"Nobody beyond Lord Littimer. You see, Henson and I were extremely useful to one another once or twice, but he never trusted me, and I never trusted him. I never cared for his methods."

"Did you go to Brighton lately on purpose to help him?"

"Certainly not. I had business in Brighton for some considerable time, and my daughter was with me. When she went away to stay with friends for a short time I moved to the Metropole."

"Then why did you go to Walen's in Brighton and ask them to show you some gun-metal cigar-cases like the one in Lockhart's window?"

"Simply because Henson asked me to. He came to me just before I went to the Metropole and told me he had a big thing on. He didn't give me the least idea what it was, nor did I ask him. He suggested the idea of the cigar-case, and said that I need not go near Walen's again, and I didn't. I assure you I had no curiosity on the matter. In any case a little thing like that couldn't hurt me. Some days later Henson came to me again, and asked me to go to Lockhart's and purchase the cigar-case I had previously seen. He wanted me to get the case so that I could not be traced. Again I agreed. I was leaving the Metropole the next day, so the matter was easy. I called and purchased the cigar-case on approval, I forwarded dollar-notes in payment from the Metropole, and the next day I left."

"And you did all that without a single question?"

"I did. It was only a little consideration for an old confederate."

"And suppose that confederate had played you false?"

Two tiny points of flame danced in Rawlins's eyes.

"Henson would never have dared," he said. "My mind was quite easy on that score."

"I understand," Chris murmured. "And you kept the cigar-case?"

"Yes, I rather liked it. And I could afford a luxury of that kind just then."

"Then why did you dispose of it to Rutter's in Moreton Wells? And why Moreton Wells?"

Rawlins laughed as he lighted a fresh cigarette.

"I came to Moreton Wells knowing that Henson was at Littimer Castle," he explained. "I went there to borrow L200 from Henson. Unfortunately I found him in great need of money. Somebody who had promised him a large sum of money had disappointed him."

Chris smiled. She had heard all about Lady Littimer's adventure with the ring, and her stubborn refusal to give Henson any further supplies.

"Presently I can tell you who disappointed Henson," she said. "But fancy you being short of—"

"Of ready money; I frequently am. One of your great millionaires told me lately that he was frequently hard up for a thousand pounds cash. I have frequently been hard up for five pounds. Hence the fact that I sold the cigar-case at Moreton Wells."

"Well, the ground is clear so far," said Chris. "Do you know Van Sneck?"

"I know Van Sneck very well," Rawlins said, without hesitation. "A wonderfully clever man."

"And a great scoundrel, I presume?"

"Well, on the whole, I should say not. Weak, rather than wicked. Van Sneck has been a tool and creature of Henson's for years. If he could only keep away from the drink he might make a fortune. But what has Van Sneck got to do with it?"

"A great deal," Chris said, drily. "And now, please, follow carefully what I am going to say. A little time ago we poor, persecuted women put our heads together to get free from Reginald Henson. We agreed to ask Mr. David Steel, the well-known novelist, to show us a way of escape. Unhappily for us, Henson got to know of it."

Rawlins was really interested at last.

"Pardon me," he said, eagerly, "if I ask a question or two before you proceed. Is Mr. David Steel the gentleman who found a man half murdered in his house in Brighton?"

"The same. But don't you know who the injured man was?"

"You don't mean to say it was Van Sneck?" Rawlins cried.

Chris nodded gravely. Rawlins looked like a man who was groping about in a sudden dazzle of blinding light.

"I begin to understand," he muttered. "The scoundrel!"

"After that I will resume," Chris said. "You must understand that Mr. Steel was a stranger to us. We hit upon the idea of interviewing him anonymously, so to speak, and we were going to give him a gun-metal cigar-case mounted in diamonds. A friend of mine purchased that cigar-case at Lockhart's. Mind you, Reginald Henson knew all about this. The same day Henson's tool, Van Sneck, purchased a similar case from Walen's—a case really procured for your approval—and later on in the day the case passed from Van Sneck to Henson, who dexterously changed the cases."

"Complex," Rawlins muttered. "But I begin to see what is coming."

"The cases were changed, and the one from Walen's in due course became Mr. Steel's. Now note where Henson's diabolical cunning comes in. The same night Van Sneck is found half murdered in Mr. Steel's house, and in his pocket is the receipt for the very cigar-case that Mr. Steel claimed as his own property."

"Very awkward for Steel," Rawlins said, thoughtfully.

"Of course it was. And why was it done? So that we should be forced to come forward and exonerate Mr. Steel from blame. We should have had to tell the whole story, and then Henson would have learnt what steps we were taking to get rid of him."

Rawlins was quiet for some time. Admiration for the scheme was uppermost in his mind, but there was another thought that caused him to glance curiously at Chris.

"And that is all you know?" he asked.

"Not quite," Chris replied. "I know that on the day of the attempted murder Van Sneck quarrelled with Reginald Henson, who he said had treated him badly. Van Sneck had in some way found out that Reginald Henson meant mischief to Mr. Steel. Also he couldn't get the money he wanted. Probably he had purchased that cigar-case at Walen's, and Henson could not repay him for the purchase of it. Then he went off and wrote to Mr. Steel, asking the latter to see him, as he had threatened Henson he would do."

"Ah!" Rawlins exclaimed, suddenly. "Are you sure of this?"

"Certain. I heard it from a man who was with Van Sneck at the time, a man called Merritt."

"James Merritt. Really, you have been in choice company, Miss Lee. Your knowledge of the criminal classes is getting extensive and peculiar."

"Merritt told me this. And an answer came back."

"An answer from Mr. Steel?"

"Purporting to be an answer from Mr. Steel. A very clever forgery, as a matter of fact. Of course that forgery was Henson's work, because we know that Henson coolly ordered notepaper in Mr. Steel's name. He forgot to pay the bill, and that is how the thing came out. Besides, the little wad of papers on which the forgery was written is in Mr. Steel's hands. Now, what do you make of that?"

Rawlins turned the matter over thoughtfully in his mind.

"Did Henson know that Mr. Steel would be from home that night?" he asked.

"Of course. He probably also knew where our meeting with Mr. Steel was to take place."

"Then the matter is pretty obvious," said Rawlins. "Van Sneck, by some means or other, gets an inkling of what is going on. He wanted money from Henson, which he couldn't get, Henson being very short lately, and then they quarrelled. Van Sneck was fool enough to threaten Henson with what he was going to do. Van Sneck's note was dispatched by hand and intercepted by Henson with a reply. By the way, will you be good enough to give me the gist of the reply?"

"It was a short letter from Mr. Steel and signed with his initials, and saying in effect that he was at home every night and would see Van Sneck about twelve or some time like that. He was merely to knock quietly, as the household would be in bed, and Mr. Steel would let him in."

"And Mr. Steel never wrote that letter at all?"

"No; for the simple reason that he never had Van Sneck's note."

"Which Henson intercepted, of course. Now, the mere fact of the reply coming on Mr. Steel's paper is evidence that Henson had plotted some other or alternative scheme against Mr. Steel. How long before the cigar-case episode had you decided to consult the novelist?"

"We began to talk about it nine or ten days before."

"And Henson got to hear of it. Then a better idea occurred to Henson, and the first idea which necessitated getting hold of Mr. Steel's notepaper was abandoned. Subsequently, as you have just told me, the note-paper came in useful after all. Henson knew that Steel would be out that night. And, therefore, Van Sneck is deliberately lured to Steel's house to be murdered there."

"I see," Chris said, faintly. "This had never occurred to me before. Murdered, by whom?"

"By whom? Why, by Reginald Henson, of course."

Just for a moment Chris felt as if all the world was slipping away under her feet.

"But how could he do it?" she asked.

"Quite easily. And throw all the blame on Mr. Steel. Look at the evidence he had ready to his hand against the latter. The changed cigar-case would come near to hang a man. And Van Sneck was in the way. Steel goes out to meet you or some of your friends. All his household are in bed. As a novelist he comes and goes as he likes and nobody takes any heed. He goes and leaves his door on the latch. Any money it is the common latch they put on thousands of doors. Henson lets himself into the house and coolly waits Van Sneck's coming. The rest you can imagine."

Chris had no reply for a moment or two. Rawlins's suggestion had burst upon her like a bomb. And it was all so dreadfully, horribly probable. Henson could have done this thing with absolute impunity. It was impossible to imagine for a moment that David Steel was the criminal. Who else could it be, then, but Reginald Henson?

"I'm afraid this has come as a shock to you," Rawlins said, quietly.

"It has, indeed," said Chris. "And your reasoning is so dreadfully logical."

"Well, I may be wrong, after all," Rawlins suggested.

Chris shook her head doubtfully. She felt absolutely assured that Rawlins was right. But, then, Henson would hardly have run so terrible a risk for a little thing like that. He could easily have silenced Van Sneck by a specious promise or two. There must be another reason for—

It came to Chris in a moment. She saw the light quite plainly.

"Mr. Smith," she said, eagerly, "where did you first meet Henson and Van Sneck?"

"We first came together some eight years ago in Amsterdam."

"Would you mind telling me what your business was?"

"So far as I can recollect it was connected with some old silver—William and Mary and Queen Anne cups and jardinieres. We had made a bit of a find that we could authenticate, but we wanted a lot of the stuff, well—faked. You see, Van Sneck was an authority on that kind of thing, and we employed him to cut marks off small genuine things and attach them to spurious large ones. On the whole, we made a very successful business of it for a long time."

"You found Van Sneck an excellent copyist. Did he ever copy anything for you?"

