 CHAPTER 11 THE ADVENTURE OF THE ORIENTAL ATTENDANT I did not sleep that night. Next morning I rose very early from a restless bed with a dry, hot mouth and a general feeling that the solid earth had failed beneath me. Still no news from Harold. It was cruel, I thought. My faith almost flagged. He was a man and should be brave. How could he run away and hide himself at such a time? Even if I set my own anxiety aside, just think to what serious misapprehension it laid him open. I sent out for the morning papers. They were full of Harold. Rumours, rumours, rumours. Mr. Tillington had deliberately chosen to put himself in the wrong by disappearing mysteriously at the last moment. He had only himself to blame if the worst interpretation were put upon his action, but the police were on his track. Scotland Yard had a clue. It was confidently expected, and a rest would be made before evening at latest. As to details, he's differed. The officials of the Great Western Railway at Paddington were convinced that Mr. Tillington had started, alone and undisguised, by the Night Express for Exeter. The Southeastern inspectors on the other hand were equally certain that he had slipped away with a false beard in company with his accomplice Higginson by the 8.15 p.m. to Paris. Everybody took it for granted, however, that he had left London. Conjecture played with various ultimate destinations—Spain, Morocco, Sicily, the Argentine. In Italy, said the Chronicle, he might lurk for a while. He spoke Italian fluently and could manage to put up a tiny ostere in out-of-the-way places seldom visited by Englishmen. He might trail Bania, said the morning post, airing its exclusive society information. He had often hunted there, and might, in turn, be hunted. He would probably attempt to slink away to some remote spot in the Carpathians or the Balkans, said the Daily News, quite proud of its geography. Still, wherever he went, lead and footed justice in this age, said the Times, must surely overtake him. The day of universal extradition had dawned. We had no more Alsatias. Even the Argentine itself gives up its rogues at last. Not an asylum for crime remains in Europe, not a refuge in Asia, Africa, America, Australia, or the Pacific Islands. I noted with a shudder of horror that all the papers alike took his guilt ascertain. In spite of a few decent pretenses at not prejudging an untried cause, they treated him already as a detected criminal, the fugitive from justice. I sat in my little sitting-room at the hotel in German Street, a limp rag, looking idly out of the window with anxious eyes and waiting for Lady Georgina. It was early, too early, but oh, why didn't she come? Unless somebody soon sympathise with me, my heart would break under this load of loneliness. Presently, as I looked out on the sloppy morning street, I was vaguely aware through the mist that floated before my dry eyes, for tears would anide me, of a very grand carriage driving up to the doorway, the porch with the four wooden ionic pillars. I took no heed of it. I was too heart-sick for observation. My life was wrecked and harrowed with it. Yet dimly through the mist, I became conscious after a while that the carriage was that of an Indian prince. I could see the black faces, the white turbines, the gold brocades of the attendants and the dickey. Then it came home to me with a pang that this was the Maharaja. It was kindly meant, yet after all that had been insinuated in court the day before, I was by no means over-pleased that his dusky highness should come to call upon me. Walls have eyes and ears. Reporters were hanging about all over London, eager to distinguish themselves by successful eavesdropping. They would note, with brisk innuendos after their kind, how the Maharaja of Musafa Nugar called early in the day on Miss Lois Cayley, with whom he remained for at least half an hour in close consultation. I had half a mind to send down a message that I could not see him. My face still burned with the undeserved shame of the cross-eyed QC's unspeakable suggestions. Before I could make my mind up, however, I saw to my surprise that the Maharaja did not propose to come in himself. He leaned back in his place, with his lordly eastern air, and waited, looking down on the gapers in the street, while one of the two gorgeous attendants in the dickey descended obsequiously to receive his orders. The man was dressed, as usual, in rich oriental stuffs, and wore his full white turban swathed in folds round his head. I could not see his features. He bent forward respectfully with suppleness to take his highness's Then, receiving a card and bowing low, he entered the porch with the wooden ionic pillars, and disappeared within, while the Maharaja folded his hands and seemed to resign himself to a temporary nirvana. A minute later a knock sounded on my door. Come in! I said faintly, and the messenger entered. I turned and faced him. The blood rushed to my cheek. Harold! I cried darting forward. My joy overcame me. He folded me in his arms. I allowed him, unreproved. For the first time he kissed me, I did not shrink from it. Then I stood away a little, and gazed at him. Even at that crucial moment of doubt and fear, I could not help noticing how admirably he made up as a handsome young Rajput. Three years earlier, at Shlaganbad, I remembered he had struck me as strangely oriental looking. He had the features of a high-born Indian gentleman without the complexion. His large poetical eyes, his regular oval face, his even teeth, his mouth, and moustache all vaguely recalled the highest type of the Eastern temperament. Now he had blackened his face and hands with some permanent stain, Indian ink I learned later, and the resemblance to a Rajput chief was positively startling. In his gold brocade and ample white turban, no passerby I felt sure would ever have dreamt of darting him. Then you knew me at once, he said, holding my face between his hands. That's bad, darling. I fluttered myself. I had transformed my face into the complete Indian. Love has sharp eyes, I answered. It can see through brick walls, but the disguise is perfect. No one else would detect you. Love is blind, I thought. Not where it ought to see. There it pierces everything. I knew you instantly, Harold, but all London, I am sure, would pass you by unknown. You are absolute orient. That's well, for all London is looking for me, he answered bitterly. The streets bristle with detectives. Southminster's navaries have won the day, so I have tried this disguise. Otherwise I should have been arrested the moment the jury brought in their verdict. And why were you not? I asked, drawing back. Oh, Harold, I trust you. But why did you disappear and make all the world believe you admitted yourself guilty? He opened his arms. Can't you guess? He cried, holding them out to me. I nestled in them once more, but I answered through my tears. I had found tears now. No, Harold, it baffles me. You remember what you promised me, he murmured, leaning over and clasping me. If ever I were poor, friendless, hunted, you would marry me. Now the opportunity has come when we can both prove ourselves. Today, except you and dear Georgie, I haven't a friend in the world. Everyone else has turned against me. Southminster holds the field. I am a suspected forger. In a very few days I shall doubtless be a convicted felon. Unjustly, as you know, yet still we must face it, a convicted felon. So I have come to claim you. I have come to ask you now. In this moment of despair, will you keep your promise? I lifted my face to his. He bent over at trembling. I whispered the words in his ear. Yes, Harold, I will keep it. I have always loved you. And now I will marry you. I knew you would, he cried, and pressed me to his bosom. We sat for some minutes, holding each other's hands, and saying nothing. We were too full of thought for words. Then suddenly Harold roused himself. We must make haste, darling, he cried. We are keeping Partab outside, and every minute is precious. Every minute's delay, dangerous. We ought to go down at once. Partab's carriage is waiting at the door for us. Go down! I exclaimed, clinging to him. How? Why? I don't understand. What is your programme? Ah! I forgot I hadn't explained to you. Listen here, dearest, quick. I can waste no words over it. I said just now I had no friends in the world but you and Georgie. That's not true, for dear old Partab has stuck to me nobly. When