Title: The Mystery Queen
Author: Fergus Hume
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Language:  English
Date first posted: October 2002
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Title:      The Mystery Queen
Author:     Fergus Hume




Contents


Chapter I. A STRANGE VISITOR

Chapter II. A COMPLETE MYSTERY

Chapter III. DUTY BEFORE PLEASURE

Chapter IV. AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE

Chapter V. MUDDY WATER

Chapter VI. THE INVENTOR

Chapter VII. THE HERMIT LADIES

Chapter VIII. AVIATION

Chapter IX. MAHOMET'S COFFIN

Chapter X. ANOTHER MYSTERY

Chapter XI. ON THE TRAIL

Chapter XII. AN AMAZING ADVENTURE

Chapter XIII. A BOLD DETERMINATION

Chapter XIV. A BUSY AFTERNOON

Chapter XV. ABSOLUTE PROOF

Chapter XVI. DAN'S DIPLOMACY

Chapter XVII. AT BAY

Chapter XVIII. THE FLIGHT

Chapter XIX. TREACHERY

Chapter XX. QUEEN BEELZEBUB'S END

Chapter XXI. SUNSHINE




Chapter I. A STRANGE VISITOR

"A penny for your thoughts, Dad," cried Lillian, suppressing a school-girl
desire to throw one of the nuts on her plate at her father and rouse him
from his brown study.

Sir Charles Moon looked up with a start, and drew his bushy grey eye-brows
together. "Some people would give more than that to know them, my dear."

"What sort of people?" asked the young man who sat beside Lillian,
industriously cracking filberts for her consumption.

"Dangerous people," replied Sir Charles grimly, "very dangerous, Dan."

Mrs. Bolstreath, fat, fair, and fifty, Lillian's paid companion and
chaperon, leaned back complacently. She had enjoyed an excellent dinner:
she was beautifully dressed: and shortly she would witness the newest
musical comedy; three very good reasons for her amiable expression.
"All people are dangerous to millionaires," she remarked, pointing the
compliment at her employer, 'since all people enjoy life with wealth, and
wish to get the millionaire's money honestly or dishonestly."

"The people you mention have failed to get mine, Mrs. Bolstreath," was the
millionaire's dry response.

"Of course I speak generally and not of any particular person, Sir
Charles."

"I am aware of it," he answered, nodding; and showed a tendency to relapse
into his meditation, but that his daughter raised her price for confession.

"A sixpence for your thoughts, Dad, a shilling--ten shillings--then one
pound, you insatiable person."

"My kingdom for an explicit statement," murmured Dan, laying aside the
crackers. "Lillian, my child, you must not eat any more nuts, or you will
be having indigestion."

"I believe Dad has indigestion already."

"Some people will have it very badly before I am done with them," said Sir
Charles, not echoing his daughter's laughter: then, to prevent further
questions being asked, he addressed himself to the young man. "How are
things going with you, Halliday?"

When Sir Charles asked questions thus stiffly, Dan knew that he was not
too well pleased, and guessed the reason, which had to do with Lillian,
and with Lillian's friendly attitude to a swain not overburdened with
money--to wit, his very own self--who replied diplomatically. "Things are
going up with me, sir, if you mean aeroplanes."

"Frivolous! Frivolous!" muttered the big man seriously; "as a
well-educated young man who wants money, you should aim at higher things."

"He aims at the sun," said Lillian gaily, "how much higher do you expect
him to aim, Dad?"

"Aiming at the sun is he," said Moon heavily; "h'm! he'll be like that
classical chap, who flew too high and came smash."

"Do you mean Icarus or Phaeton, Sir Charles?" asked Mrs. Bolstreath, who,
having been a governess, prided herself upon exceptional knowledge.

"I don't know which of the two; perhaps one, perhaps both. But he flew in
an aeroplane like Dan here, and came to grief."

"Oh!" Lillian turned distinctly pale. "I hope, Dan, you won't come to
grief."

Before the guest could reply, Sir Charles reassured his daughter. "Naught
was never in danger," he said, still grim and unsmiling, "don't trouble,
Lillian, my dear. Dan won't come to grief in that way, although he may in
another."

Lillian opened her blue eyes and stared while young Halliday grew crimson
and fiddled with the nutshells. "I don't know what you mean, Dad?" said
the girl after a puzzled pause.

"I think Dan does," rejoined her father, rising and pushing back his chair
slowly. He looked at his watch. "Seven-thirty; you have plenty of time to
see your play, which does not begin until nine," he added, walking towards
the door. "Mrs. Bolstreath, I should like to speak with you."

"But, Dad--"

"My dear Lillian, I have no time to wait. There is an important
appointment at nine o'clock here, and afterwards I must go to the House.
Go and enjoy yourself, but don't--" here his stern grey eyes rested on
Dan's bent head in a significant way--"don't be foolish. Mrs. Bolstreath,"
he beckoned, and left the room.

"Oh!" sighed the chaperon-governess-companion, for she was all three, a
kind of modern Cerberus, guarding the millionaire's child. "I thought it
would come to this!" and she also looked significantly at Halliday before
she vanished to join her employer.

Lillian stared at the closed door through which both her father and Mrs.
Bolstreath had passed, and then looked at Dan, sitting somewhat
disconsolately at the disordered dinner-table. She was a delicately pretty
girl of a fair fragile type, not yet twenty years of age, and resembled a
shepherdess of Dresden china in her dainty perfection. With her pale
golden hair, and rose-leaf complexion; arrayed in a simple white silk
frock with snowy pearls round her slender neck, she looked like a wreath
of faint mist. At least Dan fancifully thought so, as he stole a glance at
her frail beauty, or perhaps she was more like a silver-point drawing,
exquisitely fine. But whatever image love might find to express her
loveliness, Dan knew in his hot passion that she was the one girl in the
world for him. Lillian Halliday was a much better name for her than
Lillian Moon.

Dan himself was tall and slim, dark and virile, with a clear-cut,
clean-shaven face suggestive of strength and activity. His bronzed
complexion suggested an open-air life, while the eagle look in his dark
eyes was that new vast-distance expression rapidly being acquired by those
who devote themselves to aviation. No one could deny Dan's good looks or
clean life or daring nature, and he was all that a girl could desire in
the way of a fairy prince. But fathers do not approve of fairy princes
unless they come laden with jewels and gold. To bring such to Lillian was
rather like taking coals to Newcastle since her father was so wealthy; but
much desires more, and Sir Charles wanted a rich son-in-law. Dan could not
supply this particular adjective, and therefore--as he would have put it
in the newest slang of the newest profession--was out of the fly. Not that
he intended to be, in spite of Sir Charles, since love can laugh at stern
fathers as easily as at bolts and bars.

And all this time Lillian stared at the door, and then at Dan, and then at
her plate, putting two and two together. But in spite of her feminine
intuition, she could not make four, and turned to her lover--for that Dan
was, and a declared lover too--for an explanation. "What does Dad mean?"

Dan raised his handsome head and laughed as grimly as Sir Charles had done
earlier. "He means that I shan't be asked to dinner any more."

"Why? You have done nothing."

"No; but I intend to do something."

"What's that?"

Dan glanced at the closed door and seeing that there was no immediate
chance of butler or footmen entering took her in his arms. "Marry you," he
whispered between two kisses.

"There's no intention about that," pouted the girl; "we have settled that
ever so long ago."

"So your father suspects, and for that reason he is warning Mrs.
Bolstreath."

"Warning the dragon," said Miss Moon, who used the term quite in an
affectionate way, "why, the dragon is on our side."

"I dare say your father guesses as much. For that reason I'll stake my
life that he is telling her at this moment she must never let us be
together alone after this evening. After all, my dear, I don't see why you
should look at me in such a puzzled way. You know well enough that Sir
Charles wants you to marry Curberry."

"Marry Lord Curberry," cried Lillian, her pale skin colouring a deep rose
hue; "why I told Dad I wouldn't do that."

"Did you tell Dad that you loved me?"

"No. There's no need to," said the girl promptly.

Dan coughed drily. "I quite agree with you," he said rising, "there's no
need to, since every time I look at you, I give myself away. But you
surely understand, darling, that as I haven't a title and I haven't money
I can't have you. Hothouse grapes are for the rich and not for a poor
devil like me."

"You might find a prettier simile," laughed Lillian, not at all
discomposed, although she now thoroughly understood the meaning of her
father's abrupt departure with Mrs. Bolstreath. Then she rose and took Dan
by the lapels of his coat, upon which he promptly linked her to himself by
placing both arms round her waist. "Dearest," she said earnestly, "I shall
marry you and you only. We have been brought up more or less together, and
we have always loved one another. Dad was your guardian: you have five
hundred a year of your own, and if we marry Dad can give us plenty, and--"

"I know all that," interrupted Halliday, placing her arms round his neck,
"and it is just because Sir Charles knows also, that he will never consent
to our marriage. I guessed what was in the wind weeks ago, darling heart,
and every day I have been expecting what has occurred to-night. For that
reason, I have come here as often as possible and have arranged for you
and the dragon to go to the theatre to-night. But, believe me, Lillian, it
will be for the last time. To-morrow I shall receive a note saying that I
am to stay away from Lord Curberry's bride."

"I'm not his bride and I never shall be!" stamped Lillian, and the tears
came into her pretty eyes, whereupon Dan, as a loyal lover, wiped them
away with his pocket-handkerchief tenderly, "and--and--" she faltered.

"And--and--" he mocked, knowing her requirements, which led him to console
her with a long and lingering kiss. "Oh!" he sighed and Lillian, nestling
in his arms, echoed the sigh. The moment of perfect understanding and
perfect love held them until the sudden opening of the door placed Dan on
one side of the table and Lillian on the other.

"It won't do, my dears," said the new-comer, who was none other than Mrs.
Bolstreath, flaming with wrath, but not, as the lovers found later, at
them. "I know quite well that Dan hasn't wasted his time in this
league-divided wooing."

"We thought that one of the servants--" began the young man, when Mrs.
Bolstreath interrupted.

"Well, and am I not one of the servants? Sir Charles has reminded me of
the fact three times with information that I am not worth my salt, much
less the good table he keeps."

"Oh! Bolly dear," and Lillian ran to the stout chaperon to embrace her
with many kisses, "was Dad nasty?"

"He wasn't agreeable," assented Mrs. Bolstreath, fanning herself with her
handkerchief, for the interview had heated her. "You can't expect him to
be, my sweet, when his daughter loves a pauper."

"Thank you," murmured Dan bowing, "but don't you think it is time we went
to the theatre, Bolly dear."

"You must not be so familiar, young man," said the chaperon, broadly
smiling at the dark handsome face. "Sir Charles wants Lillian to marry--"

"Then I shan't!" Lillian stamped again. "I hate Lord Curberry."

"And you love Dan!"

"Don't be so familiar, young woman," said Halliday, in a joking way,
"unless you are on our side, that is."

"If I were not on your side," rejoined Mrs. Bolstreath, majestically, "I
should be the very dragon Lillian calls me. After all, Dan, you are poor."

"Poor, but honest."

"Worse and worse. Honest people never grow rich. And then you have such a
dangerous profession; taking people flying trips in those aeroplanes. One
never can be sure if you will be home to supper. I'm sure Lillian would
not care to marry a husband who was uncertain about being home for supper."

"I'll marry Dan," said Lillian, and embraced Dan, who returned the embrace.

"Children! Children!" Mrs. Bolstreath raised her hands in horror, "think
of what you are doing. The servants may be in at any moment. Come to the
drawing-room and have coffee. The motor-car is waiting and--hush,
separate, separate," cried the chaperon, "someone is coming!"

She spoke truly, for the lovers had just time to fly asunder when Sir
Charles's secretary entered swiftly. He was a lean, tall, haggard-looking
young fellow of thirty with a pallid complexion and scanty light hair.
A thin moustache half concealed a weak mouth, and he blinked his eyes in a
nervous manner when he bowed to the ladies and excused his presence.
"Sir Charles left his spectacles here," he said in a soft and rather
unsteady voice, "he sent me for them and--" he had glided to the other
side of the table by this time--"oh, here they are! The motor-car waits,
Miss Moon."

"Where is my father?" asked Lillian irrelevantly. "Tell me, Mr. Penn."

"In the library, Miss Moon," said the secretary glibly, "but he cannot see
anyone just now--not even you, Miss Moon."

"Why not?"

"He is waiting to interview an official from Scotland Yard--a Mr. Durwin
on important business."

"You see," murmured Dan to Lillian in an undertone, "your father intends
to lock me up for daring to love you."

Miss Moon took no notice. "What is the business?" she asked sharply.

"Indeed I don't know, Miss Moon. It is strictly private. Sir Charles has
related nothing to me. And if you will excuse me--if you don't mind--these
spectacles are wanted and--" he babbled himself out of the room, while
Mrs. Bolstreath turned on her charge.

"You don't mean to say, you foolish child, that you were going to see your
father about this," she indicated Halliday.

"I don't care about being called a 'this'!" said Dan, stiffly.

Neither lady noticed the protest. "I want to make it clear to my father as
soon as possible, that I shall marry Dan and no one else," declared
Lillian, pursing up her pretty mouth obstinately.

"Then take him at the right moment," retorted Mrs. Bolstreath crossly, for
the late interview had tried even her amiable temper. "Just now he is
seething with indignation that an aviator should dare to raise his eyes
to you."

"Aviators generally look down," said Dan flippantly; "am I to be allowed
to take you and Lillian to the theatre this evening?"

"Yes. Although Sir Charles mentioned that you would do better to spend
your money on other things than mere frivolity."

"Oh!" said Halliday with a shrug, "as to that, this particular frivolity
is costing me nothing. I got the box from Freddy Laurance, who is on that
very up-to-date newspaper 'The Moment' as a reporter. I have dined at my
future father-in-law's expense, and now I go in his motor-car without
paying for the trip. I don't see that my pleasures could cost me less.
Even Sir Charles must be satisfied with such strict economy."

