Chapter 17

THE OLD, OLD STORY.

On hearing Martaban's surprised cry, everyone stood still and silent out of sheer amazement. The unexpected had happened with a vengeance; and Dr. Horace, quite delighted with the sensation that he had produced, rubbed his hairy hands with a grim chuckle.

"Quite dramatic, isn't it!" said Horace.

Martaban drew a long breath, and clutched the document, as though he feared that it would vanish into thin air, like Macbeth's witches. "I am surprised," he confessed, staring at the doctor. "How did you become possessed of this, sir?" And in asking that very pertinent question he anticipated the speech of the others.

Horace did not answer immediately. Without requesting permission, he produced his immense German pipe, already stuffed as full as it would hold with strong tobacco, and lighted it calmly. Prelice looked annoyed at this breach of good manners, and would have stepped forward to remind Horace that he was not in his native wilds, but that Mona, guessing his intention, made a little gesture to stop him. Seeing what Dr. Horace had done, she was prepared to forgive him everything. Besides, the great traveller was such an eccentric person that no one could be angry when he behaved like a bear. It seemed natural that he should. Meanwhile the lawyer, becoming impatient, repeated his query.

"How did I become possessed of it?" said Horace, lying back luxuriously and puffing out white clouds of smoke. "Well, I might say that I murdered Lanwin, mightn't I?"

"Yes, you might," remarked Mona, smiling, "but you will not."

"No," sighed Horace, with an odd expression on his large face; "it would be an anti-climax."

"Oh, hang your dramatic instincts," said Prelice crossly. "Why can't you answer the question?"

"I am about to, if you will hold your tongue and sit down. You always did have too much chin-music, Prelice. Well," he looked round with a grin, like a somewhat malicious monkey, "if you must know, I got that will from Agstone."

Mona dropped back into the seat whence she had arisen, and her example was followed by the three men. Horace's calm announcement took their several breaths away, and their individual legs could support them no longer. "It seems to me," cried Prelice, much annoyed, "that you are presuming on our credulity."

"No; I am telling you the truth."

"But did you know Agstone?" demanded Shepworth, staring.

"Oh yes. He was my brother."

"What! What! What!" quacked Martaban like an excited duck.

"Go slow, old son of a gun," said the doctor, smoking calmly. "I told Lord Prelice yonder of my relationship, and there is no need for me to explain the same to you, beyond stating the fact that Steve Agstone was my brother. He knew of my address in London, and came to see me on the day after the murder."

"Why didn't you give him in charge?" asked the lawyer.

Horace surveyed the red face turned towards him in an aggravatingly calm way. "For two reasons," he grunted—"firstly, Agstone was my brother, and dog doesn't eat dog; secondly, I had no reason to believe that he had anything to do with the death."

"But the knife which he brought to Mr. Shepworth's flat——"

"Oh yes!" Horace glanced at the two young men and chuckled; "but you see there was no mention of the knife when Steve came to see me. Still, I must admit that he feared lest he should be accused of the crime."

"Oh!" cried Mona, sitting bolt upright, "then he did not accuse me again?"

"Not to me," answered the doctor promptly; "in fact, Steve seemed to be rather friendly inclined towards you."

"No! No! No!" cried Mona earnestly. "He never liked me; he was jealous because my uncle loved me."

"Well," Horace looked at his pipe rather than at the speaker, "I should not say that if I were you. In my opinion Steve was not so very devoted to Lanwin as was made out——"

"But I thought——"

"Never mind what you thought," said Horace rudely, and rose to walk up and down the room. "I am here to tell you facts. When I have explained as much as is possible for me to explain, I'm going."

"Won't you stop here for the night?" asked Mona, surprised.

"No," retorted Horace abruptly; "I won't. Now listen, as my time is valuable, and I can't remain here chattering nonsense, and——"

"And behaving rudely," finished Prelice, with sarcasm.

"Oh, you're there, my son, with your monkey-brand manners. There, there!" he went on teasingly, as Prelice jumped up, flushing, "don't get out your little gun. There's a lady present."

"I wish you would remember that."

