
high bank, and without hesitation, put a revolver to the old man's ear.
The next moment Bowring fell as the report rang out, and Donalds,
gasping with horror, weak from loss of blood, and confused by the shock,
fell fainting down the bank, to all appearances as dead as the old
millionaire.

But the shot had attracted attention. The murderer heard a shout, and
without hesitation regained the top of the steep bank and vanished amidst
the purple heather. Scarcely had he done so when round the corner came
several labourers at full speed. They were quarrymen employed in
breaking stones in an old quarry which belonged to Trevick Grange. These
ran forward, exclaiming at what they saw. The whole appearance of the
wreckage told a story--the broken car, the insensible man, and the great
mass of granite in the centre of the road.

'But the shot?' said one man, picking up Bowring's body. He dropped it
with a cry of horror. 'Look!' he cried, and pointed to the head.

'Murder!' said several voices, and the quarrymen looked at one another in
the fast gathering twilight.

The sounds of wheels were heard rattling furiously, and round the second
corner, whence the quarrymen had appeared, rushed a dog-cart bearing
Penrith and Miss Stretton.

'What is the matter?' they asked. 'We heard a shot, and came back.'

'Bowring's dead,' said a man with a civilised accent. 'Shot!'

'Dead! Shot!' cried Penrith, while Miss Stretton shrieked, and he leaped
down with a horrified face. 'Let me see.'

While he examined the body Anne Stretton, with a white face and trembling
lips, alighted also. Near the body her quick eye caught sight of an
envelope. Picking this up she tore it open.

'It might contain something likely to say who killed him,' she said
shaking; 'perhaps the assassin left it here.'

'What does it say?' asked Penrith, while the quarrymen crowded round and
one struck a match for her to read the letter by.

She read slowly: 'You will be killed before you reach home this
evening!'

There was a dead silence, and all looked at the body. The prophecy had
been fulfilled.



Chapter III Queer Evidence

The violent death of John Bowring caused, as was natural, an immense
sensation in the district. Not only because crime was comparatively
rare in those sparsely-inhabited parts, but also on account of the
position and great wealth of the victim. The news ran like wildfire
through the countryside, and the local reporters gathered like vultures
round the famous corpse. But the evidence they picked up was scanty, as
the police, ignorant themselves of many things, were reticent. No one
knew why Bowring had been murdered, but there was a grim determination
about the crime which revealed very clearly that the assassin had made up
his mind that the millionaire should not escape. Failing with the
granite rock, he had made certain with the revolver, and therefore must
have had some extremely strong motive to induce him to place, so to
speak, his neck twice in the hangman's noose.

Then came out the fact of the sealed letter. Anne Stretton might have
chattered, or some of the quarrymen to whom she read the single prophetic
line might have told the story, or Miss Sophia Warry, proud of her
powers, might have boasted of her achievement. No one knew exactly how
the rumour got about, but certainly within four-and-twenty hours there
were few people who had not heard of the strangely-fulfilled prophecy,
and this introduction of a psychic element gave the case a weird
interest, which removed it from the category of commonplace crime.

The body was taken by the quarrymen to Trevick Grange, which stood a
couple of miles from the scene of death, amongst the wild Cornish moors.
 It was a rambling, two-storey house of rough grey stone, roofed with
bluish slates, and covered with ivy and lichen, as though it were indeed
natural to the soil. The mansion amidst its circle of wind-clipt trees,
and fronting the changeful waters of the Atlantic, looked picturesque,
but uncommonly grim; as autochthonic as the early British dwellings
further up the moorlands. For centuries the Trevicks had dwelt there,
and not always in the most reputable way; but pecuniary necessities had
forced the present baronet to let the family seat to John Bowring, and
retire to the more cheerful Dower House at St. Ewalds. So the body of
the millionaire, who in life had lorded it under the ancient roof, was
placed in the guest chamber, and the house was given over to a mourning
atmosphere, which suited its sinister looks.

Of course, Sir Hannibal was greatly shocked. He and the dead man had not
been very good friends, although they had passed through many adventures
in the waste lands of South Africa. All the same, it was terrible to
think that a man full of life and health and ambitious schemes should so
suddenly be removed from the physical sphere, and in so horrible a
manner. Also, Sir Hannibal recognised that he had lost a good tenant.
No one would pay him so excellent a rent; and, moreover, the solitary
situation of Trevick Grange rendered it somewhat difficult to let, even
at a moderate price. Sir Hannibal, being intensely selfish, was sorry
for John Bowring, but he was more sorry for himself, and grumbled greatly
as he drove out to the inquest with Dericka and Miss Warry. The
last-named lady had come by particular request, as the coroner wished to
know how she has so accurately foretold the death of the millionaire; and
Dericka accompanied her old governess to support her in the ordeal. Not
that Miss Warry anticipated trouble when being examined, for she was
rather glad to display her cleverness; but she felt that Dericka would be
a comfort to her at so proud a moment.

And along the road beside them streamed carts and carriages and
motor-cars and bicycles of all kinds. Everybody seemed to be going to
the old Grange, being drawn there mostly by morbid curiosity. The place
where the death had happened was like a fair, as sightseers were
exploring every inch of the ground, and some enterprising individuals had
erected tents for the sale of refreshments. The granite rock itself had
been blasted to atoms as it impeded the traffic, but the place whence it
had fallen could be seen in the jagged rent overhead and the raw earth,
which gaped through the heather. Some wiseacres insisted that the mass
had fallen of its own accord, as wind and rain and sunshine had
undermined its foundations; but others pointed out that the stone must
have been purposely pushed over the cliff, whereon it had been balanced,
since the herbage around was trampled and broken. And from the position
of the rock, as it was remembered, a powerful man with an iron lever
could easily have overturned the same to crash down on the highway below.

'Who the dickens can have done it?' mused Sir Hannibal, as with his party
he drove through the chattering crowd.

'We cannot tell until the inquest is over,' said Dericka.

'And perhaps not even then,' piped Miss Warry, casting a side glance at
the baronet, whom she greatly admired. 'No one was about the road at
the time.'

'The quarry is near at hand,' suggested Miss Trevick; 'perhaps the men
working there may have seen someone.'

'So far as that goes,' remarked Sir Hannibal, judiciously, 'Donalds, the
chauffeur, saw the murderer, though he did not recognise him. In the
twilight recognition would certainly be difficult, let alone the confused
state in which the man's brain must have been.'

'Had Mr. Bowring any enemies?' asked Miss Warry artlessly.

'Any amount,' replied the baronet grimly. 'Every successful man has, you
know. But I don't see what anyone had to gain from killing him. I
presume Bowring's wealth goes to his son?'

'To that half-witted creature?' exclaimed Dericka quickly.

'Yes; and he is not so mad as people make him out to be.'

'Certainly too mad for me to marry,' she retorted.

'Oh, that is all ended with Bowring's death,' said Sir Hannibal a trifle
uneasily. 'He certainly did propose something of that sort.'

'And it made you angry,' said Miss Warry with apparent innocence.

The baronet turned on her sharply:

'Why do you say that?'

'I went into the house while you were closeted with Mr. Bowring in the
library, and I heard your voice raised in anger.'

'Quite so. And my anger was on account of what Dericka has said. It was
impertinent of Bowring to propose that his son should marry my daughter.
 Apart from the fact that Morgan is what the Scotch call "a daftie",
neither his birth nor his position are fitted to make him my son-in-law.'

'But he will be rich now,' protested Miss Warry, casting down her
grey-green eyes.

'If he had a million I would not marry him,' cried Dericka.

'And he has a million,' murmured the governess.

Sir Hannibal looked at her uneasily, and after clearing his throat and
considering for a moment or so, he gave a perfectly unnecessary
explanation:

'Bowring and myself were not very good friends,' he said slowly, 'as he
treated me very badly in Africa. Still, he was a good tenant, and his
death'--he cast a sidelong glance at the governess, such as she had
earlier cast at him--'his death,' he added emphatically, 'will be very
harmful to me.'

'I am sure it will,' murmured the governess meekly.

And still Sir Hannibal did not look satisfied.

'See that place?'--he pointed with his whip towards the picturesque grey
mass of the Grange, which was now only a short distance away--'it isn't
everybody's money, and Bowring paid me a splendid rent.'

'Why?' asked Miss Warry quickly.

'Because liked the house,' retorted Sir Hannibal sharply; 'but, as I was
about to say when you interrupted me--'

'I am so sorry, Sir Hannibal.'

'As I was about to say, no one else will pay the same rent, or pay it so
regularly. Mr. Bowring's death is a great--a very great blow to me, Miss
Warry. I am sure you agree with me, Dericka?'

'Certainly,' replied his daughter, rather surprised that Trevick should
take all this trouble to explain what seemed to her to be a perfectly
obvious fact. 'However, Morgan may stay on here, with Mrs. Krent, the
housekeeper, to look after him.'

'I don't like Mrs. Krent,' said the baronet, frowning. 'She is a
scheming, meddlesome woman, who came with Bowring from Africa. I expect
she has been trying to get Morgan to marry her daughter Jenny.'

'I am sorry for Jenny, if that is the case,' replied Dericka calmly.
'She is too pretty a girl to be thrown away on that half-mad oaf.'

'Morgan is rich,' said Sir Hannibal as the carriage passed up the avenue
of his ancestral seat, 'and Jenny hasn't a penny. It would be a good
match for her.'

'It would be a sin,' cried Miss Trevick emphatically.

Sir Hannibal shrugged his aristocratic shoulders.

'I don't see that, my dear. Morgan is sickly, and may not live long; his
widow will be able to make a most advantageous second marriage. I almost
wish,' he added with an attempt at jocularity, 'that you had married the
creature, Dericka. Then, when he was laid beside Bowring you would be
able to keep your poor father in his old age and renew the splendours of
the Trevick family.'

Miss Warry raised her little eyes as Sir Hannibal made this speech, and
gave him a piercing glance.

'The marriage can take place still, can it not, Sir Hannibal?'

'If Dericka consents,' laughed the baronet, but still uneasily.

Indignation had hitherto kept Dericka silent.

'I would rather die,' she burst out at last, when the carriage stopped
before the porch of the Grange. 'Morgan is mad and dangerous.'

'No! no!' protested Sir Hannibal, 'very harmless. Bowring assured me.'

