Chapter 12

THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS

Denham took his leave with profuse thanks to Jarman for a pleasant visit. He departed without the least suspicion that Frank was other than he was represented to be. Eustace drew a breath of relief when he dismissed him at the railway station.

"That's all right," he thought, as he took his way homeward. "Denham will represent me as a kind friend, and will do away with any suspicion in the Berry mind as to my having a card up my sleeve. Now I can make another move."

The next move was to see Miss Dorothy Drake and learn all particulars about the sealed envelope. Also Frank wished to know what had become of his effects, which had been left behind in his London rooms. As his nearest relative, it was probable that Miss Drake would lay claim to them until such time as he should reappear. Eustace therefore decided to go a few days after Denham's visit, and called on Mildred to explain his absence. For obvious reasons he did not explain himself too fully. Not until Frank was proved innocent did Jarman wish her to know that he was identical with Mr. O'Neil.

"I shall only be away a week, Mildred," said Eustace, taking her hand; "you won't forget me in that time?"

"I am not likely to forget you at all," replied the girl, wearily.

"Mildred, you are not looking well."

"The weather is so trying," she said hesitatingly, "and Walter's death has damped my spirits."

"I wish you would not dwell on that, my dear. He was not worth it."

"Still, he was my brother when all is said and done. If he had only died a natural death, I would not mind so much. But it is terrible to think of his tragic end. Are you making any attempt to discover the truth?"

"Yes. My journey is connected with the attempt."

"Where are you going?"

"No," said Jarman, smiling, "don't ask me that. Not until I am successful shall I reveal my methods. And at present I am groping in the dark."

"Have you no clue?"

Eustace hesitated. "I can hardly say that I have. There are certain suspicions in my mind, which may or may not prove correct. But when I return I may be able to tell you something."

"Do your suspicions still point to the innocence of Mr. Lancaster?"

"Yes," said Jarman, firmly. "I am more convinced every day that he is the victim of a conspiracy. But his innocence will be hard to prove. Mildred"--he again took her hand--"when I'm away I want you to be kind to O'Neil. He has no relatives, poor fellow, and is in sad trouble. Don't let him feel lonely."

Mildred nodded, but could not trust herself to speak. Had she consulted her own inclinations she would have seen nothing of the secretary during the absence of his employer. Daily she grew more and more interested in the so-called O'Neil. She learnt to watch for his coming, to hang on his words. He had said nothing to her likely to be construed into admiration, and was always cold and guarded in his utterance. But this very coldness increased her liking for him. She assured herself that it was merely "liking," but in her heart she knew that love had awakened. The thought of this, coupled with the remembrance of her half-engagement to Eustace, made her nervous and confused. She could not meet her lover's eye, and he returned to his home wondering at the inexplicable change. However, he finally put it down to grief for the loss of her unworthy brother, and to prevent her from brooding he asked Frank to see her as frequently as he could during his absence.

"Certainly," said Frank, with an effort to be cheerful; "if you do not think she will find me out."

"How can she She has never set eyes on you at close quarters, as you were."

"No," muttered Lancaster, guiltily, recalling the night in the theatre and the genesis of his futile passion. "I suppose not." Then, to change the subject, he asked Eustace to be sure to let him know all that transpired between himself and Miss Drake. "And give her my love."

"And tell her you are innocent?"

"Oh, she won't need to be told that," said Frank. "Aunt Dorothy will never believe that I did such a wicked thing. Heaven bless her! By the way, you don't think there is any chance of Berry coming down?"

"Not the slightest. Any suspicions he may have entertained about my knowing your whereabouts will be dissipated by the babble of Natty. I took the greatest care to load him up with a story likely to satisfy even the suspicions of Captain Banjo. I shouldn't be surprised," added Jarman, reflectively, "if Berry approached me with an offer to join forces."

"What good would that do him?"

"Well, I know about the murder of Anchor, and, moreover, as I was your friend I might--in his opinion--know something likely to help him in acquiring this fortune."

"Then you really think there is a fortune?"

"After the talk of Natty about his birthday, I am perfectly sure that there is a great deal of money knocking about. It ought to come to you; but Berry's machinations, unless thwarted, will put it into the pocket of Denham."

"If so, he won't benefit."

"Oh, yes, he will," rejoined Eustace, grimly. "When Denham is in possession of the fortune, he will die as Starth did. He will follow poor Anchor to the other world in the same way. Then Fan and Berry will retire to live happy ever afterwards."

"It's all theory," grumbled Frank.

"Quite so. But that's my reading of the mystery. However, your aunt may throw some light on the subject. She will probably tell me more of your father's life than she told you."

But Lancaster was not to be convinced. "I don't think she knows anything," he said. "Better see those lawyers, White & Saon."

"I'll look them up when I return to town."