"No. But Henson employed him now and again. Van Sneck could construct a thing from a mere description. There was a ring he did for Henson—"

"Was that called Prince Rupert's ring, by any chance?"

"That was the name of the ring. Why?"

"We will come to that presently. Did you ever see Prince Rupert's ring?"

"Well, I did. It was in Amsterdam again, about a year later than the time I mentioned just now. Henson brought the real ring for Van Sneck to copy. Van Sneck went into raptures over it. He said he had never seen anything of the kind so beautiful. He made a copy of the ring, which he handed back with the original to Henson."

Chris nodded. This pretty faithful copy of the ring was the one that Henson had used as a magnet to draw Lady Littimer's money and the same one that had found its way into Steel's possession. But Chris had another idea to follow up.

"You hinted to me just now that Henson was short of money," she said. "Do you mean to say he is in dire need of some large sum?"

"That's it," Rawlins replied. "I rather fancy there has been some stir with the police over some business up at Huddersfield some years ago."

"A so-called home both there and at Brighton?"

"That's it. It was the idea that Henson conveyed to me when I saw him at Moreton Wells. It appears that a certain Inspector Marley, of the Brighton Police, is the same man who used to have the warrants for the Huddersfield affair in his hands. Henson felt pretty sure that Marley had recognised him. He told me that if the worst came to the worst he had something he could sell to Littimer for a large sum of money."

"I know," Chris exclaimed. "It is the Prince Rupert's ring."

"Well, I can't say anything about that. Is this ring a valuable property?"

"Not in itself. But the loss of it has caused a dreadful lot of misery and suffering. Mr. Smith, Reginald Henson had no business with that ring at all. He stole it and made it appear as if somebody else had done so by means of conveying the copy to the very last person who should have possessed it. That sad business broke up a happy home and has made five people miserable for many years. And whichever way you turn, whichever way you look, you find the cloven foot of Henson everywhere. Now, what you have told me just now gives me a new idea. The secret that Henson was going to sell to Lord Littimer for a large sum was the story of the missing ring and the restitution of the same."

"Kind of brazening it out, you mean?"

"Yes. Lord Littimer would give three times ten thousand pounds to have that ring again. But at this point Henson has met with a serious check in his plans. Driven into a corner, he has resolved to make a clean breast of it to Lord Littimer. He procures the ring from his strong box, and then he makes a discovery."

"Which is more than I have. Pray proceed."

"He discovers that he has not got the real Prince Rupert's ring."

Rawlins looked up with a slightly puzzled air.

"Will you kindly tell me what you mean?" he said.

"It was a forgery. Van Sneck made a copy from a mere description. That copy served its purpose with a vengeance, and is now at the bottom of the North Sea. I need not go into details, because it is a family secret, and does not concern our conversation at all. At that time the real ring came into Henson's possession, and he wanted a copy to hold over the head of an unfortunate lady whom he would have ruined before long. You told me just now that Van Sneck had fallen in love with Prince Rupert's ring and could hardly bear to part with it. He didn't."

"No? But how could he retain it?"

"Quite easily. The copy was quite faithful, but still it was a copy. But secretly Van Sneck makes a copy that would deceive everybody but an expert, and this he hands over to—"

"To Henson as the real ring," Rawlins cried, excitedly.

Chris smiled, a little pleased at her acumen.

"Precisely," she said. "I see that you are inclined to be of my opinion."

"Well, upon my word, I am," Rawlins confessed. "But I don't quite see why—"

"Please let me finish," Chris went on, excitedly. "Reginald Henson is driven back on his last trenches. He has to get the ring for Lord Littimer. He takes out the ring after all these years, never dreaming that Van Sneck would dare to play such a trick upon him, and finds out the forgery. Did you ever see that man when he is really angry?"

"He is not pretty then," Rawlins said.

"Pretty! He is murder personified. Kindly try to imagine his feelings when he discovers he has been deceived. Mind you, this is only a theory of mine, but I feel certain that it will prove correct. Henson's last hope is snatched away from him. But he does not go straight to Van Sneck and accuse him of his duplicity. He knows that Van Sneck stole the ring for sheer love of the gem, and that he would not dare to part with it. He assumes that the ring is in Van Sneck's possession. And when Van Sneck threatened to expose part of the business to Mr. Steel, Henson makes no attempt to soothe him. Why? Because he sees a cunning way of getting back the ring. He himself lures Van Sneck to Mr. Steel's house, and there he almost murders him for the sake of the ring. Of course, he meant to kill Van Sneck in such a way that the blame could not possibly fall upon him."

"Can you prove that he knew anything about it?"

"I can prove that he knew who Van Sneck was at a time when the hospital people were doing their best to identify the man. And I know how fearfully uneasy he was when he got to know that some of us were aware who Van Sneck was. It has been a pretty tangle for a long time, but the skein is all coming out smoothly at last. And if we could get the ring which Henson forced by violence from Van Sneck—"

"Excuse me. He did nothing of the kind."

Chris looked up eagerly.

"Oh," she cried, "have you more to tell me, then?"

"Nothing authentic," Rawlins said; "merely surmise. Van Sneck is going to recover. If he does it will be hard for Henson, who ought to get away with his plunder at once. Why doesn't he go and blackmail Lord Littimer and sell him the ring and clear out of the country? He doesn't do so because the ring is not yet in his possession."

"Then you imagine that Van Sneck—"

"Still has the ring probably in his possession at the present moment. If you only knew where Van Sneck happened to be."

Chris rose to her feet with an excited cry.

"I do know," she exclaimed; "he is in the house where he was half murdered. And Mr. Steel shall know all this before he sleeps to-night."



CHAPTER LI

HERITAGE IS WILLING

Bell's sanguine expectation that Van Sneck would be ready for an immediate operation was not quite correct. As the day wore on the man seemed more feverish and restless, which feverishness was followed by a certain want of strength. After due deliberation Dr. Cross suggested that the operation should be postponed for a day or two.

"The man is out of our hands," he said. "You have identified him, and you desire that he should remain here. It is pretty irregular altogether. And I hope I shan't get into trouble over it. Still, in such capable hands as yours—"

Bell acknowledged the compliment with a smile.

"Between Heritage and myself," he said, "we shall pull him through, eh, Heritage?"

The other doctor nodded brightly. For some little time he had been directly under Bell's influence, and that had meant a marvellous change for the better, he had lost a deal of his hesitating manner, and was looking forward to the operation with the keenest interest.

"However, I will put you all right," Bell said. "I fancy the time has come when we can confide to a certain extent in Marley. And if the police approve of Van Sneck being here, I don't see that you can say any more."

Cross was emphatically of the same opinion. Later on, in the course of a long interview with Marley, Bell and Steel opened the latter's eyes to a considerable extent.

"Well, I must congratulate you, sir," he said to Steel. "I'm bound to confess that things looked pretty black against you at one time. Indeed, I should have been fully justified in arresting you for the attempted murder of Van Sneck."

"But you never deemed me guilty, Marley?"

"No, I didn't," Marley said, thoughtfully. "I argued in your favour against my better judgment. I gather even now that there is a great deal for me to know."

"And which you are not going to learn," Bell said, drily. "When we have Van Sneck all right again, and ready to swear to the author of the mischief, you will have to be satisfied."

"That would satisfy me, sir. And I'm glad that cigar-case mystery is settled. You'll let me know how the operation goes on?"

Steel promised to do so, and the two returned to Downend Terrace together. They found Heritage a little excited and disturbed.

"Do you know I have had a visitor?" he exclaimed.

Bell started slightly. He looked just a little anxious.

"I'm going to guess it at once," he said. "Reginald Henson has been here."

"You are certainly a wonderful fellow," Heritage said, admiringly. "Nobody else could possibly have guessed that. He came to see me, of course."

"Oh, of course," Bell said, drily. "Naturally, he would have no ulterior motive. Did he happen to know that we had a kind of patient under the roof?"

Heritage explained that Henson seemed to know something about it. Also, by singular coincidence, he had met Van Sneck abroad. He expressed a desire to see the patient, but Heritage's professional caution had got the better of his friendship for once. Henson had given way finally, saying that he hoped to call again later in the day.

"It's a good thing you were firm," Bell said, grimly. "Otherwise there would have been no need for an operation on Van Sneck. My dear Heritage, it's quite time your eyes were opened to the true nature of your friend. Henson watched Steel and myself out of the house He wanted to see Van Sneck; he has probably known from the first that the latter was here."

"Matter of philanthropy, perhaps," Heritage suggested.

"A matter of murder," Bell said, sternly. "My dear fellow, Van Sneck was nearly done to death in yonder conservatory, and his would-be assassin was Reginald Henson."

"I was never more astounded in my life," gasped Heritage. "I have always looked upon Henson as the soul of honour and integrity. And he has always been so kind to me."

"For his own purposes, no doubt. You say that he found you a home after your misfortunes came upon you. He came to see you frequently. And yet he always harped upon that wretched hallucination of yours. Why? Because you were the Carfax family doctor for a time, and at any moment you might have given valuable information concerning the suicide of Claire Carfax. Tell Heritage the story of Prince Rupert's ring, Steel."

David proceeded to do so at some length. Heritage appeared to be deeply interested. And gradually many long-forgotten things came back to him.

"I recollect it all perfectly well," he said. "Miss Carfax and myself were friends. Like most people with badly balanced intellects, she had her brilliant moments. Why, she showed me that ring with a great deal of pride, but she did not tell me its history. She was very strange in her manner that morning; indeed, I warned her father that she wanted to be most carefully looked after."

"Did she say how she got the ring?" Steel asked.