'Mr. Bowring made the best of what could not be helped,' retorted his
daughter. 'I say that Morgan is dangerous, and falls into wild beast
rages. Your jest is a poor one, father.'

'Perhaps it was not a jest,' tittered Miss Warry, meaningly.

'Oh, yes, it was,' said the baronet quickly; 'merely a jest, though
perhaps not in the best possible taste.'

'I agree with you there,' said Dericka coldly; 'especially as I am really
engaged to Oswald.'

'I have not given my consent to that, Dericka.'

'But you will,' she replied. 'I marry for love, father, not for money.'

'Yet you should know the value of money,' groaned Trevick, entering the
house.

Dericka's blue eyes flashed with sapphire lights, and but for the
publicity of the place she might have made some retort. Sir Hannibal
hitherto had always been ready to approve of Forde's wooing, penniless
barrister though he was; but since Bowring's visit and proposal of
marriage on behalf of his idiot son, he had wavered considerably.
Dericka almost thought that Sir Hannibal wished her to marry the
semi-lunatic for the sake of the money. And Miss Warry deepened this
impression.

'Your father is sorry that the money should be lost,' she whispered as
they walked towards the room in which the inquest was to be held. 'Why
not marry Morgan Bowring, and when he dies be a rich widow and become Mr.
Forde's beloved wife?'

'Marry that?' said Dericka in a fierce whisper, and pointed with her
pretty, scornful chin towards a weak-looking man who sat next to a stout
elderly woman and beside a pretty doll-like girl. 'Are you out of your
senses, Sophia?'

Miss Warry, as she always did when at a loss for a reply, tittered in a
nervous manner, and meekly subsided into a chair between Sir Hannibal and
his daughter.

Morgan Bowring's wandering eyes rested on the newcomers. He passed over
Sir Hannibal and the faded governess with indifference, but he looked
with passionate eagerness at Dericka's beautiful face. There was
something almost savage in his fixed regard. But Dericka was, as has
been said, a girl of unusually strong character, and she was not going to
be outstared by one whom she regarded as a lunatic. Her blue eyes met
his grey eyes with a hard dominating look, and a quiver passed over the
animal countenance of Morgan. The light died out of his face, and with a
kind of a whimper he suddenly grasped the hand of the stout, elderly
woman, who undoubtedly was Mrs. Krent, the housekeeper. At once she
turned to soothe him, and flashed an angry glance on Dericka. But that
young lady having achieved her object in letting Morgan know that she was
stronger than he, looked indolently round the room, and began to take an
interest in the proceedings.

'As we have inspected the body,' said the coroner, a lean man with a
mild, sheeplike face, and no very great intelligence in his dull eyes,
'we will now hear the evidence. Inspector Quill.'

The inspector related how the body had been found, and how Bowring had
come by his death. He detailed what he had discovered concerning the
fall of the stone, which amounted to nothing. Quill insisted that the
stone had been forcibly overturned, but although, as he admitted, he had
examined the quarrymen, he could not learn who had cast down the rock.
Nor, as the inspector again stated, had the quarrymen seen any suspicious
person haunting the neighbourhood. He proposed to call several
witnesses, and first named Donalds, the chauffeur, who alone had caught a
glimpse of the criminal.

Donalds, who still looked ill from his shaking, had very little to say.
He had been pitched down the bank when the car rushed against the stone,
and on struggling up again, half dazed with the shock, he had dimly seen
a man leap down the cliff whence the stone had fallen and blow out the
brains of his staggering master. But Donalds could not say whether the
man was short or tall, fair or dark, lean or stout. He caught but a
glimpse of the crime and the criminal, and then had fainted. He had, as
he said, never noticed the granite rock particularly when it had swung
overhead in its accustomed place.

The doctor then appeared, a local practitioner who had been summoned to
examine the body when it had been taken to the Grange. The deceased, he
stated, had been shaken by the shock of the car smashing against the
granite rock, but apparently, from the absence of marks, and the
condition of the body, had been very little hurt. He would undoubtedly
have been himself in a couple of days, as he would have merely suffered
from shock. And even at the age of the deceased the shock would not have
caused death. The revolver wound was different. The weapon had been
placed so close to the dead man's head that the hair had been scorched.
The brains had been blown out, and death must have been instantaneous.
As the bullet had gone right through the head and had spent its force
whistling across the moor, it could not be found, so it was impossible to
gain any clue in that direction.

Mrs. Krent's evidence amounted to the fact that she had come with Mr.
Bowring from Africa as she had been, and still was, the nurse of his son,
who could not be left to himself. So far as she knew the deceased had no
enemies, and had no fear of meeting with a violent death. He had left the
Grange in very good spirits to go to Trevick's fete, and she (the
witness) had been more astonished than anyone else when the body was
brought home.

Sir Hannibal Trevick gave evidence that he had known Bowring in Africa.
He disagreed with Mrs. Krent, as Bowring undoubtedly had many enemies,
although witness knew of none who would have gone so far as murder. The
deceased had been quite cheerful at the fete, and had gone away in good
spirits, intending to call the next day on witness. So far as Sir
Hannibal knew, the deceased had no expectation of meeting with a violent
death, and Sir Hannibal protested that he could throw no light on the
subject. After a few final remarks as to the loss he had sustained by
the death of a good tenant, witness stepped down.

So far nothing had been educed likely to reveal why Bowring had been
murdered, and there was not, in all the evidence procurable, a single
clue to the identity of the brutal assassin.  The onlookers became
slightly bored as they heard the many prosaic facts set forth, but
everyone woke up and looked alert when Miss Warry was called. It was to
hear the truth of the governess's strange prophecy that the majority of
the listeners had come.

Miss Warry stated that the deceased had entered the tent an avowed
sceptic, and had challenged her to give some proof that her psychic
information was absolutely true. She read his hand, and looked into the
crystal. In a way which Miss Warry declined to explain, as it would not
be understood by the uninitiated, she had discovered that Bowring would
die before he reached home. This prophecy, as she called it, she had
written down and had placed it in an envelope. On the death occurring
the letter had been opened by Miss Stretton, who was present, and the
truth of her art became apparent. To all this the coroner listened
sceptically, and many of the jury with profound awe. They were prepared
to accept Miss Warry as a second Deborah in those superstitious parts.

'Come now,' said the coroner testily, 'you don't expect us to believe
this hocus-pocus.'

'I expect you to believe nothing,' said Miss Warry coolly.

'Did anything occur which might make you think that Mr. Bowring
anticipated meeting with an accident?'

Miss Warry meditated.

'There was certainly the Death's Head,' she said thoughtfully. 'He
assuredly was afraid of the Death's Head.'



Chapter IV The Will

When Miss Warry, with the air of an accomplished actress, pronounced
those strange words--'He assuredly was afraid of the Death's Head'--an
eloquent silence followed. What she meant no one knew; the coroner least
of all.

But Dericka started and looked up suddenly as a memory crossed her mind.
 Sir Hannibal, who sat beside her, had been looking down while Miss Warry
gave her evidence, but, while not starting as his daughter had done, he
raised his eyes slowly and directed a long, piercing glance at the
governess.

Strangely enough, she was gazing in his direction, and their eyes met.
Trevick's were the first to fall. And all this comedy was noticed by
Mrs. Krent, who, since Dericka had attracted the attention of Morgan, had
kept her eyes fixed venomously on father and daughter.

'What do you mean by that speech?' asked the coroner, puzzled.

'Oh, it is easily explained.' Miss Warry tossed her head as she spoke.
For the first time in her tame life she found herself on the stage of
life, so to speak, and an object of interest to an admiring crowd, who
regarded her as a sibyl. In the midst of a dead silence she explained
herself. 'The skull in the tent, you know,' said Miss Warry.

'I am still in the dark. I must ask you to be more explicit.'

'At the fete,' said the witness, 'I occupied a tent in order to tell
fortunes. It was hung with red cloth, and there was a small round table
covered with a black silk shawl. On the table were a pack of cards and a
crystal; also a magnifying glass to read more clearly the lines of the
hands of those who desired to know the future. All this,' added Miss
Warry, with a glance of supreme contempt at the obtuse coroner,
'doubtless strikes you as what you call hocus-pocus.'

'It strikes me as fraudulent,' said the coroner dryly. 'No one can
foretell the future.'

'I abide by what I wrote in the sealed envelope, sir.'

'Ah. That is the point at which we wish to arrive. You must have had
information to enable you to say that Mr. Bowring would not live longer
than the evening?'

'Oh,' cried Miss Warry indignantly, 'do you mean to say that I am an
accomplice before the fact?'

'Not exactly; but you saw something in the deceased's demeanour, or he
said something which enabled you to guess that he anticipated meeting
with a violent death? You gambled, so to speak, on the chance?'

'Nothing of the sort. I read in his hand, with the cards, and by the
crystal, that he would die before he reached home.'

'Yet you said that he was frightened by the death's head?'

'So he was. When he entered the tent he saw it on the table, and at once
grew perfectly white. I thought he would have fallen, and perhaps he
would have, had I not caught his arm. He murmured something about "The
third time--"'

'What?' asked the coroner eagerly.

Miss Warry grew tart.

'How can I talk, sir, when you interrupt me? Mr. Bowring, I repeat, said
something about "The third time."'

'The third time of seeing the skull?'

'I suppose so. At least his eyes were fixed on it when he made the
remark. What it meant I don't know.'

'Did you not ask him?'

'As I am a woman, and possess my fair share of curiosity, I did,'
admitted the witness, 'but he refused to tell me why the sight of the
death's head caused him such emotion.'

'What did he say in reply?'

'Merely that the heat of the day had overcome him, and that he was not
superstitious, and that he only wanted to get something for the guinea
he gave me as he didn't believe in fortune-telling.'

'Did you say that he would die before he got home?'

'No. I merely read his character, and he said that I read it all wrong.
 Which,' said Miss Warry, drawing herself up, 'was a story, as I am
quite sure that I read him correctly; and he wasn't at all a nice man
either,' she ended spitefully.

The coroner passed this very feminine speech over.

'Then you did not say that he was within a short distance of meeting a
violent death?'

'No; and, what is more, I didn't know that Mr. Bowring would meet with a
violent death. I saw by the card and in his hand, and in the crystal,
that he would die--no more. I wrote down the words so that after his
death the truth of what I said should become apparent.'