"Sir Charles will be satisfied with nothing save a promise for you to go
away and leave Lillian alone," said Mrs. Bolstreath, sadly; "he has no
feeling of romance such as makes me foolish enough to encourage a pauper."

"You called me that before," said Dan, coolly; "well, there's no getting
over facts. I am a pauper, but I love Lillian."

"And I--" began Lillian, advancing, only to be waved back and prevented
from speaking further by Mrs. Bolstreath.

"Don't make love before my very eyes," she said crossly; "after all I am
paid to keep you two apart, and--and--well, there's no time for coffee, so
we had better finish the discussion in the car. There is plenty of time
between Hampstead and the Strand to allow of a long argument.
And remember, Dan," Mrs. Bolstreath turned at the door to shake her
finger, "this is your last chance of uninterrupted conversation with
Lillian."

"Let us make honey while the flowers bloom," whispered Halliday,
poetically, and stole a final and hasty kiss before he led the girl after
the amiable dragon, who had already left the room.

The lovers found her talking to a poorly-dressed and rather stout female
clothed in rusty mourning, who looked the picture of decent but
respectable poverty. The entrance door stood open, and the waiting
motor-car could be seen at the steps, while the footman stood near Mrs.
Bolstreath, watching her chatting to the stranger and wearing an injured
expression. It seemed that the decent woman wished to see Sir Charles, and
the footman had refused her admission since his master was not to be
disturbed. The woman--she called herself Mrs. Brown and was extremely
tearful--had therefore appealed to the dragon, who was explaining that she
could do nothing.

"Oh, but I am sure you can get Sir Charles Moon to see me, my lady,"
wailed Mrs. Brown with a dingy handkerchief to her red eyes, "my son has
been lost overboard off one of those steamers Sir Charles owns, and I want
to ask him to give me some money. My son was my only support, and now I
am starving."

Lillian knew that her father owned a number of tramp steamers, which
picked up cargoes all over the world, and saw no reason why the woman
should not have the interview since her son had been drowned while in
Moon's service. The hour was certainly awkward, since Sir Charles had an
appointment before he went down to the House. But a starving woman and a
sorrowful woman required some consideration, so she stepped forward
hastily and touched Mrs. Brown's rusty cloak.

"I shall ask my father to see you," she said quickly; "wait here!" and
without consulting Mrs. Bolstreath she went impulsively to her father's
study, while Mrs. Brown dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief and called
down blessings on her young head.

Dan believed the story of the lost son, but doubted the tale of
starvation, as Mrs. Brown looked too stout to have been without food for
any length of time. He looked hard at her face, which was more wrinkled
than a fat woman's should be; although such lines might be ascribed to
grief. She wept profusely and was so overcome with sorrow that she let
down a ragged veil when she saw Dan's eager gaze. The young gentleman, she
observed, could not understand a mother's feelings, or he would not make a
show of her by inquisitive glances. The remark was somewhat irrelevant,
and the action of letting down the veil unnecessary, but much might be
pardoned to a woman so obviously afflicted.

Dan was about to excuse his inquiring looks, when Lillian danced back with
the joyful information that her father would see Mrs. Brown for a few
minutes if she went in at once. "And I have asked him to help you," said
the girl, patting the fearful woman's shoulder, as she passed to the
motor-car. "Oh! it's past eight o'clock. Dan, we'll never be in time."

"The musical comedy doesn't begin until nine," Halliday assured her, and
in a few minutes the three of them were comfortably seated in the
luxurious car, which whirled at break-neck speed towards the Strand.

Of course Lillian and Dan took every advantage of the opportunity, seeing
that Mrs. Bolstreath was sympathetic enough to close her eyes to their
philanderings. They talked all the way to the Curtain Theatre; they talked
all through the musical comedy; and talked all the way back to the house
at Hampstead. Mrs. Bolstreath, knowing that the young couple would not
have another opportunity for uninterrupted love-making, and being entirely
in favour of the match, attended to the stage and left them to whisper
unreproved. She could not see why Dan, whom Lillian had loved since the
pair had played together as children, should be set aside in favour of a
dry-as-dust barrister, even though he had lately come into a fortune and a
title. "But of course," said Mrs. Bolstreath between the acts, "if you
could only invent a perfect flying-machine, they would make you a duke or
something and give you a large income. Then you could marry."

"What are you talking about, Bolly darling?" asked Lillian, much puzzled,
as she could not be supposed to know what was going on inside her
friend's head.

"About you and Dan, dear. He has no money and--"

"I shall make heaps and heaps of money," said Dan, sturdily; "aviation is
full of paying possibilities, and the nation that first obtains command of
the air will rule the world. I'm no fool!"

"You're a commoner," snapped Mrs. Bolstreath quickly, "and unless, as I
said, you are made a duke for inventing a perfect aeroplane, Lord Curberry
is certainly a better match for Lillian."

"He's as dull as tombs," said Miss Moon with her pretty nose in the air.

"You can't expect to have everything, my dear child."

"I can expect to have Dan," retorted Lillian decidedly, whereat Dan
whispered sweet words and squeezed his darling's gloved hand.

"Well," said Mrs. Bolstreath, as the curtain rose on the second act, "I'll
do my best to help you since I believe in young love and true love.
Hush, children, people are looking! Attend to the stage."

Dan and Lillian did their best to follow her advice and sat demurely in
the box side by side, watching the heroine flirt in a duet with the hero,
both giving vent to their feelings in a lively musical number. But they
really took little interest in "The Happy Bachelor!" as the piece was
called, in spite of the pretty girls and the picturesque scenery.
They were together and that was all they cared about, and although a dark
cloud of parental opposition hovered over them, they were not yet
enveloped in its gloom. And after all, since Mrs. Bolstreath was strongly
prejudiced in their favour, Lillian hoped that she might induce Sir
Charles to change his mind concerning Lord Curberry. He loved his daughter
dearly and would not like to see her unhappy, as she certainly would be if
compelled to marry any one but The One. Lillian said this to Mrs.
Bolstreath and to Dan several times on the way home, and they entirely
agreed with her.

"Although I haven't much influence with Sir Charles," Mrs. Bolstreath
warned them, "and he is fond of having his own way."

"He always does what I ask," said Lillian confidently. "Why, although he
was so busy this evening, he saw Mrs. Brown when I pleaded for her."

"He couldn't resist you," whispered Dan fondly; "no one could."

Mrs. Bolstreath argued this point, saying that Lillian was Sir Charles's
daughter, and fathers could not be expected to feel like lovers. She also
mentioned that she was jeopardising her situation by advocating the match,
which was certainly a bad one from a financial point of view, and would
probably be turned out of doors as an old romantic fool. The lovers
assured her she was the most sensible of women and that if she was turned
out of doors they would take her into the cottage where they proposed to
reside like two turtle doves. Then came laughter and kisses and the
feeling that the world was not such a bad place after all. It was a very
merry trio that alighted at the door of Moon's great Hampstead mansion.

Then came a shock, the worse for being wholly unexpected. At the door the
three were met by Marcus Penn, who was Moon's secretary. He looked leaner
and more haggard than ever, and his general attitude was that of the
bearer of evil news. Dan and Lillian and Mrs. Bolstreath stared at him in
amazement. "You may as well know the worst at once, Miss Moon," said Penn,
his lips quivering with nervousness, "your father is dead. He has
been murdered."



Chapter II. A COMPLETE MYSTERY

It was Mrs. Bolstreath who carried Lillian upstairs in her stout arms, for
when Penn made his brusque announcement the girl fainted straight away,
which was very natural considering the horror of the information.
Dan remained behind to tell the secretary that he was several kinds of
fool, since no one but a superfine ass would blurt out so terrible a story
to a delicate girl. Not that Penn had told much, for Lillian had become
unconscious the moment her bewildered brain grasped that the father she
had left a few hours earlier in good health and spirits was now a corpse.
But he told more to Dan, and mentioned that Mr. Durwin was in the library
wherein the death had taken place.

"Mr. Durwin? Who is Mr. Durwin?" asked Dan trying to collect his sense,
which had been scattered by the dreadful news.

"An official from Scotland Yard; I told you so after dinner," said Penn in
an injured tone; "he came to see Sir Charles by appointment at nine
o'clock and found him a corpse."

"Sir Charles was alive when we left shortly after eight," remarked Dan
sharply; "at a quarter-past eight, to be precise. What took place in the
meantime?"

"Obviously the violent death of Sir Charles," faltered the secretary.

"What evidence have you to show that he died by violence?" asked Halliday.

"Mr. Durwin called in a doctor, and he says that Sir Charles has been
poisoned," blurted out Penn uneasily. "I believe that woman--Mrs. Brown
she called herself--poisoned him. She left the house at a quarter to nine,
so the footman says, for he let her out, and--"

"It is impossible that a complete stranger should poison Sir Charles,"
interrupted Dan impatiently; "she would not have the chance."

"She was alone with Sir Charles for thirty minutes, more or less," said
Penn tartly; "she had every chance and she took it."

"But how could she induce Sir Charles to drink poison?"

"She didn't induce him to drink anything. The doctor says that the scratch
at the back of the dead man's neck--"

"Here!" Dan roughly pushed the secretary aside, becoming impatient of the
scrappy way in which he detailed what had happened. "Let me go to the
library for myself and see what has happened. Sir Charles can't be dead."

"It's twelve o'clock now," retorted Penn, stepping aside, "and he's been
dead quite three hours, as the doctor will tell you."

Before the man finished his sentence, Dan, scarcely grasping the
situation, so rapidly had it evolved, ran through the hall towards the
back of the spacious house, where the library was situated. He dashed into
the large and luxuriously furnished room and collided with a police
officer, who promptly took him by the shoulder. There were three other men
in the room, who turned from the corpse they were looking at when they
heard the noise of Halliday's abrupt entrance. The foremost man, and the
one who spoke first, was short and stout and arrayed in uniform, with cold
grey eyes, and a hard mouth.

"What's this--what's this?" he demanded in a raucous voice. "Who are you?"

"My name is Halliday," said Dan hurriedly. "I am engaged to Miss Moon and
we have just returned from the theatre to hear--to hear--" He caught sight
of Moon's body seated in the desk-chair and drooping limply over the
table. "Oh, it is true, then! He is dead. Good heavens! Who murdered him?"

"How do you know that Sir Charles has been murdered?" asked the officer
sternly.

"Mr. Penn, the secretary, told me just now in the hall," said Dan, shaking
himself free of the policeman. "He blurted it out like a fool, and Miss
Moon has fainted. Mrs. Bolstreath has taken her upstairs. But how did it
come about? Who found the body, and--"

"I found the body," interrupted one of the other men, who was tall and
calm-faced, with a bald head and a heavy iron-grey moustache, perfectly
clothed in fashionable evening-dress, and somewhat imperious in his manner
of speaking. "I had an appointment with Sir Charles at nine o'clock and
came here to find him, as you now see him"--he waved his hand towards the
desk--"the doctor will tell you how he died."

"By poison," said the third man, who was dark, young, unobtrusive and
retiring in manner. "You see this deep scratch on the back of the neck.
In that way the poison was administered. I take it that Sir Charles was
bending over his desk and the person who committed the crime scratched him
with some very sharp instrument impregnated with poison."

"Mrs. Brown!" gasped Dan, staring at the heavy swollen body of his late
guardian, who, only a few hours back, had been in perfect health.

The three men glanced at one another as he said the name, and even the
policeman on guard at the door looked interested. The individual in
uniform spoke with his cold eyes on Dan's agitated face. "What do you know
of Mrs. Brown, Mr. Halliday?" he demanded abruptly.

"Don't you know that a woman of that name called here?"

"Yes. The secretary, Mr. Penn, told us that Miss Moon induced her father
to see a certain Mrs. Brown, who claimed that her son had been drowned
while working on one of the steamers owned by Sir Charles. You saw her
also I believe?"

"I was in the hall when Miss Moon went to induce her father to see the
poor woman. That was about a quarter past eight o'clock."

"And Mrs. Brown--as we have found from inquiry--left the house at a
quarter to nine. Do you think she is guilty?"

"I can't say. Didn't the footman see the body--that is, if Mrs. Brown
committed the crime--when he came to show her out? Sir Charles would
naturally ring his bell when the interview was over, and the footman would
come to conduct her to the door."

"Sir Charles never rang his bell!" said the officer, drily. "Mrs. Brown
passed through the entrance hall at a quarter to nine o'clock, and
mentioned to the footman--quite unnecessarily, I think--that Sir Charles
had given her money. He let her out of the house. Naturally, the footman,
not hearing any bell, did not enter this room, nor--so far as any one else
is concerned--did a single person. Only when Mr. Durwin--"

"I came at nine o'clock," interrupted the bald-headed man imperiously, "to
keep my appointment. The footman told Mr. Penn, who took me to Sir
Charles. He knocked but there was no answer, so he opened the door and we
saw this." He again waved his hand towards the body.

"Does Mr. Penn know nothing?" asked Halliday, doubtfully.

"No," answered the other. "Inspector Tenson has questioned him carefully
in my presence. Mr. Penn says that he brought Sir Charles his spectacles
from the dining-room before you left for the theatre with the two ladies,
and then was sent to his own room by his employer to write the usual
letters. He remained there until nine o'clock when he was called out to
receive me, and we know that Mr. Penn speaks truly, for the typewriting
girl who was typing Sir Charles's letters to Mr. Penn's dictation, says
that he did not leave the room all the time."

"May I look at the body?" asked Dan approaching the desk, and on receiving
an affirmative reply from Durwin, bent over the dead.