Heritage did not answer for a moment.

"Oh, yes," he said, presently, "She said it was a present from a good boy, and that Reginald Henson had given it her in an envelope. I met Henson close by, but I didn't mention the ring."

"And there you have the whole thing in a nutshell!" Bell exclaimed. "Nothing of this came out at the inquest, because the ring story was hushed up, and Heritage was not called because he had nothing to do with the suicide. But Henson probably saw poor Claire Carfax show you the ring, and he got a bit frightened, and he kept an eye upon you afterwards. When you broke down he looked after you, and he took precious good care to keep your hallucination always before your eyes. Whenever he came to see you he always did that."

"You are quite right there," Heritage admitted. "He mentioned it this afternoon when I said I was going to take part in the operation on Van Sneck. He asked me if I thought it wise to try my nerves so soon again with the electric light."

"And I hope you told him he was talking nonsense," Bell said, hastily. "There, let us change the subject. The mere mention of that man's name stifles me."

Morning brought a long letter from Chris Henson to David, giving him in detail the result of her recent interview with John Rawlins. There was a postscript to the letter which David showed to Bell with a certain malicious glee.

"A nasty one for our friend Henson," he said. "What a sweet surprise it will be for that picturesque gentleman the next time he goes blackmailing to Longdean Grange."

Bell chuckled in his turn. The net was drawing very close about Henson.

"How is Van Sneck to-day?" David asked.

"Much better," Bell replied. "I propose to operate to-night. I'm glad to hear that your mother is going to be away a day or two longer."

Heritage appeared to be ready and eager for the work before him. A specially powerful electric light had been rigged up in connection with the study lamp, and an operating table improvised from the kitchen. More than once Bell looked eagerly at Heritage, but the latter stood the scrutiny bravely. Once the operation was successfully through. Heritage would never suffer from hallucinations again.

"I fancy everything is ready now," Bell said, at length. "After dinner to-night and this thing will be done. Then the story will be told—"

"Mr. Reginald Henson to see you, sir."

A servant looked in with this information and a card on a tray. There was a slight commotion outside, the vision of a partially-wrecked bicycle on the path, and a dusty figure in the hall with his head in his hand.

"The gentleman has met with an accident, sir," the parlourmaid said. Henson seemed to be knocked about a great deal. He was riding down the terrace, he said, when suddenly he ran over a dog, and—

"What sort of a dog?" Bell snapped out. "What colour and size?"

Henson was utterly taken aback by the suddenness of the question. He gasped and stammered. He could not have told Bell more plainly that the "accident" was an artistic fake.

"You must stay here till you feel all right again," David suggested.

"Stay here for the night," Bell growled, sotto voce. "Stay here till to-morrow morning and hear something from Van Sneck's lips that will finish his interesting career for some time. Medical treatment be hanged. A clothes-brush and some soap and water are all the physic that he requires."

Presently Henson professed himself to be better. His superficial injuries he bore with a manly fortitude quite worthy of his high reputation. He could afford to smile at them. But he feared that there was something internal of a sufficiently serious nature. Every time he moved he suffered exquisite agony. He smiled in a faint kind of way. Bell watched him as a cat watches a mouse. And he could read a deeper purpose behind that soft, caressing manner. What it was he did not know, but he meant to find out before the day was passed.

"Hadn't we better send him to the hospital?" David suggested.

"What for?" was Bell's brutal response. "There's nothing whatever the matter with the man."

"But he has every appearance of great pain."

"To you, perhaps, but not to me. The man is shamming. He has come here for some purpose, which will be pretty sure to transpire presently. The knave never dreams that we are watching him, and he hugs himself with the delusion that we take his story for gospel. Fancy a man in the state that he pretends to be in sending his card to you! Let him stay where we can keep an eye upon the chap. So long as he is under our observation he can't do any mischief outside."

There was wisdom in what Bell suggested, and David agreed. Despite his injuries, Henson made a fair tea, and his dinner, partaken of on the dining-room sofa, was an excellent one.

"And now, do not let me detain you, as you have business," he smiled. "I shall be quite comfortable here if you will place a glass of water by my side. The pain makes me thirsty. No, you need not have any further consideration for me."

He smiled with patient resignation, the smile that he had found so effective on platforms. He lay back with his eyes half closed. He seemed to be asleep.

"I fancy we can leave him now," Bell said, with deep sarcasm. "We need have no further anxiety. Perfect rest is all that he requires."

Henson nodded in a sleepy fashion; his eyes were closed now till the others had left the room. Once he was alone he was alert and vigorous again.

"Ten minutes," he muttered, "say, a quarter of an hour. A touch, a spot of water, and the thing is done. And I can never be found out."



CHAPTER LII

PUTTING THE LIGHT OUT

Once the trio were in the operating-room Bell gave one rapid glance at Heritage. But the latter seemed to have forgotten all his fears. There was an alert air about him; he was quiet and steady. There was something of the joy of battle in his eyes.

"Now go and fetch Van Sneck in," Bell said.

The patient came at length. Everything was ready. Van Sneck murmured something and looked vaguely about him, like a man suddenly aroused from a deep sleep. But he obeyed quite willingly when Bell commanded him to get on the table. A moment or two later and he was gone under the influence of the ether administered by Bell.

A case of glittering instruments lay on the table. The strong electric light was switched on and hung just over the head of the unconscious patient.

"You hold the sponge," Bell whispered to David. "There will be very little blood. I like to have a man with me who has coolness and courage. Oh, here is the spot. Feel the depression of the skull, Heritage. That is where the pressure lies, and no larger than a pea."

Heritage nodded, without reply. He took up the knife, there was a flash of steel in the brilliant light and a sudden splash of blood. There was a scrape, scrape that jolted horribly on David's nerves, followed by a convulsive movement of Van Sneck's body.

"Beautiful, beautiful," Heritage murmured. "How easily it comes away."

Bell was watching in deep admiration of the strong hand that was yet light as thistledown. The big electric light flickered for just a moment, and Heritage stood upright.

"Don't be a fool," Bell said, sternly. "It's a mere matter of current." Heritage muttered that it must be. Nevertheless it had given him quite a turn. His face was set and pale and his hand shook ever so slightly. The knife was cutting deep, deeper—

A snarling oath broke from Bell's lips as the light flickered again and popped out suddenly, leaving the whole room in intense darkness. Heritage cried aloud. David felt a hand guiding his fingers to the patient's head.

"Press the sponge down there and press hard," Bell whispered. "It's a matter of life and death. Another minute and Van Sneck would have gone. Heritage, Heritage, pull yourself together. It was no fault of yours the light went out—the fault is mine."

Bell stumbled down the kitchen stairs and returned with a candle. The electric lights were out all over the ground floor with the exception of the hall. One of the circuits had given out completely, as sometimes happens with the electric light. Bell leapt on a table and turned the hall light out. A second later and he was dragging the long spare flex from the impromptu operating-room to the swinging cord over the hall lamp. With a knife he cut the cord loose, he stripped the copper wires beneath, and rapidly joined one flex to the other.

"It's amateur work, but I fancy it will do," he muttered. "Anyway, that rascal is powerless to interfere with the circuit that controls the hall light."

Snap went the hall switch—there was a sudden cry from Heritage as the big lamp over the head of Van Sneck flared up again. Bell raced into the study and shut the door.

"A trick," he gasped. "The light was put out. For Heaven's sake, Heritage, don't get brooding over those fancies of yours now. I tell you the thing was done deliberately. Here, if you are too weak or feeble, give the knife to me."

The request had a sting in it. With an effort Heritage pulled himself together.

"No," he said, firmly, "I'll do it. It was a cruel, dastardly trick to play upon me, but I quite see now that it was a trick. Only it's going to make a man of me instead."

Bell nodded. His eyes were blazing, but he said nothing. He watched Heritage at work with stern approval. Nothing could have been more scientific, more skilful. It seemed a long time to David, looking on, but it was a mere matter of minutes.

"Finished," Heritage said, with a triumphant thrill. "And successful."

"And another second would have seen an end of our man," Bell said. "He's coming round again. Get those bandages on, Heritage. I'll look after the mess. Give him the drug. I want him to sleep for a good long time."

"Will he be sensible to-morrow?" David asked.

"I'll pledge my reputation upon it," Bell said. "Hadn't you better telephone down to your electrician to come and see to those lights? I see the fuse in the meter is intact; it is only on the one circuit that they have gone."

Van Sneck opened his eyes and stared languidly about him. In a clear, weak, yet wholly sensible voice he asked where he was, and then lapsed into slumber. A little later and he lay snug and still in bed. There was a look of the deepest pleasure in the eyes of Heritage.

"I've saved him and he's saved me," he said. "But it was touch and go for both of us when that light failed. But for Bell I fancied that I should have fainted. And then it came to me that it was some trick, and my nerve returned."

"Never to leave you again," Bell said. "It tried you high, and found you not wanting."

"Heaven be praised," Heritage murmured. "But how was it done?"

Bell's face was stern as he took the kitchen candlestick from the table and went in the direction of the dining-room.

"Come with me, and I'll explain," he said, curtly.

The dining-room was in pitchy darkness, for the lights there had been on the short circuit; indeed, the lights on the ground floor had all failed with the exception of the hall, which fortunately had been on another circuit. The fact had saved Van Sneck's life, for if Bell had not speedily used that one live wire the patient must have perished.

Henson looked up from his sofa with a start and a smile.

"I am afraid I must have been asleep," he said, languidly.