'I see.' The coroner looked more puzzled than ever. He was too physical
to believe in the psychic, and yet all that Miss Warry had said was true.
 The sealed letter with its fulfilled prophecy was a stern fact which
could not be proved false. And on the face of it the meek little
governess could have had nothing to do with the millionaire's death.

'Why did the death's head excite the fears of the deceased?' asked the
coroner, wondering in what way he could best pursue the examination.

'I told you before that Mr. Bowring refused to explain.'

'Where is the skull?'

'I don't know.'

There was a movement of surprise in the room.

'You don't know?' repeated the coroner. 'Yet I presume you placed the
skull on the table yourself so as to add to the effect of your
fortune-telling?'

'I did nothing of the sort,' said Miss Warry angrily. 'When I returned
to the tent I found the skull on the table. I thought Sir Hannibal had
placed it there.'

'I?' cried the baronet, starting to his feet and looking very white.
'No, I never saw any skull.'

'Then I don't know who brought it,' said Miss Warry. 'Miss Trevick did
not, because I asked her. I went into the house to get something, when
Mr. Bowring was with Sir Hannibal in the library, and when I returned to
the tent the skull was on the table. I saw Mr. Bowring immediately
afterwards. When I gave him the sealed paper, and he went away, I came
out before the tent, and remained chatting for a few minutes. When I
re-entered the skull was gone.'

'Then someone must have placed the skull there while you were in the
house, and while you chatted before the tent after Mr. Bowring's
departure someone must have removed the skull?'

'Yes,' said Miss Warry. 'I thought it odd, and spoke to Miss Trevick;
but she knew nothing about the matter.'

'This is true,' said Dericka calmly, while all eyes were fastened eagerly
on her face.

'And I also could have nothing to do with it,' said Sir Hannibal with a
forced laugh, 'since I was talking with Mr. Bowring in the library at the
time when, according to Miss Warry, the skull must have been placed in
the tent.'

'Was there a skull in the house, Sir Hannibal?'

'Not to my knowledge.'

'What kind of a skull was it?' said the coroner, addressing Miss Warry.
And the governess shuddered.

'A horrible thing,' she said in a faltering voice. 'Quite like a
nightmare. It was not very large, but it was coloured scarlet, and round
the forehead to the back was a broad band of silver, like a crown.'

Everyone was interested in this strange description.

'I wonder you did not take charge of such a queer thing, Miss Warry.'

'I would have done so, but it vanished.'

'But how did it vanish?'

'I really cannot say,' snapped the witness, who was growing weary of this
cross-questioning. 'It was in the tent when I went in to tell Mr.
Bowring's fortune, and vanished when I returned after he went away.'

'Did anyone else besides yourself and Mr. Bowring see it?'

'Not to my knowledge. Have you quite done with me?'

'Yes,' said the coroner mechanically. And Miss Warry, looking very
tired, stepped down.

Her evidence was so strange that he hesitated whether to believe it or
not. Such a person might very well, as he thought, be the victim of an
hallucination. Or again, the tale of this red skull might be a made-up
story to advertise herself. On the other hand, the sealed letter was a
fact.

'That is all the evidence, gentlemen,' said the coroner after a pause.

There was some chatter, and then the coroner made a speech in which he
recapitulated all that had been discovered, and dwelt on the
extraordinary evidence of the governess. But all his explanations could
not throw any light on the mystery which undoubtedly environed the death
of the millionaire. It did not take the jury long to consider their
verdict, for the evidence left them completely in the dark. All that
could be discovered was that Bowring had been shot by an unknown person
who had failed to murder him by upsetting the motor-car.

A verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown was
brought in, and the inquest was at an end.

Then the reporters who had been taking voluminous notes rushed away to
build up the odd tale of Miss Warry into sensational articles. Everyone
agreed that the case was more mysterious than ever, and Sir Hannibal was
quite annoyed when he heard for the first time of the scarlet skull.

'You should have told me of this,' he said angrily.

Miss Warry, who was the person spoken to--and the conversation took place
in the Dower House drawing-room, after dinner--looked down meekly.

'I never thought it would interest you,' she said. 'I certainly
mentioned it to Dericka.'

'Why didn't you speak?' asked Sir Hannibal, turning on his daughter, who
was writing a letter to Forde detailing all that had happened at the
inquest, for the young barrister had returned to London.

'There was no necessity,' she answered, raising her eyes for a moment.
'I thought someone at the fete might have placed the skull in the tent as
a joke. Certainly, had I known at the time that it frightened Mr.
Bowring, or that he was to die, I should have made enquiries.  But it
will be impossible now to find out who placed it in the tent, or for what
reason.'

'It was placed there to frighten Bowring,' said Trevick angrily, 'so the
person must have known that he was to have his fortune told, and also
must have known something of Bowring's past life.'

'You know much,' said Miss Warry meaningly.

'Yes,' assented Sir Hannibal; 'much that is bad, and much that is good,
for Bowring was a strange mixture of good and evil. But I can safely
say that I know nothing about a Death's Head, coloured scarlet. It is
extremely strange. I shall ask Mrs. Krent what she knows likely to throw
light on the matter when I go over to hear the will read at the Grange.'

Dericka looked up suddenly.

'Do you go to hear the will read?' she asked quickly.

'Certainly. Gratton, the lawyer, has come down from London to attend the
funeral and look into things. He wrote saying that I was to attend the
reading of the will, so I am going. Perhaps Bowring has remembered me for
a trifle; or it may be that he wishes me to be the guardian of Morgan.'

'Or, perhaps,' said Miss Warry, with a titter, and her eyes fixed on the
baronet, 'poor Mr. Bowring has left his property to Dericka, on condition
that she marries his son.'

'That is extremely unlikely,' said Dericka coolly.

'I don't know so much about that, since Mr. Bowring had the marriage in
his mind on the very day of his death,' snapped Miss Warry.

'You talk nonsense,' said Dericka, with great calmness, and rising with
the letter to Forde in her hand. 'And now, Sophia, you may as well tell
my father that you intend to leave us.'

'What?' cried Sir Hannibal, wheeling round from the window at which he
was smoking a particularly fine cigar. 'You, Miss Warry--who have been
with us since Dericka was a baby--leave us?'

'Yes,' said Miss Warry bashfully. 'I must make provision for my old age,
and the emoluments here,'--with a viperish glance at Sir Hannibal--'are
not regularly paid.'

'I cannot make money out of nothing,' said the baronet colouring
slightly, for Miss Warry's speech touched his pride; 'but I'll pay up
before you go, although I think you are unwise to leave us. How the
dickens can you make your living?'

Miss Warry coloured in her turn, and with anger:

'Oh, I am not quite so helpless as all that, Sir Hannibal,' she said
shrilly. 'This truth I told about poor Mr. Bowring's death has made my
fame. I am going to London to set up as a fortune teller.'

'You'll get into the hands of the police.'

'No, I won't. I'll have powerful influence at my back. Everyone will
come to me, for my prophecy about this death has made a great sensation.
 I'll make a lot of money, and retire in a few years.'

'But that prophecy was all rubbish,' said Sir Hannibal angrily.

'It was nothing of the sort. It was true, sir.'

'Did you really read all that in Bowring's hand?'

Miss Warry gave him an odd glance.

'I really did,' she said in a solemn tone. 'You are a sceptic, but for
once you and other jesters have been compelled to acknowledge the truth.'
 And with this Parthian shot the governess left the room, with less
meekness than she usually showed, and certainly with less veneration for
the idol of her fancy, as Trevick had been.

 'She has altered altogether,' said Dericka, looking at her father. 'The
success of this prophecy has sent her mad. She used to be quiet, and
now is noisy, and really has been quite rude to me. I am glad she is
going.'

'So am I,' said Trevick with a gloomy air, 'only it looks as though the
rats were leaving a sinking ship. Without Bowring's assistance I really
don't know what to do for ready money.'

'Wait till you hear the will read,' said Dericka slipping her arm within
that of Sir Hannibal in a caressing manner. 'The poor man may have
remembered you.'

'Humph! It's very unlike Bowring if he has. However, you must come over
and listen with me.'

'Why?--it is not necessary?'

'Yes, it is. I cannot face that gloomy house and that scowling
housekeeper alone. Of course, if you are afraid of Morgan--'

'I am afraid of nothing,' interrupted Dericka with a quiet smile, and
spoke truly, for she had no fear. 'I'll come with you, father, and
perhaps we may hear of something to our advantage, as the papers put
it.'

She ended with a laugh which passed into a sigh. It was very hard on the
girl to grub amongst sordid cares when she wished to be free and happy.
But a sense of duty left her no option. Sir Hannibal was like a large
child, and unless she guided him he would get into trouble. Dericka
longed for the day when he would marry a second time, and select a
capable, managing woman who would look after him. Then she could become
Oswald's wife and have at least a few years of happiness.

Thus it came about that Sir Hannibal drove his daughter over to the
Grange after the funeral. The body of John Bowring was laid to rest in
the St. Ewalds churchyard. Mrs. Krent, prompted by ambition for the fame
of her dead master, had suggested the family vault of the Trevicks, in
the little village church near the Grange. But Sir Hannibal refused, and
so the millionaire was laid to rest in a less aristocratic grave. All
the population of St. Ewalds turned out to follow the mourning
coaches--not because Bowring had been popular, but simply on account of
the notoriety of his death.

Mrs. Krent was there with Morgan, who, dressed in a new black suit,
looked more uncouth and ungainly than ever. And when the service was
ended those immediately concerned with Bowring went to the Grange to
hear how the dead man had disposed of his worldly goods.

The listeners to the will were gathered in the great drawing-room, a
sombre-looking apartment, which looked out on to the terrace of grim grey
stone. Mr. Gratton, the London lawyer, a smart-looking young fellow,
read the will.

Mrs. Krent, as usual, placed Morgan between herself and her pretty,
doll-like daughter, and Sir Hannibal sat near the window with Dericka by
his side. There were many people present who had done business with Mr.
Bowring, and also a crowd of servants at the door. No one anticipated
any surprise from hearing the will read--Mrs. Krent, least of all. It was
thought that without doubt Bowring would leave all the property to
Morgan, who was his only son, with perhaps an indication as to
guardianship. And Mrs. Krent hoped and prayed that she would be
appointed to look after the weak-minded heir. There would be some fine
pickings out of so wealthy an estate. Therefore Mrs. Krent was uneasy on
seeing Sir Hannibal present. She thought that Bowring, in spite of his
unconcealed enmity to the baronet, might have made him Morgan's
guardian, in which case she would be turned out of house and home.