The corpse was much swollen, the face indeed being greatly bloated, while
the deep scratch on the nape of the neck looked venomous and angry. Yet it
was a slight wound to bring about so great a catastrophe, and the poison
must have been very deadly and swift; deadly because apparently Sir
Charles had no time to move before it did its work, and swift because he
could not even have called for assistance, which he surely would have done
had he been able to keep his senses. Dan mentioned this to the watchful
doctor, who nodded.

"I can't say for certain," he remarked cautiously, "but I fancy that
snake-poison has been used. That will be seen to, when the post-mortem
is made."

"And this fly?" Halliday pointed to an insect which was just behind the
left ear of the dead man.

"Fly!" echoed Inspector Tenson in surprise, and hastily advancing to look.
"A fly in November. Impossible! Yet it is a fly, and dead. If not," he
swept the neck of the corpse with his curved hand, "it would get away.
H'm! Now I wonder what this means? Get me a magnifying glass."

There was not much difficulty in procuring one, as such an article lay on
the desk itself; being used, no doubt, by Sir Charles to aid his failing
sight when he examined important documents. Tenson inspected the fly and
removed it--took it to a near electric light and examined it. Then he came
back and examined the place behind the left ear whence he had removed it.

"It's been gummed on," he declared in surprise--a surprise which was also
visible in the faces of the other men; "you can see the glistening spot on
the skin, and the fly's legs are sticky." He balanced the fly on his
little finger as he spoke. "I am sure they are sticky, although it is hard
to say with such a small insect. However," he carefully put away the fly
in a silver match-box, "we'll have this examined under a more powerful
glass. You are all witnesses, gentlemen, that a fly was found near the
wound which caused Sir Charles Moon's death."

"And the scent? What about the scent?" Dan sniffed as he spoke and then
bent his nose to the dead man. "It seems to come from the clothes."

"Scent!" echoed Durwin sharply, and sniffed. "Yes, I observed that scent.
But I did not take any notice of it."

"Nor did I," said the doctor. "I noticed it also."

"And I," followed on the Inspector, "and why should we take notice of it,
Mr. Halliday? Many men use scent."

"Sir Charles never did," said Dan emphatically; "he hated scents of all
kinds even when women used them. He certainly would never have used them
himself. I'll swear to that."

"Then this scent assumes importance." Durwin sniffed again, and held his
aquiline nose high. "It is fainter now. But I smelt it very strongly when
I first came in and looked at the body. A strange perfume it is."

The three men tried to realise the peculiar odour of the scent, and became
aware that it was rich and heavy and sickly, and somewhat drowsy in its
suggestion.

"A kind of thing to render a man sleepy," said Dan, musingly.

"Or insensible," said Inspector Tenson hastily, and put his nose to the
dead man's chin and mouth. He shook his head as he straightened himself.
"I fancied from your observation, Mr. Halliday, that the scent might have
been used as a kind of chloroform, but there's no smell about the face.
It comes from the clothes," he sniffed again; "yes, it certainly comes
from the clothes. Did you smell this scent on Mrs. Brown?" he demanded,
suddenly.

"No, I did not," admitted Halliday promptly, "otherwise I should certainly
have noted it. I have a keen sense of smell. Mrs. Bolstreath and Lil--I
mean Miss Moon--might have noticed it, however."

At that moment, as if in answer to her name, the door opened suddenly and
Lillian brushed past the policeman in a headlong entrance into the
library. Her fair hair was in disorder, her face was bloodless, and her
eyes were staring and wild. Behind her came Mrs. Bolstreath hurriedly,
evidently trying to restrain her. But the girl would not be restrained,
and rushed forward scattering the small group round the dead, to fling
herself on the body.

"Oh, Father, Father!" she sobbed, burying her face on the shoulder of her
dearly-loved parent. "How awful it is. Oh, my heart will break. How shall
I ever get over it. Father! Father! Father!"

She wept and wailed so violently that the four men were touched by her
great grief. Both Mr. Durwin and Inspector Tenson had daughters of their
own, while the young doctor was engaged. They could feel for her
thoroughly, and no one made any attempt to remove her from the body until
Mrs. Bolstreath stepped forward. "Lillian, darling. Lillian, my child,"
she said soothingly, and tried to lead the poor girl away.

But Lillian only clung closer to her beloved dead. "No! No! Let me alone.
I can't leave him. Poor, dear Father--oh, I shall die!"

"Dear," said Mrs. Bolstreath, raising her firmly but kindly, "your father
is not there, but in heaven! Only the clay remains."

"It is all I have. And Father was so good, so kind--oh, who can have
killed him in this cruel way?" She looked round with streaming eyes.

"We think that a Mrs. Brown--" began the Inspector, only to be answered by
a loud cry from the distraught girl.

"Mrs. Brown! Then I have killed Father! I have killed him! I persuaded him
to see the woman, because she was in trouble. And she killed him--oh, the
wretch--the--the--oh--oh! What had I done to her that she should rob me of
my dear, kind father?" and she cried bitterly in her old friend's
tender arms.

"Had you ever seen Mrs. Brown before?" asked Durwin in his imperious
voice, although he lowered it in deference to her grief.

Lillian winced at the harsh sound. "No, no! I never saw her before.
How could I have seen her before? She said that her son had been drowned,
and that she was poor. I asked Father to help her, and he told me he
would. It's my fault that she saw my father and now"--her voice leaped an
octave--"he's dead. Oh--oh! my father--my father!" and she tried to break
from Mrs. Bolstreath's arms to fling herself on the dead once more.

"Lillian darling, don't cry," said Dan, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"You have not lost the dearest and best of fathers!" she sobbed violently.

"Your loss is my loss," said Halliday in a voice of pain, "but we must be
brave, both you and I." He associated himself with her so as to calm her
grief. "It's not your fault that your dear father is dead."

"I persuaded him to see Mrs. Brown. And she--she--she--"

"We can't say if this woman is guilty, as yet," said Durwin hastily, "so
do not blame yourself, Miss Moon. But did you smell any scent on this
Mrs. Brown?"

Lillian looked at him vacantly and shook her head. Then she burst once
more into hard and painful sobbing, trying again to embrace the dead man.

"Don't ask her any questions, Sir," said Halliday, in a low voice to Mr.
Durwin, "you see she is not in a fit state to reply. Lillian," he raised
her up from her knees and gently but firmly detached her arms from the
dead. "My darling, your father is past all earthly aid. We can do nothing
but avenge him. Go with Mrs. Bolstreath and lie down. We must be firm."

"Firm! Firm--and Father dead!" wailed Lillian. "Oh, what a wretch that
Mrs. Brown must be to kill him! Kill her, Dan--oh, make her suffer!
My good, kind father, who--who--oh"--she flung herself on Dan's
neck--"take me away! take me away!" and her lover promptly carried her to
the door.

Mrs. Bolstreath, who had been talking hurriedly to Inspector Tenson, came
after the pair and took the girl from Dan. "She must lie down and have a
sleeping-draught," she said softly. "If the doctor will come--"

The doctor was only too glad to come. He was a young man beginning to
practise medicine in the neighbourhood, and had been hurriedly summoned in
default of an older physician. The chance of gaining a new and wealthy
patient was too good to lose, so he quickly followed Mrs. Bolstreath as
she led the half-unconscious girl up the stairs. Dan closed the door and
returned to the Inspector and the official from Scotland Yard. The former
was speaking.

"Mrs. Bolstreath did not smell any perfume on Mrs. Brown," he was saying,
"and ladies are very quick to notice such things. Miss Moon also shook
her head."

"I don't think Miss Moon was in a state of mind to understand what you
were saying, Mr. Inspector," said Halliday, drily. "However, I am quite
sure from my own observation that Mrs. Brown did not use the perfume.
I would have noticed it at once, for I spotted it the moment I examined
the body."

"So did I," said Durwin once more; "but I thought Sir Charles might have
used it. You say he did not, therefore the scent is a clue."

"It does not lead to the indictment of Mrs. Brown, however, Sir," said
Tenson thoughtfully, "since she had no perfume of that sort about her.
But she must have killed Sir Charles, for she was the last person who saw
him alive."

"She may come forward and exonerate herself," suggested Dan after a pause,
"or she may have left her address with Sir Charles."

"I have glanced through the papers on the desk and can find no address,"
was the Inspector's reply; "yet, if she gave it to him, it would
be there."

Durwin meditated, then looked up. "As she was the mother of the man in Sir
Charles's employment who was drowned," he said in his harsh voice, and now
very official in his manner, "in the offices of the company who own the
steamers--Sir Charles was a director and chief shareholder, I understand
from his secretary Mr. Penn--will be found the drowned man's address,
which will be that of his mother."

"But I can't see what motive Mrs. Brown had to murder Sir Charles,"
remarked Dan in a puzzled tone.

"We'll learn the motive when we find Mrs. Brown," said Tenson, who had
made a note of Durwin's suggestion. "Many people think they have
grievances against the rich, and we know that the late Sir Charles was a
millionaire. He doubtless had enemies--dangerous enemies."

"Dangerous!" The word recalled to Dan what Moon had said at the
dinner-table when Lillian had playfully offered him a penny for his
thoughts. "Sir Charles at dinner said something about dangerous people."

"What did he say?" asked the Inspector and again opened his note-book.

Dan reported the conversation, which was not very satisfactory, as Moon
had only spoken generally. Tenson noted down the few remarks, but did not
appear to think them important. Durwin, however, was struck by what had
been said.

"Sir Charles asked me here to explain about a certain gang he believed was
in existence," he remarked.

"What's that, Sir?" asked the Inspector alertly. "Did he tell you
anything?"

"Of course he didn't. How could he when he was dead when I arrived?"
retorted Durwin with a frown. "He simply said that he wished to see me in
my official capacity about some gang, but gave me no details. Those were
to be left until I called here. He preferred to see me here instead of at
my office for reasons which he declared he would state when we met in
this room."

"Then you think that a gang--"

"Mr. Inspector," interrupted Durwin, stiffly, "I have told you all that
was said by the deceased. Whether the gang is dangerous, or what the
members do, or where they are, I cannot say. Have you examined these
windows?" he asked suddenly, pointing to three French-windows at the side
of the room.

"Yes," said Tenson promptly, "as soon as I entered the apartment I did so.
They are all locked."

"And if they were not, no one could enter there," put in Dan quickly.
"Outside is a walled garden and the wall is very high with broken bottles
on top. I suppose, Mr. Durwin, you are thinking that someone may have come
in to kill Sir Charles between the time of Mrs. Brown's departure and
your coming?"

"Yes," assented the other sharply, "if the perfume is a clue, Mrs. Brown
must be innocent. Penn, as we know from the statement of the typewriter
girl, was in his room all the time, and the servants have fully accounted
for themselves. We examined them all--the Inspector and I did, that
is--when you were at the theatre," he waved his hand with a shrug. "Who
can say who is guilty?"

"Well," said Tenson, snapping the elastic-band round his note-book and
putting it into his pocket, "we have the evidence of the fly and
the perfume."

"What do you think about the fly?" asked Dan, staring.

"I don't know what to think. It is an artificial fly, exquisitely made and
has been gummed on the dead man's neck behind the left ear. The assassin
must have placed it there, since a man would scarcely do such a silly
thing himself. Why it was placed there I can't say, any more than I can
guess why Sir Charles was murdered, or who murdered him. The affair is a
complete mystery, as you must admit."

Before the inquest and after the inquest, more people than the three men
who had held the discussion in the presence of the dead, admitted that the
affair was a mystery. In fact the evidence at the inquest only plunged the
matter into deeper gloom. Tenson, acting on Darwin's advice, sought the
office of the tramp-steamer company--the Universal Carrier Line--in which
the late Sir Charles was chief shareholder and director, to learn without
any difficulty the whereabouts of Mrs. Brown, the mother of the drowned
man. She proved to be an entirely different person to the woman who had
given the name on the fatal night, being lean instead of stout,
comparatively young instead of old, and rather handsome in an elderly way
in place of being wrinkled and worn with grief. She declared that she had
never been near Moon's house on the night of the murder or on any other
night. Mrs. Bolstreath, Lillian, the footman, and Dan all swore that she
was not the Mrs. Brown who had sought the interview with Sir Charles.
Therefore it was argued by everyone that Mrs. Brown, taking a false name
and telling a false story, must have come to see Moon with the deliberate
intention of murdering him. Search was made for her, but she could not be
found. From the moment she passed out of the front door she had vanished,
and although a description was published of her appearance, and a reward
was offered for her apprehension, no one came forward to claim it.
Guilty or innocent, she was invisible.

Inspector Tenson did not speak at the inquest of the gang about which Sir
Charles had intended to converse with Mr. Durwin, as it did not seem to
have any bearing on the case. Also, as Durwin suggested, if it had any
bearing it was best to keep the matter quiet until more evidence was
forthcoming to show that such a gang--whatever its business was--existed.
Then the strange episode of the fly was suppressed for the same reason.
Privately, Tenson informed Dan that he would not be surprised to learn
that there was a gang of murderers in existence whose sign-manual was a
fly, real or artificial, and instanced another gang, which had been broken
up some years previously, who always impressed the figure of a purple fern
on their victims. But the whole idea, said Tenson, was so vague that he
thought it best to suppress the fact of the artificial fly on the dead
man's neck. "If there's anything in it," finished the Inspector, "there's
sure to be other murders committed, and the fly placed on the victim.
We'll wait and see, and if a second case occurs, we'll be sure that
such a gang exists and will collar the beasts. Best to say nothing,
Mr. Halliday."