"Liar," Bell thundered. "You have been plotting murder. And but for a mere accident the plot would have been successful. You have worked out the whole thing in your mind; you came here on purpose. You came here to stifle the light at the very moment when we were operating on Van Sneck. You thought that all the lights on the floor would be on the same circuit; you have been here before."

"Are you mad?" Henson gasped. "When have I been here before—"

"The night that you lured Van Sneck here by a forged letter and left him for dead."

Henson gasped, his lips moved, but no words came from them.

"You have a little knowledge of electricity," Bell went on. "And you saw your way pretty clear to spoil our operation to-night. You got that idea from yonder wall-plug, into which goes the plunger of the reading lamp on the cabinet yonder. At the critical moment all you had to do was to dip your fingers in water and press the tips of them against the live wire in the wall-plug. You did so, and immediately the wires fired all over the circuit and plunged us in darkness. But the hall light remained sound, and Van Sneck was saved. If it is any consolation to you, he will be as sensible as any of us to-morrow."

"Hensen had risen to his feet, pale and trembling, He protested, but it was all in vain. Bell approached the china wall-plug and pointed to it.

"Hold the candle down," he said. "There! You can see that the surface is still wet, there is water in the holes now, and some of it has trickled down the distemper on the wall. You ought to be shot where you stand, murderous dog."

Henson protested, with some dignity. It was all so much Greek to him, he said. He had been sleeping so quietly that he had not seen the light fail. Bell cut him short.

"Get out," he cried. "Go away; you poison the air that honest men breathe, and you are as fit and well as I am. Why don't you pitch him into the street, Steel? Why don't you telephone to Marley at the police-station, and say that the Huddersfield swindler is here? Oh, if you only knew what an effort it is to keep my hands off him!"

Henson made for the door with alacrity. A moment later and he was in the street, dazed, confused, and baffled, and with the conviction strong upon him that he had failed in his great coup. Van Sneck would be sensible to-morrow—he would speak. And then—

But he dared not think of that at present. He wanted all his nerve and courage now. He had just one last chance, one single opportunity of making money, and then he must get out of the country without delay. He almost wished now that he had not been quite so precipitate in the matter of James Merritt. That humble tool might have been of great advantage to him at this moment. But Merritt had threatened to be troublesome and must be got out of the way. But then, the police had not picked Merritt up yet. Was it possible that Merritt had found out that—

But Henson did not care to think of that, either, He would go back to the quiet lodgings he had taken in Kemp Town for a day or two, he would change his clothes and walk over to Longdean Grange, and it would go hard if he failed to get a cheque from the misguided lady there. If he were quick he could be there by eleven o'clock.

He passed into his little room. He started back to see a man sleeping in his armchair. Then the man, disturbed by the noise of the newcomer, opened his eyes. And those eyes were gleaming with a glow that filled Henson's heart with horrible dread. It was Merritt who sat opposite him, and it was Merritt whose eyes told Henson that he knew of the latter's black treachery. Henson was face to face with death, and he knew it.

He turned and fled for his life; he scudded along the streets, past the hospital and up towards the downs, with Merritt after him. The start was not long, but it was sufficient. Merritt took the wrong turn, and, with a heart beating fast and hard, Henson climbed upwards. It was a long time before his courage came back to him. He did not feel really easy in his mind until he had passed the lodge-gates at Longdean Grange, where he was fortunate enough, after a call or two, to rouse up Williams.

The latter came with more alacrity than usual. There was a queer grin on his face and a suggestion of laughter in his eyes.

"There seems to be a lot of light about," Henson cried. "Take me up to the house, and don't let anybody know I am here. Your mistress gone to bed?"

"She's in the drawing-room," Williams said, "singing. And Miss Enid's there. I am sure they will be glad to see you, sir."

Henson doubted it, but made no reply. There was a chatter of voices in the drawing-room, a chatter of a lightsomeness that Henson had never heard before. Well, he would soon settle all that. He passed quietly into the room, then stood in puzzled fear and amazement.

"Our dear nephew," said a cool, sarcastic voice. "Come in, sir, come in. This is quite charming. Well, my sweet philanthropist and most engaging gentleman, and what may we have the pleasure of doing for you to-night?"

"Lord Littimer?" Henson gasped. "Lord Littimer here?"



CHAPTER LIII

UNSEALED LIPS

Bell gave a gesture of relief as the door closed upon Henson. Heritage looked like a man who does not quite understand.

"I haven't quite got the hang of it yet," he said. "Was that done for my benefit?"

"Of course it was," Bell replied. "Henson found out that Van Sneck was here, as he was certain to do sooner or later. He comes here to make inquiries and finds you; also he comes to spy out the land. Now, without being much of a gambler, I'm willing to stake a large sum that he introduced the subject of your old trouble?"

"He invariably did that," Heritage admitted.

"Naturally. That was part of the game. And you told him that you had got over your illness and that you were going to do the operation. And you told him how. Where were you when the little conversation between Henson and yourself took place?"

"He was asked into the dining-room."

"And then you told him everything. Directly Henson's eyes fell upon that wall-plug he knew how to act. He made up his mind that the electric light should fail at a critical moment. Hence the dramatic 'accident' with the cycle. Once Henson had got into the house the rest was easy. He had only to wet his fingers and press them hard against the two wires in the wallplug and out pops the light, in consequence of the fuses blowing out. I don't know where Henson learnt the trick, but I do know that I was a fool not to think of it. You see, the hall light being dropped through from the floor above was on another circuit. If it hadn't been we should have had our trouble with Van Sneck for nothing."

"He would have died?" David asked.

The two doctors nodded significantly.

"What a poisonous scoundrel he is!" David cried. "Miss Chris Henson does not hesitate to say that he was more or less instrumental in removing two people who helped her and her sister to defeat Henson, and now he makes two attacks on Van Sneck's life. Really, we ought to inform the police what has happened and have him arrested before he can do any further mischief. Penal servitude for life would about fit the case."

Van Sneck was jealously guarded by Heritage and Bell for the next few hours. He awoke the next morning little the worse for the operation. His eyes were clear now; the restless, eager look had gone from them.

"Where am I?" he demanded. "What has happened?"

Bell explained briefly. As he spoke his anxiety passed away. He saw that Van Sneck was following quite intelligently and rationally.

"I remember coming here," the Dutchman said. "I can't recall the rest just now. I feel like a man who is trying to piece the fragments of a dream together."

"You'll have it all right in an hour or two," Bell said, with an encouraging smile. "Meanwhile your breakfast is ready. Yes, you can smoke afterwards if you like. And then you shall tell me all about Reginald Henson. As a matter of fact, we know all about it now."

"Oh," Van Sneck said, blankly. "You do, eh?"

"Yes, even to the history of the second Rembrandt, and the reason why Henson stabbed you and gave you that crack over the head. If you tell me the truth you are safe; if you don't—why, you stand a chance of joining Henson in the dock."

Bell went off, leaving Van Sneck to digest this speech at his leisure. Van Sneck lay back on his bed, propped up with pillows, and smoked many cigarettes before he expressed a desire to see Bell again. The latter came in with Steel; Heritage had gone elsewhere.

"This gentleman is Mr. Steel?" Van Sneck suggested.

Bell responded somewhat drily that it was. "But I see you are going to tell us everything," he went on. "That being so, suppose you begin at the beginning. When you sold that copy of the 'Crimson Blind' to Lord Littimer had you the other copy?"

"Ach, you have got to the bottom of things, it seems," Van Sneck gurgled.

"Yes, and I have saved your life, foolish as it might seem," Bell replied. "You came very near to losing it the second attempt last night at Henson's hands. Henson is done for, played out, burst up. We can arrest him on half-a-dozen charges when we please. We can have you arrested any time on a charge of conspiracy over those pictures—"

"Of which I am innocent; I swear it," Van Sneck said, solemnly. "Those two Rembrandts—they fell into my hands by what you call a slice of good luck. I am working hand in glove with Henson at the time, and show him them. I suggest Lord Littimer as a purchaser. He would, perhaps, buy the two, which would be a little fortune for me. Then Henson, he says, 'Don't you be a fool, Van Sneck. Suppress the other; say nothing about it. You get as much from Littimer for the one as you get for the two, because Lord Littimer think it unique.'"

"That idea commended itself to a curio dealer?" Bell suggested, drily.

"But yes," Van Sneck said, eagerly. "Later on we disclose the other and get a second big price. And Lord Littimer he buy the first copy for a long price."

"After which you discreetly disappear," said Steel. "Did you steal those pictures?"

"No," Van Sneck said, indignantly. "They came to me in the way of honest business—a poor workman who knows nothing of their value, and takes fifteen marks for them."

"Honest merchant," David murmured. "Pray go on."

"I had to go away. Some youthful foolishness over some garnets raked up after many years. The police came down upon me so suddenly that I got away with the skin of my teeth. I leave the other Rembrandt, everything, behind me. I do not know that Henson he give me away so that he can steal the other Rembrandt."

"So you have found that out?" said Bell. "Who told you?"

"I learn that not so long ago. I learn it from a scoundrel called Merritt, a tool of Henson. He tells me to go to Littimer Castle to steal the Rembrandt for Henson, because Dr. Bell, he find my Rembrandt. Then I what you call pump Merritt, and he tells me all about the supposed robbery at Amsterdam and what was found in the portmanteau of good Dr. Bell yonder. Then I go to Henson and tell him what I find out, and he laughs. Mind you, that was after I came here from Paris on business for Henson."

"About the time you bought that diamond-mounted cigar-case?" David asked, quietly.

Van Sneck nodded. He was evidently impressed by the knowledge possessed by his questioners.