all my English friends fell away, the Rajput was true to me. He arranged all this. It was his own idea. He foresaw what was coming. He urged me yesterday, just before the verdict, when he saw my acquaintances beginning to look as scounce, to slip quietly out of court, and make my way by unobtrusive roads to his house in Curson Street. There he darkened my face like his, and converted me to Hinduism. I don't suppose the disguise will serve me for more than a day or two, but it will last long enough for us to get safely away to Scotland. Scotland, I murmured. Then you mean to try a Scotch marriage? It is the only thing possible. We must be married today, and in England, of course, we cannot do it. We would have to be called in church, or else to procure a licence, either of which would involve disclosure of my identity. Besides, even the licence would keep us waiting about for a day or two. In Scotland, on the other hand, we can be married at once. Partab's carriage is below, to take you to King's Cross. He is staunch as steel, dear fellow. Do you consent to go with me? My faculty, for promptly making up such mind as I possess, stood me once more in good stead. Implicitly, I answered. Dear Harold, this calamity has its happy side. For without it, much as I love you, I could never have brought myself to marry you. One moment, he cried. Before you go, recollect this step as irrevocable. You will marry a man who may be torn from you this evening, and from whom fourteen years of prison may separate you. I know it! I cried through my tears. But I shall be showing my confidence in you, my love for you. He kissed me once more fervently. This makes amends for all, he cried. Lois, to have won such a woman as you, I would go through it all a thousand times over. It was for this, and this alone, that I hid myself last night. I wanted to give you the chance of showing me how much, how truly, you love me. And after we are married, I ask to trembling. I shall give myself up at once to the police in Edinburgh. I clung to him wistfully. My heart half led me to urge him to escape, but I knew that was wrong. Give yourself up, then, I said sobbing. It is a brave man's place. You must stand your trial, and come what will I will strive to bear it with you. I knew you would, he cried. I was not mistaken in you. We embraced again just once. It was little enough after those years of waiting. Now come, he cried. Let us go. I drew back. Not with you, dearest, I whispered. Not in the Maharaja's carriage. You must start by yourself. I will follow you at once to King's Cross in a handsome. He saw I was right. It would avoid suspicion, and it would prevent more scandal. He withdrew without a word. We meet, I said, at ten, at King's Cross station. I did not even wait to wash the tears from my eyes. All red as they were, I put on my hat and my little brown travelling jacket. I do not think I so much as glanced once at the glass. The seconds were precious. I saw the Maharaja drive away with Harold and the Dickey, arms crossed, imperturbable, orientally silent. He looked the very counterpart of the Rajput by his side. Then I descended the stairs and walked out boldly. As I passed through the hall, the servants and the visitors stared at me and whispered. They spoke with nods and liftings of the eyebrows. I was aware that that morning I had achieved notoriety. At Piccadilly Circus, I jumped of a sudden into a passing handsome. King's Cross! I cried as I mounted the step. Drive quick! I have no time to spare. And as the man drove off, I saw by a convulsive dart of someone across the road, so I had given the slip to a disappointed reporter. At the station I took a first-class ticket for Edinburgh. On the platform the Maharaja and his attendants were waiting. He lifted his hat to me, though otherwise he took no overt notice. But I saw his keen eyes follow me down the train. Harold, in his oriental dress, pretended not to observe me. One or two porters and a few curious travellers cast inquiring eyes on the Eastern Prince, and made remarks about him to one another. That's the chappers. Was up yesterday in the Ashhurst Will-case, said one lounger to his neighbour. But nobody seemed to look at Harold. His subordinate position secured him from curiosity. The Maharaja had always two Eastern servants gorgeously dressed in attendance. He had been a well-known figure in London society, and at the lords, and the oval for two or three seasons. Blum and fine cricketer, one porter observed to his mate as he passed. Yes, not so dusty for a nigger, the other man replied, thrust right bowler, but lord, he can't hold a candle to good old Ranji. As for myself, nobody seemed to recognise me. I set this down to the fortunate circumstance that the evening papers had published rough woodcuts, which professed to be my portrait, and which naturally led the public to look out for a brazen-faced, raw-boned, hard-featured, termigant. I took my seat in a lady's compartment by myself. As the train was about to start, Harold strolled up as if casually for a moment. You think it better so? He queried without moving his lips or seeming to look at me. Decidedly, I answered, go back to Partab. Don't come near me again till we get to Edinburgh. It is dangerous still. The police may at any moment hear we have started and stop us halfway, and now that we have once committed ourselves to this plan, it would be fatal to be interrupted before we have got married. You are right, he cried. Lois, you are always right, somehow. I wished I could think so myself, but it was with serious misgivings that I felt the train roll out of the station. Oh, that long journey north, alone, in a lady's compartment, with the feeling that Harold was so near yet so unapproachable, it was an endless agony. He had the Maharaja who loved and admired him, to keep him from brooding, but I, left alone and confined with my own fears, conjured up before my eyes every possible misfortune that heaven could send us. I saw clearly now, that if we failed in our purpose, this journey would be taken by everyone for a flight, and would deepen the suspicion under which we both laboured. It would make me still more obviously a conspirator with Harold. Whatever happened, we must strain every nerve to reach Scotland in safety, and then to get married, in order that Harold might immediately surrender himself. At York, I noticed with the thrill of terror, that a man in plain clothes, with the obtrusively unobtrusive air of a detective, looked carefully, though casually, into every carriage. I felt sure he was a spy, because of his marked outer jauntiness of demeanour, which hardly masked an underlying hangdog expression of scrutiny. When he reached my place, he took a long, careless stare at me, a seemingly careless stare, which was yet brimful of the keenest observation. Then he paced slowly along the line of carriages, with a glance at each, till he arrived just opposite the Maharaja's compartment. There he stared hard once more. The Maharaja descended, so did Harold and the Hindu attendant, who was dressed just like him. The man I took for a detective indulged in a frank, long gaze of the unconscious Indian prince, but cast only a hasty eye on the two apparent followers. That touch of revelation relieved my mind a little. I felt convinced the police were watching the Maharaja and myself, a suspicious persons connected with the case, but they had not yet guessed that Harold had disguised himself as one of the two invariable Rajput servants. We steamed on Northwood. At Newcastle the same detective strolled with his hands in his pockets along the train once more, and puffed a cigar with the nonchalant air of a sporting gentleman. But I was certain now, from the studious unconcern, he was anxious to exhibit, that he must be a spy upon us. He overdid his mood of careless observation. It was too obvious an assumption. Precisely the same thing happened again when we pulled up at Burwick. I knew now that we were watched. It would be impossible for us to get married at Edinburgh if we were thus closely pursued. There was but one chance open. We must leave the train abruptly at the first Scotch stopping station. The detective knew we were booked through for Edinburgh. So much I could tell because I saw him making queries of the ticket examiner at York and again at Burwick, and because the ticket examiner thereupon entered a mental note of the fact as he punched