Chapter 11

FRANK'S STORY

Seeing Frank's disturbed face, Mildred also became alarmed, but he managed to pacify both her and Jenny in a few words. It was impossible to tell the truth, therefore he was obliged to romance. "I think the heat is too much for me," he said, smiling, "and your mention of tattooing, Miss Arrow, recalled a disagreeable story."

"Tell it to us," said Jenny, eagerly. "I love ghastly tales."

"I wouldn't shock you by repeating this one," said Lancaster, finding it difficult to improvise. "It's about a leper."

Mildred uttered an exclamation of disgust. "Ugh! how dreadful. I don't want to hear it."

"I do," cried Miss Arrow, with the avidity of a ghoul. "You must tell it to me on some other occasion, Mr. O'Neil."

"I will, if you will tell me more of Mr. Denham's tattooing."

Jenny shook her head. "I don't know any more. You must ask Billy. He has this Scarlet Bat on his left arm, that's all I know."

"Did he ever tell Billy how it came to be there?"

"I told you. The Indians marked him. I can't say the reason."

Frank was silent. He was particularly anxious to know why Denham was marked in this peculiar way, and resolved to find out before the young man returned to town. As it was, the tattooing was another link in the chain which, to his mind, connected Berry with the crime. However, he kept his ideas to himself, and would have taken his departure to think them out at leisure but that he had a purpose to achieve connected with the photograph of Balkis. He knew that Walter's effects had passed into the hands of Mildred, and wished to obtain the portrait, for reasons which he afterwards explained to Jarman. Mildred herself gave him a chance of introducing the subject without awakening suspicion.

"You have been working too hard," she said, in reference to Lancaster's late emotion, "and it is so very hot."

"Perhaps I have," he assented, glad of the excuse; "but Jarman is anxious to get a new story finished quickly. It's an Eastern tale."

"Tell it to us," said the bold Jenny, sitting up and hugging her knees.

"Jenny, how can you!" corrected Mildred. "Mr. O'Neil must keep all those sort of things quiet."

"I can tell you this much, Miss Arrow, that Jarman wants a few words of Arabic, and we can't find them."

"I never knew him to be at a loss before," said Mildred.

"Well, he is this time, so you can crow over him, Miss Starth. He is anxious to get some Arabic letters. You haven't such a thing, I suppose," he added, half jokingly.

"Good gracious! where could I-- Wait," she said, rising, "there's a portrait which belonged to poor Walter. There are some Arabic letters on it. Mrs. Perth told me they were Arabic. But she may be wrong."

"As a governess she ought not to be," put in Jenny. "Get it, Mildred."

While Miss Starth hastened into the house, Jenny stared up into Frank's face in quite an embarrassing way. "Are you going to stay long at the Shanty?" she asked.

"That depends upon Mr. Jarman."

"Oh, then you'll stay as long as you like. He's very fond of you."

"He is a very good friend to me," said Frank, quietly.

Jenny nodded. "He is to everyone, I think. Mildred's fond of him. He has helped her a lot with her poetry. I like him better than Mr. Darrel. Do you know Mr. Darrel?"

"I have heard of him," replied Frank, cautiously.

"I don't like him at all," said Jenny, shaking her head vigorously. "He's a great friend to pa and ma, and very rich. But he doesn't come down to see them," she tittered. "No, Mildred's the attraction."

"Does Miss Starth like him?" asked Frank, quickly.

"She says she doesn't; but, of course, he's so rich. But I would rather she married Mr. Jarman, wouldn't you?"

Frank was spared the pain of replying to this embarrassing query by the return of Mildred with the portrait, which she placed in his hands. "It's the picture of a negress," she said, "and the letters at the foot--"

"They are Arabic sure enough. Who is the woman!"

"I don't know. It is a fancy portrait, I suppose."

"Probably. Can I take this away with me for a few days to copy the letters, Miss Starth? I'll return it safe."

"Oh, take it by all means. Look, Jenny, there's beauty."

Jenny sat up, and looked at the face earnestly. "It's something like Mr. Darrel," she said at length.

"Nonsense!" said Mildred, looking in her turn at the picture. "But, really, I don't know. What do you think, Mr. O'Neil?"

There was a resemblance to Darrel. The same sulky expression, and thick lips, and arrogant air. "Perhaps she's a relative of his," giggled Jenny. "He was born in the West Indies, you know."

"This portrait was taken at some place in Rotherhithe," said Mildred, pointing out the photographer's name. "But it is like Mr. Darrel."