"That's it," he said. "I buy it because Henson ask me to. Henson say he make it all right about the Rembrandt, and that if I do as I am told he give me L500. His money is to come on a certain day, but I pump and I pump, and I find that there is some game against Mr. Steel, who is a great novelist."

"That is very kind of you," David said, modestly.

"One against Miss Enid Henson," Van Sneck went on. "I met that young lady once and I liked her; therefore, I say I will be no party to getting her into trouble. And Henson says I am one big fool, and that he is only giving Mr. Steel a lesson in the art of minding his own business. So I ask no further questions, though I am a good bit puzzled. With the last bank-notes I possess I go to a place called Walen's and buy the cigar-case that Henson says. I meet him and hand over the case and ask him for my money. Henson swears that he has no money at all, not even enough to repay me the price of the cigar-case. He has been disappointed. And I have been drinking. So I swear I will write and ask Mr. Steel to see me, and I do so."

"And you get an answer?" David asked.

"Sir, I do. You said you would see me the same night. It was a forgery?"

"It was. Henson had anticipated something like that. I know all about the forgery, how my notepaper was procured, and when the forgery was written. But that has very little to do with the story now. Please go on."

Van Sneck paused before he proceeded.

"I am not quite sober," he said. "I am hot with what I called my wrongs. I come here and ring the bell. The hall was in darkness. There was a light in the conservatory, but none in the study. I quite believed that it was Mr. Steel who opened the door and motioned me towards the study. Then the door of the study closed and locked behind me, and the electric light shot up. When I turned round I found myself face to face with Henson."

Van Sneck paused again and shuddered at some hideous recollection. His eyes were dark and eager; there was a warm moisture like varnish on his face.

"Even that discovery did not quite sober me," he went on. "I fancied it was some joke, or that perhaps I had got into the wrong house. But no, it was the room of a literary gentleman. I—I expected to see Mr. Steel come in or to try the door. Henson smiled at me. Such a smile! He asked me if I had the receipt for the cigar-case about me, and I said it was in my pocket. Then he smiled again, and something told me my life was in danger.

"I was getting pretty sober by that time. It came to me that I had been lured there; that Henson had got into the house during the absence of the owner. It was late at night in a quiet house, and nobody had seen me come. If that man liked to kill me he could do so and walk out of the house without the faintest chance of discovery. And he was twice my size, and a man without feeling. I looked round me furtively lor a weapon.

"He saw my glance and understood it, and smiled again. I was trembling from head to foot now with a vague, nameless terror. From the very first I knew that I had not the smallest chance. Henson approached me and laid his hand on my shoulder. He wanted something, he gave that something a name. If I passed that something over to him I was free, if not—

"Well, gentlemen, I didn't believe him. He had made a discovery that frightened me. And I had what he wanted in my pocket. If I had handed it over to him he would not have spared me. As he approached me my foot slipped and I stumbled into the conservatory. I fell backwards. And then I recovered myself and defied Henson.

"'Fool,' he hissed, 'do you want to die?'

"But I knew that I should die in any case. Even then I could smile to myself as I thought how I could baffle my foe. Once, twice, three times he repeated his demands, and each time I was obdurate. I knew that he would kill me in any case.

"He came with a snarl of rage; there was a knife in his hand. I hurled a flower-pot at his head and missed him. The next instant and he had me by the throat. I felt his knife between my shoulders, then a stunning blow on the head, and till I woke here to-day I cannot recollect a single thing."

Van Sneck paused and wiped his face, wet with the horror of the recollection. David Steel gave Bell a significant glance, and the latter nodded.

"Was the thing that Henson wanted a ring?" Steel asked, quietly.



CHAPTER LIV

WHERE IS THE RING?

Van Sneck looked up with some signs of confusion. He had not expected a question of that kind. There was just the suggestion of cunning on his face.

"A ring!" he murmured, vaguely. "A ring! What ring?"

"Now, look here," David said, sternly. "You are more or less in our power, you know, but we are not disposed to be hard on you so long as you are quite candid with us. Henson required something that he believed to be in your possession; indeed, you have as good as said you had it with you. Henson lured you into my house to get that more than anything else. That he would have killed you even after he got it, I firmly believe. But that is not the point. Now, was not Henson looking for Prince Rupert's ring that you got from him by means of a trick?"

Van Sneck dropped his hands helplessly on the bed.

"Gentlemen," he whined, "you are too much for me. The marvellous accuracy of your knowledge is absolutely overwhelming. It was the ring Henson was after."

"The one you stole from him years ago! But what did you know about it?"

Van Sneck smiled.

"There is no living man who knows more about those things than I do," he said. "It is a passion and a study with me. And some seven years ago, in Holland, Henson gave me the description of a ring he wanted me to copy. Henson never told me what the ring was called, but I knew it was the Prince Rupert ring. I made the copy, and Henson was pleased with it. Some time later he came to me with the original, and asked for another copy. I meant to be honest, but my love for those things got the better of me. I made him two copies: the one good, and the other an exact facsimile of the Prince Rupert. These I handed over to Henson, and he went away perfectly satisfied that he had a good copy and the original. I chuckled to myself, feeling pretty sure that he would never find out."

"But he did find out?" David said.

"Only lately. Probably he took it to an expert for valuation or perhaps for sale. Lately his idea was to offer the ring to Lord Littimer for a huge sum of money, but when he discovered he had been done he knew that Lord Littimer would not be so deceived. Also he had a pretty good idea that I should keep the ring about me. You see, I dared not sell an historic gem like that. And, as usual, Henson was perfectly right."

"Then you had the ring in your pocket the night you came here?" asked Steel, with a commendable effort at coolness. "Did Henson get it?"

"No, he didn't," Van Sneck chuckled. "Come what might, I had made up my mind that he should never see that ring again. You see, I was frightened and confused, and I was not properly sober, and I did something with the ring, though to save my life I couldn't say what I did. Do you know, Dr. Bell, I have lost my sense of smell?"

Steel wriggled impatiently about on his chair. The interruption was exasperating. Bell, however, seemed to take a different view of the matter altogether.

"Quite naturally," he said. "The blow on your head held all your senses suspended for a time. After the operation I should not have been surprised to have found you half blind and stone deaf into the bargain. But one thing is certain—your smell will come back to you. It may remain in abeyance for a few days, it may return in a few moments."

"What on earth has this to do with our interview?" David asked.

"I fancy a great deal," Bell said. "The sense of smell has a great deal to do with memory. Doesn't the scent of flowers bring back vivid recollections of things sometimes for years forgotten? Van Sneck was going to say the air was heavy with the fragrance of some particular blossom when he was struck down by Henson in your conservatory."

"Very clever man, Dr. Bell," Van Sneck said, admiringly. "He seems to see right through your mind and out at the other side. To a great extent I recollect all that happened that eventful night. And just at the very last I seem to smell something powerful. That smell came to my nostrils just like a flash and then had gone again. Gentlemen, if I could have a good long scent at that flower I tell you what I did with that ring."

"Sounds rather complex," David said.

"Not a bit of it," Bell retorted. "Our friend is talking sound common sense, and our friend is going to rest now late into the afternoon, when we'll put him into an armchair with some pillows and let him sit in the conservatory. Associating with familiar surroundings frequently works wonders. Van Sneck, you go to sleep."

Van Sneck closed his eyes obediently. He was somewhat tired with the interview. But, on the whole, Bell decided that he was doing very well indeed. And there was very little more to be done for the present. The two men smoked their cigars peacefully.

"We have got to the end," Bell said.

"I fancy so," David murmured, "But we can't save the scandal. I don't see how Reginald Henson is going to get out of the mess without a prosecution."

Any further speculation as to the future of that engaging rascal was cut short by a pleasant surprise, no other than the unexpected arrival of Ruth Gates and Chris Henson. The latter was beaming with health and happiness; she had discarded her disguise, and stood confessed before all the world like the beautiful creature that she was.

"What does it all mean?" David asked. "What will Longdean village say?"

"What does Longdean village know?" Chris retorted. "They are vaguely aware that somebody was taken away from the house a short time ago to be buried, but that is all their knowledge. And there is no more need for disguise, Lord Littimer says. He knows pretty well everything. He has been very restless and uneasy for the past day or two, and yesterday he left saying that he had business in London. Early to-day I had a characteristic telegram from him saying that he was at Longdean, and that I was necessary to his comfort there. I was to come clothed in my right mind, and I was to bring Mr. Steel and Dr. Bell along."

"It can't be managed," said Bell. "We've got Van Sneck here."

"And I had forgotten all about him," said Chris. "Was the operation successful?"

Bell told his budget of good news down to the story of the ring and the mysterious manner in which it had disappeared again. David had followed Ruth into the conservatory, where she stood with her dainty head buried over a rose.

She looked up with a warm, shy smile on her face.

"I hope you are satisfied," she said, "you are safe now?"

"I was never very much alarmed, dearest," Steel said. "If this thing had never happened I might never have met you. And as soon as this business is definitely settled I shall come and see your uncle. I am a very impatient man, Ruth."

"And you shall see my uncle when you please, dear," she said. "You will find him quite as charming as you say your mother is. What will she say?"

"Say? That you are the dearest and sweetest girl in the world, and that I am a lucky fellow. But you are not going off already?"

"Indeed, we must. We have a cab at the door. And I am going to brave the horrors of Longdean Grange and spend the night there. Only, I fancy that the horrors have gone for ever. I shall be very disappointed if you don't come to-morrow."

Behind a friendly palm David bent and kissed the shy lips, with a vow that he would see Longdean Grange on the morrow. Then Chris caught up Ruth with a whirl, and they were gone.