Jarman, having settled his plans, went off, and Frank found himself in sole possession of the house. Miss Cork waited on him assiduously, and he noticed that she was not so eccentric as usual. As yet he had not tried the experiment of letting her see the photograph of Balkis, which was his true reason for obtaining it from Mildred. Frank did not believe Miss Cork's story of the lost child, and was certain that her emotion at the mention of the name was due to some other and less respectable cause. It might be that she knew Balkis herself, and as Balkis knew Berry--according to Natty's slip of the tongue--Miss Cork might be able to throw some light on the mystery of the black woman's connection with Starth. Frank determined to place the photograph where Miss Cork could see it, and then when she was moved to terror or surprise by the sight of the face, to insist on an explanation. What she said might not lead to the detection of the true assassin, but it might reveal something about Berry likely to show why he was conspiring against the life and liberty of an innocent man. But this again was all theory, as was Jarman's belief that the tattoo mark of the Scarlet Bat was at the bottom of Berry's rascalities. Still, if Frank wished to win clear of his difficulties, it behoved him to try in all directions, on the chance of finding a clue to the mystery.

Frank therefore displayed the photograph of the big negress in a prominent position, for the startling of Miss Cork, and then took his way to Rose Cottage. He knew, that, seeing he loved Mildred, he ought not to go, in spite of the unsuspicious Jarman's direct wish. But Lancaster, loyal as he wished to act towards his friend, could not help drinking in the sweet poison. By this time he was convinced that Mildred liked him more than a little, and he gave himself a kind of delicious pain in watching this fruit which he could never hope to pluck. He thought that when she knew his real name her liking would vanish, to be replaced with loathing for the assassin of her brother, as she must surely think Lancaster to be. Then she could marry Jarman, and be happy. Frank argued in this way. All the same, he knew that he was giving way to weakness in trusting himself in her sweet presence. This feeling was so strong on him, when he approached the cottage, that he was minded to retreat, and make some excuse for not calling again. What made him change his mind was the sight of Darrel in the garden. But that Frank was in love and knew that Darrel was a suitor for Mildred's hand, a timely thought of his danger would have made him retreat. As it was, he went boldly forward, trusting in the perfection of his disguise. It had not been pierced by Denham, so it was unlikely he would be unmasked by so slow-thinking a man as Darrel. And it made the young man furiously jealous to think that Darrel should persecute Mildred with his attentions. He tried to think that in coming between he was actuated by friendship for Jarman, but, in his own passionate heart, he knew well that it was a personal resentment. Mrs. Perth had brought her everlasting knitting into the garden, and was seated in a cane chair under the elm. Near her was Mildred, looking in Frank's helpless eyes more beautiful than ever. And to make him the more jealous, Mildred was winding a ball of red wool for Mrs. Perth from a skein held by Darrel. The Rhodesian was, as usual, big and sullen, and appeared much too gigantic for the little garden. It was a modern picture of Hercules and Omphale; and Frank, realising his own helplessness, raged inwardly, as he was smilingly welcomed by Mrs. Perth. Mildred, after a nod, cast down her eyes with a flush on her face, and attended assiduously to her work. Hercules scowled.

"I'm so glad to see you," said Mrs. Perth in her precise voice. "Do you know Mr. Darrel?"

Naturally Frank said that he had not the pleasure, and was introduced at once. Darrel lifted his heavy eyes with a grunt, and paid no further attention to the secretary. But he was quite as jealous as Frank; and Mildred, the cause of this feeling in both breasts, became aware that the weather was thundery. However, she chatted brightly, and divided her attentions equally, being helped by Mrs. Perth. That good lady never suspected what was going on under her nose.

"Your cold is better," said Mrs. Perth, when Frank was seated.

As a matter of fact it was, as Eustace had left off giving Frank the means to hoarsen his voice after the departure of Denham. "It is better," said Frank, almost in his usual tones. "Jarman has been doctoring me. I'll soon be well."

Darrel pricked up his ears and looked at the dark young man. "Have I ever met you before?" he asked.

Frank kept his countenance, although he felt that he was in an awkward position. "I think not," he said coldly.

While Darrel's lazy eyes strayed over him slowly, Mrs. Perth put in a brisk word. "Mr. O'Neil comes from Ireland," she said. "Have you ever been in Ireland, Mr. Darrel?"

"No," he responded, still eyeing Lancaster, who sustained his scrutiny unmoved. "I should never have taken Mr. O'Neil for an Irishman."

"That means you have no brogue," said Mildred to Frank, smiling. "But he had one when he came, Mr. Darrel."

"You have been here a long time to get rid of it, then?" said Darrel.

"Just a few weeks," replied Frank, calmly.

Mrs. Perth, with the best intentions, brought Lancaster under the guns of the enemy. "You came just when we were in deep grief over that horrid murder," she said, clicking her needles.

"Yes. I remember you saying something about that," said Frank.

"I have been in Scotland," said Darrel, suddenly, and taking side-looks at Lancaster's unmoved face, "so I don't know what has happened. Have they caught the man who did it?"

"Mr. Lancaster?" said the old lady. "No, they have not."