So he said nothing, and Dan said nothing, and Durwin, who approved of the
necessary secrecy, held his tongue. Of course there was a lot of talk and
many theories as to who had murdered the millionaire, and why he had been
murdered in so ingenious a manner. The post-mortem examination proved that
Moon had died of snake-poison administered through the scratch on the
neck, and the circumstantial evidence at the inquest went to show that he
must have been taken unawares, while bending over his desk. Some people
thought that Mrs. Brown was innocent because of the absence of the
perfume; others declared she must be guilty on account of her false name
and false story, and the fact that Moon was found dead a quarter of an
hour after she left the house. No doubt, the circumstantial evidence was
very strong, but it could not be said positively that the woman was
guilty, even though she did not appear to defend her character.

So the jury thought, for they brought in the only possible verdict twelve
good and lawful men could bring in: "Wilful murder against some person or
persons unknown," and there the matter ended for sheer want of further
evidence. The affair was a mystery and a mystery it remained.

"And will until the Day of Judgment!" said Tenson, finally.



Chapter III. DUTY BEFORE PLEASURE

The year ended sadly for Lillian, since she had lost her father, her
lover, and her home, gaining instead the doubtful companionship of a
paternal uncle, who stepped into the position of guardian. The girl,
although she did not know it at the time, was leaving a pleasant flowery
lane to turn into a flinty high road, arched by a dismal sky. It is true
that she still possessed Mrs. Bolstreath to comfort her, but the loss of
Dan could scarcely be compensated by the attentions of the chaperon.
Not that Halliday was altogether lost; but he had been pushed out of her
life by Sir John Moon, who approved as little of this suitor as the late
baronet had done.

"You see, my dear child," he explained to Lillian, immediately after the
new year and when things were more restful, "as your guardian and uncle, I
have to see that you make a good match."

"What is marriage without love?" queried Miss Moon scornfully.

"Love!" Sir John shrugged his elegant shoulders and sneered. "Love is all
very well, but a title is better. I say nothing about money, as you have
any amount of that useful article. Now, Lord Curberry--"

"I detest Lord Curberry, and I shan't marry Lord Curberry," interrupted
Lillian, frowning, and her mind held a picture of the lean, ascetic peer
with the cruel, grey eyes. As a barrister, Curberry was no doubt
admirable; as a nobleman, he filled his new position very well; but she
could not see him as a lover, try as she might. Not that she did try,
for under no conditions and under no pressure did she intend to become
his wife."

"Your father wished you to marry Lord Curberry," hinted Uncle John softly.

"My father wished me to be happy," cried Lillian hotly, "and I can't be
happy unless I marry Dan."

"That aviator man! Pooh! He has nothing to give you."

"He gives himself, and that is all I want."

"I see. Love in a cottage and--"

Lillian interrupted again. "There's no need for love in a cottage. I have
plenty of money; you said as much yourself, Uncle John."

"My dear," said the new baronet gravely, "from what I saw of young
Halliday he is too proud a man to live on his wife. And you would not
respect him if he did. I think better of you than that, my child."

"Dan has his profession."

"H'm! And a dangerous one at that. Besides, he doesn't make much money."

"He will though. Dan is a genius; he has all kinds of ideas about flying
machines, and some day he will conquer the air."

"Meantime, you will be growing old waiting for him."

"Not at all," Lillian assured him. "I shall be with him, helping all
I can."

"You won't with my consent," cried her uncle, heatedly.

"Then I shall do without your consent. I shan't give up Dan."

"In that case," sighed Sir John, rising to show that the interview was
ended--and certainly it had ended in a clash of wills--"there is nothing
for me to do but to make young Halliday give you up."

"He'll never do that," said Miss Moon, pausing at the door with a
fluttering heart, for her uncle spoke very decidedly.

"Oh, I think so," replied Moon, with the air of a man sure of his ground.
"He has, I am sure, some notion of honour."

"It isn't honourable to give up a woman."

"It isn't honourable to live on a woman."

The two antagonists glared at one another, and a silence ensued.
Neither would give way, and neither would compromise in any way.
Lillian wanted Dan as her husband, a post Sir John did not intend the
young man to fill. But he saw plainly enough that harsh measures would
drive Lillian to desperation, and he did not yet know sufficient of
Halliday to be sure that he would not grasp at a rich wife. Sir John
believed that men were like himself, and would do anything--honourable,
or, at a pinch, dishonourable--to secure a life of ease and comfort.
However, as he swiftly reflected, Halliday was young, and probably would
be wax in the hands of a clever man, such as Moon considered himself to
be. It would be best to see him and control the boy's mind by appealing to
his decency--so Sir John put it.

"Very good, my dear," he said, when he reached this point, "matters are at
a dead-lock between us. I suggest that you let me interview Halliday."

"I don't mind, so long as I see him first," pouted the girl, mutinously.

Sir John smiled drily. "So as to arm him for the fray. Very well.
I consent, my dear. You can arrange your campaign, and then I can discuss
the matter with this very undesirable suitor. But you must give me your
promise that you will not run away with him meanwhile."

Lillian held herself very erect and replied stiffly. "Of course I promise,
Uncle John. I am not ashamed of loving Dan, and I shall marry him in a
proper manner. But I shan't marry Lord Curberry," she ended, and fairly
ran away, so as to prevent further objections.

"Oh, my dear, I think you will," grinned Sir John at the closed door, and
he sat down to pen a diplomatic letter to Mr. Halliday, earnestly wishing
to have the matter settled and done with. "These romantic young
nuisances," said the schemer crossly.

The new baronet was a slim, well-preserved dandy of sixty, who looked no
older than forty-five, owing to the means he took to keep himself fit.
He was the younger and only brother of Moon, and inherited the title since
there was no nephew to take it. He also inherited ten thousand a year on
condition that he acted as Lillian's guardian. It was no mean task, for
the girl had an income of £50,000 coming in every twelve months.
There would be plenty of hard-up flies gathering round this honey-pot, and
Sir John foresaw that it would not be an easy business to settle the young
lady's matrimonial future, especially as the said young lady was obstinate
beyond belief. Sir John, being a loafer by nature, had never possessed
sufficient money to indulge to the full in his luxurious tastes, since his
brother had not financed him as largely as he could have wished. But now
that he was safe for the rest of his life on an income which would enable
him to enjoy the world's good, Sir John did not wish to be bothered.
It was his aim to get his niece married and settled as soon as possible,
so that she could be looked after by a husband.

Under these circumstances, and since Lillian was anxious to marry Dan, it
was strange that the baronet should not allow her to indulge her fancy.
He objected for two reasons: one was that he really did not think Halliday
a good match; and, moreover, he knew of his late brother's opinion
concerning the matter of the wooing. The second reason had to do with the
fact that he had borrowed a large sum of money from Lord Curberry, and did
not wish to pay it back again, even though he could do so easily enough in
his present flourishing circumstances. Curberry offered to forego the
payment if Sir John could persuade Lillian to marry him. And as Moon
wanted to be able to talk about the girl as a peeress, and did not want to
reduce his new income by frittering it away in paying back debts, he was
determined to bring about the very desirable marriage, as he truly
considered it to be.

"Curberry is sure to go in for politics," thought the plotter, "and he has
enough brains to become Prime Minister if he likes. He's got a decent
income, too, and a very old title. With Lillian's money and beauty she
should have a titled husband. Besides," this was an after-thought,
"Curberry can make himself deuced disagreeable if he likes." And perhaps
it was this last idea which made Sir John so anxious for the marriage to
take place.

The late Sir Charles had been a big, burly, broad-shouldered man, with a
powerful clean-shaven face--the kind of over-bearing, pushing personality
which was bound to come up top wherever men were congregated. And Sir
Charles had massively pushed his way from poverty to affluence, from
obscurity into notoriety, if not fame. Now his honours and wealth were in
the hands of two people infinitely weaker than he had been. Lillian was
but a delicate girl, solely bent upon marriage with an undesirable suitor,
while Sir John had no desire to do anything with his new income and new
title save to enjoy the goods which the gods had sent him so unexpectedly.
He was by no means a strong man, being finical, self-indulgent, and quite
feminine in his love for dress and luxury. Much smaller and slighter than
his masterful brother, he was perfectly arrayed on all occasions in purple
and fine linen; very self-possessed, very polite, and invariably quiet in
his manner. He had several small talents, and indulged in painting,
poetry, and music, producing specimens of each as weak and neatly finished
as he was himself. He also collected china and stamps, old lace and
jewels, which he loved for their colour and glitter. Such a man was too
fantastical to earn the respect of Lillian, who adored the strength which
showed itself in Dan. Consequently, she felt certain that she would be
able to force him to consent to her desires.

But in this, the girl, inexperienced in worldly matters and in human
nature, reckoned without knowledge of Sir John's obstinacy, which was a
singularly striking trait of the man's character. Like most weak people
the new baronet loved to domineer, and, moreover, when his ease was at
stake, he could be strong even to cruelty, since fear begets that quality
as much as it fosters cowardice. Moon had removed Lillian and Mrs.
Bolstreath to his new house in Mayfair, because it was not wise that the
girl should remain at Hampstead where everything served to remind her of
the good father she had lost. Therefore Sir John wished for no trouble to
take place under his roof, as such--so he put it--would shatter his
nerves. The mere fact that Lillian wished to marry young Halliday, and
that Curberry wished to marry her, was a fruitful source of ills.
It stands to Sir John's credit that he did not take the easiest method of
getting rid of his niece by allowing her to become Mrs. Halliday. He had a
conscience of some sort, and intended to carry out his late brother's
desire that Lillian should become a peeress. So far as the girl's
inclinations were concerned he cared little, since he looked upon her as a
child who required guidance. And to guide her in the proper
direction--that is, towards the altar in Curberry's company--Sir John put
himself to considerable inconvenience, and acted honestly with the very
best intentions. His egotism--the powerful egotism of a weak
man--prevented him from seeing that Lillian was also a human being, and
had her right to freedom of choice.

It must be said that for a dilettante Sir John acted with surprising
promptitude. He took the two women to his own house, and let the mansion
at Hampstead to an Australian millionaire, who paid an excellent rent.
Then he saw the lawyers, and went into details concerning the property.
Luckily, Sir Charles had gradually withdrawn from business a few years
before his death, since he had more or less concentrated his mind on
politics. Therefore, the income was mostly well invested, and, with the
exception of the line of steamers with which Mrs. Brown's son had been
concerned, there were few interests which required personal supervision.
Sir John, having power under the will, sold the dead man's interest in the
ships, withdrew from several other speculations, and having seen that the
securities, which meant fifty thousand a year to Lillian, and ten thousand
a year to himself, were all in good order, he settled down to enjoy
results. The lawyers--on whom he kept an eye--received the money and
banked it, and consulted with Sir John regarding re-investments.
They also, by the new baronet's direction, offered a reward of £1,000 for
the discovery of the murderess. So, shortly after the new year everything
was more or less settled, and Sir John found himself able to attend once
more to his lace and jewels, his music and poetry. Only Lillian's marriage
remained to be arranged, and after his conversation with the girl, Sir
John appointed a day for Dan to call. That young gentleman, who had been
hovering round, lost no time in obeying the summons, which was worded
amiably enough, and presented himself in due time. Sir John received him
with great affability; offered him a chair and a cigarette, and came to
the point at once.

"It's about Lillian I wish to see you, Mr. Halliday," he remarked, placing
the tips of his fingers delicately together. "You can go up to the
drawing-room afterwards and have tea with her and with Mrs. Bolstreath.
But we must have a chat first to adjust the situation."

"What situation?" asked Dan, wilfully dense.

"Oh, I think you understand," rejoined Sir John, drily. "Well?"

"I love her," was all that Dan could find to say.

"Naturally. Lillian is a charming girl, and you are a young man of
discernment. At least, I hope so, as I wish you to give Lillian up."

Dan rose and pitched his cigarette into the fire. "Never!" he cried,
looking pale and determined and singularly virile and handsome. "How can
you ask such a thing, Mr. Moon--I mean Sir John."

"My new title doesn't come easily, I see," said the baronet smoothly.
"Oh, I quite understand! My poor brother died so unexpectedly that none of
us have got used to the new order of things. You least of all,
Mr. Halliday."

"Why not 'Dan'?" asked that young gentleman, leaning against the
mantelpiece since he felt that he could talk better standing than sitting.

"Because, as I say, there is a new order of things. I have known you all
your life, my dear boy, as your parents placed you in my late brother's
charge when you were only five years of age. But I say Mr. Halliday
instead of Dan as I wish you to understand that we are talking as
businessmen and not as old friends."

"You take away your friendship--"

"Not at all, Mr. Halliday. We shall be better friends than ever when we
have had our talk and you have done the right thing. Probably I shall then
call you Dan, as of yore."

"You can call me what you please," said Dan obstinately, and rather
angrily, for the fiddling methods of Sir John annoyed him. "But I won't
give up the dearest girl in the world."

"Her father wished her to marry Lord Curberry."

"If her father had lived, bless him!" retorted Halliday vehemently, "he
would have seen that Lillian loves me, and not Curberry, in which case he
would not have withheld his consent."

"Oh, I think he would," said Sir John amiably. "Lillian is rich, and my
poor brother wished to obtain a title for her. Very natural, Mr. Halliday,
as you must see for yourself. Charles always aimed at high things."

"He loved Lillian and would not have seen her unhappy," said Dan bluffly.

"I don't see that Curberry would make her unhappy. He is devoted to her."

"But she does not love him," argued Halliday crossly; "and how can there
be happiness when love is lacking? Come, Sir John, you have, as you said
just now, known me all my life. I am honourable and clean-living and
well-born, while Lillian loves me. What objection have you to the match?"

"The same objection as my brother had, Mr. Halliday. Lillian is wealthy
and you are poor."

"I have only a few hundreds a year, it is true, but--"

"No 'buts' if you please." Sir John flung up a delicate hand in protest.
"You can't argue away facts. If you marry Lillian, you will live on her."

Dan bit his lip and clenched his hands to prevent his temper from showing
itself too strongly. "If another man had said that to me, Sir John, I
should have knocked him down."