"Quite as ugly," said Jenny; "though it's mean of me saying that," she added, "for Mr. Darrel gave me a lovely brooch last time he was down. He's coming again in a month. Do you know, Mildred?"

"Yes, I know," replied Miss Starth, in no very pleased tone.

Frank slipped the portrait into his pocket, as Billy Arrow came on to the lawn followed by Jarman and Natty. Billy was nearly twenty-one, and a Sandhurst cadet, but a great deal of the schoolboy remained in him. "We've had a rippin' time," said the young gentleman, throwing himself on the lawn.

"Would you like some tea?" asked Mildred.

"Rather. Tea would be saucy. Let me get it," and Billy swept into the house like a whirlwind.

Frank saw that Jarman looked rather disturbed, and wondered what could be the reason. He guessed that he had learnt something relative to the Berrys from Natty, and was anxious to know what it was. But he could not question Eustace at the moment, therefore curbed his curiosity until a more seasonable time. Meantime Natty was paying compliments to Mildred.

"You do look well, Miss Starth," he babbled in his inconsequent way--"and what a slapping day! We had an A1 dip. You should have come along, Mr. O'Neil."

Frank suppressed a smile, thinking how soon his disguise would have vanished had he accepted this offer. "I have been more pleasantly engaged," he said; "here comes Billy and the tea."

Billy was a first-rate hand at getting what he wanted. He brought a tray laden with strawberry jam, a large bowl of Devonshire cream, some hot cakes, and a fresh pot of tea. "You'll starve us out of house and home, Billy," said Mildred, when these were arranged before her. "What will Mrs. Perth say?"

"She'd say eat well, and not too quickly," said Billy, selecting a cake, while Jarman looked on amused.

"You're still a boy, Billy."

"So am I," said Natty, taking a slice of bread and cream, "in spite of being nearly twenty-five. I'm not that till the twenty-fifth of September, you know."

Frank looked up quickly, and glanced sideways at Jarman. That was the date of his own birthday, and then he, like Natty, would be twenty-five. This coincidence, taken in conjunction with the tattooing, puzzled him not a little. Jarman also looked perplexed, and asked a question. "Where were you born, Denham?" he demanded.

"At Zacatecas in Mexico," prattled Natty. "No end of a place. But I went to school in New Orleans. Yes, sir--to a slap-up school. My dad said I'd have to have the best education possible, so that I could look after the money when it came."

"Are you coming into a fortune?" asked Frank.

"Rather--to no end of a fortune. But it's a long yarn. I'll tell it to you some night, Jarman. It's good for your books."

"I shall be delighted to hear it."

"I get the money after my twenty-fifth birthday," said Natty, "and then I'll buy you all presents. Billy shall have a horse."

"And what will you give me?" asked Jenny.

"A husband," replied Natty. "And you, Miss Starth?"

"I'll have a husband also," said Mildred, frivolously, and then was sorry when she said it, recalling Natty's attentions. Jarman also was annoyed, and addressed himself to the young man.

"You must first catch your hare," he said gravely. "And I suppose your guardian, Captain Berry, will have to be consulted."

"No, I guess not. His control ceases when I get the dollars."

"On your twenty-fifth birthday?"

"_After_ my twenty-fifth birthday. I can't say how long!"

Jarman said no more, being afraid to press his inquiries. Natty was a babbling fool; still, it was not wise to arouse his suspicions. He might mention them to Captain Berry and Fan, when there would probably be trouble. And Jarman wished that estimable couple to look upon him as one wholly unconcerned in their shady doings. By assuring them of his lack of interest he hoped to throw them off their guard.

The conversation became more or less frivolous, as was natural amongst such young people. Jarman was the eldest present, and he felt his forty years painfully. He even began to ask himself if it were fair that he should make Mildred his wife. She was young, he was elderly, and he remembered the proverb of May and December. He was not exactly December yet, but he was getting rapidly into the sear and yellow leaf. The reflection made him sad. When he went home with Frank--Natty remaining behind to play a game of tennis with Billy--he talked very little. Frank likewise was silent for a time, but ultimately he spoke first.

"I was rather startled to-day?" he said, as they neared the Shanty.

"Eh, what was that? Nothing wrong?"

"No. But Jenny Arrow told me that Denham, according to Billy, had a Scarlet Bat tattooed on his left arm."

"I know," said Jarman, quietly. "I saw it to-day when he was bathing. I intended to surprise you with the news. Strange that you should have made the discovery on the same day as I did. The long arm of coincidence again, I suppose."

