Chapter 7

CUPID'S BARGAIN

While Jarman was receiving Miss Starth at the door, Miss Cork had brought in the lamp and pulled down the blinds. In the yellow light Mildred could see that his face was pearly white. As Eustace was not usually emotional, she guessed that the paper she had given him must be interesting enough to surprise him out of his ordinary self.

"What is it?" she asked nervously. "Oh! what is it?" Her nerves were slack, poor girl, from the anxieties of the last week.

Jarman did not answer directly. That he should have stumbled on the word "Tamaroo" in this unexpected manner, immediately after telling his story to Frank, surprised him not a little. The coincidence was extraordinary, and, he suspected, providential. He could not see what connection there could be between the murder of Anchor in San Francisco and that of Walter Starth in Sand Lane, but the mysterious word "Tamaroo" seemed to link the two. Perhaps it might prove the clue to the mystery of the last crime. Jarman sat down to hurriedly arrange his thoughts, but he was unable to answer Mildred for a time. After her exclamation she remained quiet, clasping and unclasping her hands, shaken to the core of her soul by the disturbed looks of this ordinarily phlegmatic man.

"I don't know what it means," confessed Jarman finally, and looked again at the paper. "This is written by an uneducated person, and by one who knows Lancaster well enough to address him by his Christian name. Who slipped it into your hand?"

"I don't know," said Mildred again. "I was passing out with the crowd after the verdict had been given, and I felt this being pushed into my hand. My fingers closed on it mechanically. For the moment I never thought to look round for the person. When I examined it outside it was, of course, too late."

"H'm! That's a pity. If we could only find who wrote it there might be some chance of clearing up the mystery."

"Then you think there _is_ a mystery, Mr. Jarman?"

"About your brother's death? Certainly I do. I know Lancaster very well. Indeed, it was I who introduced him to your brother, and I am absolutely certain that he is not the man to commit so brutal a crime."

"But his threats on the previous night?" objected Mildred.

"Mere foolish speaking. And, far from proving his guilt, they, to my mind, hint at his innocence. Had he intended to kill your brother he would have been more circumspect in his language."

"But if Mr. Lancaster is innocent, why did he run away?"

Jarman shrugged his shoulders. "You can't expect a man to have all his wits about him at such a moment. He was"--here Jarman was about to explain the drugging, but on second thoughts he did not think it wise to appear to know too much--"he was in the house alone with your brother, whom he had threatened," he continued, "and when the murder took place saw that there was every chance of his being accused. To avoid being arrested on circumstantial evidence, he fled."

"Have you any idea where he is?" asked Miss Starth, quickly.

"No," replied Jarman, deliberately. "I have not seen Frank Lancaster for some months. He was always in town, and, as you know, I rarely go up. You believe him to be guilty?"

"Everything seems to point to his guilt."

"I admit that. But I am convinced from what I know of him that he is perfectly innocent."

"If so," said Mildred, shrewdly, "he must at least know who killed my brother, seeing that he left the house _after_ the death."

"I don't profess to explain," said Eustace, who was unwilling to lie more than was necessary to shield Lancaster. "Did your brother ask Lancaster to call on him?"

"No!" replied Mildred, decisively. "Walter was rather afraid of Mr. Lancaster. They were bad friends for some reason, and Mr. Lancaster threatened to give Walter a thrashing."

"Did he threaten to kill him?"

Mildred hesitated. "Well, Walter said that Mr. Lancaster would shoot him if he got the chance, as he always carried a revolver."

"Lancaster only carried a revolver when he went slumming."

"He wasn't slumming when he visited at Sand Lane."

"No! I can't explain that. All I can say is that, from what I know of Lancaster, he might have thrashed your brother, but he certainly would not murder him."

"But Mr. Darrel tells me that Mr. Lancaster was very bitter against my brother."

"When did he tell you that?" said Jarman, who knew Darrel, and, regarding him as a possible rival, did not approve of him overmuch.

"To-day, when I got up. Mr. Darrel is staying at the Rectory for a few days. You know, he is a friend of the rector's."

"Yes, I know," replied Eustace, thinking he must put Frank on his guard, since Darrel might recognise him. "Why did Darrel come down?"

"On a visit to the rector. But he also said that he came to see if he could help me in any way."

"I can do all the help that is necessary," said Jarman, jealously.

"I told him so, and, then, Captain Berry is anxious to assist."

"H'm!" said Eustace, pulling his big moustache. "Mrs. Perth told me that he had offered a reward. Very good of him."