my ticket each time. Oh! Edinburgh miss! All right! And then stared at me suspiciously. I could tell he had heard of the Ashhurst Will case. He also lingered long about the Maharajah's compartment, and then went back to confer with the detective. Thus putting two and two together as a woman Will, I came to the conclusion that the spy did not expect us to leave the train before we reached Edinburgh. That told in our favour. Most men trust much to such vague expectations. They form a theory and then neglect the adverse chances. You can only get the better of a skilled detective by taking him thus, psychologically and humanly. By this time I confess I felt almost like a criminal. Never in my life had danger loomed so near, not even when we returned with the Arabs from the Oasis. For then we feared for our lives alone, now we feared for our honour. I drew a card from my case, before we left Berwick Station and scribbled a few hasty words on it in German. We are watched, a detective. If we run through to Edinburgh we shall doubtless be arrested or at least impeded. This train will stop at Dunbar for one minute. Just before it leaves again, get out as quietly as you can, at the last moment. I will also get out and join you. Let Partab go on, it will excite less attention. The scheme I suggest is the only safe plan. If you agree, as soon as we have well started from Berwick, shake your handkerchief unobtrusively out of your carriage window. I beckoned to Porter noiselessly, without one word. The detective was now strolling along the four part of the train, with his back turned towards me, peering as he went into all the windows. I gave the Porter a shilling. Take this to a black gentleman in the next carriage but one, I said in a confidential whisper. The Porter touched his hat, nodded, smiled, and took it. Would Harold see the necessity for acting on my advice, I wondered. I gazed out along the train, as soon as we had got well clear of Berwick. A minute, two minutes, three minutes past, and still no handkerchief, I began to despair. He was debating, no doubt. If he refused, all was lost, and we were disgraced for ever. At last, after long waiting, as I stared still along the whizzing line, with the smoke in my eyes and the dust half blinding me, I saw to my intense relief a handkerchief flutter. It fluttered once, not markedly, then a black hand withdrew it, only just in time, for even as it disappeared the detective's head thrust itself out of a further window. He was not looking for anything in particular as far as I could tell, just observing the signals. But it gave me a strange thrill to think even now we were so nearly defeated. My next trouble was, would the train draw up at Dunbar? The 10 a.m. from King's Cross is not set down to stop there in Bradshaw, for no passengers are booked to or from the station by the Day Express. But I remembered from of old, when I lived at Edinburgh, that it used always to wait about a minute for some engine driver's purpose. This doubt filled me with fresh fear. Did it draw up there still? They have accelerated the service so much of late years, and abolished so many older custom stoppages. I counted the familiar stations with my breath held back. They seemed so much further apart than usual. Reston, Grant's House, Coben's Path, In a Wick? The next was Dunbar. If we rolled past that, then all was lost. We could never get married. I trembled and hugged myself. The engine screamed. Did that mean she was running through? Oh, how I wished I had learned the interpretation of the signals. Then gradually, gently, we began to slow. Were we slowing to pass the station only? No. With a jolt she drew up. My heart gave a bound, as I read the word Dunbar, on the station notice board. I rose and waited with my fingers on the door. Happily, it had one of those new-fashioned slip-latches, which opened from the inside. No need to betray myself prematurely to the detective by a hand displayed on the outer handle. I glanced out at him cautiously. His head was thrust through his window, and his sloping shoulders revealed the spy. But he was looking the other way, observing the signals doubtless to discover why we stopped at a place not mentioned in Bradshaw. Harold's face just showed from another window close by. Too soon or too late, might either of them be fatal. He glanced inquiry at me. I nodded back, now. The train gave its first jerk, a faint backward jerk indicative of the nascent intention of starting, as it braced itself to go on. I jumped out. So did Harold. We faced one another on the platform without a word. Stand away there! The stationmaster cried in an angry voice. The guard waved his green flag. The detective, still absorbed on the signals, never once looked back. One second later we were safe at Dunbar, and he was speeding away by the express for Edinburgh. It gave us breathing space of about an hour. For half a minute I could not speak. My heart was in my mouth. I hardly even dared to look at Harold. Then the stationmaster stalked up to us with a threatening manner. You can't get out here! he said crustily in a gruff, scotch voice. This train is not time to sit down before Edinburgh. But we have got out, I answered, taking it upon me to speak for my fellow culprit, the Hindu, as he was to all seeming. The logic of facts is with us. We were booked through to Edinburgh, but we wanted to stop at Dunbar, and as the train happened to pull up, we thought we needn't waste time by going on all that way and then coming back again. You should have changed at Bowwick, the stationmaster said, still gruffly, and come on by the slow train. I could see his careful scotch soul was vexed, incidentally, at our extravagance in paying the extra fare to Edinburgh and back again. In spite of agitation, I managed to summon, up, one of my sweetest smiles, a smile that ere now had melted the hearts of rickshaw-coolies and a French douaneer. He thawed before it visibly. Time was important to us, I said. Oh, he guessed not how important. And besides, you know, it is so good for the company. That saw, he answered, mollified. He could not tilt against the interests of the North British shareholders. But how about your luggage? It'll have gone on to Edinburgh, I'm thinking. We have no luggage, I answered boldly. He stared at us both, puckered his brow a moment, and then burst out laughing. Oh, hi! I see, he answered, with a comic air of amusement. Well, well, it's none of my business, no doubt, and I will not interfere with you, the way a lady like you. He glanced curiously at Harold. I saw he had guessed right, and thought it best to throw myself unreservedly on his mercy. Time was indeed important. I glanced at the station-clock. It was not very far from the stroke of six, and we must manage to get married before the detective could miss us at Edinburgh, where he was due at six-thirty. So I smiled once more that heart-softening smile. We have each our own fancies, I said, blushing, and indeed, such is the pride of race among women, I felt myself blush at the bare idea that I was marrying a black man in spite of our good Maharaja's kindness. He is a gentleman, and a man of education and culture. I thought that recommendation ought to tell with a Scotchman. We are in so straits now, but our case is a just one. Can you tell me who in this place is most likely to sympathise, most likely to marry us? He looked at me and surrendered discretion. I should think anybody would marry you, who saw your pretty face and heard your sweet voice, he answered, but perhaps you'd best present yourself to Mr. Schoolcraft, the UP Minister at Little Corkton. He was ice-off-tarted. How far from here, I asked. About two miles, he answered. Can we get a trap? Oh, hi! There's machines always waiting at the station. We interviewed Earp Machine and drove out to Little Corkton. There we told our tale in the fewest words possible to the obliging and good-natured UP Minister. He looked, as the stationmaster had said, soft-hearted, but he dashed our hopes to the ground at once by telling us candidly that unless we had had our residence in Scotland for twenty-one days preceding the marriage, it would not be legal. If you were scotch, he added, I could go through the ceremony at once, of course, and then you could apply to the sheriff tonight for leave to register the marriage in proper form afterward. But as one of you is English and the other I judge, he smiled and