"Brute force is no argument," rejoined Moon unruffled. "Consider, Mr.
Halliday, you have a few hundreds a year and Lillian has fifty thousand
coming in every twelve months. Being wealthy, she can scarcely live on
your income, so to keep up the position she has been born to she must live
on her own. Husband and wife are one, as we are assured by the Church,
therefore if she lives on the fifty thousand per annum, you must live on
it also."

"I wouldn't take a single penny!" cried Dan, hotly and boyishly.

"Oh, I am not suggesting that you would," said Sir John easily, "but
Lillian cannot live in the cottage your few hundreds would run to, and if
she lives, as she must, being rich, in a large house, you must live there
also, and in a style which your income does not warrant. You know what
people will say under the circumstances. Either you must take Lillian to
live on your small income, which is not fair to her, or you must live on
her large one, which is not fair to you. I speak to a man of
honour, remember."

"These arguments are sophistical."

"Not at all. You can't escape from facts."

"Then is this miserable money to stand between us?" asked Dan in despair,
for he could not deny that there was great truth in what Sir John said.

The baronet shrugged his shoulders. "It seems likely unless you can make a
fortune equal to Lillian's."

"Why not? Aviation is yet in its infancy."

"Quite so, and thus accidents are continually happening. If you marry my
niece, it is probable that you will shortly leave her a widow. No! No!
In whatever way you look at the matter, Mr. Halliday, the match is most
undesirable. Be a man--a man of honour--and give Lillian up."

"To be miserable with Lord Curberry," said Dan fiercely, "never!" And he
meant what he said, as Sir John saw very plainly.

This being the case the baronet used another argument to obtain what he
wanted. "I have been young myself, and I know how you feel," he said
quietly. "Very good. I suggest a compromise."

"What is it?" muttered Dan dropping into his chair again and looking very
miserable, as was natural, seeing what he stood to lose.

"My poor brother," went on Sir John smoothly, and crossing his legs, "has
been struck down when most enjoying life. The person who murdered him
--presumably the woman who called herself Mrs. Brown--has not yet been
discovered in spite of the efforts of the police backed by a substantial
reward. I propose, Mr. Halliday, that you search for this person, the
period of searching to be limited to one year. If you find her and she is
punished, then you shall marry Lillian; if you fail, then you must stand
aside and allow her to marry Lord Curberry."

"You forget," said Dan, not jumping at the chance as Sir John expected,
"if I do bring the woman to justice, your arguments regarding my living on
Lillian remain in full force."

"Oh, as to that, Mr. Halliday, when the time comes, I can find arguments
equally strong on the other side. To use one now, if you revenge my
brother's death, no one will deny but what you have every right to marry
his daughter and enjoy her income. That would be only fair. Well?"

"Well," echoed Dan dully, and reflected with his sad eyes on the carpet.
Then he looked up anxiously. "Meanwhile, Lillian may marry Lord Curberry."

"Oh," said Sir John, coolly, "if you can't trust her--"

"He can trust her," cried the voice of the girl, herself, and the curtain
of the folding doors was drawn quickly aside.

"Lillian!" cried Dan, springing to his feet and opening his arms.

Sir John saw his niece rush into those same arms and laughed. "H'm!" said
he whimsically. "I quite forgot that the folding-doors into the next room
were open. You have been listening."

Lillian twisted herself in Dan's arms, but did not leave them, as she felt
safe within that warm embrace.

"Of course I have been listening," she cried scornfully; "as soon as I
knew Dan was in the house, and in the library, I listened. I told Bolly
that I was coming down to listen, and though she tried to prevent me, I
came. Who has a better right to listen when all the conversation was about
me, and remember, I should have seen him first?"

"Well," said her uncle unmoved, "it's no use arguing with you. A man's
idea of honour and a woman's are quite opposed to one another. You heard.
What have you to say?"

"I think you're horrid," snapped Lillian, in a school-girl manner; "as if
my money mattered. I am quite willing to give it to you and marry Dan on
what he has. It's better to love in a garret than to hate in a
drawing-room."

"Quite epigrammatic," murmured Sir John cynically. "Well, my dear, I am
much obliged to you for your fifty thousand a year offer, but I fancy what
I have is enough for me. I never did care for millions, and always
wondered why my late brother should wear himself out in obtaining them.
I decline."

"Whether you decline or not, I marry Dan," said Lillian hotly.

"What does Dan say?"

The young man disengaged himself. He had kept silent during the passage of
arms between uncle and niece. "I say that I can trust Lillian to remain
true to me for twelve months."

"For ever, for ever, for ever!" cried the girl, her face flaming and her
eyes flashing; "but don't make any promise of letting our marriage depend
upon finding the woman who murdered my poor father."

"Ah," said Sir John contemptuously, "you never loved your father, I see."

"How dare you say that?" flashed out the girl, panting with anger.

"My dear, ask yourself," replied Moon patiently; "your father has been
basely murdered. Yet you do not wish to avenge his death and prefer your
own happiness to the fulfilment of a solemn duty. Of course," added Sir
John, with a shrug, for he now knew what line of argument to take, "you
can't trust yourself to be faithful for twelve months and--"

"I can trust myself to be faithful, and for twelve centuries, if
necessary."

"No, no, no!" smiled Moon, shaking his head. "You prefer pleasure to duty.
I see you love yourself more than you loved your father. Well," he rose
and waved his hands with a gesture of dismissal, "go your way, my dear,
and marry Dan--you observe I call you 'Dan', Mr. Halliday, since you are
to become my nephew straight away. When is the wedding to be?"

"You consent?" cried Lillian, opening her eyes widely.

"I can't stop you," said Moon, still continuing his crafty diplomacy.
"You will soon be of age and you can buy your husband at once, since you
dare not risk a probation of twelve months."

"I can risk twelve years," retorted Lillian uneasily, for in a flash she
understood how selfishly she was behaving, seeing that her father's
assassin was still at large, "and to prove it--" She looked at Dan.

He understood and spoke, although he had already made up his mind as to
the best course to pursue. "To prove it," he said steadily, "we accept
your proposal, Sir John. Lillian will wait twelve months, and during that
time I shall search for the woman who murdered Sir Charles. If I don't
find her--"

"Lillian marries Lord Curberry," said Moon quickly.

"No," cried the girl defiantly; "that part of the agreement I decline to
assent to. Twelve months or twelve years it may take before the truth
comes to light, but I marry no one but Dan."

Sir John reflected on the dangers of aviation and swiftly came to a
conclusion. "We'll see at the end of the year," he said cautiously, "much
may happen in that time."

"So long as Lillian's wedding to Curberry doesn't happen," said Dan
obstinately, "I don't care. But it is understood that Lillian is not to be
worried about the matter?"

"That depends upon what you and Lillian call worry," said Moon drily; "so
far as I am concerned I shall not coerce her in any way. All I wish for is
the promise of you both that you will wait twelve months before taking any
steps to marry. Meantime, you must not see too much of Lillian."

"Oh," cried the girl, indignantly, "you would push Dan out of my life!"

"It's a test," explained Sir John, blinking nervously. "You will be in
mourning for the next twelve months, and should see few people."

"Of whom Dan will be one," she flashed out.

"Occasionally--very occasionally, you can see him. But, of course, if you
can't trust yourself to be true without being continually reminded that
Mr. Halliday exists, there is no more to be said."

"I can trust myself," muttered the girl uneasily.

"And I can trust Lillian," said Dan promptly and decisively.

"It does not look like it since you always wish to see one another.
And remember, Lillian, you owe it to your father's memory to put all
thoughts of love, which is self, out of your heart until the mystery of
his death is entirely solved."

"There is something in that," said Halliday thoughtfully, and Lillian
nodded; "but of course I can write to Lillian."

"Occasionally," said the baronet again; "you must both be tested by a
year's separation, with a meeting or a letter every now and then.
Duty must be the keynote of the twelve months and not pleasure. Well?"

The lovers looked at one another and sighed. The terms were hard, but not
so hard as Sir John might have made them. Still both the boy and the girl
--they were little else--recognised that their duty was to the dead.
Afterwards pleasure would be theirs. Silently they accepted and silently
adjusted to the situation. "We agree!" said the two almost simultaneously.

"Very good," said Moon, rubbing his hands, "how do you intend to begin
your search for the missing woman, Mr. Halliday?"

"I don't know," murmured Dan, miserably.

"Neither do I," rejoined Sir John with great amiability. "Come to tea?"

And to tea the lovers went as to a funeral feast. But Sir John rejoiced.



Chapter IV. AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE

Dan left the Mayfair house very mournfully, feeling that Sir John was
indeed master of the situation. By a skilful appeal to the generous
emotions of youth, to the boy's honour and to the girl's affections, he
had procured a respite of twelve months, during which time the lovers
could do nothing, bound as they were by silken threads. This would give
Curberry time to push his suit, and there was always a chance that Dan
would come to grief in one of his aerial trips in which case Lillian would
certainly be driven to marry her titled swain. Halliday knew nothing of
Moon's reckoning on these points, or he would have only accepted the
situation on condition that Curberry was not to meet or write to the girl
oftener than himself. Logically speaking, the peer and the commoner should
have been placed on the same footing. But Dan's grief at the parting
confused his understanding, and he had not been clever enough to seize his
opportunity. Therefore Sir John, winning all along the line, had cleared
the path for Curberry, and had more or less blocked it for Dan.
But, as yet, the young man did not grasp the full extent of Sir John's
worldly wisdom.

What Halliday had to do--and this dominated his mind immediately he left
the house--was to solve the mystery of Sir Charles's death. The sooner he
captured the false Mrs. Brown, who, presumably, had murdered the old man,
the sooner would he lead Lillian to the altar. Therefore he was feverishly
anxious to begin, but for the life of him he did not see how to make a
start. He had absolutely no experience of what constituted the business of
a detective, and was daunted at the outset by the difficulties of the
path. All the same he never thought of halting, but pressed forward
without a pause. And the first step he took was to consult a friend, on
the obvious assumption that two heads are better than one.

It was Freddy Laurance whom he decided to interview, since that very
up-to-date young journalist knew everyone of any note, and almost
everything of interest, being, indeed, aware of much of which the ordinary
man in the street was ignorant. He and Dan had been to Oxford together,
and for many years had been the best of friends. Laurance had been brought
up in the expectation of being a rich man. But over-speculation ruined his
father, and on leaving the university he was thrown unprepared on the
world to make his money as best he could, without any sort of training in
particular. Hearty praise from an expert for three or four newspaper
articles suggested journalism, and having an observant eye and a ready
pen, the young man was successful from the beginning. For a time he was a
free-lance, writing indiscriminately for this journal and for that, until
the proprietor of "The Moment", a halfpenny daily, secured his exclusive
services at a salary which procured Freddy the luxuries of life. This was
something to have achieved at the age of five and twenty.

"The Moment" was a bright shoot-folly-as-it-flies sort of journal, which
detailed the news of the day in epigrammatic scraps. Its longest articles
did not exceed a quarter of a column, and important events were usually
restricted to paragraphs. It, indeed, skimmed the cream of events, and ten
minutes' study of its sheets gave a busy man all the information he
required concerning the doings of humanity. Also it daily published an
extra sheet concerned entirely with letters from the public to the public,
and many of these were prolix, as the paragraph rule did not apply to this
portion of the journal. People wrote herein on this, that, and the other
thing, ventilating their ideas and suggesting schemes. And as many wrote
many bought, so that friends and relatives might read their letters,
therefore vanity gave "The Moment" quite a large circulation independent
of its orthodox issue. The proprietor made money in two ways; by supplying
gossip for curious people, and by giving vain persons the chance of seeing
themselves in print. Seeing what human nature is, it is scarcely to be
wondered at that "The Moment" was a great success, and sold largely in
town and country.

Freddy's post was that of a roving correspondent. Whenever any event of
interest took place in any of the four corners of the globe, Laurance went
to take notes on the spot, and his information was boiled down into
concise illuminative paragraphs. Indeed, the older journalists said that
it was hardly worth while for him to make such long journeys for the sake
of condensed-milk news; but, as Freddy's details were always amusing as
well as abrupt, the editor and the public and the proprietor were
satisfied. A man who can flash a vivid picture into the dullest mind in
few words is well worth money. Therefore was Laurance greatly appreciated.

Dan walked to a grimy lane leading from Fleet Street with some doubt in
his puzzled mind as to whether Freddy would be in his office. At a
moment's notice the man would dart off to the ends of the earth, and was
more or less on the move through the three hundred and sixty-five days of
the year. But, of late, sensational events had concentrated themselves in
England, so Dan hoped that his friend would be on the spot. An inquiry
from the gorgeous individual who guarded the entrance to the red brick
building wherein "The Moment" was printed and published and composed,
revealed that Mr. Laurance was not only in London, but in his office at
the very second, so Dan sent up his name, and rejoiced at the catching of
this carrier-pigeon. And it was a good omen also that Freddy saw him
straight away, since he generally refused himself to every one on the plea
of business.

"But I couldn't resist seeing you, Dan," remarked Mr. Laurance, when he
had shaken hands, before supplying his visitor with a cigarette and a
chair. "I was coming to see you, if the mountain hadn't come to Mahomet!"

Dan lighted up, and through the smoke of tobacco stared inquisitively at
his friend, wondering what this introductory remark meant. Laurance was
rather like Dan in personal appearance, being tall and slim and
clean-shaven, with Greek features and an aristocratic look. But he was
decidedly fair, as Halliday was decidedly dark, and his eyes were less
like those of an eagle than the eyes of the aviator. But then Laurance was
not accustomed to the boundless spaces of the air, although he had twice
ascended in an airship; therefore the new expression of the new race was
wanting. Nevertheless, he looked a capable, alert young man, able to get
the full value out of every minute. He was an admirable type of the
restless, present-day seeker.