"Captain Berry was a great friend of Walter's. He wrote me the sad news almost immediately."

"Almost too immediately," replied Jarman. "What time did you get his letter?"

"By the eleven post."

"Then it must have been posted in London before midnight, and the fact of the murder was not known to the general public till next morning. How came Captain Berry to have such early information?"

"I don't know," said Miss Starth, blankly. "Do you think--"

"I think nothing," interposed the big man, quickly. "I have never met Berry, and I know nothing about him. But Mrs. Perth doesn't seem to entertain a good opinion of him."

Mildred, in spite of her grief and sadness, could not help smiling. "You know that Mrs. Perth never approved of Walter's friends. She was my governess, you remember, and still thinks it's her duty to look after me."

"And after that Denham man."

"Oh! he is only a boy--" said Mildred, with contempt, "and a very silly boy. Walter brought him down twice, but I don't suppose he'll come here again."

"Where did Starth meet him?"

"At Captain Berry's. Mr. Denham came from San Francisco with Captain Berry. They are great friends."

"And thereby hangs a tale," muttered Jarman, who was intensely suspicious of the skipper and his associates. "Well, and what are you going to do now, Miss Starth?"

"I can do nothing," she said, with a helpless gesture. "I have seen our lawyer about Walter's affairs, and Walter's income comes to me. I don't know what to do about his death except wait."

"For the capture of Lancaster?"

Miss Starth moved uneasily. "I am not revengeful," she said, "and my brother was not such a good man as he should have been. But if Mr. Lancaster is guilty he ought to be punished."

"Yes. _If_ he is guilty. But presuming his innocence--"

"He will have an opportunity of proving that when he is tried."

"Ah!" said Jarman, pulling again at his moustache, "then you anticipate that he will be captured?"

"Captain Berry says he will never rest until he is captured. We had a long talk about the matter."

"Has Berry any clue?"

"No. Neither has Inspector Herny. Since that servant saw Mr. Lancaster leave the house, nothing more has been heard of him. I don't want him to be captured. His being hanged wont bring poor Walter to life, and that paper makes me doubt if he is guilty."

"Did you show this to Berry?" asked Jarman, who still held the paper.

"No. I showed it to no one, not even to Mrs. Perth. I wished to consult you about it."

"I am glad you said nothing, Miss Starth," said Jarman. "May I keep this paper? I may be able to find out something, you know."

"Certainly. I shall be glad if you will help me."

"I wish to help you in every way. You know that."

Jarman's voice shook a little, and the woman in Mildred took the alarm. She rose to go, whereupon Jarman insisted on seeing her to Rose Cottage. "But there is no need," protested Mildred, "the moon is shining, and I am quite safe. Don't trouble."

"It's a pleasure," insisted Eustace, putting on his cap, and being thus obstinate Mildred let him have his own way. She was even secretly pleased, as she liked Eustace extremely.

They stepped out into the moonlight, and took their careful way between the haycocks. The night was very still. Occasionally there would float towards them an outburst of song from the copse-hidden nightingales, diversified by the hoot of an owl, or the whirr of a distant train steaming towards London. Mildred had simply thrown a lace shawl over her head to run across to the Shanty, and her face looked wonderfully pure and white in the ivory radiance of the moon. Eustace felt his pulses throb with suppressed excitement, and the blood tingled pleasantly in his veins. He was in love with Mildred, he was jealous of Darrel, and these passions lifted him somewhat out of his usual self. The romance of San Francisco appeared the veriest prose beside this lyrical night. Yet he felt that he could not break in upon the grief of the girl with his tale of love, and so walked sedately by her side, holding himself well in hand.

As they passed into the lane, and under the chequered shadows of the elms, Mildred felt the influence of her companion. She was not in love with Jarman, or with anyone, but she liked and admired him immensely, and, granted that the fairy prince did not come along, was not unprepared to listen should he speak. Still, the feeling of sorrow for the death of her brother lay heavily upon her, and she sighed as the cool night wind ruffled her dark hair. After a time, to break the silence, she asked Jarman about the new secretary.

"Mrs. Perth told me that he was very handsome," she said.

"Oh, he's good-lookin' enough," replied Eustace, "but his spectacles rather spoil him. Weak eyes, you know."

"I was not aware that you intended to engage a secretary."

"I have so much work to do."

"You might have engaged me," said Miss Starth, reproachfully. "I can type quite as quickly as you can dictate, and you know I am always glad to assist you."