It was after ten that Bell and Steel managed to convey Van Sneck to the conservatory. The place was filled with brightness and scent and colour and the afterglow of the sunshine. The artistic eye of the Dutchman lighted up with genuine pleasure.

"They say you islanders are crude and cold, and have no sense of the beautiful," he said. "But there are no houses anywhere to compare with those of the better-class Englishman. Look at those colours blending—"

"Hang those colours," said Bell, vigorously. "Steel, there is nothing like moisture to bring out the full fragrance of flowers. Turn on your hose and give your plants a good watering."

"It's the proper time," David laughed. "Turn on the tap for me."

A cooling stream played on the flowers; plants dropped their heads filled with the diamond moisture; the whole atmosphere was filled with the odour of moist earth. Then the air seemed laden with the mingled scent.

"I can smell the soil," Van Sneck cried. "How good it is to smell anything again! And I can just catch a suggestion of the perfume of something familiar. What's that red bloom?"

He pointed to a creeper growing up the wall. David broke off a spray.

"That's a kind of Japanese passion flower," he said. "It has a lovely full-flavoured scent like a mixture of violets and almonds. Smell it."

Van Sneck placed the wet dripping spray to his nose. Just for an instant it conveyed nothing to him. Then he half rose with a triumphant cry.

"Steady there," said Bell. "You mustn't get up, you know. I see you are excited. Has it come back to you again?"

"That's the scent," Van Sneck cried. "The air was full of that as I fell backwards. And Henson stood over me exactly by that cracked tile where Mr. Steel is now. Give me a moment and I shall be able to tell you everything ... Oh, yes, the first time I slipped on purpose. I told you I stumbled. But that was a ruse. And as I fell I took the ring from my waistcoat-pocket ... Let me have another sniff of that bloom. Yes, I've got it now quite clear."

"You know where the ring is?" David asked, eagerly.

"Well, not quite that. I took it from my pocket and pitched it away from me ... I saw it fall on to a pot covered with moss, but I can't say which pot or in which corner. I only know that I threw it over my shoulder, and that it dropped into the thick moss that lies on the top of all the pots. I laughed to myself as it fell, and I rejoiced to see that Henson knew nothing of it."

"And it is still here?" Bell demanded.

Van Sneck nodded solemnly.

"I swear it," he said. "Prince Rupert's ring is in this conservatory."



CHAPTER LV

KICKED OUT

Reginald Henson had had more than one unpleasant surprise lately, but none so painful as the sight of Lord Littimer seated in the Longdean Grange drawing-room with the air of a man who is very much at home indeed.

The place was strangely changed, too. There was an air of neatness and order about the room that Henson had never seen before. The dust and dirt had absolutely vanished; it might have been the home of any ordinary wealthy and refined people. And all Lady Littimer's rags and patches had disappeared. She was dressed in somewhat old-fashioned style, but handsomely and well. She sat beside Littimer with a smile on her face. But the cloud seemed to have rolled from her mind; her eyes were clear, if a little frightened. From the glance that passed between Littimer and herself it was easy to see that the misunderstanding was no more.

"You are surprised to see me here?" said Littimer.

Henson stammered out something and shrank towards, the door. Littimer ordered him back again. He came with a slinking, dogged air; he avoided the smiling contempt in Enid's eyes.

"My presence appears to be superfluous," he said, bitterly.

"And mine appears to be a surprise," Littimer replied. "Come, are you not glad to see me, my heir and successor? What has become of the old fawning, cringing smile? Why, if some of your future constituents could see you now they might be justified in imagining that you had done something wrong. Look at yourself."

Littimer indicated a long gilt mirror on the opposite wall. Henson glanced at it involuntarily and dropped his eyes. Could that abject, white-faced sneak be himself? Was that the man whose fine presence and tender smile had charmed thousands? It seemed impossible.

"What have I done?" he asked.

"What have you not done?" Littimer thundered. "In the first place you did your best to ruin Hatherly Bell's life. You robbed me of a picture to do so, and your friend Merritt tried to rob me again. But I have both those pictures now. You did that because you were afraid of Bell—afraid lest he should see through your base motives. And you succeeded for a time, for the coast was clear. And then you proceeded to rob me of my son by one of the most contemptible tricks ever played by one man on another. It was you who stole the money and the ring; you who brought about all that sorrow and trouble by means of a forgery. But there are other people on your track as well as myself. You were at your last gasp. You were coming to see me to sell that ring for a large sum to take you out of the country, and then you discovered that you hadn't really got the ring."

"What—what are you talking about?" Henson asked, feebly.

"Scoundrel!" Littimer cried. "Innocent and pure to the last. I know all about Van Sneck and those forgeries of Prince Rupert's ring. And I know how Van Sneck was nearly done to death in Mr. Steel's house; and I know why—good heavens! It seems impossible that I could have been deceived all these years by such a slimy, treacherous scoundrel. And I might have gone on still but for a woman—"

"A lady detective," Henson sneered. "Miss Lee."

Littimer smiled. It was good, after all, to defeat and hoodwink the rascal.

"Miss Chris Henson," he said. "It never occurred to you that Miss Chris and Miss Lee were one and the same person. You never guessed. And she played with you as if you had been a child. How beautifully she exposed you over those pictures. Ah, you should have seen your face when you saw the stolen Rembrandt back again in its place. And after that you were mad enough to think that I trusted you. My dear, what shall we do with this pretty fellow?"

Lady Littimer shook her head doubtfully. It was plain that the presence of Henson disturbed her. There was just a suggestion of the old madness in her eyes.

"Send him away," she said. "Let him go."

"Send him away by all means," Littimer went on. "But letting him go is another matter. If we do the police will pick him up on other charges. There is a certain consolation in knowing that his evil career is likely to be shortened by some years. But I shall have no mercy. Scotland Yard shall know everything."

There was a cold ring in Littimer's voice that told Henson of his determination to carry out his threat. The other troubles he might wriggle out of, but this one was terribly real. It was time to try conciliation.

"It will be a terrible scandal for the family, my lord," he whined.

Littimer rose to his feet. A sudden anger flared into his eyes. He was a smaller man than Henson, but the latter cowed before him.

"You dog!" he cried. "What greater scandal than that of the past few years? Does not all the world know that there is, or has been, some heavy cloud over the family honour? Lord and Lady Littimer have parted, and her ladyship has gone away. That is only part of what the gossips have said. And in these domestic differences it is always the woman who suffers. Everybody always says that the woman has done something wrong. For years my wife has been under this stigma. If she had chosen to keep before the world after she left me most people would have ignored her. And you talk to me of a family scandal!"

"You will only make bad worse, my lord."

"No," Littimer cried. "I am going to make bad infinitely better. We come together again, but we say nothing of the past. And the world sneers and says the past is ignored for politic considerations. And so the public is going to know the truth, you dog. The whole facts of the case have gone to my solicitor, and by this time to-morrow a warrant will be issued against you. And I shall stand in open court and tell the whole world my story."

"In fairness to Lady Littimer," said Enid, speaking for the first time, "you could do no less."

"You were always against me," Henson snarled

"Because I always knew you," said Enid. "And the more I knew of you the greater was my contempt. And you came here ever on the same errand—money, money, money. From first to last you have robbed my aunt of something like L70,000. And always by threats or the promise that you would some day restore the ring to the family."

"As to the ring," Henson protested, "I swear—"

"I suppose a lie more or less makes no difference to an expert like yourself," Enid went on, with cold contempt. "You took advantage of my aunt's misfortunes. Ah, she is a different woman since Lord Littimer came here. But her sorrow has crushed her down, and that forgery of the ring you dangled before her eyes deceived her."

"I never showed her the ring," Henson said, brazenly.

"And you can look me in the face and say that? One night Lady Littimer snatched it from you and ran into the garden. You followed and struggled for the ring. And Mr. David Steel, who stood close by, felled you to the earth with a blow on the side of your head. I wonder he didn't kill you. I should have done so in his place. And yet it would be a pity to hang anyone for your death. See here!"

Enid produced the ring from her pocket. Lord Littimer looked at it intently.

"Have you seen this before, my dear?" he asked his wife.

"Many a time," Lady Littimer said, sadly. "Take it away, it reminds me of too many bitter memories. Take it out of my sight."

"An excellent forgery," Littimer murmured. "A forgery calculated to deceive many experts even. I will compare it with the original by and by."

Henson listened with a sinking feeling at his heart. Was it possible, he wondered, that Lord Littimer had really recovered the original? He had had hopes of getting it back even now, and making it the basis of terms of surrender. Lady Littimer snatched the ring from Littimer's grasp and threw it through the open window into the garden.

She stood up facing Henson, her head thrown back, her eyes flaming with a new resolution. It seemed hardly possible to believe that this fine, handsome woman with the white hair could be the poor demented creature that the others once had known.

"Reginald Henson, listen to me," she cried. "For your own purpose you cruelly and deliberately set out to wreck the happiness of several lives. For mere money you did this; for sheer love of dissipation you committed this crime. You nearly deprived me of my reason. I say nothing about the money, because that is nothing by comparison. But the years that are lost can never come back to me again. When I think of the past and the past of my poor, unhappy boy I feel that I have no forgiveness for you. If you—Oh, go away; don't stay here—go. If I had known you were coming I should have forbidden you the house. Your mere presence unnerves me. Littimer, send him away."

Littimer rose to his feet and rang the bell.

"You will be good enough to rid me of your hateful presence," he said, "at once; now go."

But Henson still stood irresolute. He fidgeted from one foot to the other. He seemed to have some trouble that he could find no expression for.