"Well, Mahomet," said Dan, leisurely, "here's the mountain. What have you
to say to it?"

"That murder of Sir Charles Moon."

Halliday quivered with surprise. It was so amazing that Laurance should
hit upon the very subject which employed his own thoughts. "Yes?" he
enquired.

"You are engaged to Miss Moon; you were in the house when the crime was
committed; you saw the body; you--"

"Stop! Stop! I was not in the house when the crime was committed.
I returned there from the theatre some time later--in fact about midnight.
I certainly did see the body. As to being engaged to Miss Moon--h'm!
I came to see you about that, Freddy."

"The deuce you did. Great minds jump. What?" Laurance puffed a blue cloud,
sat down astride a chair and leaned his arms on the back. "Strange!"

"That you and I should be on the hunt? Well it is."

"On the hunt!" echoed Laurance, staring. "What do you mean?"

"I should rather ask that question of you," said Dan drily. "Sir Charles
is dead and buried these many weeks, and the woman who assassinated him
can't be found, in spite of the reward and the efforts of the police.
Why, at this late hour, do you wish to rake up stale news? I thought that
'The Moment' was more up-to-date."

"It will be very much up-to-date when the next murder is committed,"
observed Laurance, grimly and significantly.

The legs of Dan's chair grated, as he pushed it back in sheer surprise.
"What do you mean by the next murder?" he demanded sharply.

"Well, this gang--"

"Gang! gang! Who says there is a gang?" and Dan's thought flew back to
Durwin's reason for visiting Sir Charles.

"Humph!" growled Laurance, thrusting his hands into his pockets.
"I'm disappointed. I thought you knew more."

"I know a good deal," retorted the other quickly, "but I don't intend to
talk to you about what I know until I learn your game."

"What about your own?"

"That comes later also," said Halliday promptly. "Go on! I want to know
why you rake up Moon's murder."

"Naturally you do, seeing you are engaged to the daughter."

"Am I? I am not quite sure. She loves me and I love her, but the new
baronet wants her to marry Lord Curberry. She refused, and I kicked up a
row some hours back. Result, we are on probation for one year, during
which time I am to discover the assassin of Sir Charles."

"And if you don't?"

"Time enough to talk about that when I fail," said Halliday coolly;
"at least I have twelve months to hunt round. I came for your help, but it
seems that you want mine. Why?"

Freddy, through sheer absence of mind, flung away a half-smoked cigarette
and lighted another. Then he rose and strolled across the room to lean his
shoulders against the mantelpiece. "We can help one another, I think," was
his final observation.

"I hope so. In any case I intend to marry Lillian. All the same to pacify
Sir John, I am willing to become a detective. You know my game. Yours?"

"Listen," said Laurance vivaciously. "I forgot all about the murder, since
there seemed to be no chance of the truth coming to light, and so did
everyone else for the same reason. But a few nights ago I was dining out,
and met a chap called Durwin--"

"Scotland Yard man," interrupted Dan, nodding several times. "He came to
see Sir Charles on business and found the corpse."

"Just so. Well, after dinner we had a chat, and he told me that he was
anxious to learn who killed Moon, because he didn't want any more murders
of the kind to happen--as a police official, you understand."

"Strange he should be confidential on that point," murmured Halliday
thoughtfully, "seeing that he wished his theory regarding a possible gang
kept quiet, in the hope of making discoveries."

"He has changed his mind about secrecy, and so has Tenson," said Freddy.

"Oh!" Dan raised his eyebrows. "The Inspector. You have seen him also?"

Laurance nodded. "After I questioned Durwin, and learned what he had to
say I saw Tenson and interviewed him. They told me about the fly on the
neck, and remembering the case of the purple fern, and having regard to
the fact that the fly in question was artificial, both men are inclined to
believe in the existence of a gang, whose trade-mark the said fly is."

Dan nodded again. "Quite so; and then Durwin came to see Moon and hear
about the gang. He found him dead."

"So you said; so Durwin said," rejoined Laurance quietly. "It seems very
certain, putting this and that together, that Sir Charles became dangerous
to this gang, whatever it is and wherever it exists, so was put to death
by the false Mrs. Brown, who came expressly to kill him."

"So far I am with you on all fours," said Halliday. "Well?"

"Well, both Durwin and Tenson, dreading lest the gang may commit another
crime, wish me to make the matter as public as I can, so as to frighten
the beasts."

"H'm!" said Dan, looking at his neat brown boots. "They have changed their
minds, it seems. Their first idea was to keep the matter quiet, so as to
catch these devils red-handed. However, publicity may be a good thing.
How do you intend to begin?"

"I have got facts from Tenson and from Durwin," said Freddy promptly; "and
now, since you saw the body and found the fly, I want to get the facts
from you. On what I acquire I shall write a letter in that extra sheet of
ours, and you can be pretty certain from what you know of human nature
that any amount of people will reply to my letter."

"They may reply to no purpose."

"I'm not so sure of that, Dan. If I mention the fly as a trade-mark and
recall the strange case of the purple fern, some one may write about
matters known to themselves from positive knowledge. If this gang exists,
it has committed more murders than one, but the fly being a small insect
may not have been noticed so easily as the trade-mark in the other crimes.
I wonder you spotted it, anyhow."

"It was easily seen, being on the back of the neck near the wound.
Besides, flies in November--the month of the murder--are rare.
Finally Tenson discovered the fly to be artificial, which shows that it
was purposely placed on the dead man's neck, near the wound. H'm!" he
reflected, "perhaps someone may know of some crime with the fly
trade-mark, and in that case we can be certain that such a gang does
exist."

"So I think," cried Laurance quickly, "and for that reason I intend to
start a discussion by writing an open letter. Publicity may frighten these
beasts into dropping their trade; on the other hand, it may goad the gang
into asserting itself. In either case the subject will be ventilated, and
we may learn more or less of the truth."

"Yes. I think it's a good idea, Freddy. And the perfume? Did Durwin or the
Inspector tell you anything about the perfume? No, I can see by your blank
stare that they didn't. Listen, Freddy, and store this knowledge in your
blessed brain, my son. It is a clue, I am sure," and Halliday forthwith
related to his attentive listener details concerning the strange perfume
which had impregnated the clothes of the dead man. "And Sir Charles hated
perfumes," he ended, emphatically; "he didn't even like Lillian or Mrs.
Bolstreath to use them, and they obeyed him."

"Curious," mused the journalist, and idly scribbling on his
blotting-paper; he was back at his desk by this time. "What sort of scent
is it?"

"My dear chap, you ask me to describe the impossible," retorted Dan, with
uplifted eyebrows. "How the deuce can I get the kind of smell into your
head? It must be smelt to be understood. All I can say is that the perfume
was rich and heavy, suggestive of drowsiness. Indeed, I used that word,
and Tenson thought of some kind of chloroform used, perhaps, to stupefy
the victim before killing him. But there was no odour about the mouth
or nose."

"On the handkerchief, perhaps?" suggested the reporter.

"No. Tenson smelt the handkerchief."

"Well, if this Mrs. Brown used this perfume, you and Miss Moon and Mrs.
Bolstreath must have smelt it on her in the hall. I understand from Durwin
that you all three saw the woman."

"Yes. And Lillian, poor girl, persuaded her father to see the wretch.
But we did not smell the perfume on the woman. Tenson or Durwin--I forget
which--asked us that question."

"Humph!" said Laurance, after a pause; "it may be a kind of trade-mark,
like the fly business." He took a note. "I shall use this evidence in my
letter to the public. I suppose, Dan, you would recognise the
scent again?"

"Oh, yes! I have a keen sense of smell, you know. But I don't expect I
shall ever drop across this particular fragrance, Freddy."

"There's always Monsieur Chance, you know," remarked Laurance, tapping his
white teeth with a pencil. "Perhaps the gang use this scent so as to
identify one another--in the dark it may be--like cats. How does that
strike you?"

"As purely theoretical," said Dan, with a shrug, and reached for another
cigarette; "it's a case of perhaps, and perhaps not."

Laurance assented. "But everything so far is theoretical in this case," he
argued; "you have told me all you know?"

"Every bit, even to my year of probation. Do you know Curberry?"

"Yes. He was a slap-up barrister. A pity he got title and money, as he has
left the Bar, and is a good man spoiled. Lucky chap all the same, as his
uncle and cousin both died unexpectedly, to give him his chance of the
House of Lords."

"How did they die?"

"Motor accident. Car went over a cliff. Only the chauffeur was saved, and
he broke both legs. Do you know the present Lord Curberry?"

"I have seen him, and think he's a dried-up, cruel-looking beast," said
Dan, with considerable frankness. "I'd rather see Lillian dead than
his wife."

"Hear, hear!" applauded Laurance, smiling. "The girl's too delightful to
be wasted on Curberry. You have my blessing on the match, Dan."

"Thanks," said Dan ruefully, "but I have to bring it off first. Sir John's
infernally clever, and managed to get both Lillian and I to consent to let
matters stand over for a year, during which time I guess he'll push
Curberry's suit. But I can trust Lillian to be true to me, bless her! and
Mrs. Bolstreath is quite on our side. After all," murmured the young man
disconsolately, "it's only fair that Sir Charles should be avenged.
Perhaps it would be selfish for Lillian and I to marry and live happy ever
afterwards, without making some attempt to square things. The question is
how to start. I'm hanged if I know, and so I came to you."

"Well," said Laurance thoughtfully, "there's a hope of Monsieur Chance,
you know. In many ways you may stumble on clues even without looking for
them, since this gang--if it exists--must carry on an extensive business.
All you can do, Dan, is to keep your eyes and ears and nose open--the last
for that scent, you know. On my part I shall write the letter, and publish
it in the annex of 'The Moment'. Then we shall see what will happen."

"Yes, I think that's about the best way to begin. Stir up the muddy water,
and we may find what is at the bottom of the pond. But there's one thing
to be considered, and that is money. If I'm going to hunt for these
scoundrels I need cash, and to own up, Freddy, I haven't very much."

"You're so beastly extravagant," said Laurance grinning, "and your private
income goes nowhere."

"Huh! what's five hundred a year?"

"Ten pounds a week, more or less. However, there's your aviation. I hear
that you take people on flights for money?"

Dan nodded. "It's the latest fashionable folly, which is a good thing for
me, old son. I get pretty well paid, and it means fun."

"With some risk of death," said Laurance drily.

"Well, yes. But that is a peculiarity of present-day fun. People love to
play with death--it thrills them. However, if I am to hunt for the
assassin of Sir Charles, I can't give much attention to aviation, and I
repeat that I want money. Oceans of it."

"Would two thousand pounds suit you?"

"Rather. Only I'm not going to borrow from you, old man, thank you."

"I haven't that amount to lend," said Freddy, drily; "but you must have
seen, if you read our very interesting paper, that our proprietor has
offered a prize of two thousand pounds for a successful flight from London
to York."

"A kind of up-to-date Dick Turpin, I suppose," laughed Dan, rising and
stretching his long limbs. "Good, I'll have a shot; I may win."

"You will, if you use a Vincent machine."

"Vincent, Vincent? Where have I heard that name?"

"Everywhere, if you knew anything of the aviation world," snapped Laurance
rather crossly, for at times Dan's indolence in acquiring necessary
information annoyed him. "Solomon Vincent, who has been inventing airships
and new-fangled aeroplanes for ever so long."

"Yes, yes! I remember now. He's a genius. Everyone knows him."

"Everyone knows of him, except yourself; but no one knows him personally.
He lives a secluded life up in Hillshire, on the borders of the moors,
where he can find wide space for his experiments in aerial craft.
I interviewed him a year ago, and--and--" Laurance blushed red.

"Hullo, what's this?" asked Dan shrewdly. "Can it be that the inventor has
a daughter fair?"

"A niece," retorted Laurance, recovering; "why shouldn't I be in love as
well as you, Halliday? However, that doesn't matter."

"It matters a great deal to you."

"Never mind. What you have to do is to secure one of Vincent's machines
and try for this race. If you win the prize you will have heaps of money
to search for the gang. But why doesn't Miss Moon--"

"I don't take Lillian's money," said Dan curtly, and blushed in his turn.
"It is a good idea, Freddy. How can I get hold of the machine?"

"I shall take you up to Hillshire next week, and you can see Vincent for
yourself. He can talk to you, and--"

"And you can talk to the niece. What's her name?"

"Oh, shut up and get out!" said Laurance, turning away, "you're
interrupting my work."

"Going to write a letter to the beloved," said Dan, leisurely making for
the door. "All right, old son, I'll go! You know my address, so write me
when you want me. I'd like to see Vincent's machines, as I hear he has
made several good improvements, and everything tells in a race. Salaam!"

"Keep your eyes open," Laurance called after him; "remember Monsieur
Chance may prove to be our best friend."

Dan departed, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't believe in heaven-sent
miracles," were his last words. But they were wasted on Freddy, for that
alert young man was already buried in his work. It was painful to witness
such industry, in Halliday's opinion.

In an inquiring frame of mind, the amateur detective strolled along Fleet
Street, thinking of Lillian instead of keeping his wits about him, as
Freddy had requested. It seemed impossible that he should strike on a clue
without deliberately searching for it, which he did not feel inclined to
do at the moment. Monsieur Chance, indeed! He was a mythical personage in
whom this sceptical young man did not believe. Besides, love dominated his
thoughts to the exclusion of minor matters, and he dreamed about his
darling all along the Strand. Thus he did not look where he was going, and
stumbled into the midst of a Charing Cross crowd, where a motor had broken
down after colliding with a 'bus. A policeman was conversing with the
chauffeur and the 'bus driver, who were conversing abusively with one
another. The crowd blocked the street and stopped the traffic in order to
enjoy the conversation, which left nothing to be desired in the way of
free language. Dan halted idly as a spectator, not because he wished to be
one, but for the very simple reason that he could not get through the
crowd into Trafalgar Square.