"Oh, so I do. There's a lady present who wishes to hear how I became possessed of a document which gives her ten thousand a year. Very good, don't interrupt, or——" Horace broke off with a gruff laugh. "What bad manners you civilised people have."

Prelice looked despairingly at Shepworth. It seemed impossible to bring this uncouth person to the point. But Mona was laughing at the bearlike antics of the traveller, although Mr. Martaban's indignant face showed how his feelings were outraged. "This," cried the lawyer, "is quite intolerable."

"Cock-a-doodle-doo," crowed Horace derisively; then unexpectedly whirled a chair round between his stumpy legs, and sat down, leaning his arms over the back, to address his audience as it were from an imaginary pulpit. "Listen," said Horace gravely, and the smiles gave place to watchfulness on every face. "My brother came to see me on the day after the murder. I had already read of Lanwin's death in the papers, and asked Steve how his master came by his end. Steve swore that he did not know, but stated that he quite expected to be accused. He then lugged that blue envelope which Mr. Martaban is holding out of his pocket, and passed it along to me. Before I could open the envelope he was out of the house, and I never heard of him again until Prelice yonder brought me the report of his death in Shepworth's flat. When alone I opened the envelope, and found the will."

"Why didn't you bring it forward at once?" fumed the lawyer.

"Because I thought that its production might implicate Steve, and I didn't wish to have Steve hanged for a crime which he did not commit."

"Are you sure that he did not?" asked Shepworth, meaningly.

"One is sure of nothing in this old ramshackle world," said Horace philosophically; "but what I want you all to understand is that Steve told me nothing. Why he should bring me the will I can't say, and he did not wait to tell me how he became possessed of it. I should have brought it forward at the trial, but that the papers hinted at the burning of this will being a point in Miss Chent's favour. I therefore waited until Miss Chent was acquitted, and resolved only to use the will when Jadby—whom I don't like—tried to secure this property. Miss Chent sent me the wire to-night, saying that Jadby was making himself disagreeable, so I came down with the will. You have it, Mr. Land-shark," he added, looking at Martaban, "so that is a present for you, Miss Chent." He pulled out a small white paper packet from his breast-pocket, and flung it dexterously across the room. "You will find that useful should Captain Jadby prove to be troublesome, as he will now that he has lost the money. That is all my mission here." He jumped away from his chair unexpectedly, and trotted to the door, where he turned to survey the company. "Good-night."

"Stop, stop!" cried Mona, running to the door, through which he had so promptly vanished; and the others following, echoed her urgent cry. But by the time they reached the hall the door was wide open, and Horace had disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowed him up. Beyond was the darkness, which veiled him. "Is he mad?" asked Mona, turning an amazed face to the three men.

"Mad or not, he has done you a service," said Martaban, looking down at the will, which he still held. "This is undoubtedly your uncle's last testament, which was not burnt. It is signed by Sir Oliver in the presence of Stephen Agstone and Emma Blexey. What a facer this will be for our South Sea friend," ended the lawyer, actually becoming slangy in his delight.

"Ought we to follow Horace?" Shepworth asked.

"No," replied Prelice, who was frowning at Horace's manners; "even if we caught up with him, he would say nothing. We must wait to see if he will again intervene in the case."

"He seems to have washed his hands of it," said Ned, sauntering back to the drawing-room.

"He did so before, yet when Miss Chent wired he came down. I wonder——" Prelice paused, and bit his fingers.

"You wonder what?"

"If Horace killed Sir Oliver and Agstone."

Shepworth stared. "That's a rotten bad shot, Dorry. Why should he?"

"Oh, I can assign no reason, but——"

"My dear old chap, it is absurd. I know you are thinking of the will being brought here by Horace; but why should not his story be a true one, since Agstone is his brother?"

"Well," Prelice threw out his hands with a despairing gesture, "I can't understand the whole business; it passes my powers of comprehension."

Before Ned could reply Mona summoned both the young men. Along with Martaban, she had been opening the parcel which Horace had thrown across the room, and was now exclaiming at its contents. "Ned, Lord Prelice, here is the Sacred Herb."