glanced towards Harold, an Indian-born subject of her majesty. It would be impossible for me to do it. The ceremony would be invalid under the Lord Brahms Act without previous residence. This was a terrible blow. I looked away appealingly. Harold, I cried in despair, do you think we could manage to hide ourselves safely anywhere in Scotland for twenty-one days? His face fell. How could I escape notice? All the world is hunting for me, and then the scandal. No matter where you stopped, however far from me, no lower starling, I could never expose you to it. The minister glanced from one to the other of us, puzzled. Harold, he said, turning over the word on his tongue. Harold, that doesn't sound like an Indian name, does it? And, he hesitated, you speak wonderful English. I saw the safest plan was to make a clean breast of it. He looked the sort of man one could trust on an emergency. You have heard of the Ashhurst Will-case. I said, blurting it out suddenly. I have seen something about it in the newspaper as yes, but it did not interest me. I have not followed it. I told him the whole truth. The case against us, the facts as we knew them. Then I added slowly. This is Mr. Harold Tillington, whom they accuse of forgery. Does he look like a forger? I want to marry him before he is tried. It is the only way by which I can prove my implicit trust in him. As soon as we are married he will give himself up at once to the police, if you wish it before your eyes. But married we must be. Can't you manage it somehow? My pleading voice touched him. Harold Tillington, he murmured. I know of his forebears. Lady Gwynevere Tillington's son is it not. Then you must be younger of Glydecliff. For Scotland is a village. Every one in it seems to have heard of every other. What does he mean? I asked, younger of Glydecliff. I remembered now that the phrase had occurred in Mr. Ashhurst's will, though I never understood it. A scotch fashion, Harold answered. The heir to a lad is called younger of so-and-so. My father has a small estate of that name in Dunfrieshire, a very small estate. I was born and brought up there. Then you are a scorchman? the minister asked. Yes, Harold answered frankly. By remote descent we are trebly of the female line at Glydecliff. Still, I am no doubt more or less scotch by domicile. Younger of Glydecliff? Oh yes, that ought certainly to be quite sufficient for our purpose. Do you live there? I have been living there lately. I always live there when I am in Britain. It is my only home. I belong to the diplomatic surface. But then the lady? She is unmitigatedly English, how it admitted in a gloomy voice. Not quite, I answered. I lived four years in Edinburgh, and I spent my holidays there while I was at Gerton. I keep my boxes still at my old rooms in Maitland Street. Oh, that will do! the minister answered, quite relieved, for it was clear that our anxiety and the touch of romance in our tale had enlisted him in our favour. Indeed, now I come to think of it. It suffices for the act if only one of the parties is domiciled in Scotland, and as Mr Tillington lives habitually at Glydecliff, that settles the question. Still, I can do nothing save Marry You now by religious service in the presence of my servants, which constitutes what we call an ecclesiastical marriage. It becomes legal if afterwards registered, and then you must apply to the sheriff for a warrant to register it. But I will do what I can. Later on, if you like, you can be remarried by the rights of your own church in England. Are you quite sure our Scotch domicile is good enough in law? Harold asks, still doubtful. I can look it up if you wish. I have a legal handbook, Before Lord Brom's act, no formalities were necessary, but the act was passed to prevent Gretna Green marriages. The usual phrase is that such a marriage does not hold good, unless one or other of the parties either has had his or her usual residence in Scotland, or else has lived there for twenty-one days immediately preceding the state of the marriage. If you like, I will wait to consult the authorities. No, thank you, I cried. There is no time to lose. Marry us first, and look it up afterwards. One or other will do, it seems. Mr. Tillington is Scotch enough. I am sure he has no address in Britain but Claidcliffe. We will rest our claim upon that. Even if the marriage turns out invalid, we only remain where we were. This is a preliminary ceremony to prove good faith and to bind us to one another. We can satisfy the law if need be when we return to England. The minister called in his wife and servants and explained to them briefly, he exhorted us and prayed. We gave our solemn consent in legal form before two witnesses, then he pronounced us duly married. In a quarter of an hour more, we had made declaration to that effect before the sheriff, the witnesses accompanying us, and were formally affirmed to be man and wife before the law of Great Britain. I asked if it would hold in England as well. You couldn't be firmer married, the sheriff said, with decision, by the archbishop of Canterbury and Westminster Abbey. Harold turned to the minister. Will you send for the police? he said calmly. I wish to inform them that I am the man for whom they are looking in the Ashhurst world case. Our own cabman went to fetch them. It was a terrible moment, but Harold sat in the sheriff's study and waited, as if nothing unusual were happening. He talked freely but quietly. Never in my life had I felt so proud of him. At last the police came, much inflated with the dignity of so great a capture, and took down our statement. Do you give yourself in charge of a confession of forgery? The superintendent asked as Harold ended. Certainly not, Harold answered. I have not committed forgery, but I do not wish to skulk or hide myself. I understand a warrant is out against me in London. I have come to Scotland hurriedly, for the sake of getting married, not to escape apprehension. I am here openly under my own name. I tell you the facts, which is for you to decide. If you choose, you can arrest me. The superintendent conferred for some time in another room with the sheriff. Then he returned to the study. Very well, sir, he said in a respectful tone. I arrest you. So that was the beginning of our married life. More than ever I felt sure I could trust in Harold. The police decided, after hearing by telegram from London, that we must go up at once by the night express, which they stopped for the purpose. They were forced to divide us. I took the sleeping-car. Harold travelled with two constables in an ordinary carriage. Strange to say, notwithstanding all this. So great was our relief from the tension of our flight, that we both slept soundly. Next morning we arrived in London. Harold guarded. The police had arranged that the case should come up at Bow Street that afternoon. It was not an ideal honeymoon. And yet I was somehow happy. At King's Cross they took him away from me. Still I hardly cried. All the way up in the train, whenever I was awake, an idea had been haunting me, a possible clue to this trickery of Lord Southminster's. Petty details cropped up and fell into their places. I began to unravel it all now. I had an inkling of a plan to set Harold right again. The will we had proved. But I must not anticipate. When we parted, Harold kissed me on the forehead, and murmured rather sadly. Now, I suppose it's all up. Lois, I must go. These rogues have been too much for us. Not a bit of it, I answered, new hope growing stronger and stronger within me. I see a way out. I have found a clue. I believe, dear Harold, the right will still be vindicated. And red eyes as I was, I jumped into a handsome, and called to the cabin to drive at once to Lady Georgina's. End of Chapter 11 Read by Goldfish Chapter 12 of Miss Kaley's Adventures This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Goldfish Miss Kaley's Adventures by Grant Allen Chapter 12 The Adventure of the Unprofessional Detective Is Lady Georgina home? The discrete man-servant in sober black clothes eyed me suspiciously. No, Miss, he answered. That is to say, no, ma'am. Her ladyship is still at Mr. Marmaduke Ashhurst's. The late Mr. Marmaduke Ashhurst. I mean, in Park Lane North. You know the number, ma'am? Yes, I know it. I replied with a gasp. For this was indeed a triumph. My one fear had been lest Lord Southminster should already have taken possession. Why, you will see hereafter, and