But Mrs. Krent never expected to hear what she did hear; nor did anyone
else.

After various legacies to servants and friends, it was found that the
whole of the property was left to Sir Hannibal Trevick.

Morgan was disinherited, and the baronet was the heir. Mrs. Krent rose
with fire in her eyes, and screamed with rage.

'You,' she foamed, shaking her fist; 'you killed Bowring for this.'



Chapter V After-Events

Mrs. Krent was beside herself with anger as she hurled her very direct
accusation at Sir Hannibal. At any time the stout elderly woman, with
her little pig's eyes and red face and dyed yellow hair, would not have
been considered beautiful: but at the present moment, with her features
distorted with rage, she looked like a virago of the Revolution. It is
no exaggeration to say that Mrs. Krent, had she possessed the power,
would have there and then murdered the lucky baronet. Indeed, she half
flung herself forward to scratch his face, and only the frightened clutch
of her daughter prevented her from doing so. If ever a woman saw red
and went baresark, Mrs. Krent was that woman. She was as one possessed
by a devil.

Sir Hannibal never quailed: his courage was too high for that. Without
rising he stuck his glass in his eye and calmly surveyed the infuriated
creature. If he was a trifle paler than usual no one saw it, save Miss
Warry, who kept a vigilant eye on his every movement. Why she should do
so was not quite clear: but she certainly watched her employer rather
than Mrs. Krent. Everyone else in the room, alarmed at the savagery of
the housekeeper, looked at one another in consternation.

'You murdered my master,' bellowed Mrs. Krent, clenching her fat hands and
quivering with passion.

Sir Hannibal never moved a muscle.

'Such an accusation is not worth rebutting,' said he with easy assurance.
 'My late friend--'

'Friend!' scoffed the housekeeper. 'Why you and him quarrelled cat and
doglike when you met.'

'As you were never, to my recollection, present at any of our interviews,
Mrs. Krent,' retorted the other dryly, 'I scarcely see how you can
substantiate that statement.'

'I know! I know!' muttered the woman cowering a trifle. 'Bowring never
liked you. Him and you in Africa--oh, yes, you may wriggle, sir; all the
same, you daren't tell of your doings.'

'Mr. Gratton'--Sir Hannibal, still cool and unshaken, and addressing
himself to the lawyer--'I apologise for this interruption to your reading
of the will. I am the more annoyed,' he added, fixing a cold eye on Mrs.
Krent, who was calming down rapidly, 'that it should have taken place in
my house.'

'Your house!' screamed the housekeeper, angered again.

'By inheritance from my own ancestors, Mrs. Krent, and now by legacy.'

'I think,' said the smart young lawyer, speaking to Mrs. Krent, 'that you
had better sit down. I have not finished reading the will.'

'Yes, yes, mother,' urged Jenny, pulling her parent's skirts. 'You are
frightening Morgan.'

The disinherited son did indeed look frightened. His usually pale face
was grey with fear, his large eyes looked furtively here and there as if
to seek a refuge, and he licked his scarlet lips--they were unhealthily
red--in a nervous manner. Dericka, who had sat unmoved throughout the
scene, stared at the creature curiously, and wondered that Bowring should
have dared to ask her to marry such a person. She wondered more that her
father should have even thought of consenting to the match. But now
there was no need that she should be sacrificed like another Iphigenia,
since the desired money had come to Sir Hannibal on no conditions. At
the same time Dericka wondered why John Bowring had made such a will.
Meanwhile Mr. Gratton resumed his interrupted reading. Then it became
apparent that there was some sort of condition, although its fulfilment
depended upon Sir Hannibal's personal view of the matter.

'I should like,' read the lawyer, rustling the important-looking
document, 'that my old friend Trevick should marry his daughter to my son
Morgan for reasons he knows of, and--'

'Pardon me,' interrupted Sir Hannibal, raising one white hand. 'I know
of no reason why such a marriage should take place. If the legacy is
contingent on such a match I decline to accept it.'

'It is not contingent,' answered Mr. Gratton, calmly. 'In any case you
inherit the property. But my late client suggests that Miss Trevick
should marry young Mr. Bowring,' and he glanced at Morgan, who was
looking with sudden eager interest at Dericka.

That young lady sat cool and composed, as though the discussion did not
concern her.

'And if Miss Trevick refuses to marry Morgan?' asked Mrs. Krent.

'As she does refuse,' put in Dericka in a clear, hard voice.

Gratton shrugged his shoulders. 'Things remain as they are,' he replied.
 'In any case, Sir Hannibal inherits.'

'Am I a pauper?' demanded Morgan, speaking for the first time, in a
thick, heavy, hesitating voice.

'Oh, no. Sir Hannibal by the will is instructed to allow you two hundred
a year, and any further sums he may think fit.'

'Then my poor boy will not get one penny,' wailed Mrs. Krent, wiping her
red little eyes.  'Oh, gentlemen, excuse me calling Morgan so, but I
have nursed him for years, in Africa as in this place. He is like my own
flesh and blood, and to think that he should be cast upon a cold world
with his poor brain is cruel, wicked, horrible, and--'

Before Mrs. Krent could come out with her final adjective the baronet
interposed.

'You exaggerate,' he said sharply. 'Morgan will receive the two hundred
a year and such further sums as may be necessary to make him
comfortable.'

'Out of sixty thousand a year,' flashed out the woman in cold fury. 'Oh,
thank you for nothing, Sir Hannibal. I call it a wicked will.'

'I certainly think,' remarked Gratton, addressing the baronet, 'that it
will be as well for you, sir, to carry out the suggestion of the testator
and marry Miss Trevick to--'

'Marry that?' interrupted Dericka, rising suddenly. 'Are you out of your
mind, Mr. Gratton? The man is not fit to marry.'

The answer came, not from the lawyer, but from Morgan himself:

'But if I love you?' he stammered thickly. And then, before he could
speak further he was pulled back into his seat by Mrs. Krent.

Dericka turned pale. There was something terrible in the animal gaze
which the half-mad creature cast upon her. The wild look in his eyes,
the tremulous movement of his hands, the repulsive appearance of his
white face with its scarlet lips and weak chin, repelled her as though a
snake had crossed her path.

Strong-minded as she was, the timidity of the female came to the surface
as Morgan glared at her in a leering manner. Biting her lips to keep
down the climbing hysteria, she fairly ran out of the room and was
followed by gaunt Miss Warry immediately. Sir Hannibal kept his
composure.

'My daughter cannot marry you, Mr. Bowring,' he said coldly, 'as she is
already engaged.'

'But you cannot take my money if she doesn't,' growled Morgan.

'The money is not yours, but mine,' corrected Sir Hannibal, eyeing the
disinherited man as though he were a dog, 'and you may be sure that you
will be well looked after.'

'I don't want to be looked after,' mumbled Morgan, and there came into
his eyes the anger of a dog about to snap. 'I'm a free man. I won't be
shut up!'

'Hush! Hush, lovey,' whispered Mrs. Krent, and drew him down beside her.
 'You won't be shut up, but live always with your Martha.'

'That entirely depends upon how you behave, Mrs. Krent,' said Sir
Hannibal tartly. 'If I am forced to take measures to put away Mr.--'

A snarl from Morgan made him stop and retreat a step. Mrs. Krent fondled
the man and cast a warning look in Sir Hannibal's direction.

'If you rouse him I won't be answerable,' she said sharply, 'and as to
sending me away, I won't go; that is, until Morgan marries your
daughter.'

'And I will,' growled the man heavily.

Sir Hannibal felt a qualm. The speech and look of the creature were too
horrible for words, and he quailed at the idea of Dericka being handed
over to such a husband. However, a timely thought that he was not
compelled to gain the money by such a sacrifice restored his courage, and
with a contemptuous look he again spoke to Mr. Gratton.

'Have you finished?' he asked in icy tones.

'Nearly,' replied the young man hurriedly, and went on to read out
various instructions as to the estate, and also some details about Mrs.
Krent, who was, it appeared, to be allowed a legacy of one hundred a
year, and to be sent away, or retained, as Morgan's guardian, at the
discretion of Sir Hannibal.

'Two pounds a week,' wailed Mrs. Krent when in possession of these facts.
 'Oh, what a cruel will! And I saved John Bowring thousands.'

'I shall see that you have justice,' said the baronet, grandly.

Mrs. Krent glared, and again looked as though she could have struck the
lucky inheritor of the Bowring property. However, her attention was
taken off by the complaints of various persons who had expected to
receive money but had been disappointed. One and all resented the fact
that Sir Hannibal, connected by no ties of blood with Bowring, should
have inherited, and one and all turned on the baronet. Some even hinted
in loud tones that Mrs. Krent's accusation might be true. Sir Hannibal
winced, for the sound of the angered voices was unpleasant. He raised
his hand.

'There is no need for me to be placed on my defence,' said Sir Hannibal
calmly. 'Everyone knows that at the time of the death I was attending to
my guests in the grounds of the Dower House. Moreover, I had no reason
to murder my lamented friend.'

'You did it to get the money,' snapped Mrs. Krent viciously.

'If you say that again,' retorted the baronet smoothly, 'I will send you
away with your one hundred a year.'

'And part me from Morgan?' she panted. 'You can't!'

'You have heard the will, and know that I have unlimited power,' said Sir
Hannibal, sharply; 'and as there is no further need to prolong this scene
I shall bid you all good-day. Mr. Gratton, you can come to see me at
St. Ewalds to consult about the business. Mrs. Krent, Mr. Bowring, you
can remain here until such time as I make up my mind what is to be done.
Good-day all.' And with a polite bow Sir Hannibal stalked grandly from
the room, leaving the disappointed people to comfort one another. One
and all, under the stress of such disappointment, were certain that Sir
Hannibal had murdered Bowring.

The drive home was a silent one. The baronet, mindful that the groom was
at his back, handled the reins in complacent silence and dreamed of what
he would do with the thousands of Bowring's. Dericka was still
suffering from the revulsion of feeling which Morgan's unexpected wooing
had brought about, and Miss Warry, gaunt and grim as usual, stared
straight in front of her, occasionally watching her employer's face.
When Sir Hannibal smiled at his own thoughts Miss Warry smiled also.
Perhaps she was thinking of her successful prophecy as Sir Hannibal was
thinking of his good fortune. But, whatever might be the cause, Miss
Warry smiled very often in the course of the drive.