Thrust up against one man, and wedged in by two others, and surrounded by
hundreds, he grumbled at the delay, and peered over shoulders to see when
the incident would end. As he did so, he suddenly in his mind's eye saw a
vision of Sir Charles lying dead in the well-lighted library.
While wondering why he thought of the crime at this particular moment, he
became aware that a familiar scent assailed his nostrils, the scent about
which he had talked to Durwin and Tenson and Laurance. Nosing like a
hound, he tried to find the person from whom it emanated, and almost
immediately fixed on a spectator at his elbow. A moment later the man
turned, and Dan found himself face to face with Marcus Penn.



Chapter V. MUDDY WATER

The secretary of the late Sir Charles Moon smiled irresolutely when he
recognised Dan. That young gentleman, who thought Penn a weak-kneed idiot,
had never taken much notice of him, and but for the fact that he was
perfumed with the unusual scent would not have spoken to him now. But as
he looked at the lank creature with his yellow face, and scanty moustache,
he guessed that he was exactly the effeminate sort of person who would use
perfume. What he wished to know was why he affected this particular kind
of fragrance, and whence he obtained it. To gain the information he
pretended a friendliness for the man he was far from feeling. Dan, strong,
virile, and self-confident, was not altogether just to Penn, who was not
responsible for his pallid looks and weak character. But Halliday was not
a perfect individual by any means, and had yet to learn that the weak are
meant to be protected and helped instead of being despised.

"You here, Mr. Penn?" said Dan, thus formal to mark the difference
between them.

"Yes," replied the man in his faint, hesitating voice, and, as they moved
out of the crowd, Halliday smelt the weird perfume more strongly than ever
shaken from Penn's clothes by his movements. "I stopped to look at the
accident."

"A very ordinary one," rejoined Halliday, with a shrug. "By the way, I
have not seen you since the funeral of Sir Charles. What are you doing
now, if I may ask?"

"I am secretary to Lord Curberry."

"Oh!" The reply gave Dan something of a shock, for he did not expect at
the moment to hear his rival's name. But then the whole incident of
meeting Penn and smelling the incriminating perfume was strange.
Monsieur Chance had proved himself to be an actuality instead of the
mythical personage Dan had believed him to be. It was certainly odd that
the meeting had taken place, and odder still that Penn should prove to be
the servant of Curberry.

As Halliday said nothing more than "Oh!" the other man stroked his
moustache and explained. "Sir John got me the post, Mr. Halliday," he said
with his shifty eyes anywhere but on Dan's inquiring face. "I was quite
stranded after Sir Charles's unexpected death, and did not know where to
turn for employment. As I support a widowed mother, the situation was
rather serious, so I took my courage in my hands and went to Sir John.
He was good enough to recommend me to Lord Curberry, and I have been with
his lordship for a month, more or less."

"I congratulate you, Mr. Penn, and Lord Curberry also. Sir Charles always
said you were an excellent secretary." Dan stopped as Penn bowed his
acknowledgements to the compliment, and cast a keen side glance at the
man. They were walking through Trafalgar Square by this time; passing
under the shadow of Nelson's Column. "Do you know what I was thinking of
when behind you in the crowd yonder, Mr. Penn?" he asked abruptly, and it
must be confessed rather undiplomatically, if he wished to get at
the truth.

"No," said the secretary, with simplicity and manifest surprise. "No, Mr.
Halliday, how can I guess your thoughts?"

"I was thinking of the murder of your late employer," said Dan straightly.

Penn blinked and shivered. "It's a horrible subject to think about," he
remarked in a low voice. "I can scarcely get it out of my own thoughts.
I suppose the sight of me reminded you of the crime, Mr. Halliday?"

"Scarcely, since I was behind you and did not recognise you until you
turned," replied Dan, calmly, and the other appeared to be surprised.

"Then how--" he began, only to be cut short.

"It's that scent."

"Scent!" echoed Penn nervously but manifestly still surprised. "I don't
understand what you mean, Mr. Halliday. I like scent, and use much of it."

Dan's lip curled. "So I perceive. But where did you get the particular
scent you are using now, may I ask?"

Something in his tone annoyed the secretary, for he drew himself up and
halted. "I don't know why you should criticise my tastes, Mr. Halliday."

"I'm not criticising them, and don't jump down my throat. But you reek of
some strange perfume, which I last smelt--" He paused.

"You cannot have smelt it anywhere," said Penn indifferently.

"What do you mean by that exactly?" asked Dan with considerable sharpness.

Penn resumed his walk and drew his light eyebrows together. "I am willing
to explain as soon as you tell me why you speak of the scent."

"Hang it, man!" rejoined Halliday, dropping into step, "any one would
notice the scent and speak of it since it is so strong."

"Oh"--Penn's brow cleared--"I understand now. You have taken a fancy to
the scent and wish me to get you some."

Halliday was about to make an indignant denial, when he suddenly changed
his mind, seeing a chance of learning something. "Well, can you get
me some?"

"No," said Penn coolly; "I cannot. This is a particular perfume which
comes from the Island of Sumatra. I have a cousin there who knows that I
like perfumes, and he sent me a single bottle."

"Can't I buy it anywhere?"

"No, it is not to be obtained in England," said Penn curtly.

"In that case," said Halliday slowly, "it is strange that I should have
smelt the same perfume on the clothes of Sir Charles after his death."

"Did you?" Penn looked surprised. "That is impossible. Why, Sir Charles
detested scents, and I never dared to use this one until I left him for
the night."

"You used it on the night of the murder?"

"Of course. I used it every night when I left Sir Charles. On that evening
he sent me away with my usual batch of letters, and was going down to the
House later. I would not have seen him until the next morning, so I took
the opportunity to indulge in this taste."

"Then how did Sir Charles's clothes become impregnated with it?"

"I am unable to say. Why do you ask? Surely"--Penn turned an alarmed face
towards the speaker, and looked yellower than ever--"surely you do not
suspect me of keeping back anything from the police likely to lead to the
detection of the assassin."

"Ask yourself, Mr. Penn," said Dan coldly. "I and Inspector Tenson and Mr.
Durwin smelt this particular perfume on the clothes of the dead man, and I
do not mind telling you that the police consider it to be something of
a clue."

"A clue to what? To me? It must be, since I alone possess this scent. I
certainly came into the library when summoned by Mr. Durwin, and I helped
to look after Sir Charles. As I was strongly perfumed with the scent it is
not impossible that my employer's clothes took what, doubtless, you will
call the taint. I think," ended Penn in a dignified manner, "that such is
the proper explanation. You have found a mare's nest, Mr. Halliday."

"Upon my word, I believe I have," said Dan, quite good-humouredly, "but
you must forgive me, Mr. Penn. Inspector Tenson agreed with me that the
fly and the scent were clues."

"About the fly I know nothing," said the secretary positively, "but this
scent is not to be had in England, and Sir Charles's clothes could only
have gathered the fragrance from mine. If Inspector Tenson suspects me--"

"No, no, no!" interrrupted Halliday quickly. "I assure you that he
does not."

"He would if you told him of our meeting," retorted Penn as they passed
into Piccadilly Circus, "and as I don't like even a suspicion to rest on
me, Mr. Halliday--for my good name is my fortune--I shall go and see him
and explain the whole circumstance. Indeed, if he wishes it, I shall give
him the bottle which my cousin posted to me from Sumatra, and never shall
I use the scent again. I do not like these injurious suspicions."

"Don't make a mountain out of a mole-hill," said Dan, drily; "if I have
hurt your feelings, I apologise."

"I accept your apology only on condition that you accept my explanation."

Dan inwardly chuckled at Penn's dignity, but replied readily enough.
"Oh, yes, for if I did not accept your explanation I should not make any
apology. You are probably right since the scent must have got on to Sir
Charles's clothes from your own. The clue--as we took it to be--has ended
in smoke."

"But don't you think that I should see Inspector Tenson and explain?"

"There is no need," Dan assured him, soothingly. "If the Inspector says
anything about the scent, I shall explain; and, after all, it was I who
suggested the perfume as a clue."

"Would you like what is left of the bottle?" asked Penn, pacified by the
very frank apology of the other.

"No, thanks, I never use perfumes. I hate them."

"So did Sir Charles," mused Penn, and eyeing Dan with a lack-lustre gaze.
"I wonder he did not suspect me of liking them. If he had come upon me
scented in this manner, he would have kicked me out."

"It is to be hoped Lord Curberry has not the same dislike," said Dan, who
having learned all he wished, desired to escape from such boring society.

"No, he has not," said Penn with great simplicity; "he is very kind to me.
I suppose he will marry Miss Moon."

"Then you suppose wrong. He will not," snapped Halliday roughly.

"He loves her devotedly," insisted the secretary, and with a glint of
malice in his pale-coloured eyes.

"Good day," rejoined Dan shortly, as he did not wish to argue the matter.
He turned into Regent Street--for by this time they had crossed the
Circus--when Penn ran after him and seized his arm.

"Is there any chance of the woman who killed Sir Charles being found?"

"No," replied Dan, halting for a moment. "Why?"

"Because Sir Charles was good to me, and I should like his death to be
avenged. That is only natural. Surely the police will search."

"They are searching, Mr. Penn, and can discover nothing."

"Perhaps Lord Curberry may hunt for this woman. I shall ask him to, and as
he loves Miss Moon so devotedly, he will try and learn the truth."

Irritated by this speech--for Penn knew all about the rivalry--Dan became
scarlet. "I shall discover the truth. Lord Curberry need not
trouble himself."

"If you discover the truth--" began Penn, and hesitated.

"Well?" asked Halliday sharply.

"I think Lord Curberry will certainly marry Miss Moon."

"What do you mean by that?" demanded Dan, but Penn gave no answer.
Shaking his head significantly, he stepped back, and in one moment was
lost in the midst of the crowd which thronged the corner. Halliday would
have followed, for the man's last observation seemed to hint that he knew
more about the truth than he was disposed to admit; but many people came
between him and the secretary, so it was impossible to get hold of him
again. Dan was forced to walk on alone and he walked on pondering deeply.

Did Penn know the truth? It seemed impossible that he should know it.
The evidence of the typewriting girl went to show that he had not left his
private room all the evening until summoned by Durwin when the death was
discovered. What Penn said about the perfume appeared to be reasonable
enough, as he certainly had handled the body, and if reeking of the scent
--as he was reeking on this very day--it was not surprising that the odour
should communicate itself to the dress clothes of the dead man.
Some odours cling very powerfully, and endure for a considerable time.
This Sumatra scent assuredly had done so, for it was quite three hours
after the death that Dan himself had seen the corpse, and even then he had
smelt the perfume. However, on the face of it, Halliday saw no reason to
doubt Penn's statement, and quite understood how he became, through Sir
John's mediation, the secretary of Lord Curberry. Only the last speech of
the secretary was strange. Why should he say that, if the truth were
discovered by Dan, Curberry would marry the girl, when, on the discovery
of the truth--so far as Dan could see--the marriage of himself to Lillian
depended? Dan could find no answer to this question, and had half a mind
to follow Penn to his new employer's house, so as to force an explanation.
But as he knew Curberry did not like him, he decided to let matters stand
as they were, and only reveal what he had heard to Laurance.

For the next four or five days, young Halliday went about his business in
a quiet, determined manner, and thought as little as possible of Lillian.
He did not even write or call to see her, since he wished to give up his
whole attention to discovering the truth about Moon's death. If he thought
of love and Lillian, he certainly could not concentrate his mind on the
necessary search. And such attention was very necessary, if he intended to
marry the girl. He became certain that in some way Sir John intended to
trick him, but if he found out the false Mrs. Brown, and solved the
mystery, Sir John would be forced out of sheer justice to sanction the
marriage. It was heroical of Halliday to turn his thoughts from his
beloved and it was no easy task to one so deeply in love as he was. But he
saw the need of it, and manfully set himself to endure present pain for
future joy. Whether Lillian saw things in the same light, or resented his
neglect, he did not know, as he had no word from her; neither came there
any letter from Mrs. Bolstreath. Dan had certainly been pushed out of the
girl's life by her astute uncle; but it was his own common sense that kept
him out of it; for the time being--be it understood. Love demands its
martyrs and Halliday had become one for Love's sake. By doing so, although
he knew it not, he was displaying more real love towards her than he had
ever done in his life before.

Meanwhile, Laurance lost no time in publishing his letter, which dealt
with the mystery of Moon's death. As "The Moment", including its extra
letter-writing sheet, had a large circulation, and as it was a season
devoid of news, the letter caused great discussions. It was sufficiently
alarming to those who loved law and order, since it boldly announced that
a gang of criminals existed which coldly and cautiously and deliberately
employed its members to put people to death. The letter called attention
to the fly--and that an artificial one--on Sir Charles's neck near the
poisoned wound, and declared that such was the sign-manual of the accursed
society. No mention was made of the scent, since Dan had explained what
Penn had said to Laurance, and Laurance had accepted the explanation as
valid. But there was quite enough in the letter to startle the most dull,
especially when the writer called attention to the happening of various
mysterious murders, and suggested that such were the work of this
misguided set of people who constituted the unknown gang. Finally, Freddy
ended his letter by saying that Moon had knowledge of the gang, and had
sent for a Scotland Yard official--name not given--to explain the whole
matter, when he met with his death. It was a fact, therefore, that the
false Mrs. Brown was an emissary of the gang who had been detailed to
murder Sir Charles and had performed her vile errand only too well.
A postscript to the epistle invited discussion, and particularly called
upon any person who knew of an artificial fly being found on a corpse to
give evidence.