it relieved me to learn that Lady Georgina was still at hand to guard my husband's interests. She had been living at the house, practically, since her brother's death. I drove round with all speed and flung myself into my dear old lady's arms. Kiss me! I cried, flushed. I am your niece! But she knew it already, for our movements have been fully reported by this time, with picturesque additions in the morning papers. Imagination, ill-developed in the English race, seems to concentrate itself in the lower order of journalists. She kissed me on both cheeks with unwanted tenderness. Lois! she cried with tears in her eyes. You are a brick! It was not exactly poetical at such a moment, but from her it meant much more than gushing phraseology. And you are here in possession, I murmured. The cantankerous old lady nodded. She was in her element, I must admit. She dearly loved a row, above all a family row, but to be in the thick of a family row, and to feel herself in the right, with the law against her, that was a joy such as Lady Georgina had seldom before experienced. Yes, dear! she burst out volubly. I am in possession, thank heaven, and what small they won't house me without a legal process. I've been here, off and on, you know, ever since poor dear Mami died, looking after things for Harold, and I shall look after them still, till Bertie Southminster succeeds in ejecting me, which won't be easy. Oh, I have held the fort by main force, I can tell you, held it like a trojan. Bertie is in a precious hurry to move in, I can see, but I won't allow him. He's been down here this morning, fatuously blustering, and trying to carry the post by storm with a couple of policemen. Policemen, I cried, to turn you out. Yes, my dear, policemen, but the Lord be praised, I was too much for him. There are legal formalities to fulfil yet, and I won't budge an inch, Lois, not one inch, my dear, till he's fulfilled every one of them. Mark my words, child, that boy's up to some devilry. He is, I answered. Yes, he wouldn't be in such a rampaging hurry to get in, being as lazy as he's empty-headed, takes after Gwendolyn in that if he hadn't some excellent reason for wishing to take position, and depend upon it. The reason is that he wants to get hold of something or other that's Harold, but he shan't if I can help it, and, thank my stars, I am a dowlwoman to reckon with. If he comes, he comes over my old bone's child. I've been overhauling everything of Mami's, I can tell you, to checkmate the boy if I can, but I've found nothing yet, until I've satisfied myself on that point. I'll hold the fort still, if I have to barricade that pasty-face scoundrel of a nephew of mine, out by piling the furniture against the front door, I will, as sure as my name's Georgina foley. I know you will, dear, I assented kissing her, and so I shall venture to leave you, while I go out to institute another little inquiry. What inquiry? I shook my head. It's only a surmise, I said hesitating. I'll tell you about it later. I've had time to think while I've been coming back in the train, and I've thought of many things. Mount guard till I return, and mind you don't let Lord Southminster have access to anything. I'll shoot him first, dear. And I believe she meant it. I drove on in the same cab to Harold's solicitor, there I laid my fresh doubts at once before him. He rubbed his bony hands. You've hit it! he cried, charmed. My dear madam, you've hit it. I never did like that, will. I never did like the signatures, the witnesses, the look of it. But what could I do? Mr. Tillington propounded it. Of course it wasn't my business to go dead against my own client. Then you doubted Harold's honour, Mr. Hayes? I cried, flushing. Never! he answered, never. I felt sure there must be some mistake somewhere, but not any trickery on your husband's part. Now, you supply the right clue. We must look into it immediately. He hurried round with me at once in the same cab to the court. The incriminated will had been impounded, as they call it. But under certain restrictions and subject to the closest surveillance, I was allowed to examine it, with my husband's solicitor, before the eyes of the authorities. I looked at it long with a naked eye, and also with a small pocket-lens. The paper, as I had noted before, was the same kind of false-cap as that which I had been in the habit of using at my office in Florence, and the typewriting was at mine. The longer I looked at it, the more I doubted it. After a careful examination, I turned round to our solicitor. Mr. Hayes, I said firmly, having arrived at my conclusion. This is not the document I type wrote at Florence. How do you know? he asked. A different machine? Some small peculiarity in the shape of the letters? No. The rogue who typed this will was too cunning for that. He didn't allow himself to be foiled by such a scholar's mate. It is written with a spread eagle, the same sort of machine precisely as my own. I know the type perfectly, but I hesitated. But what? Well, it's difficult to explain. There is character in typewriting, just as there is in handwriting, only, of course, not quite so much of it. Every operator is liable to his own peculiar tricks and blunders. If I had some of my own typewritten manuscript here to show you, I could make that evident. I can easily believe it. Individuality runs through all we do, however seemingly mechanical, but are the points of the sort that you could make clear to the satisfaction of a jury? I think so. Look here, for example. Certain letters get habitually mixed up in typewriting. C and V stand next one another on the keyboard of the machine, and the person who typed this draft sometimes strikes a C instead of a V or vice versa. I never do that. The letters I tend to confuse are S and W, or else C and R, which also come very near one another in the arbitrary arrangement. Besides, when I typewrote the original of this will, I made no errors at all. I took such very great pains about it. And this person did make errors? Yes, struck the wrong letter first, and then corrected it often by striking another rather hard on top of it. See, this was a V to begin with, and he turned it into a C. Besides, the hand that wrote this will is heavier than mine. It comes down, thump, thump, thump, while mine glides lightly, and the hyphens are used with the space between them, and the character of the punctuation is not exactly as I make it. Still, Mr. Hayes objected, we have nothing but your word. I am afraid in such a case we could never induce a jury to accept your unsupported evidence. I don't want them to accept it, I answered. I am looking this up for my own satisfaction. I want to know first who wrote this will, and of one thing I am quite clear. It is not the document I drew up for Mr. Ashhurst. Just look at that X. The X alone is conclusive. My typewriter had the upper right hand stroke of the small X badly formed or broken while this one is perfect. I remember it well because I used always to improve all my lowercase Xs with a pen when I reread and corrected. I see their dodge clearly now. It is a most diabolical conspiracy. Instead of forging a will in Lord Southminster's favour, they have substituted a forgery for the real will, and then managed to make my poor Harold prove it. In that case, no doubt, they have destroyed the real one, the original, Mr. Hayes put in. I don't think so, I answered after a moment's deliberation. From what I know of Mr. Ashhurst, I don't believe it is likely he would have left his will about carelessly anywhere. He was a secretive man, fond of mysteries and mystifications. He would be sure to conceal it. Besides, Lady Georgina and Harold have been taking care of everything in the house ever since he died. But, Mr. Hayes objected, the forger of this document, supposing it to be forged, must have had access to the original, since you say the terms of the two are identical, only the signatures of order is, and if he saw and copied it, why might he not also have destroyed it? A light flashed across me all at once. The forger did see the original, I cried, but not the fair copy. I have it now, I detect their trick. It comes back to me vividly. When I had finished typing the copy at Florence, for my first rough draft, which I had taken down on the machine before Mr. Ashhurst's eyes, I remember now that I threw the original into the waste paper basket. It must have been there that evening when