On reaching the Dower House, Dericka would have retired at once to her
own room, but that Sir Hannibal requested her presence in his library.

She followed him there in a languid manner, but the first speech he made
strung her up to a fighting humour.

'My child,' said the baronet blandly, 'by the dispensation of
Providence'--he rolled the phrase on his tongue--'my difficulties have
been unexpectedly ended. With this money we can now take our proper
place in the county. It is my intention to refurnish the Grange and
reinhabit the home of my ancestors. I shall do my share, Dericka, and I
would point out that you must do yours by making a better match that that
you contemplate.'

Dericka looked directly at her father, whose eyes were averted, and her
colour rose.

'You said that I was engaged an hour or so ago?'

'Merely to satisfy that maniac, my dear. I do not wish you to marry him.
 But with your beauty and my money--'

'Mr. Bowring's money,' interposed Dericka cruelly.

'Mine now,' said the baronet with emphasis. 'With my money, my dear, I
think you should marry a title.'

'One would think you lived at Bayswater to hear you talk so respectfully
about titles. I am not of that way of thinking myself; I intend to marry
Oswald.'

'No. He is not a good match for you.'

'I intend,' repeated Dericka, rising slowly and speaking slowly, 'to
marry Oswald Forde.  Your opposition will only make me marry him the
sooner.'

'Dericka, would you leave your old father?'

The pathetic speech failed of its effect.

'I think you can console yourself very well,' said Miss Trevick, coldly.

Sir Hannibal changed colour.

'I don't understand--'

'I think you do, father,' she answered, going to the door, 'and now I
will lie down for an hour! There will be no need for us to resume this
discussion later. My mind is made up.'

'Dericka, I forbid,' began the outraged father, but spoke to the empty
air. The door opened and closed and he was alone, fuming with anger at
this behaviour of his daughter. He knew well that he could not coerce
her into obeying him, as for years she had, in spite of her youth,
exercised rule over the household. That was all very well, Sir Hannibal
considered, when they were poor, as Dericka's clever head kept things
smooth--but now that ample funds were in hand the baronet wished to
assert himself. Consequently he was annoyed that his first exercise of
a long-surrendered authority should be quietly ignored.

'She shall not marry Forde,' he assured himself, pacing the library, 'or
if she does it will be against my express wish. Not one penny will she
get of the money. As for myself'--he cast a complacent look in a near
mirror--'I am still young enough to marry and beget an heir. Then let
Dericka look to herself, and--'

Here a sharp knock at the door made him start. Since the death of
Bowring his nerves were not well under control.

'Come in,' he cried with a violent start. Then, when the door opened
slowly, 'Oh, it's you, Miss Warry. I am engaged.'

'I'm very sorry,' said the gaunt governess, clasping her thin hands and
speaking in a mincing manner, 'but I go to town to-morrow, and I have not
much time to speak.'

'I really do not see what there is to speak about,' said Sir Hannibal
coldly. 'You have arranged to go, and did so arrange at a time when it
was inconvenient. Now, however, this unexpected inheritance makes things
easier for me. You will receive your full salary for the year to-morrow,
Miss Warry, and then we can say goodbye for ever.'

'Oh, no--not for ever,' said Miss Warry, and fishing in a little velvet
bag which dangled from her wrist she brought out a handkerchief. 'I
cannot bear to lose sight of you.'

'Well, well, you can come and see Dericka.'

'I spoke of you, dear Sir Hannibal,' moaned the spinster.

'I am very much obliged to you, Miss Warry, but I think you will survive
the loss of my company.'

'Never! Never!' And Miss Warry raised her cold eyes to the ceiling.
'At this time my place should be by your side--so old a friend!'

Sir Hannibal shivered, although the room was perfectly warm and free from
draughts.

'What do you mean?' he asked quickly.

'The accusation of that horrid woman.'

'Pooh! Rubbish! She can prove nothing.'

'Is there anything to prove?' questioned the governess smartly, dropping
the handkerchief.

'No--no; of course not,' stammered the baronet, annoyed by the shrewd
glance of her grey eyes.

'People are so censorious,' continued Miss Warry, throwing up her
mittened hands, 'they will add to the accusation of Mrs. Krent, and--'

'They can add nothing,' interrupted Sir Hannibal quickly. 'I was, as I
explained, here at the fete about the time the murder took place so many
miles away. There is nothing to connect me with it; and I scarcely
think, Miss Warry, that I am the man to kill a fellow creature in cold
blood.'

'People rarely murder in cold blood,' murmured Miss Warry significantly;
'a sharp word or two, a blow, and all is over.'

'In this case it happens to be a pistol shot,' said the baronet dryly.
'Come, Miss Warry, you have not asked for this interview to accuse me of
committing the crime?'

Miss Warry threw up her hands with a scream.

'Oh, no no,' she minced, waving the handkerchief; 'dear Sir Hannibal, how
can you think that I would dream of such a thing? But people are
censorious, you know, and it may be they will say things.'

'Let them say things.'

'It may be unpleasant.'

'Pooh! Sixty thousand a year will soon close their mouths.'

'Well,' said Miss Warry, replacing the handkerchief in the velvet bag and
drawing the strings, 'if you want me I'll give you my address. I may be
able to help you.'

'In what way?'

'I may be able to help you,' she repeated, and moved towards the door in
a stately manner.

Sir Hannibal placed himself in her path.

'Do you know something likely to elucidate the mystery of this crime,
Miss Warry?'

'I don't say that. But I may be able to help you.'

'That skull affair is peculiar?' said Sir Hannibal, inquiringly.

'Very. And you think it is peculiar? Oh'--Miss Warry flung up her hands
again with a little laugh--'you can depend upon me, Sir Hannibal,' and
with a curtsey she swept from the room, leaving Sir Hannibal nervous and
upset by her mysterious hints.

'What does she know about that Death's Head?' he asked himself uneasily.
 But Miss Warry was not there to answer.



Chapter VI Mrs. Krent's Diplomacy

'Money does not bring happiness!'

Sir Hannibal found speedily that this proverb was certainly true in his
case. Hitherto, since he had arrived from Africa to settle in St.
Ewalds his life had been fairly smooth, in spite of everlasting money
troubles; but now that the very things that used to worry him were
eliminated he found himself in stormy waters. Gossip, as Miss Warry had
predicted, had magnified the unsubstantiated accusation of the
housekeeper, and there was a growing feeling that Sir Hannibal in some
way was concerned in the murder.

Of course, no one was bold enough, or brave enough, to come forward and
accuse him in so many words. If that had been the case the baronet might
have been able to put a stop to the scandal by a direct denial.

But everywhere people were talking about the very opportune death of the
millionaire, which had placed a pauper gentleman in receipt of a
surprisingly good income. Round the tea-tables of spinsters, in the
drawing-rooms of married ladies, in public-houses, and at the corners of
streets Sir Hannibal's character and actions and appearance and past were
amply discussed. No one could exactly make out how he was concerned in
the crime, as assuredly he had been present in his own grounds about the
time the murder had been committed. All the same, it was hinted that if
not the actual perpetrator, he was at least an accomplice, and had hired
a man to place the block of granite in the path of the motor. More, to
make sure, he had instructed his accomplice to shoot Bowring should the
first attempt on the man's life fail, as it had done. The motive for
the commission of the crime was to be found in the inheritance. Sir
Hannibal was notoriously in want of money and had murdered Bowring in an
indirect manner to obtain it.

'It is all nonsense,' said Miss Stretton, who was one of those who
defended the baronet. 'Sir Hannibal is incapable of committing such a
wicked deed.'

She said this to Mr. Penrith, who was not exactly the person to whom such
a remark should have been made seeing that he was jealous of the too
fascinating baronet.

'I don't see why he shouldn't,' growled Penrith sulkily; 'anyone would do
anything for money.'

'You would,' said Miss Stretton with a glance of disdain.

'And so would Trevick. Everyone knew that he was desperately hard up.
Of course you defend him. You want to marry him.'

'He wants to marry me,' she rejoined with a gratified laugh, 'but I am
not quite sure that I will accept him.'

'Anne, when you know that I love you.'

'My dear Ralph, you are very nice on occasions, and you are not
bad-looking. All the same you have very little money, and your mother
is not inclined to surrender her position as mistress of your house.'

'She will if you marry me,' urged the love-lorn squire.

Miss Stretton shook her head.

'Your mother is not fond of me,' was her reply, 'and seemed pleased when
I left the house. I am only a poor artist, and she doesn't think me good
enough to marry a Penrith.'

'I think you good enough. Anne, you must marry me.'

'No. That is--I can't say definitely at present.'

Penrith was white with rage.

'That is because you want to marry the old man.'

'Oh, he's not so very old, and he is wonderfully well-preserved. Also,
my dear Ralph, he has sixty thousand a year, remember.'

'Gained by murder.'

'You have no right to say that,' she said sharply.

'I'll say what I like, and do what I like.'

'You brute; a nice husband you would make.'

'No, no!' Penrith saw that he had gone too far. 'You can guide me in
any way you like, Anne. Chuck this old duffer and marry me. We'll be
jolly happy together.'

'H'm, I have my doubts of that,' she replied. Then, so as not to lose
him, for Miss Stretton was a lady who liked to have two strings to her
bow, she added, 'I can't give you an answer yet.'

'I see,' snarled Penrith, his healthy red face growing scarlet, 'you will
marry me if Sir Hannibal refuses you.'

'What do you mean by that?' she asked in a spirited manner. 'Let me tell
you, Mr. Penrith, that I am not a woman to be refused. Sir Hannibal
wants to marry me. I have reason to know that,' and her hand slipped
into the pocket of her dress.

Penrith's eyes followed.

'He had written, asking you?'

'Perhaps,' she answered significantly. 'At all events, I have not made
up my mind to accept him. Perhaps,' she cast a cajoling look at her
cross lover, 'I may become Mrs. Penrith after all--on conditions.'

'Conditions!' Penrith stared with open mouth.

Anne laid a slender hand on his arm.

'My dear Ralph,' said she in a grave voice, 'there is a lot of gossip
about Sir Hannibal which I firmly believe to be false. I heard that you
have said things about him also. Now, if we are to be friends, you must
hold your tongue.'