In two days the sheet was filled with letters from various people, and the
matter was much discussed. Some of the writers laughed at the idea of such
a society existing in a civilised country such as England was, while
others expressed alarm and asked what the police were doing not to arrest
the criminals. These last scribes evidently entirely forgot that no one
knew where the central quarters of the gang were, and that the letter of
Mr. Laurance was an attempt to root out the heart of the mystery.
Those who appeared in print and aided the circulation of "The Moment" by
buying their own lucubrations certainly did not help much. The generality
of the letters were discursive and ornate, wandering very much from the
point, and giving no positive information such as would assist Freddy's
purpose. But three or four epistles drew attention to certain mysterious
crimes, the perpetrators of which had never been brought to justice, and
who were not even known. There was the case of a young girl found dead on
the Brighton railway line near Redhill, and who must have been thrown out
of the train. Then someone wrote about a miser in the East End who had
been strangled, and another person recalled the drowning of a well-known
philanthropist in the Serpentine. A verdict of suicide had been brought in
as regards this last victim, but the writer of the letter positively
asserted that the philanthropist had not the slightest intention of making
away with himself. Finally came a batch of letters concerning children who
had been murdered.

But only in one case did it appear that any fly was seen on the victim,
and that was when a schoolmistress was stabbed to the heart while in bed
and asleep. The assassin had entered and escaped by the window, and the
victim's mother--who wrote the letter drawing attention to this case--had
found the fly on her daughter's cheek. She had thought nothing of it at
the time, and had brushed away the insect. But after the mention of the
fly on Sir Charles Moon's neck, she remembered the incident.  Also it
turned out that the schoolmistress, had she lived, would have inherited a
large sum of money. It was this last circumstance that suggested the
intervention of the gang to murder the girl so that someone else might
inherit. But all the letters dealing with the various cases were vague,
and no enlightening details could be given. All that could be said was
that there were many unusual deaths, the mystery of which could not be
solved. Laurance, reading the letters during the week of their appearance,
felt sure that the gang existed, but he was more or less alone in his
opinion. Even Dan was doubtful.

"It seems such a large order for a number of people to band themselves
together in order to murder on this comprehensive scale," he objected;
"and I don't quite see the object. Many of the victims mentioned in these
letters are poor."

"You seem to have changed your mind about the matter," said Laurance
drily, "for when my letter appeared you were assured that there was such
a gang."

"Only because of Sir Charles's remarks to Durwin."

"It was a pity Sir Charles was not more explicit," retorted Freddy crossly.

"He had no time to be explicit," said Dan, patiently, "since he died
before he could explain. But let us admit, for the sake of argument, that
such a gang exists. Why should the members murder poor people?"

"Folks have been murdered by way of revenge, as well as for money. And let
me remind you, Dan, that four or five of these victims mentioned in the
letters had money, or were about to inherit money. I am quite convinced,"
said Laurance, striking the table, "that there is such an association."

"An association for what?"

"You are very dull. To get undesirable people out of the way. Remember, in
the reign of Louis XIV, there were dozens of poisoners in Paris who
undertook to kill people when engaged to do so. The reason was for
revenge, or desire for money, or--or--or for other reasons," ended
Laurance vaguely.

"Hum!" Dan stroked his chin, "it may be as you say. Certainly Sir Charles
was got rid of, because he knew too much."

"About this gang," insisted Laurance, "since he was to see Durwin about
the same. I am certain that such an association exists."

"You said that before," Halliday reminded him.

"And I say it again. At all events there is one thing certain--that we
have learned from these letters of many mysterious crimes."

"But only in one case was the fly discovered," objected Dan again.

"That is not to be wondered at," replied the journalist; "the wonder is
that such a small insect should be noticed at all. No one would ever think
of connecting a fly, whether dead or alive, with the death.  The mother of
the schoolmistress did not, until your experience with regard to Moon was
quoted in my letter. The fly business is quite ridiculous."

"And perhaps means nothing."

"Oh, I think it does, seeing that in Moon's case the fly was artificial.
Probably in the case of the schoolmistress it was artificial also, only
the mother who noticed it did not make an examination. Why should she?
I wonder the gang don't have a better trade-mark."

"Perhaps the gang may think it would be spotted if it did."

"Then why have any trade-mark at all," answered Laurance, sensibly.
"If there is to be a sign, there should be some sensible one. If the fly
was stamped on the skin, as the purple fern was stamped, there would be
some sense in the matter. But a fly, artificial or not, is--" Freddy
spread out his hands, for words entirely failed him.

"Well," said Dan after a pause, "I don't know what to say, since
everything is so vague. However, I shall assume that such a gang exists,
and shall do my best to help you to bring about its destruction, as that
means my marriage to Lillian. To help, I must have money, so the sooner we
get north and engage one of Vincent's machines with all the latest
improvements, the better shall I be pleased." He moved towards the door,
as they were in Laurance's rooms when this conversation took place, and
there he halted. "I think, Freddy, you will have a chance of proving in
your own person, as to the truth of your supposition regarding this gang!"

"What do you mean?" asked Laurance somewhat startled.

"Well," murmured Dan, "the gang know you started the hunt for its
destruction, as I expect the members read the papers. If that is the case
you will be a source of danger, such as Sir Charles was and--"

"I'll look after myself," interrupted Laurance grimly.

"Well, if you don't, and the worst comes," said Dan agreeably, "I shall
carefully examine your corpse for the celebrated fly."

"I'll look after myself," said Laurance again, "and if you think I am
going to give up doing business through fear of death, you are much
mistaken. If I can find the gang and exterminate them, I'll get a much
larger salary, and so will be able to marry Mildred."

"Oh, that's her name is it! Mildred Vincent! Is she pretty?"

"You might not think so since Miss Moon is your ideal," said Freddy, with
a blush. "Mildred is dark and tall, and well-proportioned--none of your
skimpy women, old man."

"Lillian isn't skimpy," cried Halliday indignantly.

"I never said she was. Let us call her fairy-like."

"That's better. And your Mildred?"

"You'll see her when we go north the day after to-morrow."

"Good!" Dan nodded thankfully, "we go to Vincent the day after to-morrow?"

"Yes. Meet me at a quarter to twelve at St. Pancras Station; the train
leaves at mid-day and we change for Beswick about four o'clock. I expect
we'll arrive--all going well--at Sheepeak about six."

"Good! But why shouldn't all go well?" inquired Dan, after a pause.

Laurance chuckled. "According to you, the gang will hunt me down, and as
you are in my company--well!" he chuckled again.

"Oh, I don't care a cent for the gang, no more than yourself," retorted
Dan with a shrug. "I'm not even going to think of the beasts. We go north
to get the machine which will enable me to win this two thousand.
And then--"

"And then?" echoed Laurance with a grin.

"Then I shall discover the truth, crush the gang, and marry Lillian."

In this way, therefore, the muddy water was stirred up.



Chapter VI. THE INVENTOR

Freddy Laurance usually opened his mouth to ask questions, rarely to talk
about himself. In the newspaper world, confidences may mean copy; given
that such are worthy to appear in print.  Therefore, as the young man
found, it is just as well to be sparing of personal details, and having
made this discovery, he was careful to keep his tongue between his teeth
in all matters dealing with his private life. This reticence, useful in
business but wholly unnecessary in friendship--particularly when the
friendship had to do with Dan Halliday--had grown upon Laurance to such an
extent that he said very little about his love affair. Dan, being a genial
soul, and a fellow-sufferer in the cause of Cupid, and having heart-whole
liking for the journalist, resented being shut out in this way.
He therefore made it his business to extract Freddy's love story from him
when the two were in the train making for Sheepeak, via Thawley
and Beswick.

"Where did you meet her?" asked Dan abruptly, as they had the compartment
to themselves, and he had exhausted not only the newspapers but
the magazines.

"Her?" repeated Laurance, who was calmly smoking, with his feet on the
opposite seat; "what her?"

"The Her. The one girl in the world for you?"

"Oh, bosh!" Freddy coloured, and looked pleasantly embarrassed.

"Is it? Perhaps you are right" and Dan began to hum a simple little
American song, entitled, "I wonder who's kissing her now."

Laurance took this personally. "No one is! I can trust her."

"Trust who?" asked Dan innocently.

"The person you mentioned now. Miss Vincent,--Mildred."

"Did I mention her? Well, now you recall her name, I did. Old man, we are
the best of friends, but this fourth estate habit of holding your
confounded tongue is getting on my nerves. Give yourself a treat by
letting yourself go. I am ready to listen," and he leaned back with a
seraphic smile.

Freddy did not fence any longer, but came out with details. After all,
since he could trust Dan, he was beginning to think that it would be
delightful to talk his heart empty. "She's the dearest girl in the world,"
was the preamble.

Dan twiddled his thumbs. "We all say that. Now Lillian--"

"Mildred! We are speaking of her." Freddy spoke very fast lest his friend
should interrupt. Since Dan wanted confidences, Dan should have them given
to him in a most thorough manner. "Mildred is an angel, and her uncle is
an old respectable, clever beast."

"Yes!" said Halliday persuasively. "I thought in that way of Sir Charles
when he interrupted private conversations between Lillian and myself. I am
of the same opinion as regards Sir John Moon because--"

"Yes, I know what you mean by 'because'. But with regard to Mildred--"

"Who is an angel. Yes?"

"I met her a year ago in London--Regent Street, to be precise as to
locality. A snob spoke to her without an introduction, so she appealed to
me, and I punched his head. Then I escorted her home--"

"To Hillshire? What a knight-errant!" chuckled Dan.

"Don't be an ass. I escorted her to the Guelph Hotel in Jermyn Street,
where she and her uncle were staying. The uncle appreciated the service I
did for his niece, and made me welcome, especially when he found that, as
a newspaper man, I was able to talk in print about his machines. For an
inventor the old man has an excellent idea of business."

"Inventors being generally fools. So you called the next day to see if
Miss Vincent's nerves were better."

Freddy cast a look of surprise at Dan's dark face. "How did you guess
that, Halliday? Well, I did, and I got on better with Solomon Vincent
than ever."

"Undoubtedly you got on better with the niece," murmured Dan,
mischievously.

"Well," Laurance coloured, "you might put it that way."

"I do put it that way," said Dan firmly, "and from personal experience."

"Not with Mildred. To make a long story short, I saw a great deal of them
in town, and took them out to dinner and got them theatre seats, and fell
deeper in love every day. Then Vincent asked me to visit Sheepeak to
inspect his machines and I wrote several articles in 'The Moment'."

"Ah. I thought I remembered Vincent's name. I read those articles. But you
didn't mention the niece."

"Ass!" said the journalist scornfully, "is it likely? Well, that's the
whole yarn. I've been several times to Sheepeak and Vincent likes me."

"To the extent of taking you as a nephew?" inquired Dan, thoughtfully.

"No, hang him! That's why I call him a beast. He says that Mildred is
necessary to his comfort as a housekeeper, and he won't allow her to marry
me. She is such a good girl that she obeys her uncle because he brought
her up when her parents died, and has been a father to her."

"A dull romance and a league-long wooing, with the lady in Hillshire and
the swain in London. How long is this unsatisfactory state of things going
to last, my son?"

"I don't know," rejoined Freddy mournfully, "until her uncle dies,
perhaps."

"Then let us hope he'll fly once too often," said Dan cheerfully; "but do
not be downhearted. I am sure it will be all right. I shall dance at your
wedding and you will dance at mine. By the way, there's no necessity to
talk to Vincent or his niece about our endeavours to spot this gang."

"Of course not. The matter won't be mentioned. All I am talking about is
private, and you come to Sheepeak with me to get a machine so as to win
the London to York race. It will be an advertisement for Vincent."

"That's all right. And Mildred--talk about her, old man. I know you are
dying to explain the kind of angel she really is. Lull me to sleep with
lover's rhapsodies"--a request with which Freddy, now having broken the
ice, was perfectly willing to comply. He described Mildred's appearance
with a lover's wealth of details, drew attention to her many admirable
qualities, quoted her speeches, praised her talents, and thus entertained
his friend--and incidentally himself--all the way to Thawley. Dan closed
his eyes and listened, puffing comfortably at his pipe. Occasionally he
threw in a word, but for the greater part of the time held his peace, and
let Laurance babble on about his darling's perfections. Secretly, Dan did
not think these could match Lillian's in any way.

At the great manufacturing town of Thawley, which was overshadowed by a
cloud of dun smoke, the travellers left the main line, and crossed to
another platform where they boarded the local train to Beswick.
This station was only six miles down the line, and they turned on their
tracks to reach it, since it branched off from the main artery into the
wilds. It nestled at the foot of a lofty hill covered from top to bottom
with trees, now more or less leafless. Laurance informed his companion
that there was a ruined abbey hidden in the wood, and also pointed out
several interesting places, for he was well acquainted with the locality.
At Beswick they piled their bags on a ramshackle old trap, and proceeded
in this to climb up a long, winding, steep road, which mounted gradually
to the moors. As the year was yet wintry and the hour was late, the air
became wonderfully keen, and--as Freddy said--inspiriting. Dan, however,
did not find it so, as he felt quite sleepy, and yawned the whole way
until the trap stopped at the solitary hotel of Sheepeak, a rough stone
house, with thick walls and a slate roof.

The landlady, raw-boned, sharp-eyed, and not at all beautiful, met them at
the door, smiling in what was meant for an amiable manner when she saw
Laurance. "Oh, you're here again?" she said defiantly, and Dan noticed
that beyond the northern burr she did not reproduce the country dialect.

"Yes, Mrs. Pelgrin, and I have brought a friend to stay for three or four
days. We want two bedrooms and a sitting-room, and supper straight away."

"You shall have them," said Mrs. Pelgrin, still defiantly.

"And the price will be a pound each for the four days," ventured Freddy.

"With ten shillings