Frank paid little attention to this, being taken up with his own thoughts. "You know I have a Scarlet Bat tattooed on my right arm?"

Jarman nodded. "I remember, and I suggested that as it was the sole mystery in your life, it might have to do with Berry's desiring to have you hanged. Now that we know Denham is marked in a similar way, it puts the matter beyond a doubt."

"I can't see how," said Frank, frowning.

"Wait till we get inside," said Jarman, "then we can talk at our ease."

Not another word was spoken until they entered Jarman's den, and sat down in the coolness. The blinds were down and there was a pleasant darkness. Jarman closed the door, then took a seat opposite to that into which Lancaster had thrown himself.

"Tell me again of your past," he said. "I want to refresh my memory."

"There's so little to tell that I wonder you don't know every word by heart," said the other, drearily.

"You only told me once, and my memory is a bad one. Go on."

While Jarman lighted his pipe, Frank told how he had been sent home from San Francisco by his father when he was two years of age, and placed under the care of a Quaker aunt called Miss Dorothy Drake. "She lived in Devonshire, at a place called Kingsbridge," went on Lancaster, "and there I was brought up till it was time for me to go to college. I studied at the Elizabethan Grammar School in that town. My father was always coming home, but never appeared. Then, when I was ten, he stopped writing altogether. But my aunt had the money for my education sent to her regularly. I went to Oxford, as you know, and then came, five years ago, to make my mark in London. And a pretty mark I have made!" said Frank, bitterly.

"You never spoke of this past to anyone?"

"No. My aunt particularly told me not to do so. I can't see, myself, why I should have kept silence though," he added, frowning. "There's nothing wrong about my past that I can see."

"No. It would seem as though your father was anxious you should live as quietly as possible, so as not to attract the attentions of adventurers of the Berry type."

"I don't understand."

"Well, that tattooing on your right arm! You never knew what it meant?"

"No. I asked my aunt and she could not tell me. It was on my arm--the Scarlet Bat I mean--when I came from America. Denham, I understand, says that his tattooing was done by Indians."

"H'm! He might believe that," said Jarman, sceptically, "and I daresay he's as ignorant of what the symbol means as you are. But Berry knows."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because he is hounding you down, and you are marked in a similar way to that boy whom he has in his clutches."

"Do you think Denham is in his clutches?"

"I am sure of it. The boy believes in him thoroughly, and is quite under Berry's thumb--poor wretch. He knows nothing about the significance of the Scarlet Bat, or Berry would not trust his babbling tongue within reach of my ears. But you told me that there was a chance of your learning something about yourself?"

"Yes. Aunt Dorothy said that when I was twenty-five, she had been told by my father to give me a sealed envelope. What it contained she did not know. In fact, Jarman, my aunt knew nothing, save that my father was a great traveller, that he married in America, and that when my mother died he sent me home. She thinks he is dead, because she has not received a letter from him for so long. I don't agree with her, as all this time the money has been forwarded for my education and keep."

"Are you still receiving money?"

"Yes. Twenty pounds a month. But I don't touch it. Aunt Dorothy is poor, so I give it to her and work for my own bread and butter."

"H'm! You're a good fellow. Who pays you the money?"

"White & Saon, lawyers in the City."

"Can't they tell you anything?"

"Maybe they might be able to do so, but they refuse. All they say is that the money comes from their San Francisco agents, and that they are empowered to pay it to me."

"Have they any papers?"

"No. I asked them. They said they had none. I must wait for that sealed envelope."

"On your twenty-fifth birthday," mused Jarman. "Observe, my son, Denham states that he is to come into money _after_ his birthday. He is the same age as you are."

"And his birthday is on the same day, which makes it stranger. There is money knocking round, as you guessed. But I can't see how it is to come my way."

"You may learn when you open that envelope."

"I'll know soon then. Next month I'm twenty-five. Poor Aunt Dorothy. I wonder what she thinks of my scandal."

"Didn't you write her?"

"No. How could I. I feared lest the police might see her and make inquiries? She is a truthful old lady, and, although she would not betray me, she would give herself away by being confused. No, Eustace, it's best that my aunt should know nothing of my whereabouts."

"Well, she will know soon, as I intend to call on her next week."

"What for?" asked Frank, surprised.

"To get that envelope, and to learn all I can from her about your father's life in America. There's money I tell you, Frank, and it comes either to you or Denham."

"How do you make that out?"

"Because you are both marked with the Scarlet Bat. And Berry," said Eustace, with emphasis, "is doing his best to get that money."