'That is the condition, is it?' said Penrith, his face turning pale with
anger. 'Well then, I'll tell the truth about Sir Hannibal, and to the
police. Then he'll hang, and you'll marry me.'

'Then you have been saying something against him?'

'Yes; because I know that you want to marry him, and I have made up my
mind that you shan't. Sir Hannibal is guilty.'

Anne gasped.

'How can you be sure? What do you know?'

'I know from a chap called Polwin--'

'That's Sir Hannibal's steward!'

'Yes. Josiah Polwin says that immediately after we--you and I--left the
fete on that day that Sir Hannibal came after us on a motor-bicycle.'

'Ridiculous! You drove slowly. He would soon have caught us up: yet we
did not even see him.'

'No, because he went another road.'

'Then he could not have come after us,' said Anne Stretton, crisply.

'Polwin says that he did. At all events, he certainly left the Dower
House on his motor-bike, and took the direction of the quarries. They
are near the spot of the accident'--Penrith sneered as he pronounced the
word--'and I believe that Sir Hannibal went there and murdered Bowring;
then he remounted his bike and got back to the fete before it was over.
He could easily do the whole business in an hour and a half--if not in
less time.'

'I don't believe it,' said Miss Stretton, 'and I shall ask Sir Hannibal
myself, Mr. Penrith. He is my friend, and I won't let him be traduced.'

The young man sneered.

'The future Lady Trevick doesn't want her husband to be hanged.'

'There is no danger of his being hanged.'

'Yes, there is; and in any case he'll have to leave St. Ewalds. Feeling
is running high against him, and he'll be mobbed if he stops.'

This was undeniably the case, as Anne knew. She wondered if, after all,
Sir Hannibal had murdered Bowring. On a quick motor-bicycle--and she knew
that he was a good rider--he could have rapidly reached the spot near the
quarries where the death had taken place. There was another road by
which he could have come, and so have avoided her and Ralph driving in
the dog-cart. Long before Bowring could arrive in his car he would be on
the high bank, able, with the aid of a lever, to topple the granite mass
on to the road. And after shooting the man he could easily have
clambered up the bank again to run across the moor to the other road,
where his bicycle was probably waiting. In twenty minutes after the
commission of the crime he could be back in the Dower House grounds
exhibiting himself to his guests, and so be ready with an alibi. Things
looked assuredly very black against the baronet.

Miss Stretton was a lady who made up her mind promptly. She was, as
Dericka surmised, an adventuress, and was not scrupulous as to ways so
long as she attained her ends. In this instance she was rather pleased
to hear of Sir Hannibal's peril, as it enabled her to pose as his
friend--to rescue him, as it were--and thus gain his eternal gratitude. He
was quite willing to marry her, she knew, and even if he had committed
the murder she cared very little so long as she became mistress of sixty
thousand a year. Penrith was pretty well off and very deeply in love
with her, but his mother was not friendly, and her position would be
uncomfortable. Besides, Penrith might kick over the traces after the
marriage, and had the makings of a brute in him. Sir Hannibal was a
gentleman, a baronet, a wealthy man, and had an easy temper. He was the
man she wished to marry; therefore, after the conversation with Penrith,
Anne determined to interview the baronet and place him on his guard by
telling the tale which Polwin had related to Penrith. Then she would get
Sir Hannibal to retreat to London and there marry her. They could go
abroad for a few years until the scandal of the crime had blown over, and
all would be well.

Having thus arranged her plans, Miss Stretton prepared to carry them out.
 Seizing an opportunity when she knew that Dericka would be absent, for
she did not wish to meet that very sharp young lady, Miss Stretton
called at the Dower House.

'Is Sir Hannibal at home?' she asked when the door was opened.

'Yes, Miss,' replied the servant, 'but he is engaged just now.'

'I wish to see him. Will he be long?'

'I cannot say, Miss. Mrs. Krent is with him.'

'Oh,' said Anne, wondering what Mrs. Krent was saying to the baronet;
'well, then, I'll wait. I am going to London, and wish to see Sir
Hannibal before I leave St. Ewalds.'

The servant, knowing that she was a great friend of his master's,
admitted her at once, and conducted her to the drawing-room. It was a
small apartment, like all the rooms in the Dower House, and had two
French windows opening on to a small terrace. Approaching the window to
admire the view of the beach and bay, Anne heard the murmur of two voices
close at hand. Then she recollected that the library was next to the
drawing-room, and likewise had windows opening on to the terrace. A peep
round the corner showed her that one of these had been left open, and the
clearness of the voices assured her that the speakers were very
injudiciously near the window. Anne could hear comparatively plainly
what was being said, and, taking her chance, sat down cautiously to
listen. One of the speakers was Sir Hannibal, as she recognised his
refined and pleasant voice. The other, from the coarse, female tones,
she presumed was that of Mrs. Krent. Not thinking that they had a
listener in the next room, the host and his visitor spoke tolerably loud.
 Anne listened with all her ears.

If she could have seen through the wall she would have beheld Mrs. Krent
seated near the desk, which was close by the open window. That good lady
was arrayed in the deepest black, but apparently not liking so sombre a
garb, she had smartened herself by adding a yellow shawl and a quantity
of silver ornaments. Also, she carried a red leather bag and a green
parasol, which contrasted oddly with the crape on her dress. Her face
was redder than ever, and she frequently wiped it with a mauve
handkerchief. Sir Hannibal, refined and well-bred, resented the presence
of this common-looking woman in his library. But there was no help for
it as Mrs. Krent had come on business and was determined to have her say.
At the point of the conversation when the voices first struck on Miss
Stretton's ear Mrs. Krent was volubly urging her claims for money.

'I've been with Bowring for twenty years,' she declared in her rough
voice, 'and he always promised to look after me.'

'He left you a hundred a year,' said the baronet smoothly.

'That's nothing. I look to you to give me one thousand.'

'What! Mrs. Krent, and after accusing me--'

'Sir'--Mrs. Krent rose and folded her podgy hands. 'I ask your pardon for
saying what I did. I was not myself when I spoke. I am quite sure that
you had nothing to do with the matter.'

'Good! Then perhaps, Mrs. Krent, you will spread that story and help me
to regain the popularity which I seem to have lost.'

'I'm sure I've heard nothing against you, sir.'

'That is not true,' replied Sir Hannibal quietly. 'Everyone seems to be
under the impression that I murdered Bowring, and that impression, Mrs.
Krent, must be put down to your wild accusation.'

'I'm sure I'm very sorry,' faltered Mrs. Krent, who seemed to be anxious
to propitiate the baronet. 'I only spoke wildlike; although, sir,' she
added with emphasis, 'and I wouldn't say this to everyone, Bowring was
afraid that you would kill him.'

Trevick, who was trimming his nails, did not look up.

'Bowring had no reason to think such a thing,' he said slowly. 'It is
true that we did business in Africa together, and that he did not treat
me over well. But he has made amends by leaving the money to me.'

'And folk think you killed him for the money, sir.'

'They are wrong; I never left this place. Your story, Mrs. Krent--'

'I'm sorry I said anything,' she interrupted hastily; 'folks should not
have taken me at my word. I'll tell every one that you have nothing to
do with the murder.'

'Do you know who has, Mrs. Krent?'

'No, sir; no more than a baby unborn. But if you want to stop folks'
mouths, sir, you can do it.'

'In what way, Mrs. Krent?'

'By marrying your daughter to Morgan. Then the money will come to the
rightful heir and you'll be praised.'

'I would be blamed, if I allowed my child to marry a lunatic.'

'Oh, no, oh, no,' protested the housekeeper, fanning herself with her
handkerchief. 'Morgan ain't so very bad. He's easily guided, though I
don't deny that he has his bad times. Me and Jenny are fond of him in a
way. What are you going to do about him, Sir Hannibal?'

'I haven't thought about the matter yet,' said the baronet fretfully, and
looking weary. 'I am very much troubled over all these rumours which
accuse me of the crime. But I cannot adopt the course you suggest.
Dericka cannot possibly marry Morgan.'

'Well, sir'--Mrs. Krent spoke in a musing tone, but her little red eyes
glanced furtively at Trevick's face--'suppose you give out that
Miss--Miss--I mean you daughter, sir--will marry Morgan, folk would then
shut up. I'll do my best to stop the scandal.'

'My daughter cannot marry Morgan,' said the baronet again.

'You can say that she will,' urged Mrs. Krent; 'only to stop folks
talking, sir.'

'What do you mean?' asked Trevick, and the question was mentally asked
also by the unseen listener.

Neither Sir Hannibal nor Miss Stretton could understand this mysterious
conversation of the housekeeper, who seemed to have, as the saying is,
something up her sleeve. She smiled significantly at Trevick's question.

'If you'll make it right for me, sir, I'll make it right for you.'

'Again I must ask your meaning, Mrs. Krent.'

'See here, sir.' Mrs. Krent spread out her podgy hands. 'I'm a plain
woman, who ain't been well treated. If you'll swear on this,' she pulled
out a small Bible, 'that you'll let me have one thousand a year I'll put
things right for you.'

'Do you mean to say that you know who killed Bowring?' asked Trevick,
pushing back his chair violently.

'No, I don't,' retorted Mrs. Krent tartly; 'but if you'll swear to give
me the one thousand a year and then announce that your daughter is to
marry Morgan you'll get back your reputation.

'I don't see how--'

'And you won't, sir, until you swear.'

She held out the book.

Anxious to know what she meant, and really in a dilemma as to how to
reinstate himself in the eyes of St. Ewalds, the baronet hastily
snatched at the Bible. 'I'll give you one thousand a year if you put
things straight,' said he, then added a solemn oath and kissed the book.

'Now, then,' said Mrs. Krent, taking it back again with a smiling face,
'you can say that Miss Trevick's to marry Morgan, and folk will never
believe that you killed his father.'

'My daughter must not marry Morgan,' said Sir Hannibal for the third
time.

'She can't,' cried Mrs. Krent, triumphantly, 'for Morgan's married
already, and to my daughter Jenny.



Chapter VII Retreat

'Morgan married already; and to your daughter Jenny?' repeated Sir
Hannibal wonderingly, then his face cleared. 'That will certainly make
matters easier.'

'Of course, sir. Miss Trevick can't marry the poor boy, seeing he's my
daughter's husband. So you see, sir, if you appear willing to let Morgan,
who is the rightful heir, have the money by marrying your daughter people
will say that you are innocent.'