Higginson called, and asked for the will to take it back to Mr. Ashhurst. He called for it, no doubt, hoping to open the packet before he delivered it, and make a copy of the document for this very purpose, but I refused to let him have it. Before he saw me, however, he had been left by himself for ten minutes in the office, for I remember coming out to him, and finding him there alone, and during that ten minutes, being what he is, you may be sure he fished out the rough draft and appropriated it. That is more than likely, my solicitor nodded. You are tracking him to his lair. We shall have him in our power. I grew more and more excited as the whole cunning plot unraveled itself mentally, step by step, before me. He must then have gone on to Lord Southminster. I went on, and told him of the legacy he expected from Mr. Ashhurst. It was five hundred pounds, and near trifle to Higginson, who plays for thousands. So he must have offered to arrange matters for Lord Southminster, if Southminster were consent to make good that sum, and a great deal more to him. That odious little cad told me himself on the Juma, that they were engaged in pulling off a big coup between them. He thought that I would marry him, and that he would so secure my connivance in his plans. But who would marry such a piece of moist clay? Besides, I could never have taken any one but Harold. Then another clue came home to me. Mr. Hayes! I cried jumping at it. Higginson, who forged this will, never saw the real document itself at all. He saw only the draft of it. For Mr. Ashhurst altered one word, Viva Roche, in the original, at the last moment, and I made a pencil note of it on my cuff at the time. And see, it isn't here. The way inserted it in the final clean copy of the will. The word especially. It grows upon me more and more each minute that the real instrument is hidden somewhere in Mr. Ashhurst's house, Harold's house, our house, and that because it is there, Lord Southminster is so indecently anxious to oust his aunt, and take instant possession. In that case, Mr. Hayes remarked, we had better go back to Lady Georgina without one minute's delay, and while she still holds the house, institute a thorough search for it. No sooner said than done, we jumped again into our cab and started. As we drove back, Mr. Hayes asked me where I thought we were most likely to find it. In a secret drawer in Mr. Ashhurst's desk, I answered, by a flash of instinct without a second's hesitation. How do you know there's a secret drawer? I don't know it. I infer it from my general knowledge of Mr. Ashhurst's character. He loved secret drawers, ciphers, cryptograms, mystery mongering. But it was in that desk that your husband found the forged document. The lawyer objected. Once more I had a flash of inspiration or intuition. Because White, Mr. Ashhurst's valet, had it in readiness in his possession, I answered, and hid it there in the most obvious and unconcealed place he could find, as soon as the breath was out of his master's body. I remember now that Lord Southminster gave himself away to some extent in that matter. The hateful little creature isn't really clever enough for all his cunning, and with Higginson to back him, to mix himself up in such tricks as forgery. He told me at Aden, he had had a telegram from Marmie's valet, to report progress, and he received another, the night Mr. Ashhurst died, at Muzza Furnaga. Depend upon it, White was more or less in this plot. Higginson left him the forged will when they started for India, and as soon as Mr. Ashhurst died, White hid it where Harold was bound to find it. If so, Mr. Hayes answered, that's well, we have something to go upon. The more of them the better. There is safety in numbers for the honest folk. I never knew three rogues hold long together, especially when threatened with a criminal prosecution. Their confederacy breaks down before the chance of punishment, each tries to screen himself by betraying the others. Higginson was the soul of the plot, I went on. Of that you may be sure, he's a wily old fox, but will run him to earth yet. The more I think of it, the more I feel sure from what I know of Mr. Ashhurst's character, he would never have put that will in so exposed a place as the one where Harold says he found it. We drew up at the door of the disputed house just in time for the siege. Mr. Hayes and I walked in. We found Lady Georgina face to face with Lord Southminster. The opposing forces were still at the stage of preliminaries of warfare. Look here! the pea-green young man was observing in his drawing voice as we entered. It's no use your talking, dear Georgie. This house is mine, and I won't have you meddling with it. This house is not yours, you odious little scamp! His aunt retorted, raising her shrill voice some notes higher than usual. And while I can hold a stick, you shall not come inside it. Very well, then, you drive me to hostilities, don't you know? I am sorry to show disrespect to your grey hairs, if any, but I shall be obliged to call in the police to eject you. Call them in, if you like, I answered, interposing between them. Go out and get them. Mr. Hayes, while he's gone, sent for a carpenter to break open the back of Mr. Hayes's escritoire. A carpenter? he cried, turning several degrees whiter than his pasty won't. What for? a carpenter. I spoke distinctly. Because we have reason to believe Mr. Hayes's real will is concealed in this house in a secret drawer, and because the keys were in the possession of white, whom we believe to be your accomplice in this shallow conspiracy. He gasped and looked alarmed. No, you don't, he cried, stepping briskly forward. You don't, I tell you, break open Marmee's desk. Why, hang it all, it's my property. We shall see about that after we've broken it open, I answered grimly. Here, this screwdriver will do, the back's not strong. Now, your help, Mr. Hayes. One, two, three, we can prize it a part between us. Lord Southminster rushed up and tried to prevent us, but Lady Georgina, seizing both wrists, held him tight as a vice with her dear skinny old hands. He writhed and struggled all in vain. He could not escape her. I've often spanked you, Bertie, she cried, and if you attempt to interfere, I'll spank you again. That's the long and short of it. He broke from her and rushed out to call the police, I believe, and prevent our desecration of poor Marmee's property. Inside the first shell were several locked drawers, and two or three open ones, out of one of which heralded fish the false will. Instinct taught me somehow that the central draw on the left hand side was the compartment behind which lay the secret receptacle. I prized it apart and peered about inside it. Presently I saw a slit panel, which I touched with one finger. The pigeon-hole flew open and disclosed a narrow slit. I clutched at something, the will. We turned it over and read it. It was my own fair copy, written at Florence, and bearing all the small marks of authenticity about it, which I had pointed out to Mr. Hayes as wanting to the forged and impounded document. Fortunately Lady Georgina and four of the servants had stood by throughout the scene, and had watched our demeanour as well as Lord Southminster's. We turned next to the signatures. The principal one was clearly Mr. Ashhurst's. I knew it at once, his legible fat hand, Marmaduke Courtney Ashhurst. And then the witnesses? They fairly took our breath away. Why, Higginson's sister isn't one of them at all! Mr. Hayes cried, astonished. A flush of remorse came over me. I saw it all now. I had misjudged that poor woman. She had the misfortune to be a rogue sister, but, as Harold had said, was herself a most respectable and blameless person. Higginson must have forged her name to the document. That was all, and she had naturally sworn that she never signed it. He knew her honesty. It was a masterstroke of rascality. The other one isn't here either! I exclaimed growing more puzzles. The waiter at the hotel! Why, that's another forgery. Higginson must have waited till the man was safely dead, and then used him similarly. It was all very clever. Now, who are these people who really witnessed it? The first one, Mr. Hayes said, examining the handwriting, is Sir Roger Bland, the dorscher of Baronet. He's dead, poor fellow, but he was at Florence at the time, and I can answer for his signature. He was a client of mine, and died at Mentone. The second is