"And I hope they never will," said Mildred, flushing. "From what Mr. Jarman says, I believe Mr. Lancaster is innocent."

"Oh!" said Darrel, turning away his eyes from Frank, "so Jarman takes up the cudgels on behalf of this murderer. I remember he was a friend of Lancaster's."

"And is," said Frank, incautiously.

"You should know," said Darrel, quietly, and with a keen glance, "being his secretary."

"I have heard Jarman speak of this matter," replied Frank. He knew that Darrel's suspicions were aroused, and tried to keep the colour from his cheeks. He looked directly at Darrel, and the eyes of the two men met. It was Darrel who first withdrew his gaze.

"No," he said at length, "you're not a bit like Lancaster, although you have the same tone of voice."

"Has he indeed?" said Mildred, with interest.

"Lancaster was fair-haired and white-skinned," went on Darrel.

"Whereas I am a dark Celt," said Frank, drawing a long breath, as he deemed the danger was at an end.

"Well, don't talk any more about the matter," put in Mrs. Perth, sharply. "You'll upset Mildred, and the affair is too horrible to discuss."

Upon this hint Darrel turned the conversation into other channels, and devoted himself to Mrs. Perth. Frank thus had an opportunity of chatting with Mildred. They talked on the most indifferent subjects, but all the time each one knew what the other wanted to say. Such sudden love seems incredible to those who have never loved; but anyone who has fallen a victim to the great passion knows how suddenly the devouring flame blazes into a conflagration. The two had seen little of one another, all things considering, and they had never become confidential. Yet they loved one another, and it needed only an unguarded moment of emotion for the truth to be openly acknowledged between them.

Darrel, with his side-glances, saw their embarrassment, their flushed cheeks, their efforts to appear easy, and took note of all. But with great self-control he continued his conversation with Mrs. Perth. For quite an hour he talked, and then rose to take his leave, at the same moment as Frank announced his intention of departing.

"I am stopping at the Rectory," said Darrel, when they passed through the gate. "You come my way, I think?"

"For some little distance," replied Frank, always on his guard, but suspecting no evil on the part of his companion.

For a time they strolled on in silence, down the lane, and out on to the dusty white road. Then Darrel commenced to converse on indifferent matters, and told stories about Africa. Also he stated his experiences in America. "I was at Los Angeles," he said.

Frank remembered how at the theatre he had said that he met Berry at Los Angeles, but made no comment on the remark. Darrel still continued to talk, till they halted in a quiet side road, whence Frank branched off to the Shanty. There Darrel stopped. "Miss Starth is in love with you," he said abruptly, his jealous eyes on the young man's face.

"What do you mean?" demanded the secretary, indignantly.

"And you are in love with her," went on the Rhodesian.

"I don't know what right you have to say these things."

"This much right," said Darrel, calmly. "I love Miss Starth, and I intend to make her my wife. If you clear out and leave her alone, I'll say nothing; if you don't, I'll have you arrested. You understand me, Lancaster."

Frank's heart almost stood still. "I am not--"

"Bah!" said Darrel, cutting him short, and pointing to his left hand. "When you disguise yourself, you should remove your ring. I fancied it was your voice when you spoke, and I saw that habit you have of slipping that ring up and down your finger. Also the ring itself, I remember it quite well."

Frank cursed his folly. The ring was a noticeable one, set with two black pearls. More of a lady's ring than a man's it was, but he wore it because it had belonged to his mother. There was no chance of keeping up his assumed character in the face of such evidence. "But I assure you, Darrel, I am innocent," he protested.

"I don't care two cents if you are innocent or guilty," said Darrel, coolly. "Starth was never a friend of mine, and objected to my marrying his sister. I've set my heart on making her my wife, because I love her with all my soul. She loves you."

"No, she doesn't!"

"She loves you," persisted Darrel. "Do you think I can't tell. I'm too deeply in love with her myself to make any mistake. I'm not going to have you queering my pitch. If you leave her alone and clear out, I'll hold my tongue."

"And if I don't?"

"I'll write to the London police. Inspector Herny will be glad to get you into his clutches. Now you know," and without further words Darrel turned on his heel and lumbered down the road like a heavy, clumsy steer.

For a few moments Frank stood alone in the shadow, feeling as though the brightness had died out of his life. He felt that he did not much care if he were arrested, so wearing was the _r�le_ he was playing, but the thought that Mildred would be told, that she would look upon him with loathing, made him shudder. He tried to stifle his thoughts, and hurried into the house to think what was best to be done. At that moment he sorely missed the wise head and staunch friendship of Jarman.

The door of the Shanty was wide open. Wondering at this, for Miss Cork was of that suspicious nature which always kept windows barred and doors closed, Frank stepped into the drawing-room. He glanced towards the mantelpiece where he had placed the photograph of Balkis. It was gone. A sudden suspicion seized him. He went to the kitchen. It was empty. Miss Cork had, vanished, and had taken the portrait with her!