'I don't quite follow you there,' responded the baronet dryly. 'However,
people will certainly see that I wish to do what is right if I announce
a possible marriage. Nevertheless, if such could take place I should
refuse to make such an announcement.'

'It can never take place,' cried Mrs. Krent eagerly, 'seeing that Morgan
is my son-in-law.  Give me and him and Mrs. Bowring, my daughter Jenny,
one thousand a year and the Grange to live in and I'll soon put it about
that you, sir, are as innocent as an unborn babe.'

'The Grange? Mrs. Krent, you are adding to your bargain.'

Like all ill-bred women, Mrs. Krent easily lost her temper. Now that she
had secured so much she appeared to think that she could do what she
pleased with the easy-going baronet, and rose in a fine rage. 'I'm sure
it's little enough I ask,' she cried harshly. 'Morgan is the son of
Bowring, and should have the whole sixty thousand a year. Why he should
have left it to you, sir, I don't know, but Bowring always was a
scoundrel. But if you don't give in to my fair demands I'll make it my
business to bring home the murder to you.'

'Nonsense; that is quite impossible.'

'Nothing is impossible to one who is wronged,' said Mrs. Krent, doggedly,
'and I wasn't born yesterday, let me tell you, sir. Be my friend, and it
will be better for you; get my back up, and--' Here Mrs. Krent gasped,
clenched her podgy fist, and looked volumes.

Sir Hannibal thought it best to temporise. Certainly the fact that
Morgan was already married would help him greatly, as then he could
announce that Dericka was to become Morgan's wife. By this statement it
would appear that the money had been left on such a condition by the dead
man, and so any possible motive for Sir Hannibal committing the crime
would be removed. All he had to do was to announce the possible
marriage, and then Mrs. Krent would appear to state that it was too late.
 Afterwards Sir Hannibal reflected that he would play the patron to the
extent of one thousand a year; but he was not very anxious to give up the
Grange as he wished to live there himself.

'One thing at a time, Mrs. Krent,' he said judiciously. 'You shall have
the money, and meanwhile can live at the Grange until I make up my mind
what course to pursue.'

Mrs. Krent nodded, and prepared to take her leave.

'And if I were you, sir, I should go away to London at once,' she said
seriously.

'Why should I do that, Mrs. Krent?'

'It's market day,' said the housekeeper, 'and folks is talking of you
having had a finger in this murder. If you went through the town you
would be mobbed; and I shouldn't be surprised,' added Mrs. Krent
judiciously, 'if the market folk came up to this very house. The
quarrymen were fond of Mr. Bowring, who paid them well, and they'd not
make much ado about ducking you in the sea, sir.'

Sir Hannibal gasped.

'How utterly preposterous,' he said indignantly. 'If I were guilty, if
there were any feasible evidence against me, the police would assuredly
have arrested me long since. That I am free and respected should show
these misguided men that I have had nothing to do with the lamented death
of my friend.'

'Free, yes,' sniffed Mrs. Krent, 'seeing as you are rich and titled,
there being one law for the rich and another for the poor. But
respected, sir?--just you go down to St. Ewalds and see. However, it's
none of my business. I go now, sir.'

'One moment, Mrs. Krent. Where did this marriage take place?'

'Ah, no you don't, sir. Until I get that money I hold my tongue. You
can't prove anything without me, and in spite of your oath, I don't trust
you over-much. I believe that you do know something about this murder,
but for Jenny's sake I don't give you up. She wants money as Mrs.
Bowring, and you shall supply it, sir.'

Sir Hannibal gasped again with indignation, but Mrs. Krent swiftly
removed herself from the room. The baronet was minded to follow her and
insist that she should prove her accusation, but on second thoughts he
reflected that such a course would be undignified, and remained where he
was, thinking deeply.

His thoughts were not pleasant. He was well aware that if an inquiry
were made into his past, and all his doings in Africa with Bowring were
made public, that people would be more than ever certain that he had
committed the crime. He shuddered to think of the publicity of the whole
affair, and wondered if what Mrs. Krent proposed would really close the
mouths of the people. Ever since he had inherited the property he had
been aware of the sullen looks which greeted him when he went down the
town, but it had never struck him that the people would proceed to
violence. Yet, when he reflected on the rough characters of the Cornish
folk, and their quick tempers, he saw well that it would be best to
refrain from going into St. Ewalds, or on to the moors where the
quarrymen lived. The fortnight which had elapsed since the reading of
the will had changed his life. Formerly he had been poor, but respected;
now he was rich, and suspected. Even as he thought of these things he
heard in the distance a sullen roar, which seemed to come from the
direction of the town. At once starting to his feet, he wondered if what
Mrs. Krent had said was true, and whether the quarrymen would come to
assault him in his own house, so as to be revenged for the death of their
kind landlord. But the idea was too absurd, and he brushed it aside with
a rather quavering laugh. All the same, he wished that Dericka were at
hand to assist him with her common sense.

It was then that Providence, as the baronet afterwards believed, sent him
assistance. It came in the shape of Miss Stretton, who stole round by
the terrace and presented herself at the window. She also had heard the
distant roar, repeated more than once, and from rumours she had heard was
not at all sure but what the prophecy of Mrs. Krent would be realised
very speedily. It was all the better for her plans, as she could rescue
Sir Hannibal and thereby gain his eternal gratitude.

'Miss Stretton--Anne,' said Sir Hannibal, hurrying towards the window,
where she stood with one finger pressed to her lips. 'What good fairy
sent you here?'

'My love for you brought me,' said Anne, and stepping into the room she
closed the window to shut out another distant roar like the sound of surf
on a rocky shore.

'Love?' In spite of his perplexities Sir Hannibal opened his arms. 'Oh,
my dear, then you will marry me?'

Miss Stretton brought out of her pocket a letter--the very same she had
carried when Penrith's jealous eyes had wandered to where it was hidden.

'You really mean this for a proposal?' she asked.

'Is it not plain enough?'

'Oh, yes. You ask me to be your wife, but you don't say when.'

'At this very moment, my darling--as soon as you can marry me. We can go
to the church this day, if you like.'

'In St. Ewalds?'

'Why not?'

Anne seated herself and, checking the caress with which Sir Hannibal
would have enveloped her, she raised a finger.

'I was in the next room while you were speaking with Mrs. Krent,' she
said gravely. 'I did not intend to listen, but by chance I did overhear
a few words!' This was a guarded way by which she hinted that she had
overheard the whole conversation.

'I do not mind,' cried the baronet impetuously, 'there will be no secrets
between us. You, then, know that Mrs. Krent accuses me?'

'Yes; but I don't believe it.'

'Believe it!' echoed Sir Hannibal in a white fury; 'of course not. I
never had anything to do with the death. I was here all the time; that
is, I walked on the beach after you departed on that day, so as to think
of your sweet face, my own love.'

Miss Stretton had half a mind to mention about Polwin's tale of the
motor-bicycle, but on second thoughts she refrained. Explanations could
come later. Meanwhile she was anxious to get Sir Hannibal away as soon
as possible in case the quarrymen should come up to the house, as a still
continued roar told her they would.

Sir Hannibal, taken up with admiring her face, and never dreaming of
peril, paid no attention to the ominous sounds.

'Of course I know that you are innocent,' she said quickly; 'all the
same, people think that you are guilty, and the quarrymen openly say that
they will assault this house.'

'Nonsense, my dear.' Sir Hannibal looked sceptical. 'England is a
country of law and order. In the wilds such a thing might take place,
but here--' He shrugged his handsome shoulders.

Anne threw open the window, and now the sound of angry voices could
easily be distinguished.

'Hearken,' she said, 'they are in the avenue.'

'But the police--the police?'

'The police can do very little against an angry mob of quarrymen.'

'I'll have the rascals locked up,' said the baronet fiercely.

He was not at all afraid as his courage was too high to be daunted by a
riot.

'It is ridiculous that I should be accused of being concerned in
Bowring's murder. I shall address them,' and he moved towards the open
window as several large men emerged from the belt of trees encircling the
lawns of the mansion.

Anne drew him back and quickly closed the window.

'No,' she said sharply; 'it would be useless to argue with men inflamed
with drink. Sir Hannibal, listen. It is just as well that I came up.
Mr. Penrith lent me his dog-cart for the day; I'll go down and get it and
drive round the back road which runs past this house. Slip out and join
me, and I'll drive you to the Gwynne Station. There you can board the
London express.'

'But by that I'll admit myself guilty,' cried the baronet in dismay.

'It's better to admit that than to be killed,' retorted Anne; 'and the
quarrymen are in no humour to listen to excuses.'

'The police will arrest me.'

'All the better; you will be safe in gaol. Come, Sir Hannibal,' she
added impatiently; 'it is either London or prison. Will you come?'

The baronet thought for a few moments, and his decision was assisted by a
stone which smashed one of the windows.

'I'll come,' he said hurriedly; 'where am I to meet you?'

'In the back road in five minutes,' she said quickly. 'Don't wait to
write to your daughter; I'll come back and explain. Get away to the back
at once; I'll meet the people.'

Sir Hannibal saw that discretion was the better part of valour, and
although it went sorely against his grain to fly he deemed it was best to
do so until he could explain his innocence under the shield of the law.
He therefore snatched a hasty kiss from Anne, and, putting on an overcoat
and a soft hat, went into the back parts of the house, where palefaced
servants were congregated. A word or two pacified these, and then their
master slipped out to the back road, where he waited uneasily for the
dog-cart. Every moment he expected to hear the sounds of his house being
smashed, or to see and infuriated mob of labourers pouring round the
corner to kill him. It was a very uncomfortable quarter of an hour.

But Anne Stretton proved to be quite equal to the occasion. She stepped
boldly out on to the terrace through the broken window and faced the
crowd of angry-looking men. These looked surprised when they saw her,
and many voices demanded that Sir Hannibal should show himself.

'Sir Hannibal is not here,' said Anne coolly, for she knew that she was
quite safe; 'he has gone to the Grange.'

'We've just come from that direction, Miss,' said a rough voice.

'He went by the other road, to see Mr. Morgan Bowring.'

The crowd paused. It might be true, and if this was the case it would
not be worth while to risk gaol by breaking into an empty house. But one
big man, quite a giant in stature--the same who had already spoken--came
forward.