Captain Richards of the Mounted Police. He's living still, but he's away in South Africa. Then they risked his turning up. If they knew who the real witnesses were at all, which is doubtful, you see, as you say, they may have seen the rough draft only. Higginson would know, I answered. He was with Mr. Ashhurst at Florence at the time, and he would take good care to keep a watch upon his movements. In my belief it was he who suggested this whole plot to Lord Southminster. Of course it was, Lady Georgina put in. That's absolutely certain. Bertie's a rogue as well as a fool, but he's too great a fool to invent a clever roguery, and too great a knave not to join in it foolishly when anybody else takes the pains to invent it. And it was a clever roguery, Mr. Hayes interposed. An ordinary rascal would have forged a later will in Lord Southminster's favour, and run the risk of detection. Higginson had the acuteness to forge a will exactly like the real one, and to let your husband bear the burden of the forgery. It was as sagacious as it was ruthless. The next point, I said, will be for us to prove it. At that moment the bell rang, and one of the house servants, all puzzled by this conflict of interests, came in with a telegram which he handed to me on a salva. I broke it open without glancing at the envelope. Its contents baffled me. My address is Hotel Bristol Paris. Name as usual. Send me a thousand pounds on account at once. I can't afford to wait. No chile shallying. The message was unsigned. For a moment I couldn't imagine who sent it, or what it was driving at. Then I took up the envelope. Viscount Southminster, 24 Park Lane North, London. My heart gave a jump. I saw in a second that chance, or providence, had delivered the conspirators into my hands that day. The telegram was from Higginson. I had opened it by accident. It was obvious what had happened. Lord Southminster must have written to him on the result of the trial, and told him he meant to take possession of his uncle's house immediately. Higginson had acted on that hint, and addressed his telegram, where he thought it likely Lord Southminster would receive it earliest. I had opened it in error, and that too was fortunate. For even in dealing with such a pack of scoundrels, it would never have occurred to me to violate somebody else's correspondence, had I not thought it was addressed to me. But having arrived at the truth, thus unintentionally, I had, of course, no scruples about making full use of my information. I showed the dispatch at once to Lady Georgina and Mr. Hayes. They recognized its importance. What next, I inquired. Time presses. At half-past three Harold comes up for examination at Bow Street. Mr. Hayes was ready with an apt expedient. Ring the bell for Mr. Ashhurst's valet, he said quietly. The moment has now arrived when we can begin to set these conspirators by the ears. As soon as they learn that we know all, they will be eager to inform upon one another. I rang the bell. Send up white, I said. We wish to speak to him. The valet stole up, self-accused, a timid, servile creature, rubbing his hands nervously and suspecting mischief. He was a rat in trouble. He had thin brown hair, neatly brushed and plastered down, so as to make it still thinner, and his face was the average, narrow, cunning face of the dishonest man-servant. It had an ounce of wire in it, to a pound or two of servility. He seemed just the sort of rogue, meanly to join in and underhand conspiracy, and then meanly to back out of it. You could read at a glance that his principle in life was to save his own bacon. He advanced, fumbling his hands all the time and smiling and fawning. You wish to see me, sir? He murmured, in a deprecatory voice, looking sideways at Lady Georgina and me, but addressing the lawyer. Yes, White, I wish to see you. I have a question to ask you. Who put the forged will in Mr. Ashhurst's desk? Was it you or some other person? The question terrified him. He changed colour and gasped, but he rubbed his hands harder than ever, and affected a sickly smile. Oh, sir, how should I know, sir? I had nothing to do with it. I suppose it was Mr. Tillington. A lawyer pounced upon him like a hawk on a tit-mouth. Don't provocate with me, sir, he said sternly. If you do, it may be worse for you. This case has assumed quite another aspect. It is you and your associates who will be placed in the dock, not Mr. Tillington. You had better speak the truth. It is your one chance. I warn you. Lie to me, and instead of calling you as a witness for our case, I shall include you in the indignant. White looked down uneasily at his shoes and cowered. Oh, sir, I don't understand you. Yes, you do. You understand me, and you know I mean it. Regaling is useless. We intend to prosecute. We have unraveled this vile plot. We know the whole truth. Higginson and Lord Southminster forged a will between them. Oh, no, sir, not Lord Southminster, his lordship, I'm sure. Mr. Hayes' keen eye had noted the subtle shade of distinction and admission, but he said nothing openly. Well, then, Higginson forged, and Lord Southminster accepted a false will, which purported to be Mr. Marmaduke Ashhurst's. Now follow me clearly. That will could not have been put into the Escortoir during Mr. Ashhurst's life, for there would have been risk of his discovering it. It must, therefore, have been put there afterward. The moment he was dead, you, or somebody else with your consent and connivance, slipped it into the Escortoir, and you afterwards showed Mr. Tillington the place where you had set it, or seen it, said, bleeding him to believe it was Mr. Ashhurst's will, and so involved him in all this trouble. Note that that was a felonious act. We accuse you of felony. Do you mean to confess and give evidence on our behalf, or will you force me to send for a policeman to arrest you? The cur hesitated still. Oh, sir, drawing back and fumbling his hands on his breast, you don't mean it. Mr. Hayes was prompt. Heseltway, go for a policeman. That curt sentence brought the rogue on his marrow-bones at once. He clasped his hands and debated inwardly. If I tell you all I know, he said at last, looking about him with an air of abject terror, as if he thought Lord Southminster or Higginson would hear him. Will you promise not to prosecute me? His tone became insinuating. For a hundred pounds I could find the real will for you. You'd better close with me. Today is the last chance. As soon as his lordship comes in, he'll hunt it up and destroy it. I flourished it before him, and pointed with one hand to the broken desk, which he had not yet observed in his craven agitation. We do not need your aid, I answered. We have found the will ourselves. Thanks to Lady Georgina it is safe till this minute. And to me, he put in, cringing, trying after his kind to curry favour with the winners at the last moment. It's all my doing, my lady. I wouldn't destroy it. His lordship offered me a hundred pounds more to break open the back of the desk at night, while your ladyship was asleep, and burned the thing quietly, but I told him he must do his own dirty work if he wanted it done. It wasn't good enough while your ladyship was here in possession. Besides, I wanted the right will preserved, for I thought things might turn up so, and I wouldn't stand by and see a gentleman like Mr. Tillington, as has always behaved well to me, deprived of his inheritance. Which is why you conspired with Lord Southminster to rob him of it, and to send him to prison for Higginson's crime. I interposed calmly. Then you confess you put the forged will there. Mr. Hayes said, getting to business. White looked about him helplessly. He missed his headpiece, the instigator of the plot. Well, it was like this, my lady. He began turning to Lady Georgina and wriggling to gain time. You see, his lordship and Mr. Higginson, he twirled his thumbs and tried to invent something plausible. Lady Georgina swooped. No rigmarole, she said sharply. Do you confess you put it there, or do you not a reptile? Her vehement startled him. Yes, I confess I put it there. He said at last, blinking. As soon as the breath was out of Mr. Ashher's body, I put it there. He began to whimper. I'm a poor man, with a wife and family, sir. He went on, though in Mr. Ashher's time I always kept that quiet, and his lordship offered to pay me well for the job, and when you're paid well for a job yourself, sir. Mr. Hayes waved him off