"I know that," said Jarman, suppressing a strong inclination to take her in his arms. "We have done some work together."

"_You_ have. I don't know what I should have done without you to correct my verses and help me to get them printed. I was only sixteen when I showed you my first poem."

"Yes. And very shy you were over it. Natural in a schoolgirl."

"I am not a schoolgirl now, Mr. Jarman."

Who knew that better than Eustace? "I wish you were," he muttered.

"Why? You should be glad to see me grow up, Mr.--"

"Why so formal, Miss Starth--Mildred. Call me Eustace."

"I should like to--Eustace," said the girl, frankly--too frankly, alas! for any feeling of love to lurk in the words. "You know how fond I am of you," and she squeezed his arm playfully.

"Mildred!" He could stand it no longer, although he felt that this was not the time to speak of love. But the influence of the hour, of her words, and the feeling of jealousy inculcated by Darrel's arrival made him confess his secret. "Mildred?"

"Yes." She detected the change in his voice, and grew nervous.

"I--I--love you!"

"Mr. Jarman--I mean Eustace!"

"I didn't mean to speak," went on the man, rapidly. "I know you have heavy troubles to face. But I wish to help you. If you would accept me as your husband, if you would lean upon me through life, I would do all that I could to save you from being worried."

Under the shadow of the trees, a stone's-throw from the white gate of Rose Cottage, Mildred stood still, her hands clasped before her. A shaft of light piercing the leafage shed its radiance on her beautiful face, and Eustace put a constraint on himself. Under his breath he quoted the Arabic proverb: "Blessed be Allah who made beautiful woman."

"Eustace, I never thought of this!"

"And you are angry?"

"No--no. I'm not exactly angry. But--"

"You love me, then--you love me!" She could feel his breath on her cheek, and shrank away from the passion expressed in his deep voice.

"I am not angry, but I don't love you. Wait!" She flung up her hand as she heard his sigh. "I like you--oh, yes, I like you more than anyone I ever met."

"More than Darrel?"

"Mr. Darrel; I don't care a bit for him. I wish you wouldn't talk so." She stamped her foot. "You know how troubled I am about poor Walter's death, and we were getting on so nicely."

"You and Walter?"

"No, poor fellow. You and I. We were such companions, and I always told you everything--and now talking like this!" Miss Starth's eyes filled with tears. "It's a shame."

"I can't help loving you."

"Well, I love you--in a way. No, don't come any nearer. I--I--looked on you as a--a--father," sobbed Mildred.

"Oh, Heavens! There's no more to be said after that. Let me remain in that relationship."

"No. That is"--Mildred dried her tears, and became alarmed because she thought she was inflicting pain--"that is--you know, I don't mind--well, if you can't guess."

"Does that mean you will marry me?" asked Jarman, catching his breath.

Mildred rolled her handkerchief up into a ball, and became more of a woman and less of a schoolgirl. "I will marry you on one condition."

"What is that?" he asked, eagerly.

"That you find out and punish the person who killed Walter."

Jarman's heart leaped. "Do you mean Lancaster?" he asked, alarmed.

"No--if what that paper says is true. I mean the real person. You say that Mr. Lancaster is innocent, and I know you too well to doubt your word. Find the real person, and--" she bent forward as though to seal the bargain with a kiss. But before her face could touch his own she drew back, and flittered towards the gate.

"Mildred!" he cried. "Mildred!"

"Good-night!" floated back faintly, and he heard the closing of the door. Alone with the night and with his great happiness, he tried to realise his good fortune. "She doesn't love me yet," he thought, as he walked back to the Shanty on tip-toe excitement, "but she will--she will. Heaven bless her How could I have loved Mrs. Anchor? This is the real thing, and Mildred--oh! what a boy I am yet." He wiped his face. "Of course I'll find out who killed her brother, both to win her and to save Frank. Dear Frank--poor fellow!" Jarman felt immensely sorry for Lancaster being, as it were, out in the cold. "I must tell him."

And tell him he did, blurting out the news almost before he filled his pipe. "I say, Frank, I'm going to start in and find out who killed Starth!" he declared.

"Miss Starth has asked you to do so?" said Frank, trying to suppress his jealousy.

"Yes. And she is going to reward me, if I am successful, with her hand."

Lancaster stared. "I--I--hope you'll be happy," he gulped. "She'll get a good husband."

"And I an angel for a wife."

"An archangel--a Madonna--a saint," said Frank, incoherently. But his heart ached.