'You know Sir Hannibal, Miss,' he said hoarsely; 'tell us if he killed
the master.'

'Certainly not,' replied Anne, holding her head very high and speaking
with the utmost assurance; 'but how do you know that I am acquainted with
Sir Hannibal?'

'You come out of the house, Miss,' said the giant with a grin, 'and I
know you well, Miss. Don't you remember how I found the sketchbook you
had lost on the moors?'

Anne looked attentively at the big man.

'Anak?' she said with a flash of memory. 'Yes, I remember you. We
talked about Sir Hannibal; you are the foreman of the quarry labourers he
employs?'

'Mr. Bowring employs us, Miss,' said Anak heavily; 'Sir Hannibal let us
and the quarry to Mr. Bowring.'

'I remember. And you speak better than your fellows, because you have
been to school, and to--'

Here her speech was interrupted by a growl from the mob, who were weary
of waiting. Anak was their leader, so Anne, seeing that no time was to be
lost if Sir Hannibal's house was to be saved from destruction, spoke
hastily. 'Take these men away, Anak.'

'They want Sir Hannibal, Miss.'

'You will find him at the Grange.'

Anak looked at her hard, and appeared to believe her. With a loutish
gesture he turned away and addressed his fellow-labourers. In a few
words he pointed out to them that the police would shortly be on the
spot, and that Sir Hannibal was at his ancestral residence on the moors.
 The speech had a good effect, for in a few moments the mob of big,
uncouth men were running down the avenue again, leaving the Dower House
untouched save for the one broken window. Anne followed and found
Penrith's dog-cart at the gate in charge of the groom.

'You can tell Mr. Penrith that I will bring back the cart in two hours to
the hotel,' she said.

'Don't you want me to come, Miss?' asked the groom, hesitating.

Anne whipped up the horse. 'There is no necessity. I am going for a
drive and will return in two hours.' She was wise enough not to mention
her destination in case it should be suspected that she had aided the
retreat of Sir Hannibal.

Shortly she found the baronet, with his hat well pulled over his eyes and
muffled up in his long coat. No words passed between them, but Sir
Hannibal swung himself on to the trap at once. In another minute they
were driving along the almost deserted road which led to Gwynne, a local
station some six miles distant from St. Ewalds. Only when they were
clear of the town did the baronet speak.

'I cannot thank you sufficiently for your help,' he said gratefully.

'I am only too glad,' responded Miss Stretton, looking at him with her
bold, black eyes in a rather quizzical manner; 'but you must think me
very forward to come and overhear your private conversation.'

'As I said, my dear girl, there need be no secrets between us,' replied
Sir Hannibal eagerly, and would have possessed himself of her hand but
that she was holding the reins. 'Now that the ice is broken between us,
and you know that I love you, there is nothing you will not know. And
our marriage?'

'I have not thought of that yet,' said Anne thoughtfully. The fact being
that she did not intend to finally commit herself until she could be
quite sure that Sir Hannibal had the money. She had no idea of marrying
a pauper, however easy-going and well-preserved he might be.

'Why cannot we get married while I am in town?'

'What about your daughter?' questioned Anne in her turn.

'Dericka?' Sir Hannibal waved his hand vaguely. 'Oh, she will be quite
pleased. She likes you, my dear Anne.'

'I don't think she does,' responded the lady dryly. 'However, she cannot
prevent our marriage.'

'Certainly not; I am my own master.'

'Where is she now?'

'She went out to see a friend and said that she would not be back until
late.'

'I fear she will be surprised to find that you have gone.'

Sir Hannibal shrugged his shoulders.

'It cannot be helped, and I daresay she will soon learn that the cause of
my flight--for that it is--is due to the feeling against me in St. Ewalds.
 By the way, have those rascally quarrymen sacked the house?'

'Oh, no. I told them that you were at the Grange, and they have gone
there to look for you.'

'How clever you are. My dear girl, you are one in a thousand. I have
always admired and loved you.'

Further compliments of this sort passed between them as they drove to
Gwynne Station.  Anne was certain that she now had Sir Hannibal fast,
and looked forward to becoming the mistress of sixty thousand a year.
She had some qualms of conscience regarding Penrith, whom she had led to
believe would be her husband; but she dismissed these when she thought of
the brilliant future before her. On the whole, Anne Stretton was
thankful that matters had turned out as they had done, as in this way
she had been enabled to capture Sir Hannibal. Not that he was a very shy
bird, but it was necessary, as she had frequently found in her career, to
make absolutely certain. Many a time had she proved the truth of the
proverb, 'There's many a slip betwixt cup and lip.'

But she would not have been so easy in her mind had she known that Sir
Hannibal, on stumbling into a first-class carriage, found that his
travelling companion was none other than Dericka. There she was,
comfortably ensconced in the corner, with a large bag packed away on the
shelf overhead.

'Dericka?' cried her father in amazement; 'what are you doing here?'

'I am going to London,' she replied, equally astonished. 'And you,
father, why are you going to town?'

Sir Hannibal explained, whereat Dericka was suitably angered that her
father should be suspected of such a vile crime. All the same, when he
had ended she significantly remarked:

'It is just as well that I am going to London to see Oswald.'

'Is that your reason for this secret journey?'

'Yes. I knew if I asked you to let me go you would not consent. And I
know, also, that Oswald is the sole man who can help you to find out who
killed Mr. Bowring. I am going to stop with Aunt Lavinia, and then will
call on Oswald at the Temple and explain everything.'

'You should have told me, Dericka,' fumed the baronet.

'I think not,' she answered calmly; 'you would only have argued. It has
been in my mind for several days to go up and see Oswald, as I have
been aware of the feeling against you. But I did not expect that it would
take the form of a demonstration such as you tell me about. You cannot
return to St. Ewalds, father, until your character is cleared.'

'And who will clear it, if it does need clearing?'

'Oswald will clear it--at a price.'

'Oh, indeed! And the price, Dericka?'

'My hand,' she answered, and Sir Hannibal grunted. He recognised that he
was in a hole, and needed all the friends he could muster. All the same,
he was by no means pleased at the prospect of having a penniless
barrister as his son-in-law.



Chapter VIII An Amateur Detective

Miss Lavinia Quinton was the sister of Dericka's mother, a wealthy
spinster, who disliked Sir Hannibal as much as she loved his daughter.
She also liked Oswald Forde, and was disposed to forward his suit, both
on account of his good looks and because the baronet did not approve of
him as Dericka's suitor. There must have been some Irish blood in Miss
Lavinia, for she was always in the opposition, and would never cease to
argue while she had breath left in her spare body. Dericka was very fond
of her, and Aunt Lavinia approved of Dericka, saying that all the sense
in the girl came from her mother, which remark was a side slap at Sir
Hannibal.

The house of this odd personage was in a quiet Kensington square, where
the rents were high and the dwellers in the various mansions well-to-do.
 Everything in that square went by clockwork, and the Judgment Day would
have found the inhabitants dressed in their best bibs and tuckers ready
to listen to the last trump. Miss Quinton herself was one of the
precise old ladies in the place--tall, slender and aristocratic-looking.
Her silvery hair was worn in the fashion of Marie Antoinette, and suited
her wrinkled, oval face with its arched nose and thin lips. She always
dressed in grey, like a demure nun, and like a nun she was given to
religious works, mostly concerned with an extremely high church round the
corner. Walking very erect, with her nose held aloft as though disdaining
meaner clay, Miss Lavinia passed for being proud and cold. Proud she
certainly was, but not cold, as many a poor person knew how warm hearted
she could be when there was charitable work to be done. But she assuredly
possessed sharp eyes and a sharp tongue, and could make herself eminently
disagreeable on occasions. She chose to do so when Sir Hannibal and
Dericka arrived from Cornwall.

'H'm!' said Miss Lavinia, kissing Dericka warmly, and greeting her
brother-in-law coldly; 'so you are here. Why?'

'I thought that I would come and see you, Aunt,' said Dericka, who knew
that Miss Lavinia was pleased.

'H'm! Your father has been making himself disagreeable again?'

'I never make myself disagreeable unless there is a cause,' said the
baronet, coldly.

'You usually find cause,' snapped the old lady. 'Dericka looks pale, I
notice. H'm! Is Oswald Forde the cause of that, or--' Miss Lavinia's
eye sought the tired face of her brother-in-law.

'I've got nothing to do with it,' said Sir Hannibal hastily.

'Papa is all right, Aunty,' whispered Dericka quickly; 'don't be hard on
him, he is very worried.'

'On account of that Bowring murder? H'm.'

'What do you know of that, Lavinia?'

'All that I read in the papers. Well, the man's gone, so there is no use
in saying anything, but I never liked him.'

'I did not know that you knew him well, Lavinia?'

'I knew him much better than you think, Hannibal. You told me about him
when you came from Africa, and I made it my business to have a few
conversations with him when he came to town.'

'Why, in Heaven's name?' asked the baronet, puzzled.

'For the sake of your good name, Hannibal.'

'My--good--name?'

'Certainly. You more than hinted that this Bowring had done some shady
business in South Africa, and as you were mixed up with him I wanted to
know what that business was, so that I might help you should occasion
arise.'

'There was no need,' said Sir Hannibal testily. 'Bowring and I did do
business together in Cape Town, and he did not treat me well. All the
same, I was quite able to manage him. But if you are going to make
yourself disagreeable, Lavinia, I shall go to an hotel.'

'And waste your money. Nonsense.'

'Money doesn't matter to me now, Lavinia. I am rich.'

'Indeed! And how did you make money?'

'I didn't make it. Bowring has left me sixty thousand a year.'

Miss Lavinia, who was seated bolt upright in her chair, fell back with a
gasp of astonishment when she heard the news.

'In Heaven's name why did he do that, seeing that he has a son?'

'An insane son,' put in Dericka sharply.

'Well,' said Sir Hannibal, revolving what Mrs. Krent had said to him and
anxious to set the rumour of an engagement going, 'the money was left to
me, in a way--on account of Dericka and Morgan.'

'The son? Well?'

'Bowring wanted Dericka to marry Morgan, and I was, so to speak, to hold
the money in trust. The will did not put that in so many words, but the
hint is enough for me.'

'Hint! Hint!' cried Miss Lavinia with rising anger. 'Good heavens, do
you mean to say that you want Dericka to marry a lunatic?'

'There is no chance of that,' said Dericka ang