with one imperious hand. Sit down in the corner there, man, and don't move or utter another word, he said sternly, and tell I order you. You will be in time still for me to produce at Bow Street? Just at that moment Lord Salfonster swaggered back, accompanied by a couple of unwilling policemen. Oh, I say he cried bursting in and staring around him jubilant. Look here, Georgie! Are you going quietly, or must I ask these coppers to evict you? He was wreathed in smiles now, and had evidently been fortifying himself with brandies and soda. Lady Georgina rose in her wrath. Yes, I'll go if you wish it, Bertie. She answered with calm irony. I'll leave the house as soon as you like for the present, till we come back with Harold and his policemen to evict you. This house is Harold's. Your game is played, boy. She spoke slowly. We have found the other will. We have discovered Higginson's present address in Paris, and we know from white how he and you arranged this little conspiracy. She wrapped out each clause in this last accusing sentence with deliberate effects like so many pistol shots. Each bullet hit home. The pea-green young man, drawing back and staring, stroked his shadowy moustache with feeble fingers in undisguised astonishment. Then he dropped into a chair and fixed his gaze blankly on Lady Georgina. Well, this is a fair knock-out. He ejaculated, factuously disconcerted. I wish Higginson was here. I really don't quite know what to do without him. That fellow had squared it all up so neatly, don't you know, that I thought there couldn't be any sort of hitch in the proceedings? You reckoned without Lewis, Lady Georgina said calmly. Ah, Miss Caley. That's true. I mean, Mrs. Tillington. Yes, yes. I know she's a ducid, clever person for a woman now, isn't she? It was impossible to take this flabby creature seriously, even as a criminal. Lady Georgina's lips relaxed. Ducid clever, she admitted, looking at me almost tenderly. But not quite so clever, don't you know, as Higginson? There you'll make your blooming little error. Mr. Hayes burst in, adopting one of Lord Southminster's favourite witticisms, the sort of witticism that improves like poetry by frequent repetition. Policeman, you may go into the next room and wait. This is a family affair. We have no immediate need of you. Oh, certainly! Lord Southminster echoed very much relieved. Very proper sentiment. Most undesirable that the constables should mix themselves up in a family matter like this. Not the place for inferior's. Then why introduce them? Lady Georgina burst out turning on him. He smiled his fatuous smile. That's just what I say, he answered. Why the juice introduce them? But don't snap my head off. The policeman withdrew respectfully, glad to be relieved of this unpleasant business, where they could gain no credit, and might possibly involve themselves in a charge of assault. Lord Southminster rose with a benevolent grin, and looked about him pleasantly. The brandies and soda had endowed him with irrepressible cheerfulness. Well, I think I'll leave now, Georgie. You've trumped my ace, you know. Nasty trick of white to go, and round on a feller. I don't like the turn this business is taking. Seems to me the only way I have left to get out of it is to turn Queen's evidence. Lady Georgina planted herself firmly against the door. Bertie! she cried. No, you don't. Not tell we've got what we want out of you. He gazed at her blandly. His face broke once more into an imbecile smile. You always were a roughen, Georgie. Your hand did sting. Well, what do you want now? We've each played our cards, and you needn't cut up rusty over it, especially when you're winning. Hang it all, I wish I had Higginson here to tackle you. If you go to see the Treasury people, or the Solicitor General, or the Public Prosecutor, or whoever else it may be, Lady Georgina said stoutly, Mr Hayes must go with you. We've trumped your ace, as you say, and we mean to take advantage of it. And then you must trundle yourself down to Bow Street afterwards, confess the whole truth, and set Harold at liberty. Oh, I say now, Georgie, the whole truth, the whole blooming truth? That's really what I call humiliating a fellow. If you don't, we arrest you this minute, fourteen years imprisonment. Fourteen years? He wiped his forehead. Oh, I say! How deucid uncomfortable! I was never much good at doing anything by the sweat of my brow. I ought to have lived in the Garden of Eden. Georgie, you're hard on a chap when he's down on his luck. It would be confounded cruel to sell me to fourteen years at Portland. You would have sent my husband to it. I broke in angrily, confronting him. What? You too, Miss Caley? I mean Mrs Tillington. Don't look at me like that. Tigers aren't in it. His jauntiness disarmed us. However wicked he might be, one felt it would be ridiculous to imprison the schoolboy. A sound flogging and a month's deprivation of wine and cigarettes was some obvious punishment designed for him by nature. You must go down to the police court and confess this whole conspiracy. Lady Georgina went on after a pause as sternly as she was able. I prefer, if we can, to save the family, even you, Bertie. But I can't any longer save the family honour. I can only save Haralds. You must help me to do that, and then you must give me your solemn promise in writing, to leave England for ever, and go to live in South Africa. He stroked the invisible moustache more nervously than before. That penalty came home to him. What? Leave England for ever? New market? Ascot? The club? The music halls? Or fourteen years' imprisonment? Georgie, you spankers hard as ever. Decide at once or we arrest you. He glanced about him feebly. I could see he was longing for his lost confederate. Well, I'll go, he said at last, sobering down, and your solicitor can trot round with me. I'll do all that you wish, though I call it most unfriendly. Hang it all, fourteen years would be so beastly unpleasant. We drove forthwith to the proper authorities, who, unhearing the facts, at once arranged to accept Lord Southminster and White as Queen's evidence, neither being the actual forger. We also telegraphed to Paris to have Higginson arrested. Lord Southminster giving us up his assumed name, with the utmost cheerfulness, and without one moment's compunction. Mr. Hayes was quite right. Each conspirator was only too ready to save himself by betraying his fellows. Then we drove on to Bow Street, Lord Southminster consoling himself with a cigarette on the way, just in time for the Harold's case, which was to be taken by special arrangement at three thirty. A very few minutes suffice to turn the tables completely on the conspirators. Harold was discharged, and a warrant was issued for the arrest of Higginson, the actual forger. He had drawn up the false will, and signed it with Mr. Ashhurst's name, after which he had presented it for Lord Southminster's approval. The pea-green young man told his tale with engaging frankness. Bertie's a simple Simon. Lady Georgina commented to me. But he's also a rogue, and Higginson saw his way to make excellent capital of him in both capacities. First use him as a cat's paw, and then blackmail him. On the steps of the police court, as we emerged triumphantly, Lord Southminster met us, still radiant as ever. He seemed wholly unaware of the depths of his iniquity. A fresh dose of brandy had restored his composure. Look here, he said. Harold, your wife has bested me. Jolly good thing for you that you managed to get hold of such a clever woman. If you hadn't, dear boy, you'd have found yourself in Queer Street. But I say, Lois, I call you Lois because you're my cousin now, you know? You were backing the wrong man after all, as I told you. For if you'd backed me, all this wouldn't have come out. And you'd have got the tin and binner countess as well, after the governor's dead and gone, don't you see? You'd have landed the double event. So you'd have pulled off a better thing for yourself in the end, as I said, if you'd laid your bottom dollar on me for a winner. Higginson is now doing fourteen years at Portland. Harold and I are happy in the sweetest place in Gloucestershire. And Lord Southminster, blissfully unaware of the contempt with which the rest of the world regards him, is shooting big game among his boys in South Africa. Indeed, he bears so little malice that he sent us a present of a trophy of horns for a haul last winter. The End