"I want to go away," he murmured. "I want to leave the country. But at the present moment I am practically penniless. If you would advance me—"

Littimer laughed aloud.

"Upon my word," he said, "your coolness is colossal. I am going to prosecute you, I am doing my best to bring you into the dock. And you ask me—me, of all men—to find you money so that you can evade justice! Have you not had enough—are you never satisfied? Williams, will you see Mr. Henson off the premises?"

The smiling Williams bowed low.

"With the greatest possible pleasure, my lord," he said. "Any further orders, my lord?"

"And he is not to come here again, you understand." Williams seemed to understand perfectly. With one backward sullen glance Henson quitted the room and passed into the night with his companion. Williams was whistling cheerfully, with his hands thrust deep into his pockets.

"Is that how you treat a gentleman?" Henson demanded.

"I ain't a gentleman," Williams said. "Never set up to be. And I ain't a dirty rascal who has just been kicked out of a nobleman's house. Here, stop that. Try that game on again and I'll call the dogs. And don't show me any of your airs, please. I'm only a servant, but I am an honest man."

Henson stifled his anger as best he could. He was too miserable and downcast to think of much besides himself at present. Once the lodge-gates were open, Williams stood aside for him to pass. The temptation was irresistible. And Henson's back was turned. With a kick of concentrated contempt and fury Williams shot Henson into the road, where he landed full on his face. His cup of humiliation was complete.



CHAPTER LVI

WHITE FANGS

Henson took his weary way in the direction of Brighton. He had but a few pounds he could call his own, and not nearly enough to get away from the country, and at any moment he might be arrested. He was afraid to go back to his lodgings for fear of Merritt. That Merritt would kill him if he got the chance he felt certain. And Merritt was one of those dogged, patient types who can wait any time for the gratification of their vengeance.

Merritt was pretty certain to be hanging about for his opportunity. On the whole the best thing would be to walk straight to the Central Brighton Station and take the first train in the morning to town. There he could see Gates—who as yet knew nothing—and from him it would be possible to borrow a hundred or two, and then get away. And there were others besides Gates.

Henson trudged away for a mile or so over the downs. Then he came down from the summit of the castle he was building with a rude shock to earth again. A shadow seemed to rise from the ground, a heavy clutch was on his shoulder, and a hoarse voice was in his ear.

"Got you!" the voice said. "I knew they'd kick you out yonder, and I guessed you'd sneak home across the downs. And I've fairly copped you!"

Henson's knees knocked together. Physically he was a far stronger and bigger man than Merritt, but he was taken unawares, and his nerves had been sadly shaken of late.

Merritt forced him backwards until he lay on the turf with his antagonist kneeling on his chest. He dared not struggle, he dared not exert himself. Presently he might get a chance, and if he did it would go hard with James Merritt.

"What are you going to do?" he gasped.

Merritt drew a big, jagged stone towards him with one foot.

"I'm going to bash your brains out with this," he said, hoarsely. His eyes were gleaming, and in the dim light his mouth was set like a steel trap. "I'm going to have a little chat with you first, and then down this comes on the top of your skull, and it'll smash you like a bloomin' eggshell. Your time's come, Henson. Say your prayers."

"I can't," Henson whined. "And what have I done?"

Merritt rocked heavily on the other's breastbone, almost stifling him. "Wot?" he said, scoffingly. The pleasing mixture of gin and fog in his throat rendered him more hideously hoarse than usual. "Not make up a prayer! And you a regular dab at all that game! Why, I've seen the women snivellin' like babies when you've been ladlin' it out. Heavens, what a chap you would be on the patter! How you would kid the chaplain!"

"Merritt, you're crushing the life out of me."

Merritt ceased his rocking for a moment, and the laughter died out of his gleaming eyes.

"I don't want to be prematoor," he said. "Yes, you'd make a lovely chaplain's pet, but I can't spare you. I'm going to smash that 'ere wily brain of yours, so as it won't be useful any more. I'll teach you to put the narks on to a poor chap like myself."

"Merritt, I swear to you that I never—"

"You can swear till you're black in the face, and you can keep on swearing till you're lily-white again, and then it won't be any good. You gave me away to Taylor because you were afraid I should do you harm at Littimer Castle. That Daisy Bell of a girl there told me so."

Henson groaned. It was not the least part of his humiliation that a mere girl got the better of him in this way. And what on earth had she known of Reuben Taylor? But the fact remained that she had known, and that she had warned Merritt of his danger. It was the one unpardonable crime in Henson's decalogue, the one thing Merritt could not forgive.

Henson's time was come. He did not need anyone to tell him that. Unless something in the nature of a miracle happened, he was a dead man in a few moments; and life had never seemed quite so sweet as it tasted at the present time.

"You gave me away for no reason at all," Merritt went on. "I'm a pretty bad lot, but I never rounded on a pal yet, and never shall. More than one of them have served me bad, but I always let them go their own way, and I've been a good and faithful servant to you—"

"It was not you," Henson gurgled, "that I wrote that letter about, but—"

"Chuck it," Merritt said, furiously. "Tell me any more of your lies and I'll smash your jaw in for you. It was me. I spotted Scotter in Moreton Wells within a day or two. And Mr. Scotter had come for me. And I got past Bronson in Brighton by the skin of my teeth. I turned into your lodgings under his very eyes almost. Before this time to-morrow I shall be arrested. But I'm going to have my vengeance first."

The last words came with intense deliberation. There was no mistaking their significance. Henson deemed it wise to try another tack.

"I was wrong," he said, humbly. "I am very, very sorry; I lost my nerve and got frightened, Merritt. But there is time yet. You always make more money with me than with anybody else. And I'm going abroad presently."

"Oh, you're going abroad, are you?" Merritt said, slowly. "Going to travel in a Pullman car and put up at all the Courts of Europe. And I'm coming as chief secretary to the Grand Panjandrum himself. Sound an alluring kind of programme."

"I'll give you a hundred pounds to get away with if you will—"

"Got a hundred pounds of my own in my pocket at the present moment," was the unexpected reply. "As you gave me away, consequently I gave you away to his lordship, and he planked down a hundred canaries like the swell that he is. So I don't want your company or your money. And I'm going to finish you right away."

The big stone was poised over Henson's head. He could see the jagged part, and in imagination feel it go smashing into his brain. The time for action had come. He snatched at Merritt's right arm and drew the knotted fingers down. The next instant and he had bitten Merritt's thumb to the bone. With a cry of rage and pain the stone was dropped. Henson snatched it up and fairly lifted Merritt off his chest with a blow under the chin.

Merritt rolled over on the grass, and Henson was on his feet in an instant. The great stone went down perilously near to Merritt's head. Still snarling and frothing from the pain Merritt stumbled to his feet and dashed a blow blindly at the other.

In point of size and strength there was only one in it. Had Henson stood up to his opponent on equal terms there could only have been one issue. But his nerves were shattered, he was nothing like the man he had been two months ago. At the first onslaught he turned and fled towards the town, leaving Merritt standing there in blank amazement.

"Frightened of me," he muttered. "But this ain't the way it's going to finish."

He darted off in hot pursuit; he raced across a rising shoulder of the hill and cut off Henson's retreat. The latter turned and scurried back in the direction of Long-dean Grange, with Merritt hot on his heels. He could not shake the latter off.

Merritt was plodding doggedly on, pretty sure of his game. He was hard as nails, whereas good living and a deal of drinking, quite in a gentlemanly way, had told heavily on Henson. Unless help came unexpectedly Henson was still in dire peril. There was just a chance that a villager might be about; but Longdean was more or less a primitive place, and most of the houses there had been in darkness for hours.

His foot slipped, he stumbled, and Merritt, with a whoop of triumph, was nearly upon him. But it was only a stagger, and he was soon going again. Still, Merritt was close behind him; Henson could almost feel his hot breath on his neck. And he was breathing heavily and distressfully himself, whilst he could hear how steadily Merritt's lungs were working. He could see the lights of Longdean Grange below him; but they seemed a long way off, whilst that steady pursuit behind had something relentless and nerve-destroying about it.

They were pounding through the village now. Henson gave vent to one cry of distress, but nothing came of it but the mocking echo of his own voice from a distant belt of trees. Merritt shot out a short, sneering laugh. He had not expected flagrant cowardice like this. He made a sudden spurt forward and caught Henson by the tail of his coat.

With a howl of fear the latter tore himself away, and Merritt reeled backwards. He came down heavily over a big stone, and at the same moment Henson trod on a hedge-stake. He grabbed it up and half turned upon his foe. But the sight of Merritt's grim face was too much for him, and he turned and resumed his flight once more.

He yelled again as he reached the lodge-gates, but the only response was the barking and howling of the dogs in the thick underwood beyond. There was no help for it. Doubtless the deaf old lodge-keeper had been in bed hours ago. Even the dogs were preferable to Merritt. Henson scrambled headlong over the wall and crashed through the thickets beyond.

Merritt pulled up, panting with his exertion.

"Gone to cover," he muttered. "I don't fancy I'll follow. The dogs there might have a weakness for tearing my throat out and Henson will keep, I'll just hang about here till daylight and wait for my gentleman. And I'll follow him to the end of the earth."

Meanwhile Henson blundered on blindly, fully under the impression that Merritt was still upon his trail. One of the hounds, a puppy three parts grown, rose and playfully pulled at his coat. It was sheer play, but at the same time it was a terrible handicap, and in his fear Henson lost all his horror of the dogs.

"Loose, you brute," he panted. "Let go, I say. Very well, take that!"