They hurried over to have a look, and there sure enough was the yellowish stalk of the herb from Easter Island, bearing seven or more purple leaves. In addition, there was a written paper, which Mona read aloud.

"Use the enclosed when Jadby comes to close quarters and makes himself unpleasant," she read in a bewildered manner; "also, it will be as well for you to use your power over Lord Prelice to prevent his searching further in this case. If he meddles with what does not concern him, it means sorrow, and perhaps a public scandal."

There was a dead silence. "Now what does that mean?" asked Mona.

No one knew; no one dared to suggest an explanation. Prelice was the first to speak. "I advise you, Miss Chent, to obey Horace, and keep this herb constantly in your pocket. He is not the man to give a warning without some grave reason. He has saved you once from Jadby, and this herb, as he plainly says, intimates that it will save you again."

"But why should——"

"Oh!" Prelice shrugged his shoulders. "I can explain nothing. And with your leave I shall go back to Hythe, Ned."

"I remain here for the night," replied the barrister.

"All right, I shall see you in the morning." And Prelice sauntered to the door, after bowing to Miss Chent. He did not dare to take her hand, for fear he should never let go of it again. But she hurried after him, and spoke anxiously in the hall as he put on his light summer overcoat. This hasty departure annoyed her, as she showed plainly.

"Why will you not remain and talk over this strange matter?" she asked.

"No, no!" answered the young man, averting his eyes and quickly opening the door himself, since no footman was at hand: "But if you will permit me, I shall come here at five in the morning."

"At five? Why at five?"

"Then is the breaking of a new day," whispered Prelice in a somewhat tremulous voice. "And in the gardens—in the light of the dawn—you can then say—-you can then say——" He repeated the phrase, raised his eyes to meet hers, and left with a hurried good-night.

Mona stood where she was, amazed and confused. "What did he mean?" she asked herself; and immediately her heart explained. A light broke over her lovely face, and she whispered to herself: "At five—in the gardens—in the light of the dawn."

Meanwhile Prelice rushed downward to Hythe through the darkness of the night. There was no moon, but the purple sky scintillated gloriously with stars. A warm wind, laden with the fragrance of wild flowers, was blowing with strange murmurings over the bare spaces of the Downs, and the young man's spirits thrilled to the beauty and peace of the night. He should have thought of the case; of Horace's queer warning, repeated for the third time; and of the behaviour of Captain Jadby, now converted from a secret foe into an open enemy. But he considered nothing of these pressing matters, which had to do with the everyday world. Rather did he think of Mona and her starry beauty; rather did he recall with joy the great truth, which he could scarcely realise, that he was free to woo her, without being disloyal to his bosom friend. Mona was not engaged to Ned; her heart was free to receive a loving occupant; and Prelice, striding through the leafy lanes, swore inly that he would be that occupant. Lady Sophia would be hostile; he knew that from the way in which she had taken leave of the girl. But what did that matter, so long as Mona received him at dawn, in the enchanted gardens of the secluded Grange?

All that night Prelice slept soundly. As a lover, the tumult of his heart should have kept him wide awake, but the transcendental heights to which his thoughts raised him so drew him away from earthly matters that he lost consciousness of physical surroundings. Lying on his bed, the sound of the breaking waves on the rugged beach below the hotel lulled him to sleep. And then his spirit soared to a higher world, spiritual and pure, in which there was no pain or sorrow or weary misunderstandings. When he awoke, with the rosy lights of sunrise streaming through the curtainless window, his spirit told him little of what it had seen in the superphysical world. But Prelice was conscious that somewhere in the vast spaces of the unknown he had met with Mona, and had talked with her for endless periods of time. True, according to the clock, he had slept but a few hours; but, living in eternity, as a true lover should, he took no count of earthly time—man's measure of the eternal. He had lived for thousands of years during the dark hours, kneeling at the feet of Mona, crowned Queen of Dreams, of Kisses. And now he was to see her again in the flesh, gracious and lovely, and—as he knew she would be—truly kind.