He paused and brought the heavy stake down full on the dog's muzzle. There was a snarling scream of pain, and the big pup sprang for his assailant. An old, grey hound came up and seemed to take in the situation at a glance. With a deep growl he bounded at Henson and caught him by the throat. Before the ponderous impact of that fine free spring Henson went down heavily to the ground.

"Help!" he gurgled. "Help! help! help!"

The worrying teeth had been firmly fixed, the ponderous weight pressed all the breath from Henson's distressed lungs. He gurgled once again, gave a little shuddering sigh, and the world dwindled to a thick sheet of blinding darkness.



CHAPTER LVII

HIDE-AND-SEEK

Bell's professional enthusiasm got the better of his curiosity for the moment. It was a nice psychological problem. Already Steel was impulsively busy in the conservatory pulling the pots down. It was a regretful thing to have to do, but everything had to be sacrificed, David shut his teeth grimly and proceeded with his task.

"What on earth are you doing?" Bell asked, with a smile.

"Pulling the place to pieces," David responded. "I daresay I shall feel pretty sick about it later on, but the thing has to be done. Cut those wires for me, and let those creepers down as tenderly as possible. We can't get to the little pots until we have moved the big ones."

Bell coolly declined to do anything of the kind. He surveyed the two graceful banks of flowers there, the carefully trained creepers trailing so naturally and yet so artistically from the roof to the ground, and the sight pleased him.

"My dear chap," he said, "I am not going to sit here and allow you to destroy the work of so many hours. There is not the slightest reason to disturb anything. Unless I am greatly mistaken, Van Sneck will lay his had upon the ring for us without so much as the sacrifice of a blossom."

"I don't fancy so," Van Sneck replied. "I can't remember."

"Well, you are going to," Bell said, cheerfully. "Did you ever hear of artificial memory?"

"The sort of thing you get in law courts and political speeches?" David suggested. "All the same, if you have some patent way of getting at the facts I shall be only too glad to spare my poor flowers. Their training has been a labour of love with me."

Bell smoked on quietly for some time. He toyed with the red blossoms which had so stimulated Van Sneck's recollection, then tossed a spray over to Van Sneck and suggested that the latter should put it in his button-hole.

"So as to have the fragrance with you all the time," he said.

Van Sneck obeyed quietly, remarking that the scent was very pungent. The Dutchman was restless and ill at ease; he seemed to be dissatisfied with himself—he had the air of a man who has set out with two or three extremely important matters of business and who has completely forgotten what one of them is.

"You needn't distress yourself," David said, kindly.

"I beg your pardon," Bell said, tartly. "He is to do that very same thing. Mental exercise never hurts anybody. Van Sneck is going to worry till he puzzles it out. Will you describe the ring to us?"

The Dutchman complied at considerable length. He dwelt on the beauty of the workmanship and the exceeding fineness of the black pearls; he talked with the freedom and expression of the expert. Bell permitted him to ramble on about historic rings in general. But all the same he could see that Van Sneck was far from easy in his mind. Now and then a sudden gleam came into his eyes: memory played for the fragment of a second on a certain elusive chord and was gone.

"Were you smoking the night you came here?" Bell asked, suddenly.

"Yes," Van Sneck replied, "a cigarette. Henson handed it over to me. I don't deny that I was terribly frightened, I smoked the cigarette out of bravado."

"You went into the conservatory yonder and admired the flowers," Bell observed.

Van Sneck looked up with astonishment and admiration.

"I did," he confessed. "But I don't see how you know that."

"I guessed it. It takes the brain some little time to get level to the imagination. And as soon as you came face to face with Henson you knew what was going to happen. You were a little dazed and frightened, and a little overcome by liquor into the bargain. But even then, though you were probably unconscious of it yourself, you were seeking some place to hide the ring."

"I rather believe I was," Van Sneck said, thoughtfully.

"You smoked a cigarette there. Where did you put the end?"

Van Sneck rose and went into the conservatory. He walked directly to a large pot of stephanotis in a distant corner and picked the stump of a gold-tipped cigarette from thence.

"I dropped it in there," he said. "Strange; if you had asked me that question two minutes ago I should not have been able to answer it. And now I distinctly remember pitching it in there and watching it scorch some of that beautiful lace-like moss. There is a long trail of it hanging down behind. I recollect how funnily it occurred to me, even in the midst of my danger, that the trail would look better brought over the front of the pot. Thus."

He lifted the long, graceful spiral and brought it forward. Steel nodded, approvingly.

"I came very near to dropping the ring in there," Van Sneck explained. "I had it in my fingers—I took it for the purpose from my waistcoat-pocket. Then I saw Henson's eye on me and I changed my mind. I wish I had been more sober."

Bell was examining a pot a little lower down. A piece had been chipped off, leaving a sharp, clean, red edge with a tiny tip of hair upon it.

"You fell here," he exclaimed. "Your head struck the pot. Here is a fragment of your hair on it. It is human hair beyond a doubt, and the shade matches to a nicety. After that—"

A sudden cry broke from the Dutchman.

"I've got it!" he exclaimed. "You have cleverly led my mind into the right direction. The only marvel is that I did not think of it before. You will find the ring in the pot where the tuberose grows. I am quite certain you will find it amongst the moss at the base."

David carefully scooped up all the loose moss from the pot and laid it on the study table. Then he shook the stuff out, and something glittering lay on the table—a heavy ring of the most exquisite and cunning workmanship, with a large gem in the centre, flanked by black pearls on either side. Van Sneck took it in his fingers lovingly.

"Here you are," he said. "Ach, the beauty! Well, you've got it now, and do you take care of it lest it falls into my hands again. If I got a chance I would steal it once more, and yet again, and again. Ah, what mischief those things cause, to be sure!"

The speaker hardly knew how much mischief the ring in question had caused, nor did his companions seek to enlighten him. David wrapped it up carefully and placed it in his pocket.

"I'm glad that is settled," he said. "And I'm glad that I didn't have to injure my flowers. Bell, you really are a most wonderful fellow."

Bell smiled with the air of a man who is well satisfied with himself. At this moment a servant came in with a message to the effect that Inspector Marley desired to see Mr. Steel on important business.

"Couldn't have come at a better time," David murmured. "Ask Mr. Marley in here."

Marley came smilingly, yet mysterious. He evinced no surprise at the sight of Van Sneck. He was, doubtless, aware of the success of the operation on the latter. He particularly desired to know where Mr. Reginald Henson was to be found.

"This is a queer place to look for him," said Steel.

"But he was here yesterday," Marley protested. "He had an accident."

"Bogus," said Steel. "We turned him out of the house. Is he wanted?"

Marley explained that he was wanted on three different charges; in fact, the inspector had the warrants in his pocket at the present moment.

"Well, it's only by good chance that you haven't got one for me," David laughed. "If you have ten minutes to spare, between Van Sneck and myself we can clear up the mystery of the diamond-mounted cigar-case for you."

Marley had the time to spare, and, indeed, he was keen enough to hear the solution of the mystery. A short explanation from David, followed by a few pithy, pertinent questions to Van Sneck, and he was perfectly satisfied.

"And yet I seemed to have an ideal case against you, Mr. Steel," he said. "Seems almost a pity to cut a career like Mr. Henson's short, does it not? Which reminds me that I am wasting time here. Any time you and Van Sneck happen to be passing the police-station the cigar-case is entirely at your disposal."

And Marley bustled off upon the errand that meant so much for Reginald Henson. He was hardly out of the house before Ruth Gates arrived. She looked a little distressed; she would not stay for a moment, she declared. Her machine was outside, and she was riding over to Longdean without delay. A note had just been sent to her from Chris.

"My uncle is in Paris," she said. "So I am going over to Longdean for a few days. Lord Littimer is there, and Frank also. The reconciliation is complete and absolute. Chris says the house is not the same now, and that she didn't imagine that it could be so cheerful. Reginald Henson—"

"My dear child, Henson is not there now."

"Well, he is. He went there last night, knowing that he was at his last gasp, with the idea of getting more money from Lady Littimer. To his great surprise he found Littimer there also. It was anything but a pleasant interview for Mr. Henson, who was finally turned out of the house. It is supposed that he came back again, for they found him this morning in the grounds with one of the dogs upon him. He is most horribly hurt, and lies at the lodge in a critical condition. I promised Chris that I would bring a message to you from Lord Littimer. He wants you and Dr. Bell to come over this afternoon and stay to dinner."

"We'll come, with pleasure," David said. "I'll go anywhere to have the chance of a quiet hour with you, Ruth. So far ours has been rather a prosaic wooing. And, besides, I shall want you to coach me up on my interview with your uncle. You have no idea how nervous I am. And at the last he might refuse to accept me for your husband."

Ruth looked up fondly into her lover's face.

"As if he could," she said, indignantly. "As if any man could find fault with you."

David drew the slender figure to his side and kissed the sweet, shy lips.

"When you are my wife," he said, "and come to take a closer and tenderer interest in my welfare—"

"Could I take a deeper interest than I do now, David?"

"Well, perhaps not. But you will find that a good many people find fault with me. You have no idea what the critics say sometimes. They declare that I am an impostor, a copyist; they say that I am—"

"Let them say what they like," Ruth laughed. "That is mere jealousy, and anybody can criticise. To me you are the greatest novelist alive."

There was only one answer to this, and Ruth broke away, declaring that she must go at once.

"But you will come this afternoon?" she said. "And you will make Lord Littimer like you. Some people say he is queer, but I call him an old darling."

"He will like me, he is bound to. I've got something, a present for him, that will render him my slave for life. Au revoir till the gloaming."

THE END