The spirit of the man having bathed in the fountain of sleep, rose therefrom pure and undefiled. It seemed meet to Prelice—although he was not usually so imaginative—that he should wear a suit of pure white as symbolic of the coming interview. And as he passed uphill clothed in spotless flannels, with the purity of the dawn stealing into his soul, he felt as though he had been reborn into a fairer and more perfect world. Passing swiftly over the grassy uplands, his eager feet bore him down into the hollow, through the ancient woods, and on to the bird-haunted lawn. And there, in the cold, searching, chaste light of the dawn hours, he beheld his lady standing amidst the dewy grass, waiting for his coming. And she also was clothed in white.

As Prelice came across the lawns, his eyes far off met those of Mona, which shone like twin stars in the rosy flushing of her face. According to precedent, he should have raised his hat; he should have greeted her with a hand-shake; he should have explained his desire for this unconventional meeting. But he did none of these things; neither did she desire that he should do them. Without a words without a pause, he came to her swiftly, and clasped her in his arms. Their lips met in one long kiss, and the awakened birds sang joyfully in the rustling trees. So might Adam have greeted Eve in Paradise, when God presented him with the helpmate who was to be the mother of all mankind.

"And you knew—you knew all the time?" murmured Mona on his breast.

"No, I did not know, more shame to me. I really thought that you were engaged to Ned."

"I don't mean that. But surely you knew—you guessed that I loved you, and you only?"

"No. How could I when——"

"I showed my love in a hundred ways," she said, with a playful laugh. "Oh, Lord Prelice, how very little you know of women."

"I know more than is good for me," he murmured, smiling.

"What?"

"That is, Lord Prelice does," he protested, hedging; "but George is an innocent boy, who knows nothing."

"Who is George?"

"I am." And he kissed her again, victoriously.

Mona laughed happily. "I am afraid that George is not so innocent as he makes himself out to be."

"Teach him to be good, my darling."

"A hard task you set me—George," she lingered lovingly over the name; "and oh, what you must think of me, who take so much for granted."

"I think that you are an angel," he cried fervently.

"Dear, I loved you from the moment I first saw you in that cruel Court."

"And I loved you," she whispered. "I thought that it was merely friendship, until we met again, and then—then, I knew!" She gave a delighted little crow of laughter, which stirred the young man's heart to its depths. Impulsively he dropped on his knees, and kissed her hands alternately, scarcely able to speak.

"I am not worthy of you," he muttered.

"Dear." She stooped, and raised him to her breast. "Let me find out your imperfections by myself."

"I have many," he said humbly.

"And I love you for them. I marry a man in the world of men, and not an archangel; in the same way as you take a faulty woman, and not a spirit of light. But we are spirits, although clothed in coats of skin," she ended gently, "and when the hour strikes we shall know each other."

"Do we not know each other now?"

"No. That is, Mona Chent knows George Prelice."

The young man jumped gaily to his feet. "Enough for the day is the delight therefore," he cried. "I am quite content to know Mona Chent until she becomes Mona Prelice. When will you marry me?"

"So like a man," laughed the girl; "you wish to settle an important future in five minutes. We must wait."

"Wait? Oh no, no! Why should we?"

"Because," Mona laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, "your wife must be like C�sar's, above suspicion."

"You wish me, then, to go on looking into the case?"

"I do, unless you accept the warning of Dr. Horace."

Prelice threw his panama over the hedge "I accept no warning, since you make me strong to dare it. I shall go on with the case—to-morrow."

"Why to-morrow?"

"Oh, Mona, let me enjoy Paradise for twenty-four hours."

"No. You must act, and at once, lest we lose our Paradise altogether. I don't understand what Dr. Horace means, but in spite of his hints I wish you to look into matters in order to find out who murdered poor Uncle Oliver, and in order to clear my name. You must go up to London to-day and begin your search. It is a sacrifice I ask of you, no doubt, but then love—true love—means sacrifice."

"Very good," said Prelice sedately; "I shall go up by the midday train and interview Madame Marie Eppingrave."

"Why her particularly?"

"She gave the herb to your uncle. Mrs. Blexey mistrusts her. Now," he closed her mouth with a kiss, "not a word more. The gates of Paradise will close in a few hours. Until then——"

"Yes, yes! Until then?"

"Let us play at being Adam and Eve in a garden."

And they did.